You found them this way, your young mistress and beautiful wife. You did not know until that moment that they knew about each other, and yet there in your living room and on your couch, they competed with crossed thighs.
They begged you not to stop them.
To let them finish the duel they had started.
And though it scared you, the thought of a world without them both, you agreed. Taking a seat just next to their couch and their battlefield.
Each looking to you for motivation and the will to resist the other’s hip-brought advancements.
They having agreed that the winner would keep you and the loser would leave.
Their battle lasted for hours. And when the dust settled, and she who could go on no longer collapsed, you went gently to say goodbye.
Your wife’s beautiful hazel eyes welling with tears as you said it. Your mistress making sure you did not kiss her, not once more or ever again.
She had shared you long enough, and in victory broken the body of the woman you once swore to love in sickness and in health.
As that woman — your poor, heartbroken spouse left, your mistress made you watch her as she yelled. “This is my man. My house. My life now, bitch!”
For a moment the words and their cruelty sting, but as your mistress reaches for your rock-hard cock, and unzips the zipper before it, the pain fades. She aiding with a whisper. “I’m going to put on some of her lingerie. Meet me in OUR bed.”