Her Husband's One-Night Hall Pass at the Pool

I’m Lauren, thirty-two, and I’ve spent most of my marriage knowing exactly what my husband Mark craves. He’s never hidden it—those late-night confessions after sex when he’d stroke my hip and admit how hard it made him to imagine another man inside me, how he’d jerk off to the idea of watching me get used. On our tropical vacation it finally stopped being fantasy. The resort was all white sand and endless blue water, adults-only pool gleaming under the afternoon sun, and that’s where I spotted Tyler.

He was twenty-eight, tall and thickly muscled, the kind of body that looked carved from hard work and good genes—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, abs that flexed when he laughed, dark hair wet and curling against his neck. I was stretched out on a lounger in my tiniest bikini, the one Mark packed specifically, two tiny triangles of black fabric that barely covered my nipples and a thong bottom that disappeared between my cheeks. Mark sat at the poolside bar twenty feet away, nursing a cold beer, eyes locked on me the second Tyler glanced over.

I felt the heat of that look and played into it. I sat up slow, arched my back, let my tits push forward until the thin material strained. Tyler’s gaze dropped right there and stayed. I stood, walked to the water’s edge, every step deliberate so the thong rode deeper into my ass, and slipped into the warm pool. He followed almost immediately.

“Jesus,” he said, voice low as he waded closer. “That suit should be illegal. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

I laughed, water lapping at my waist, and let my fingers skim the surface near his hip. “You’re not so bad yourself. Those shoulders… I keep wondering what they’d feel like under my hands.” Mark was watching. I could feel his stare like a physical touch, heavy and approving. My pussy already felt slick inside the thin bikini bottoms.