Page 4 of A Long Time Coming

I hear a muffled gasp, and it draws my eyes back up to my wife. The plug is fully seated, and I grunt as another minuscule frisson of an aftershock forces a little more from my dick’s purple head.

“Yours is on the bed with the lube. Happy prepping.” She winks and ducks back into the closet.

I scrub my body since I’ve made a bit of a mess, and I hear the bedroom door shut as she leaves. Grumbling to myself, I make a deal with myself to never edge my wife again. She hates it. Utterly hates it, and now I’ve dug a hole I have to fill with a butt plug she ordered online during the flight back from Mexico to Colorado.

She’s a fucking menace, but damn it, she’s my menace.

I towel the water from my hair and body and walk through the closet and up to the bed. Just like she said, the smallest plug of the training set that arrived two days after we got home is there, next to the lube and the wedding band she put on my finger the day we got married. I wear a silicone band ninety percent of the time, and she’s perfectly fine with it. But I know she’s feeling extra romantic when she asks me to wear this one.

I slide it on and lift the clear bottle, squeezing a generous dollop of lube onto my first two fingers. Hooking my foot onto the side rail of the bed, I reach back and slick my hole, taking a fraction of a second to enjoy the way it feels.

This is one of those new things we discovered. We haven’t explored it much more than we did at the resort, but it keeps coming up in conversation. This is just one step further. Picking up the plug, I’m surprised it’s heavier than I thought it’d be. I rub the tip through the remaining lube on my fingers and hold my now-flagging dick up for better access.

I line it up with my hole and press on the flared base of the plug, bearing down like the research we’ve read said to do until I feel it breach the first ring of muscle. I gasp at the sensation, a burn that flares into pleasure within seconds, and push harder until I feel the base against my crease.

“Damn. That’s…” I exhale slowly, trying to keep my composure, knowing I have to sit in a dining room chair for at least an hour, probably more.

My only recompense is that Mel will squirm just as much as I will… maybe more.

Chapter 3

have my cake and eat it too

Wyatt

The big red circle around today’s date on the refrigerator calendar mocks me. I swear, I think it flashes like a damn neon sign, pulling me in like a moth to a flame.

“Dinner at Nate and Mel’s” fills the square in my husband’s perfectly messy scrawl, formed over the last decade of witnessing countless documents and notarizing anything and everything that comes across his desk.

Even from down the hall, in another room, all I can think of is that damn red circle.

“Do we have to go?” I ask, hovering over Alex, the man I married at the same courthouse where he works.

Lifting his arms, he frames my face and pulls me towards him for a kiss. “Umm, yes?” he asks, confused.

I straighten as much as I can on my knees, reaching back to squeeze his thighs where they wrap around my hips. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Talk to me, Wy.”

“I want him so bad, Alex. Holding my tongue is getting harder and harder around him. And I don’t want to lose them as friends. That’s not even an option, but I don’t know if I can keep my feelings a secret much longer.”

His eyes soften from concerned to adoring, and he props himself on his elbows, dropping his legs to the bed on either side of me. “I get it. You know I do.”

Alex and I are already non-traditional enough for this part of the country, two men — one gay and one bisexual — who married one another on the courthouse steps where one is a magistrate judge and the other is a paralegal for a prominent firm chock full of high-dollar divorce attorneys. So, if it got out that we were each attracted to our respective best friends who are also married to each other, the pearl-clutchers would probably spontaneously combust.

“I know you do, but somehow you’re able to keep yourself together around Mel.”

“Come here,” he says, rolling to his side and pulling me down beside him. Pushing me onto my back, he lays his head on my chest and wraps his arm around my waist. “I keep myself from acting on my attraction because I’m married to the love of my life. The man who knows my deep-buried fantasies about another person, a woman no less, and encourages me to imagine fucking her as much as I want. Even if I never let myself go there.”

“Well, that makes me sound like I mean more to you than you do to me, and that’s just bullshit, Alex.” I try to sit up, but he rolls over on top of me, stopping me.

“You’re in pity party mode, and I won’t hear it. I know you love me. More than you love yourself. Which is why you’ve been able to keep yourself together around Nate.”

I roll my eyes and lace my fingers together behind my head, trying to hide my swoon over his slip into the southern accent that still hangs on from time to time. “Your Mississippi is showing,” I say, knowing it raises his hackles.

“Take it back,” he says, wrapping his hand around my cock that’s hard simply from his proximity.

“No,” I say nonchalantly, closing my eyes and acting unaffected. But he knows better. I harden with every squeeze and stroke.

---