Husband Turns Gay: Chapter 13

Abstract: The 13th of 16 chapters.
Bradley gives Amy an ultimatum. Amy thinks about Bradley, David, and the decision she needs to make.
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The plane's tires screeched against the runway, jolting Amy from her half-doze in the jump seat. Tokyo's delay had stretched the flight into a marathon, the cabin lights dimmed for hours while turbulence rattled the overhead bins like maracas in a bad mariachi band.

She rubbed her eyes, the decision solidifying in her gut as the engines whined down: home to David, lay it all out, see if they could stitch the marriage back together. Bradley's ultimatum hung like a noose, but David's steadiness—his quiet reliability amid the chaos—pulled her back. The affair had been a wildfire, scorching and bright, but maybe the embers of her life with David could still warm her.

By the time she cleared customs and retrieved her car from the long-term lot, it was pushing midnight. The suburbs blurred past in a haze of sodium streetlights, her uniform rumpled and sweat-damp from the recycled air.

She turned onto their quiet cul-de-sac, the familiar ranch-style house coming into view, and that's when she spotted it: a sleek black sedan parked in their driveway, one she'd never seen before. Not a neighbor's, not a buddy's truck. Her pulse quickened, fingers tightening on the wheel. Suspicion coiled in her chest like a spring. Instead of pulling into the driveway, she eased the car around the corner, killing the engine under the shadow of an overgrown hedge. Roller board stayed in the trunk; no need for announcements.

She slipped off her heels at the front door, the cool concrete biting her bare feet, and turned the key as silently as she could, the lock's click swallowed by the night's hush. Inside, the house smelled off—faint cologne mixed with the usual lavender from the air freshener, but sharper, masculine. The living room was pitch black, furniture hulking shapes in the gloom. No TV flicker, no clatter from the kitchen. Amy's stockinged feet padded across the carpet, avoiding the creaky floorboard by the stairs.

She ascended slowly, one hand trailing the banister, heart thudding against her ribs. The master bedroom door hung ajar, a sliver of moonlight spilling out like an invitation she wasn't sure she wanted. She nudged it wider with her fingertips, breath held. There they were: two forms tangled in the sheets, breathing steady in sleep. David's broad back rose and fell, one arm draped over the other figure—a man, lean and pale, his head tucked against David's shoulder. Clothes scattered the floor: David's jeans, a stranger's button-down, boxers twisted like discarded secrets. Amy's stomach dropped, a cold wave crashing through her.

She backed away, silent as a ghost, and retreated to the guest room down the hall. The door clicked shut, and she stripped out of her uniform right there, letting the skirt and blouse pool on the floor. Naked, she slid under the covers, the unfamiliar mattress too firm, her mind racing. Who the fuck was he? And why did it feel like walking in on her own erasure? Sleep came in fits, exhaustion pulling her under despite the turmoil.

Then, hours later—or minutes, time smeared in the dark—a rhythmic thump yanked her awake. Low groans, the slap of skin on skin, filtering through the thin walls. Her body tensed, ears straining. It was coming from the master bedroom, unmistakable now: the bedframe knocking against the wall, punctuated by a deeper grunt, then a higher whine. Curiosity overrode the hurt, or maybe it was the masochistic pull of confirmation.

Amy slipped from the bed, nude and barefoot, the hallway carpet muffling her steps. She crept to the doorframe, peering through the crack where it hadn't latched fully. The scene hit her like a gut punch. Dim light from the bedside clock cast shadows, but enough to see: David on his knees behind the stranger, hands gripping the guy's hips, thrusting steady and deep.

The other man—mid-twenties maybe, tousled dark long hair, slim build arched like a bow—braced on all fours, ass up, head thrown back. "Fuck me harder, Daddy," he gasped, voice breathy and needy, fingers clawing the sheets. David obliged, hips snapping forward, his cock disappearing into the guy's ass with each push, slick sounds filling the room. Sweat gleamed on David's back, muscles flexing under the strain, and he growled low, "That's it, my little Gary. Take Daddy's big fucking dick, you fucking slut."

The fantasy played out raw, unfiltered—David's free hand sliding up to tangle in the guy's long hair, yanking his head back as he pounded deeper, the bed creaking in protest. Amy's breath caught, a mix of revulsion and something hotter twisting in her core. She'd known about the porn, the bisexual clips he'd left in the browser history, the confessions during those awkward foreplay talks where he'd admitted wanting to watch her with another man, or join in himself. But this? Seeing it live, his body moving with a confidence she'd rarely glimpsed in their bed—it ignited a spark low in her belly.

Her nipples hardened against the cool air, pussy clenching involuntarily as she watched David's balls slap against the stranger's skin. The guy moaned louder, "Yes, Daddy, fill me up," pushing back to meet each thrust, his own dick hard and leaking onto the sheets below. She should have stormed in, screamed, ended it. But her feet stayed rooted, hand drifting unconsciously to her thigh, fingers brushing the dampness gathering between her legs.

David's rhythm built, grunts turning animalistic, and the stranger's pleas devolved into whimpers. Amy's mind flashed to their discussions—the night she'd found the porn tabs open, MMF scenes with men tangled in sweaty heaps, and how he'd hesitated before admitting he fantasized about it all. "I want you to fuck someone else," he'd said then, eyes dark with lust, "and maybe I'd join." She'd proposed the threesome idea herself, testing waters, but they'd never acted. Now here he was, acting without her.

