Chapter 10: The Spectator's Reward
The chlorinated water lapped gently against the blue-tiled edge of the pool, the late afternoon sun casting long, distorted shadows of their bodies across the surface. Tara leaned back on the concrete, her arms stretched out along the rim, her head tipped back to the sky. The water covered her from the waist down, but above, her skin was beaded with droplets that caught the light.
Matthew had just headed back inside the house, the door clicking shut behind him. The air still thrummed with his presence, with the memory of his hands on her hips in the water, his mouth on her neck, the quick, fierce coupling that had left her breathless.
Richard stood a few feet away, still in his work clothes, his tie loosened. He had come home early, finding them not in the house but here, in the open air. He’d watched from the patio door, motionless, until it was over.
Now, Tara opened her eyes and looked at him. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. She lifted her hips slightly, breaking the water’s surface, and spread her legs wide. The water swirled between them, clouded for a moment before clearing.
A thick, pearlescent strand of Matthew’s release drifted from her inner thigh, a lazy white curl in the blue water.
“See what he left inside me?” she said, her voice a low, husky thing. “It’s still leaking out.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. His hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t move.
Tara’s smile widened. She brought her right hand down, plunging her middle and index fingers back inside herself with a soft, wet sound that was audible over the pool’s filter. She moaned, a genuine shudder of sensation rocking her body as she finger-fucked her own well-used cunt.
“Fuck yourself,” she breathed, her eyes locked on his, her fingers working in and out, “watching your wife’s cunt drip with another man’s seed, Richard. That’s what gets you hard now, isn’t it? Seeing me filled up by him.”
A low groan escaped Richard’s throat, part shame, part raw arousal. His resolve crumbled. His hands went to his belt, fumbling with the buckle, then the button of his trousers. The zipper came down with a harsh rasp.
He freed his cock, already fully erect, and took a stumbling step toward the pool’s edge.
“That’s it,” Tara coaxed, her fingers still moving inside her, stretching herself open for him to see. “Come on. Do it. Jack your dick for me. Show me how much you love seeing me be his slut.”
Richard’s hand closed around his shaft, his strokes rough and frantic. He stared, mesmerized, at the place where her fingers disappeared into her body, at the traces of Matthew that still clouded the water around her.
He stared, mesmerized, at the place where her fingers disappeared into her body, at the traces of Matthew that still clouded the water around her. His own hand moved faster, his breath coming in sharp pants. "Come closer," Tara murmured, crooking the finger of her free hand, her voice a silken command he couldn't disobey.
He shuffled to the pool's edge, his shoes scraping on wet concrete, his cock jutting out toward her face. She leaned forward, her mouth opening, her breath a warm promise on the sensitive tip. Then she stopped, pulling back with a low, throaty laugh that held no warmth.
She shook her head, water dripping from her hair. "Can't have my real hubby getting too mad about me doing it too many times," she said, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she referenced the young man inside their home.
A spasm of something like pain crossed Richard's face, but his hand never stilled on his shaft. He was too far gone, his hips bucking into his own fist. "Just… just look at me," he grunted, his eyes fixed on her smirking mouth.
He came with a choked cry, his body tensing. Thick, white streaks landed on her cheek and jaw, one hot spatter catching the corner of her lips. Tara didn't flinch, holding his gaze with a cool, detached expression as he finished himself on her skin.
He stood there for a moment, panting, spent. Then he gave a wet, shaky laugh. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. "I still think I got the best deal." He turned without another word, leaving her by the pool, and walked toward the house to unwind from his workday.
The patio door slid shut behind Richard with a definitive click, sealing her outside in the humid evening air. Tara remained perfectly still for a long moment, the cooling water lapping at her waist, the taste of her husband sharp and salty on her skin. She extended her tongue, slowly and deliberately, collecting the spend from her upper lip with a thoughtful expression.
