I sat in a chair in the corner of our living room, watching the candlelight cast shadows on the walls. The light was subdued, almost intimate, but there was something heavy in the air. My wife, Lera, stood at the bar, idly stirring a cocktail in a tall glass. She was 32, but she looked flawless: long dark hair flowing over her shoulders, a tight black dress that emphasized every curve of her body - a thin waist, rounded hips, breasts that seemed about to burst from the cleavage. She knew how to present herself. She knew I was watching. And she knew how it affected me. I, Artem, 35, am an ordinary middle manager, with a receding hairline and a habit of slouching when I'm nervous. It's not that I'm ugly, but next to Lera I always felt... smaller. She was like fire, and I was like a smoldering ember about to go out. We'd been married for seven years, and somewhere along the way our marriage had turned into a strange dance of love, habit, and... this. This. This. Lera glanced over her shoulder at me, her lips curling into a small, almost mocking smile. She knew I was waiting. She knew I was sitting there, clutching the armrests, a lump in my throat and a heat in the pit of my stomach. It was part of the game—our sick, twisted game that I had gotten myself into. I couldn’t take my eyes off her legs, the way her dress had ridden up slightly as she bent over to pick up the ice. There was silence between us, but it screamed louder than any words. "Are you sure you're ready, Artyomka?" Her voice was soft, but with that same poisonous note that made my insides clench. She always did that - called me "Artyomka" when she wanted to remind me who was in charge. “Yes,” I managed to say, though my throat was dry. A lie. Or not quite a lie. I didn’t know what I wanted more: for it to start or for it all to be cancelled. She chuckled, put down her glass and slowly walked up to the mirror by the wall. She fixed her hair, ran her fingers down her neck, as if by accident, but I knew it was all for me. So that I could watch and feel my heart beating faster and faster. "He'll be here soon," she said, not looking at me. "I hope you don't change your mind at the last minute. Again." I swallowed. "He" was Stas. Her lover. Tall, muscular, with dark stubble and a cheeky grin that made my cheekbones clench every time. I'd seen him a couple of times, and each time it was like a punch in the gut. He was everything I wasn't: confident, rough, with this animal energy that seemed to make Lera melt. I hated him. But I wanted him to come. Somewhere deep inside I knew it was wrong. That normal men don't sit in a chair while their wives get ready to fuck someone else. But I wasn't normal. And Lera knew it. She loved it in me - my weakness, my submission, my pain, which for some reason turned into a perverted pleasure. The doorbell rang and I flinched. Lera turned to me, her eyes shining like those of a predator who had sensed her prey. “I’ll go open it,” she said, and her voice was filled with anticipation. “Sit still, Artyomka. The show is about to begin.” She left the room, and I remained sitting, feeling the blood pounding in my temples, and a mixture of fear, shame, and some wild, inexplicable excitement spreading in my chest. I heard the door open, Stas's low voice mutter something, and her laughter - ringing, flirtatious, the kind I hadn't heard in a long time. They were coming here. And I knew that now it was all about to begin. I sat, clutching the armrests, as Lera and Stas's footsteps drew closer. Their voices came from the hallway - her light laughter, his low, slightly hoarse tone, saturated with self-confidence. I tried to breathe evenly, but the air seemed to get stuck in my throat. Fragments of thoughts swirled in my head: "Why did I agree to this? Why don't I get up and leave? Why do I like this...?" But my legs seemed to have grown to the floor, and my body treacherously responded to every sound behind the door. Lera entered first, her dress slightly swaying as she moved, as if emphasizing her power over me, over the situation, over this whole damn evening. Stas entered after her. Tall, broader in the shoulders than me, in a black shirt unbuttoned a couple of buttons, with that grin of his that made me want to either punch him or... I didn't even want to finish the thought. He glanced at me - briefly, assessing me, like I would at some piece of furniture in the room - and immediately turned his attention to Lera. “Well, Artyomka,” Lera stopped in the middle of the room, placing her hands on her hips, “how do you like our guest?” I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck. She knew I wouldn't answer. She knew