Breaking the Line

I’m Darius, and I’m standing in the shadowed corner of our cramped apartment, the air thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. The walls are peeling, the furniture mismatched, but none of that matters tonight. My eyes are glued to Sofia, my wife of eight years, as she peels off her tight red dress, letting it pool on the floor like a discarded secret. She’s in black lingerie now, her olive skin glowing under the flicker of a single lamp, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. Across from her, Viktor—some ripped bastard we found online—sits on our sagging couch, his jeans already unbuttoned, his cock straining against the fabric. My stomach churns, my dick hardens, and I can’t tell which is winning—rage or lust. This was my fucking idea, but now it’s here, and I’m drowning in it.

It started months ago, a drunken confession after a fight. We’d been clawing at each other’s throats over money, sex, the monotony that had settled like dust over our marriage. I was pissed, horny, and blurted out that I wanted to see her fucked by someone else—someone rough, someone who’d take her in ways I’d only dreamed of. Sofia stared at me, her brown eyes narrowing, then softening. “You’re a sick bastard, Darius,” she said, but there was a smirk, a glint that told me she wasn’t shutting it down. That night, she rode me harder than she had in years, whispering about some faceless guy pounding her, and I came so hard I saw stars. The seed was planted.

We spent weeks on a shady site, scrolling through profiles, weeding out the creeps. Viktor stood out—ex-military, 6’2”, with a body carved from stone and a voice that growled through the phone when we screened him. He was blunt: he’d fuck her good, but only if I was cool with watching. Sofia’s breath hitched when she saw his pics, and I knew she was in. We set rules: no kissing, no condoms unless she said so, and I could stop it anytime. But as I watch her now, straddling his lap, those rules feel like paper in a fire.

“Ready, Darius?” she calls, her voice husky, teasing, as she grinds against Viktor’s bulge. He grins, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. I nod, my throat dry, my hand already rubbing the growing ache in my pants. Sofia’s eyes lock on mine, daring me, and I feel like I’m falling. Viktor’s hands slide up, yanking her bra down, her tits spilling out—full, dark nipples hard as hell. He groans, pinching one, and she gasps, her head tipping back. “Fuck, you’re hot,” he mutters, his accent thick, and I hate how much I agree.

She’s unbuttoning his jeans now, her fingers quick, eager. His cock springs free—thick, veined, bigger than mine—and she wraps her hand around it, stroking slow. My breath catches, jealousy stabbing me, but my cock throbs, betraying me. “Look at him, Darius,” she says, her voice a command, and I can’t look away. Viktor’s hands are on her ass now, spreading her cheeks, her thong pushed aside. She’s wet—I can see it, glistening—and he slides a finger inside her, rough, no preamble. She moans, loud, unashamed, and I’m stroking myself through my jeans, my face burning.

“Tell me what you want,” Viktor growls, his finger pumping, adding another. Sofia’s hips buck, her tits bouncing with each thrust. “Fuck me,” she pants, and my heart stops. This wasn’t the plan—not yet—but I don’t stop it. I can’t. Viktor lifts her, positioning her over his cock, and she sinks down, slow at first, then hard, taking him all. Her cry splits the air, raw and primal, and I’m unzipping, my hand on my dick, stroking fast. She’s riding him now, her ass slapping against his thighs, her moans a fucking symphony. “Harder,” she begs, and he obliges, gripping her hips, slamming up into her.

I’m close, too close, watching her tits bounce, her face twisted in pleasure I’ve never given her. Viktor’s grunting, his hands leaving red marks on her skin, and I hate him, love him, want to be him. “You like this, Darius?” she gasps, her eyes on me, wild and triumphant. I nod, my hand a blur, and she smirks, leaning forward to let Viktor suck her nipple. The sight pushes me over—I come hard, spilling onto my hand, my legs shaking. But they don’t stop. She’s clawing his back, her nails drawing blood, and he’s fucking her like a machine, relentless.

“On your knees,” he orders, pulling out, and she drops, ass up, face down. He spanks her, hard, and she yelps, then moans, pushing back for more. He enters her again, deeper this way, and I see her pussy stretch around him, wet and red. I’m hard again, already, stroking myself, watching her take it. “Fuck, yes,” she screams, and he slaps her ass again, the sound echoing. I’m lost, my mind a haze of lust and shame, my cock aching as I match their rhythm.

Viktor’s close now, his thrusts erratic, and Sofia’s begging, “Come in me.” My gut twists—rules be damned—but I don’t stop it. He groans, slamming into her one last time, and I see him pulse, filling her. She shudders, coming again, her cries muffled by the couch. I’m right there, my second release hitting me, weaker but still intense, as I watch his cum drip from her when he pulls out.

They collapse, panting, and Sofia looks at me, her face flushed, her eyes soft but fierce. “You okay?” she asks, crawling toward me, her thighs slick. I nod, pulling her into my lap, kissing her hard, tasting salt and sex. Viktor zips up, grabs his jacket, and nods at me—respectful, like we’re buddies. “Good night,” he says, and he’s gone, the door slamming shut.

We sit there, her head on my chest, my hands in her hair. “Was that too much?” she whispers, and I don’t know. It was everything—dirty, brutal, fucking mind-blowing—but it’s changed us. I feel her tremble, and I hold her tighter. “We’ll figure it out,” I say, and she nods, her breath warm against me.

Days pass, and she’s different—more confident, more demanding in bed. Viktor texts, asking for round two. Sofia shows me, her eyes questioning. I don’t know if I’ll say yes, but I know I’m not done feeling this edge.