She then pushed herself up, the water sluicing off her body in sheets as she climbed the pool steps. Cupping her hands, she scooped chlorinated water from the pool’s surface and rinsed the remaining traces from her cheek and jaw, the act methodical and clean. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face as an idea, dark and delicious, began to crystallize in her mind.
Her naked body swayed to a silent, delightful melody known only to her as she walked across the cool concrete. She pushed the patio door open and stepped into the dimness of the living room, her wet feet leaving dark prints on the hardwood floor. A towel was slung over the back of a nearby armchair, and she picked it up, beginning to pat her skin dry with absent-minded strokes.
Her eyes, however, were fixed on the hallway that led to the bedrooms, her head tilted as if listening for a specific sound. She could hear the faint rush of the shower from the main suite—Richard cleaning off the day, and her. A different, more potent energy pulsed from the direction of the guest bathroom, and she started moving toward it, the damp towel dangling from her hand.
The door was slightly ajar, steam curling out into the hall. She pushed it open without a sound. Matthew stood with his back to her, water glistening on the powerful muscles of his shoulders and back, his head under the spray. Tara leaned against the doorframe, watching him, letting the towel drop to the floor.
He turned off the water and reached for a towel, catching her reflection in the misty mirror. He didn't startle, just turned slowly, his dark eyes taking in her entirely naked, still-damp form. "He just let you walk away?" Matthew asked, his voice a low rumble.
"He got what he needed," Tara said, her voice flat. She stepped forward, into the steam-filled space, her gaze dropping down his body. "It wasn't much." She closed the distance between them, the cool air from the hall meeting the heat radiating from his skin. "I'm still so wet for you," she whispered, placing his hand between her legs, guiding his thick fingers to feel the slick, swollen proof.
A low growl escaped his throat. He didn't need further invitation. He turned her roughly, bending her over the cool porcelain of the sink, her hands splaying against the mirror and smearing the condensation. His erection pressed against the cleft of her ass, a hard, demanding presence. "This what you came back for?" he grunted, his voice hot in her ear.
"Yes," she hissed, pushing her hips back against him. "Fuck me right here. Now."
He spat into his palm, slicking himself with a crude, efficient sound before guiding his broad crown to her entrance. He drove into her with a single, deep thrust that stole her breath, filling her completely, stretching her in a way Richard never could. A sharp, guttural cry was torn from her throat, her knuckles white against the sink.
"God, your cunt is still so loose from me," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He set a brutal, punishing rhythm, each slam of his pelvis hitting her deepest parts, the wet, slapping sounds of their bodies echoing off the tiled walls.
Tara met every thrust, her own need a raw, screaming thing. "Deeper," she begged, her voice ragged. "I want to feel you in my fucking throat." She watched their reflection in the blurry mirror, his dark, powerful body dominating hers, her face a mask of ecstatic ruin.
He fucked her like he owned her, like he was reclaiming what was his, his pace relentless and animalistic. The sink creaked with the force of his movements. "You gonna come on my cock again?" he demanded, his breath hot on her neck. "You gonna drip for me all over again?"
"Yes," she moaned, her body tightening, coiling toward a shattering peak. "Don't stop, Matthew, please don't stop." Her words dissolved into incoherent cries as her orgasm ripped through her, violent and consuming, her inner muscles clenching around his driving length.
Feeling her convulse around him tipped him over the edge. With a final, deep plunge, he buried himself to the hilt and groaned, his body shuddering as he emptied his hot release inside her with a guttural, possessive curse. They stayed like that for a moment, panting, joined, steaming in the aftermath.
He finally pulled out, the sound wet and explicit. Tara’s legs trembled, barely holding her up. She watched in the mirror as his seed began to trickle down her inner thigh. She turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with a complex, triumphant light. She caught the slow drip on her finger and brought it to her mouth, tasting him again, a stark contrast to what she’d washed away outside.
She reached for the towel she’d dropped, her body humming, and began to dry herself with a new, deliberate purpose.