I would sit there transfixed and silent. Stas chuckled, stepped toward Lera, and casually hugged her around the waist. His hand landed on her thigh, his fingers slightly squeezing the fabric of her dress, and I felt everything inside me twist. Not from anger. From something else. From the way Lera arched slightly toward his touch, her lips parted, and her eyes lit up. "Is he always this quiet?" Stas nodded in my direction, not even looking at me. His voice was mocking, but there was no malice in it - just indifference, as if I were not a person, but a decoration. “Oh, you’ll get used to it,” Lera laughed, and her hand slid over Stas’s chest, slowly, as if she enjoyed every movement. “Artyomka is our… observer. Right, darling?” I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth gritted. "Honey." She hadn't called me that in a year, maybe more. But now the word sounded like a slap in the face. I nodded, almost reflexively, and immediately regretted it. Stas grinned wider, and Lera looked at me with such a mixture of pity and pleasure that I felt naked. "I'll go get some wine," she said, moving away from Stas, but not in a hurry to leave. Her fingers lingered on his hand, as if emphasizing that this was only the beginning. "You two... get to know each other better." She went into the kitchen, leaving us alone. Stas sat down on the sofa, spreading his arms along the back, as if he was the boss here. I looked at him, trying to understand what he was thinking. Did he hate me? Pity me? Or did he just not care? His gaze slid over me, and he suddenly said, quietly, almost friendly: - Relax, man. This is for her. I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because at that moment I realized he was right. It was for Lera. For her pleasure, for her game. And I... I was part of it. Not the main character, no. More like a spectator who paid for the ticket with his pride. Lera returned with a bottle of wine and three glasses, although I knew that I would be the only one drinking. She put everything on the table, but instead of sitting down, she walked up to Stas and, without saying a word, climbed onto his lap. Her dress rode up, revealing her thighs, and I saw how her skin glistened in the candlelight. She was ready, I knew it. I knew it from the way she moved, how her breathing became a little deeper, how her fingers dug into Stas's shoulders. “So, Artyom,” she looked at me, her voice was low, almost a whisper, “do you want to watch Stas fuck me?” I felt the blood rush to my head and my pants became tight. It was humiliating. It was painful. I nodded, unable to take my eyes off her face, off her lips that were already reaching for Stas. And at that moment I realized that there was no way back. Lera leaned toward Stas, and their lips met. The kiss was not gentle - greedy, rough, with a wet sound that sent shivers down my spine. I watched as her hands slid along his neck, as his fingers squeezed her hips, harder and harder, more openly. She let out a quiet moan, and this sound seemed to pierce me right through. I knew this moan. I knew how she sounded when she was happy. But now it was not for me. "Take me," she whispered, pulling away from his lips, and her eyes darted to me, as if checking to see if I was watching. If I was watching her give herself to him. I was watching. I couldn't help but watch. Stas was in no hurry. He was calm, as if all this was a normal thing for him. His hand slid under Lera's dress, and I saw how her body tensed, how she arched when his fingers apparently found what they were looking for. She was wet - I knew it without even seeing it. I knew it from her breathing, from the way her hips parted slightly, inviting him. - Look, Artyomka, - Lera turned her head towards me, her voice trembling with excitement. - Look how he touches me. You like it, right? I swallowed, but didn't answer. I couldn't. My cock was pulsing traitorously in my pants, and I hated myself for it. I hated it, but I couldn't stop. Stas chuckled, his fingers moving under her dress, and Lera let out another moan, louder, more frank. “Undress her,” he said to me without looking. It wasn’t a question, not a request. An order. And like an idiot, I stood up. My hands were shaking as I approached Lera. She looked at me, her eyes shining – a mixture of mockery and desire. I tugged at the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it over her head. She didn’t help, just sat there, letting me do it, until she was left in just her black lace underwear. Her chest was heaving, her nipples showing through the fabric, and between her legs… I could see how the fabric of her panties was soaked with moisture. "Good