It started at Xmas last year when I’d see Becca kissing Jack at Carl and Karen’s Boxing Night do. Everyone had watched them as they she sat on his knee on the sofa. it was not big deal, they’d had a bit of an history. She’d known ages before I ever came on the scene. I understood. But I’d started getting a bit hot under the collar when they’d just kept on kissing and kissing, then his hand up her skirt – just on the outside of her thigh. She had tights on so he couldn’t have got to her pussy without going all out. The bloke in me kept saying go and tell him to pack it in and to piss off, but I’d got this massive hard on, so didn’t. I think eventually they realised they were starting to make everyone uncomfortable. Weeks later I told her how it had made me feel; jealous and horny all at the same time. She’d asked, “Would you like to see me do it again?” I said I would. We’d talked about it a lot. Then the fantasy, the imaging of it, became part of our sexual reality. Over the next few weeks she told me about the other men in her life – all the ones she’d had before she met me. We used to have real good fucks after she told me that stuff. Then I started asking her if there was anyone she’d like to fuck in of the people we knew. Turned out there weren’t many she wouldn’t. The night it happened I hadn’t been expecting it to happen—at least, not like it did happen, or just then. She’d said she was going out with the girls from work. And she was . . . because Julie picked her up from ours, and gave her the ticket to club right in front of me. And later, to prove she had been out with the gang, Becca showed me the photos of all of them laughing round the table, their drunken bodies slouching, raucous eyes challenging the camera, bare arms everywhere round each other. But it wasn’t one of the girls from work she brought back home. I still don’t know where she found him. I was in bed by the time she got in. I’d had wine and was half-asleep when the bang of the door jerked me back awake. I could hear her laughing – and the sound of a man’s voice, but not the words themselves, just the heavy darkness of his tone. And then the creak and thump of feet on stairs. The light of the landing beamed into the bedroom when they opened the door. Two silhouettes in the doorway, arms around each other, unsteady. “This is Ian,” she said, slurring her words. I’ve bought him home to fuck me.” They both tumbled into the room, laughing. “You can watch if you like, “ she said. “Yeah, mate, watch if you like,” he repeated. I said nothing. My heart was racing. I reached to my side and clicked on my bedside lamp. I watched. He was a big guy. Six two, I estimated. Muscular, but not absurdly so; the kind of body I would have liked to have. I’m sitting up watching him kissing my Becca. I’m hard as granite, but shitting myself too. I’m a fit guy, but this bloke’s a bit of a monster. I start to worry about what if it gets out of hand. What if I want him to stop and he doesn’t. How would I make him? I wouldn’t be able to take him out with my bare hands, but I remember the knife by the side of the bed that I keep there in case of burglars. This thought reassures me; it evens the playing field. So I try to relax, get into it. After all it’s my fantasy. I know Becca is doing this for me as much as for herself. He’s pulling her dress up over head. Becca shakes her hair wildly back into place when she’s free of it. He’s mad for her; got his hand deep in her panties. He’s not gentle either. I can see her entire body shaking as he rubs her up. I see her excitement, hear her breathing, her gasps of satisfaction. She continually looks at me, to see my reaction. I know that my watching her being handled like this turns her on, turns her on just as much as this guys massive fingers worming into her cunt. God he’s good: one hand undoes her bras without a fumble or snag. I usually struggle to free the damn things, takes me ages. She’s naked now and on her knees undoing his button and zipper, coaxing what she wants out into the lamplight. I think god, I would be rock hard if I were him, practically ready to cum. But what she puts in her mouth still has room to grow, still has access capacity. Soon that capacity is reached and fills Becca’s mouth to bursting. She goes at him like a demented pigeon, all the while her eyes watching me. The site of naked kneeling before this stranger is bitter-sweet. I feel humiliated and elated at the same time. He lifts her up and carries her to the bed and deposits her right next to me. He doesn’t bother to take of his clothes. Becca’s knees are arched, legs spread. She accommodates him easily, letting out a low grunt as he enters her. Then he’s a machine and the bed shakes. She looks sideways to me all the time he fucks her. Under the sheets, I’ve cum already. But my humiliation is not complete: steady, rhythmically, his tight buttocks are unstoppable, until in a flash, he withdraws from Becca. His hand is franticly rubbing the head of his cock. He turns to me, pointing it between my eyes, and I’m looking into that Cyclopes eye. He grunts and grunts, as if in pain, then his hot jizz splatters my face. It’s warm and stinks, is in my eyes. Time stops and I marvel at how easily it adheres to my cheeks, cooling in the tepid air of our bedroom.