The stranger came first, “Daddy! I’m coming!” body shuddering, ropes of cum splattering the mattress as David kept railing him, unrelenting. "That’s a good boy Gary," David murmured, voice rough, and that did it—Amy's fingers slipped between her folds, circling her clit in time with the thrusts she couldn't tear her eyes from. Wetness coated her hand, her breaths shallow and silent. David followed seconds later, hips stuttering, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he buried himself deep, pumping his load into Gary's ass.

Cum leaked out around his cock as he slowed, pulling back with a wet pop. Gary collapsed forward, spent and grinning. David then lay next to him, they held each other and kissed. Amy backed away, not to be seen. David said “I love you Gary. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. I want to be with you all the time” Amy retreated before they could stir, heart hammering, pussy throbbing with unmet need. Back in the guest room, she locked the door and sank onto the bed. Her mind was a swirl of mixed emotions. She was aroused by the hot sex between her husband and a much younger man.

She spread her legs wide. Her fingers worked her cunt faster now, two plunging inside her slick heat while her thumb pressed her clit, replaying the scene: David's strong hands, the way he'd claimed that ass like it was his right. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. The orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through her, juices soaking her thighs as she arched off the mattress. Her orgasmic high was soon replaced by sadness, then uncontrollable tears. David told Gary that he loved him. It probably meant he no longer loved her. If he did, there would be a threesome with her participating. She was out. Their marriage was over.

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Amy stirred awake to the heavy quiet of the house, the kind that settles after a storm has passed but left the air thick with debris. No distant snores or creaking floors—just the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the tick of a clock somewhere in the hall. She pushed back the guest room covers, her skin prickling in the cool morning air, and padded to the window. The driveway was empty now, the sleek black sedan gone, as if it had never invaded their space at all. Relief mixed with a sour twist in her gut; Gary, or whatever his name really meant to David, had slipped away with the night.

She didn't bother with clothes. The house felt like a stranger's anyway, her naked body moving through it like a ghost reclaiming territory. Bare feet silent on the carpet, she walked down the hall to the master bedroom. The door still hung ajar, and inside, David lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, alone and uncovered. His body was slack in sleep, chest rising slow and steady, the dark hair on his chest matted with dried sweat. A half-empty bottle of lube in the bed next to him. The sight hit her—remnant of the night she'd witnessed, his cock buried in that kid's ass, the raw grunts echoing in her memory. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, a flicker of heat stirring low despite the ache in her chest.

Amy eased onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She reached out, fingers threading gently through his hair, soft and tangled from the night's exertions. David stirred, eyes fluttering open, and for a split second, confusion clouded his face. Then recognition hit, and he bolted upright, sheets pooling at his waist, his dick soft and heavy against his thigh. "Amy? What the—how long have you been back?"

She kept her voice even, almost playful, though her pulse hammered. "Good morning Daddy. Did you give your little Gary a good fucking last night?" The words hung there, sharp and deliberate, her eyes locking onto his. David's face drained of color, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. He scrambled for the sheet, but she placed a hand on his knee, holding him still. "How old is he anyway?"

He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the lube bottle as if it held the answers. "He's... twenty-one. Jesus, Amy, you saw?"

"All of it." She didn't flinch, her nakedness a quiet challenge beside him. "Be truthful now, David. About him, about us. No more hiding behind browser history or half-confessions in bed." She thought back to those nights, the glow of the shared computer screen revealing his tabs—bisexual clips with men tangled in sweat-slicked heaps, MMF scenes that had sparked their tentative talks of threesomes. She'd proposed it herself once, testing the waters: her with another guy, him watching or joining. He'd agreed, eyes darkening with lust, even admitted wanting to feel a cock himself. But this was beyond fantasy; this was real, and it had gutted her.

David rubbed his face, the beard rasping under his palms. He looked older in the morning light filtering through the blinds, lines etched deeper around his eyes. "Okay. Fine. Gary... we've been seeing each other for months. We met at a gay bar. He's young, yeah, but it's not just fucking. We're in love." He met her gaze finally, voice steadying. "I want him to move in here, out of his parents' place. And Amy... I'm gay. Definitely. I still love you—as a friend, as the woman I've built a life with—but I'm not in love with you anymore. Not like that. Haven't been for a while."

The words landed like punches, each one bruising but expected. She'd replayed the scene in her head all night: his body moving with that stranger, the way he'd growled "Daddy" and filled him up, cum leaking out as they kissed and confessed love. No room for her in that tangle. Hurt bloomed hot behind her eyes, but she kept her face stoic, chin lifted. "Got it."

She stood, skin flushing under his stare, her nipples tightening from the chill or the tension—she couldn't tell. Without another word, she turned and left the room, grabbing a robe from the bathroom hook on her way downstairs. The fabric clung to her damp skin as she dressed quickly in the kitchen, pulling on yesterday's skirt and blouse. Her rollerboard still in the car. She walked out, the front door clicking shut like a full stop.

She got into the car, and before starting it, she let out uncontrollable screams and tears. That was it. It was over. All of the wonderful memories with David came flashing back before her, wiping away tears. She stayed there for several minutes, trying to process all that happened until she saw a neighbor walking his dog close by. She started her car and drove to Bradley’s condo.