job," Stas grinned, and Lera laughed, throwing her head back. I returned to the chair, feeling my face burn. They weren't even looking at me. Stas pulled her by the hips, forcing her to stand up, and pulled her panties off in one motion. She was left standing in front of him, naked except for her bra, her skin was shining, and between her legs... I could see how her clit was swollen, how ready she was. "On your knees," he said, and Lera obediently sank down. I watched her unbuckle his belt, her fingers trembling—not from fear, but from impatience. His cock burst out, big and hard, and I felt my breath catch. Lera licked her lips, her eyes met mine for a second, and she smiled. Then she leaned over and took him into her mouth. Her lips closed around his cock, and she began to move, slowly, deeply, with a wet sound that filled the entire room. I watched her head rise and fall, taking him deeper than she had taken me. Her moans were muffled, but I could hear how much she liked it. Stas leaned back on the couch, his hand on the back of her head, guiding her, but not roughly—he knew she wanted it too. “Deeper,” he muttered, and Lera obeyed. I saw her throat strain, how she choked, but did not stop. Her fingers dug into his hips, and between her legs there was a glistening moisture, running down the inside of her thigh. She was wet, insanely wet, and it drove me crazy. "Artyom," Lera pulled away for a second, her lips were shiny, her voice hoarse. "Come here. Help me." I froze. Help? What was she… But she was already pulling my hand, forcing me to kneel next to her. I could smell her arousal, see her clit pulsating, and it was bukvoeb.run too much. Too much. “Lick,” she said, and I leaned down, as if in a trance. My tongue touched hers, and she moaned, loudly, almost screaming. She was salty, hot, and I licked her, feeling her tremble, her thighs squeezing my face. Stas looked at us, his hand still on her head, while she took him into her mouth again. "Good boy," he muttered, and I felt humiliation burning inside me. But I didn't stop. Lera came quickly, her body shuddering, and she almost screamed, clutching Stas's hair. I pulled away, tasting her on my lips, and saw her looking at him, not at me. “I want you,” she whispered, and Stas didn’t hesitate. He picked her up, turned her around, and put her on all fours right on the couch. Lera arched, her ass was in front of him, and I saw her trembling with anticipation. He took some lubricant out of his pocket—he was probably ready for anything—and slowly applied it to her. She shuddered when his fingers touched her anus. “This is going to hurt,” he said, but there was more excitement in his voice than warning. “I want to,” Lera answered, her voice shaking. I watched him slowly enter her, watching her moan, first from pain, then from pleasure. He moved faster and faster, his hands gripped her hips, and she screamed, arching, accepting him. I saw her body tremble, watching her cum again, and it was… beautiful. Horrible, humiliating, but beautiful. Stas finished with a low growl, his movements became sharp, and I saw his sperm flowing out of her as he pulled out. Lera collapsed onto the couch, her chest heaving heavily, her face glowing with satisfaction. I sat in the chair, still feeling her taste on my lips, still hearing her moans in my head. Lera turned to me, her eyes were half-closed, but there was some new softness in them. She reached out, touched my cheek, and I shuddered from this touch. “You’re doing well, Artyomka,” she said quietly. “I know how hard it was for you.” I didn't know what to answer. I felt empty, but at the same time... full. Full of this sick, twisted love that connected us. Stas was already getting dressed, casting another indifferent glance at me. “See you,” he said, and that was all. He walked away, leaving us alone. Lera sat down next to me, her body was still hot, smelled of sex and lubricant. She took my hand, put it on her thigh. “I still love you,” she whispered, and I didn’t know if it was true or not. But I nodded. Because I wanted to believe. We lay in bed that night, but we didn’t touch. I looked at the ceiling, and Lera was breathing evenly, already falling asleep. Images were spinning in my head – her moans, his hands, her wet skin, my tongue between her legs. I didn’t know what would happen next. I didn’t know if I would be able to look at her the same way again. But I knew one thing for sure: I wanted it to happen again. I wanted to feel this pain, this humiliation, this pleasure that was tearing me apart. And, closing my eyes, I could already imagine her calling Stas again. And I was sitting in my chair. And watching.