[Muhammad Hasan]

Chapter-5

We pulled into the driveway just after six. The house looked exactly the same—same porch light, same overgrown rose bush by the walk, same quiet suburban street. I killed the engine. For a moment none of us moved. Then Sarah opened her door, stretched, and said, “Home,” like the word still meant something simple.
Jake helped unload the cooler and the tent bags. He stayed for one beer on the back deck, the three of us standing in the cooling evening air, talking about nothing—traffic, the weather report, whether the lawn needed cutting. When he finally left, Sarah walked him to his truck. I watched from the kitchen window. They didn’t touch. They didn’t linger more than a polite goodbye. But the way she looked at him as he drove away made something cold and hot slide down my spine at the same time.
That night we went to bed early. Sarah showered first. When she came out she wore one of my old T-shirts and nothing else. She slid under the covers and rolled toward me the way she always had. I kissed her. She kissed back. My hand slid down her stomach and between her legs.
The difference was immediate.
She was soft. Open. The entrance that used to grip me with familiar tightness now felt loose, almost yielding before I even pushed a finger inside. Two fingers slid in with almost no resistance. The walls that used to flutter and clench around me felt stretched, deeper somehow. Grand Canyon was the only phrase that flashed through my head—wide, open, changed.
I didn’t say anything. I rolled her onto her back, settled between her thighs, and pushed into her. The slide was easy. Too easy. She made a soft sound and wrapped her legs around me, but the familiar snug heat was gone. I fucked her slowly at first, then harder, chasing the sensation that used to be there. She came with a quiet shiver, the way she sometimes did when she was tired. I followed a minute later, spilling inside her while the memory of Jake’s thicker cock stretching her open played behind my eyes.
We rested. Then I turned her onto her hands and knees. Doggy had always been her favorite when she was in the mood. I pushed back into her from behind. Again the same loose, open feeling. My hands gripped her hips. My eyes dropped lower.
Her asshole was visibly open.
Not just relaxed. Open. The tight pink pucker I had never been allowed to touch properly was slightly gaping, the rim soft and used-looking even in the low light from the hallway. A faint dark shadow of the hole itself stayed visible between the cheeks.
I slowed my thrusts. My voice came out quieter than I intended.
“Sarah… why is your asshole so open?”
She looked back over her shoulder. For half a second something flickered in her eyes—surprise, calculation—then the soft, slightly embarrassed smile she used when she needed an explanation.
“The long drive,” she said, voice gentle, almost shy. “Sitting for hours in the truck, then the camping toilets, then… I don’t know. Everything feels a little swollen and weird after five days in the woods. I noticed it in the shower earlier. It’s just temporary. It’ll go back to normal in a day or two. You know how camping messes everything up.”
She pushed back against me, encouraging me to keep moving. “Don’t stop. It still feels good. Just different.”
I kept fucking her. The clever answer sat in the air between us, plausible enough if I wanted to believe it. I finished inside her again, pulled out, and watched the way her hole stayed slightly open for a few seconds before slowly closing. She rolled onto her side, pulled the sheet up, and was asleep within minutes.
I lay awake a long time.
The next morning felt almost ordinary. Coffee. Toast. Sarah in one of my button-downs and a pair of shorts, hair still damp from the shower. She kissed me at the door the way she always did.
“Have a good day,” she said. “I’ll be here. Maybe do some laundry, catch up on emails.”
I drove to the office with the radio on and the windows down, trying to let the normal routine settle over the images that kept looping—her open hole, the loose feel of her pussy, the hour I had watched her take Jake against the side of the truck.
I was three hours into a budget meeting when my phone buzzed. Neighbor two doors down. Mrs. Ellison. I stepped out into the hallway to answer.
“Hi, it’s about your house,” she said, voice tight with concern. “There’s a woman shouting. It sounds… bad. Like someone is hurting her. I almost called the security officer but I wanted to check with you first. Is everything okay? Is Sarah all right?”
My stomach dropped. “I’ll handle it. Thank you for calling.”
I hung up and immediately dialed Sarah’s number. She answered on the fourth ring. Her voice was breathless, shaky, the words coming in short bursts.
“H-hello?”
