Chapter 9 – The Favor
Free cuckold community
Sign up now!
The idea wasn’t mine. Elena suggested it casually over coffee. “We should go out Thursday. Just the three of us. Something different.” I blinked. “You mean… Milan too?”
“Yeah,” she said, too casually. “It might be fun. Just a few glasses. There’s that new lounge near the river. The one with the velvet booths.” Her fingers idly tapped her phone. But she didn’t mention who she’d just been texting. I didn’t need to ask.
An hour later, Milan messaged me.
Milan [12:03] – She thinks the idea was hers. It wasn’t. You’ll get the reservation. 7:30. And remind her, politely, to wear the green dress again. Say it’s your idea.
Milan [19:26] – Let her sit beside me. You sit across. Let her choose me. Even if she doesn’t know she is.
Thursday night. The lounge was dim, thick with soft jazz and low murmurs. Everything smelled like leather and money. We arrived just before Milan. Elena wore the green silk again. It clung. Her hair was swept up — her neck fully bare. She looked beautiful. And I hated how much she knew it.
Milan entered five minutes later, perfectly unhurried. He wore a shirt unbuttoned just enough, sleeves rolled up, scent crisp and dark. Elena stood to greet him without thinking. He kissed her cheek, then let his hand settle on the small of her back — just for a moment too long. She didn’t step away.
We sat down as he wanted. She took the booth first, sliding in beside Milan without comment. I took the opposite seat. He ordered for all of us without asking. She smiled. Midway through the second glass, Milan leaned in and said something in her ear. I couldn’t hear it. But I saw her eyes flutter. Her thigh shift toward his under the table. She laughed. She laughed like she used to: the kind of laugh that made her body lean forward, made her lips part just slightly too long. Then she caught herself. Sat upright. Took a long sip of her wine.
After a while, purposefully after Milan just went off his phone, mine buzzed.
Milan [20:04] – Napkin. Corner of her lip. Take it. Wipe it. Then place it on the table and leave it there. Let her know your hands serve her. Let me know they serve us.
My hand moved on instinct. I reached for the napkin, leaned across the table, and gently dabbed the corner of her mouth. She froze for half a second, then exhaled softly. Didn’t thank me. Just looked down. Then reached for Milan’s glass. And sipped from it without asking. Milan looked at me as she did it. Not smiling. Just watching.
The rest of the evening blurred. She laughed more. Touched him more. Let him guide her steps when she stood. Let him press a hand to her lower back as they walked to the restroom corridor. When they returned, she slid in closer than before. Her thigh was against his now. She didn’t pull it away.
At the end of the night, I paid the bill. Because Milan had already stood up. And Elena followed him. As I caught up to them outside, she was laughing again. Milan’s hand slipped down from her shoulder and brushed her lower back, lower than casual. And she let it.
That night, I lay beside her in bed. She said nothing. Just scrolled her phone. And smiled once before turning the screen away.
At 12:11 a.m., Milan texted.
Milan [00:11] – She tasted me on that glass. You wiped her lips clean for me. You served us both.
TO BE CONTINUED