「彼女の肌に残る塩」

The diesel engine cut out and suddenly there was only water, the slap of it against the hull, and the smell of salt and hot fiberglass. From the bow of the rented yacht, a mile off the coast, I watched my wife press her palms against the sun-warmed rail. She was in that black bikini.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," she said, breathless, eyes on me.

Marcus was already below deck, checking the cooler, and I felt my pulse in my throat. We'd talked about it for months, half-joking at first, then in whispers, then in texts we'd delete in the morning. A stranger. A new set of hands on her skin. I wanted to be jealous. I was hard instead.

"Hey," Marcus said, climbing up with three beers and a grin. He was tall, dark-skinned, built like he spent his weekends on a construction site. "Y'all good?"

"Good," I said. My voice cracked.

Sarah laughed and Marcus caught it, that little nervous giggle, and he stepped close to her. He smelled like sunscreen and salt. He didn't ask. He just slid one hand along her jaw and kissed her, slow and deep, and Sarah made a soft sound I'd never heard before.

I sat down on the bench and watched.

"Come here," Marcus said to her. He turned her around and pressed her against the rail, her back to his chest, and pulled the strings of her top loose. The cups dropped. Her tits spilled out into the sun, nipples already hard, and he palmed them both, thumbs dragging over her nipples.

"Fuck," she whispered into the wind.

"You like that?" Marcus said against her ear.

「そう。ああ、そう、そのまま。」

I was palming myself through my shorts, watching my wife's hips grind back against a stranger's jeans. He unknotted the bottoms and they fell to the deck. She was bare under them. He slid two fingers between her legs and she gasped, hands gripping the rail.

"She's soaked," Marcus said, looking right at me.

"Told you," I said.

He turned her, knelt, and buried his mouth in her pussy. Sarah cried out, loud, no neighbors for a mile. Her knees buckled. He held her up by her ass and ate her like he was starving, tongue flat and fast, then slow and pointed on her clit. Her hand knotted in his hair.

"I'm—oh, I'm gonna—"

He stood up. Unzipped. His cock came out thick and dark, curving up, and Sarah stared at it and licked her lips.

"On the bench," he said. "Bent over."

She went. I moved to the side, close enough to hear. Marcus stepped behind her, one hand on her lower back, and pushed in. Sarah's mouth opened wide, no sound, then a long low moan as he filled her.

"Shit," she breathed. "You're so fucking big."

He fucked her slow at first, long strokes, her tits swinging with each one, the slap of wet skin against the quiet. Then faster. The bench creaked. Sarah's fingers clawed the cushion.

"Harder," she begged.

Marcus grabbed her hair, twisted it in his fist, and drove into her. The sound—Christ, the sound. Wet, rhythmic, brutal. Her pussy made a filthy noise every time he pulled out.

"Look at me," he told me. "Watch your wife take it."

I did. I got closer. Sarah turned her head, cheek on the cushion, and found my eyes through the mess of her hair.

"Are you watching?" she said, voice wrecked.

"Yeah, baby."

"Touch yourself. I want you to."

I unzipped. My cock was so hard it ached. I stroked it slow while Marcus pounded her, her ass rippling, her mouth hanging open, drool on the cushion.

"I'm close," he grunted.

"Inside her," I said. "Come inside her."

"Fuck—" He slammed in deep, held, and I watched his ass clench, watched him pump into my wife, and she came with a shriek that turned into a laugh that turned into a moan.

He pulled out. Cum ran down her inner thigh.

Then she rolled over, spread her legs wide, and looked at me.

"Your turn."

I knelt between her thighs and slid into her. She was hot and slippery and full of him. Nothing had ever felt like that. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me down, kissing me, biting my lip, and I fucked her through the aftershocks, hard and fast, until I buried myself deep and came with my face in her neck.

Afterward we lay on the warm deck while the boat rocked. Marcus handed us water and went to the stern to smoke, giving us space.

Sarah traced my jaw with one finger. "You okay?"

"I'm great," I said. "You?"

"I feel like I just got away with something." She laughed quietly. "Was it weird?"

"A little. Good weird."

"Good weird," she repeated, and kissed my shoulder. "Same time next month?"

"Only if Marcus is free."

"Don't say that too loud," she whispered, grinning, "he'll think we're in love."