“Sarah. Mrs. Ellison just called. She said someone’s shouting at the house. Like someone is being hurt. What’s going on?”
A sharp, cut-off sound came through the speaker—half moan, half gasp—quickly muffled. Then her voice again, higher than usual, trying for calm and failing.
“Nothing… nothing’s happening. I just… dropped something. Heavy box. It startled me.”
In the background I heard the unmistakable wet slap of skin on skin, rhythmic and hard. A low male voice—Jake’s—muttered something I couldn’t quite catch, followed by the sharp crack of what sounded like a hand on flesh. Sarah’s breath hitched.
I kept my voice level. “It sounded like more than a dropped box. She said it was continuous shouting.”
Another muffled cry. Then Sarah again, words tumbling out too fast.
“I was… watching a movie. Loud. Action movie. I had the volume up. And then I stubbed my toe on the coffee table and yelled. That’s all. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
The wet sounds continued under her words. Jake’s voice, closer to the phone now, low and rough: “Tell him you’re fine. Louder.”
Sarah’s next sentence came out shaky and high. “I’m fine, baby. Really. Just… clumsy today. And the movie was intense. I’ll turn it down.”
I pressed the phone harder to my ear. “Are you alone?”
A longer pause. The rhythmic slapping never stopped. When she answered, her voice cracked on the first word.
“Yes. Alone. Just me and… the movie. Why?”
“Because it doesn’t sound like a movie.”
Jake’s voice, clearly audible this time, filthy and calm: “Keep talking. Don’t stop answering him. I want to feel you clench every time you lie.”
Sarah’s breath shuddered. “It’s… it’s just the movie, I swear. Explosions. Screaming. You know those loud ones. I’m okay. Really okay.”
Another sharp crack—hand on ass or thigh—and a broken moan she tried to turn into a cough.
I kept asking. I needed to hear how far she would go.
“Why is your voice shaking?”
“Because I… I ran to the phone. I was startled. That’s all.”
“Are you sure no one else is there?”
“Positive. Empty house. Just me.”
Jake’s next words were clearer, closer, spoken right against her ear while he fucked her. “Tell him you’re doing laundry next. Tell him anything. Just keep that tight cunt gripping me while you lie to him.”
Sarah’s answer came out in short, punched breaths. “I was… about to start laundry. After the movie. Everything’s normal. Please don’t worry. Mrs. Ellison just… overreacted.”
The wet slap grew louder, faster. Sarah’s moans were leaking through no matter how hard she tried to swallow them. Jake’s voice again, pure command:
“Harder questions. Make her work for it.”
I obliged. “Why do I hear someone else breathing?”
A beat of panicked silence, then her clever, trembling reply: “That’s… the movie. Surround sound. It does that. Voices everywhere. I’m turning it off right now, see?” The background noise didn’t change. The fucking continued without pause.
“Sarah. Tell me the truth.”
Her voice broke on a particularly deep thrust. “I am. I promise. Nothing’s wrong. I’m safe. I’m home. I’m alone. Just… a loud movie and a clumsy moment. That’s all.”
Jake’s low, satisfied growl came through the speaker. “Good girl. Keep lying. Take it deeper. I’m going to fill this married cunt while you tell your husband everything’s fine.”
Sarah’s next words were almost sobbed. “I love you. I’ll see you tonight. Everything’s fine. Really fine.”
I stayed on the line another thirty seconds, listening to the unmistakable rhythm of hard, deep fucking, the occasional sharp slap, the way her breath kept hitching no matter how carefully she chose her words. Every answer was clever. Every excuse was just plausible enough. And underneath every syllable was the clear, wet sound of Jake using her body in our bed—or on our floor—while she lied to me with a shaky, practiced voice.
Finally I said, “I’ll be home at the usual time.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Drive safe.”
She hung up.
I stood in the hallway outside the conference room for a long time, phone still warm in my hand, cock hard against my zipper, the neighbor’s worried voice and Sarah’s trembling lies and the wet slap of Jake fucking her all tangled together in my head.
When I walked back into the meeting my face was calm. My notes were steady. No one asked why I had stepped out.
Inside, everything had shifted another irreversible degree.
Tonight I would go home.
And I already knew the house would smell like sex again.
And Sarah would have another clever answer ready for every question I asked.