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The Uber pulled up to the house just after midnight. Vanessa climbed out first, her legs a little unsteady — from the heels, from the champagne, from the hours of sustained arousal that had left her body humming like a struck tuning fork. Alice followed, smoothing her red dress and tossing her blonde waves over one shoulder. The night air was cool against their flushed skin, and for a moment they stood on the sidewalk, looking at each other with the giddy, conspiratorial energy of teenagers who’d gotten away with something.

“You’re sure about this?” Vanessa asked.

Alice grinned. “I’ve been flirting with your husband for six years, Van. After tonight… well I think it’d be a shame not to explore this a bit further.”

Vanessa shook her head, smiling, and led the way to the front door.

Inside, the house was dim. A single lamp glowed in the living room, where Alan sat on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his laptop open on the coffee table. He looked up as the door opened. His face registered relief, then surprise, then a look she couldn’t read when he saw Alice step in behind his wife.

“Hey babe,” Vanessa said, crossing the room to kiss him. Her lips were warm and tasted faintly of champagne. “I brought company.”

“So I see.” Alan’s eyes moved to Alice, who gave him a little wave and a smile that carried considerably more weight than it had at any dinner party or birthday gathering over the past six years. She’d always flirted with him. It was their thing, a running joke among the three of them. But tonight she stood in his living room at midnight, her “fuck me” dress clinging to her body, her cheeks flushed. The joke felt like less of a joke just now.

“Alice had quite a night too,” Vanessa said, dropping her purse on the counter. “She’ll tell you about it. But first —” She pulled out her phone and handed it to Alice. “Can you put the video on the TV?”

Alice took the phone and connected it to the screen above the fireplace. A moment later, the VIP lounge filled the wall: dim red light, leather booths, and Vanessa, naked, sinking to her knees before a man Alan didn’t know. He watched as his wife arched her back, thrust her ass toward the camera, and dragged her tongue up the stranger’s cock from base to tip, her green eyes locked on the man’s face.

Alan’s cock stiffened, straining against his sweatpants. Vanessa noticed. She settled onto the couch beside him, curling into his side, her hand finding its way to his lap. Through the thin fabric, she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed gently.

“His name was Trent,” she murmured against his ear, rolling her eyes slightly at the memory of his money clip and his cufflinks and his cocky grin. “Total douche. But he paid twenty-five hundred dollars to fuck me.”

On screen, Vanessa had taken Trent into her mouth, her head bobbing as her hand worked his shaft. Alan’s breathing quickened. Vanessa tugged at his waistband. He glanced at Alice then back at Vanessa,his eyebrows lifted in an unspoken question. When his wife smiled and winked at him, he lifted his hips to let her pull his sweatpants down. His cock sprang free, fully hard, and she took it in her hand, stroking him in the same slow rhythm as the woman on the screen.

“Watch,” she whispered. “Watch me fuck him.”

On the TV, Vanessa climbed onto Trent’s lap, guiding his cock to her entrance, and sank down with a moan that filled the living room through the speakers. Alan groaned as his wife’s hand tightened around him. She shifted, swinging a leg over to straddle him on the couch, her skirt hiking up around her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties — she’d removed them hours ago in the VIP lounge and never put them back on. Her bare pussy, still swollen and slick from the night’s exertions, pressed against the underside of his shaft. She had cleaned herself up as best she could, but even so, her juices were mixed with another man’s cum.

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