[EyefunJo]

My wife used to have a friends-with-benefits situation with a guy who’d pursued her before they dated for a bit. Apparently, they split because their personalities didn’t mesh, but she was always super satisfied with his skills in bed. So, after they broke up, they transitioned from dating to just hooking up. She told me there were times when she’d spend an entire week at his place, going at it like crazy.

Not long after we got married, her ex happened to be in a nearby city for work. Since a few other friends lived close by, they naturally planned a get-together at a Friday night. I’d heard plenty of stories from my wife about their bedroom life, and I knew she still kinda missed what he was packing. Since I wasn’t too close with most of the group, I figured they’d have more fun without me there. I teased her beforehand, asking what she’d do if he made a move. She just grinned and said, “Depends on the vibe.”

That night, since they’d be drinking and couldn’t drive, I played chauffeur and dropped her off. She was wearing a tight lavender tank top and my favorite white denim mini skirt. Sitting in the passenger seat, her long, pale legs were on full display, making it damn near impossible to focus on the road. I drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh the whole way.

By the time we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, I was already rock-hard imagining her in that outfit getting it on with her ex. I lifted her skirt and saw she was wearing the knitted panties I’d bought her. That sent me over the edge—I pinned her to the passenger seat, kissing her wildly until we were both breathless. Before she got out, I half-jokingly told her not to give in too easily and to put up a little fight.

That night, I sat on my couch watching TV, not registering a single thing on the screen. My coke on the table went flat from sitting there so long. It wasn’t until almost midnight that she called. I sped over to pick her up at a bar a few streets from the restaurant—they’d walked over after dinner to keep drinking. When I got there, everyone was still around, including her ex, who gave me a friendly wave as we drove off.

In the car, I couldn’t wait to ask her what happened. I’d half-expected her to end up at his hotel. Did he not make a move? She blushed, smirked, and guided my hand under her skirt. Her panties were soaked. She said back at the restaurant, he’d already leaned in close and whispered something to her. I was curious why it ended so early, then. Turns out, after they got to the bar, he pulled her into one of those larger family-style restrooms. They made out like crazy, hands roaming all over each other—touching everything they should and shouldn’t.

Her ex’s stance was that since she was married, they shouldn’t go to his hotel. But he still had her pull her panties aside and gave her a few hard thrusts, though he didn’t finish.

Hearing this, I was already rock-hard again, my fingers slipping into her drenched panties. When we got home, I took care of what he didn’t finish. My wife even said I performed better than usual, which left me torn between wanting to laugh or cry.