The Unraked Garden Chapter 3 (fm:cuckold, 6243 words) [3/3] show all parts

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He wanted to talk about it, to dissect it, to understand. He also wanted to pretend it never happened, to rewind the clock to a time before he knew his quiet, loving wife was capable of such a breathtaking deception. He said nothing. The fear of what she might do next was a constant, low hum beneath the surface of their daily lives, a feeling that was equal parts terror and a deep, gut-wrenching excitement.

Nora, for her part, moved through the days with a new, quiet poise. She was as affectionate as ever, her hand finding his as they watched TV, her kisses soft and familiar when he left for work. But there was something different in her eyes, a flicker of confident awareness that hadn't been there before. She was no longer just his partner; she was his co-conspirator in a plot he hadn't even known was being written.

On Wednesday morning, as she was pouring him a coffee, she mentioned the email about the annual garden potluck.

"It's this Saturday," she said, her voice casual, her back to him as she reached for the milk. "We should probably go, right? It would look weird if we didn't."

Ethan's heart gave a hard, painful thump against his ribs. The question was a masterful piece of plausible deniability. It wasn't a plan. It wasn't a suggestion. It was just a simple, social obligation. But he knew, with a certainty that made the coffee taste like ash in his mouth, that it was a test. A stage was being set, and she was asking him, without asking at all, if he was ready for the curtain to rise.

He watched her turn, the coffee mug in her hand, a look of simple, wifely inquiry on her beautiful face. He was a passenger, utterly powerless to the currents she was now commanding.

"Yeah," he finally managed to say, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. "We should go."

The garden was transformed. Tiki torches lined the grassy paths, their flickering orange light casting a festive glow on the familiar plots. The air, usually smelling of soil and green things, was now thick with the scent of grilled meat and the sound of chatter and laughter from a small crowd of fellow gardeners.

Ethan and Nora arrived as dusk was settling, a casserole dish warm in Nora's hands. Ethan's senses were on high alert, a nervous energy thrumming just beneath his skin. He'd barely been able to concentrate all day, his mind consumed with a single, burning question: What is she going to do?

He saw the answer the moment she stepped into the torchlight. Her dress wasn't just a dress; it was a declaration. The dark blue fabric was thin, almost flimsy, clinging to her curves in a way that left nothing to the imagination. The neckline didn't just scoop; it plunged, creating a deep, tantalizing valley that offered a decadent view of the heavy swell of her breasts. But it was the hemline that made his breath catch in his throat. It was shockingly high, ending at the upper part of her thighs, a length that promised a flash of pale, forbidden skin with the slightest wrong move.

As she bent to place their casserole on the table, the thin fabric strained, becoming a second skin over the perfect, high shelf of her ass. The sight sent a raw jolt of heat straight to his groin. This wasn't a dress for him. This was a costume, a provocative uniform for the evening's sordid play, and the knowledge that this breathtaking display was meant for another man's eyes was the most exquisite torture he could imagine.

They filled their plates and made small talk with a few other couples, Ethan nodding and smiling on autopilot. His gaze, however, was a

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Hook writes Fri 18 Jul 2025 22:15:

A masterful account of self sacrifice between two married, tortured souls.
Grab some tissues for Part 3!

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