It hadn't started as a dare; however it ended up, it hadn't ever been intended as anything more than a joke. You couldn't really have called it an innocent joke – it wasn't. But a joke all the same – bedroom banter, not meant to be taken seriously. And yet, he could tell right away that it had struck a chord somehow. Her laugh was different, almost imperceptibly. But, there it was. And now, here they were.

Of course, there was a sub for that, he remembered thinking. There were subs for everything anymore. Some of them were truly excellent; others, well. Clearly much less so. This one was filled with videos, mostly following a consistent form and script. A cell phone propped out of view on a table or shelf, facing the entryway and front door of someone's apartment or house, from the inside. For whatever reason, there was rarely any sound in the videos, although at least initially, it hadn't occurred to him to wonder why. He'd been entirely too taken in with what usually happened next. In one, a woman dressed in leggings and a baggy t-shirt bounces into the frame, evidently on her way to answer the door, the slightly distorted image of a man now visible through the frosted glass on either side of a modern looking front door. Holding a box of pizza with a brown paper bag balanced on top of it, the man is clearly delivering food. Her back to the camera and her face obscured by her dark hair, the woman carefully takes the food and turns to place it on a low table, just outside the camera's view. The man's gaze unmistakably follows her body as she moves, clearly taking in the well-formed ass and thighs, which up to that moment had been visible only to the camera. There is dialog – here is where the lack of sound registers for the first time – and, through some combination of a shift in her posture, from casual to coquettish, as well as a change in the man's body language, it is suddenly evident that she is has propositioned him somehow. Her hands by her sides, she stands invitingly as he tentatively reaches out and touches her breasts over her shirt. She reaches up and lifts his hand more firmly to her breast and then, encouraging him further, she lifts the hem of her t-shirt to reveal a pair of pert, slightly upturned breasts, which she now places both his hands on. He gropes her gently at first, and then with slightly more enthusiasm; she leans into his hands and shimmies her ass just slightly at the camera, still behind her on the bookshelf. And then, just like that, the encounter is over – she steps back and lowers her shirt. His hands fall to his sides. There is a soundless exchange again and he turns to go, glancing over his shoulder again as she steps back inside and closes the door, before bounding across the room excitedly now, to turn off the recording.

The form of these videos repeated almost endlessly, but he continued to watch them, almost transfixed. Pizzas, coffee orders, bags of takeout. Minor details varied from one video to the next – in some, the woman in the center of the frame started out in a towel (these seemed to be most often filmed in hotel rooms, for whatever reason, as if answering the door in a towel were a regular occurrence in hotels but nowhere else). In others, she was clad in lingerie, or her underwear; sometimes topless. Occasionally completely nude. More often than not, she was entirely alone in the frame, except for the camera, whose perspective often seemed to double as an unseen cuckold, proudly taking in the combination of uninhibited sexuality and menial labor. Now and again, a husband or boyfriend was present in the frame, usually hidden out of sight of the delivery man but still visible to the camera – behind the partially opened front door or concealed just out of view in a hall closet. Sometimes, he was just listening (he found this slightly maddening after a while, realizing that whatever dialog existed was audible to these hidden partners but not to him); occasionally though, these men could be seen masturbating, making the cuckolding fantasy even more explicit and heightening the sexual tension of the encounter taking place just on the other side of the partially open door.

When she had mentioned on the phone that afternoon that she was waiting on the UPS guy, his mind had immediately jumped to the videos. Most of them seemed likely staged – many of the comments were almost derisive, openly scorning what they took for an elaborate role-play in which the delivery man was more likely the husband or boyfriend all along, the camera on the bookshelf offering both him and the viewer a chance to safely play at being the voyeur while she played the exhibitionist and sometimes libertine. These comments struck him as particularly mean-spirited; even if staged, these were still shared as entertainment (and he was, he realized, very entertained). As she described restlessly checking the app for updates on the progress of her package, he found his mind wandering and his pulse quickening. Bad puns about the UPS driver delivering his package to his wife flashed through his head and something in his demeanor must have given away the wry, almost hungry smile that played across his face. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ she had asked him. No, he had assured her – and it was true, he hadn't been. He had been smiling at his own fantasy, cribbed now from those countless videos; borrowed and adapted to the circumstance at hand.

He was so lost in his thoughts that the sound of his own voice surprised him as he blurted it out. ‘You should totally flash him,’ he had said. And, to his growing horror, he had immediately added, as though it made the suggestion less absurd, ‘you could take a video of it for me.’ It was a joke, right? His mind raced. He tried to laugh at it, quickly, to defuse the sexual tension that suddenly hung thickly, like smoke after an explosion. The laugh felt like it caught in his throat though, and to his panicked ears it sounded hollow, an almost strangled sound. He wondered irrationally whether she could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He braced himself for the reproach, picturing her eyes rolling and waiting for the exasperated sigh. But it didn't come. There was a beat of awkward silence.

‘He's two stops away,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I ordered some new bikinis – there was a sale because it's the end of the season,’ she offered, her confidence seemingly growing. ‘I was going to try them on for you tonight, but maybe you'd rather see them on the camera.’ This time, the sharp intake of air was distinctly audible over the phone. He heard himself gasp and he knew she had, too. His breath felt ragged in his chest and he struggled to find his voice for a moment. And then she said, simply ‘He's here,’ and she hung up the phone.

For a moment, he was frozen, his fingers somehow decoupled from his brain. He stared at the now-blank screen of his phone as if it held a clue to what lay inside the Pandora's box he had so cavalierly just opened. He was stunned. ‘She's bluffing’ he said out loud, suddenly coming back to himself. ‘No way.’ He sat down at his desk and, pressing his thumb against the screen, unlocked his phone and began flicking through the screen, looking for the app that controlled the alarm system at the house. The camera in the entryway was actually her idea; he briefly remembered now having said that it was an unnecessary expense and served no purpose. It had seemed intrusive, like ‘big brother’ to him. He pressed his thumb on the icon for the security app and quickly found the button for the live feeds. There were four cameras – one at the garage door in back, a second at the patio door facing out onto the porch, one trained on the front steps, and a second inside, mounted just above the doorway between the front hall and the living room. He observed the big, brown box truck parked at the curb, just within the frame from the porch camera. The front hall camera showed his wife, padding across the tile floor barefoot in a pair of shorts and a plain, white tank top with spaghetti straps. It was practically a summer uniform and somewhere in his brain it registered that she was almost certainly not wearing a bra, because she so rarely did.

The security camera didn't have an audio feed, although he was too intent on the image on the screen just then to notice the parallel between all those videos and the scene unfolding before him. Reaching up, his wife undid the deadbolt and the heavy, wooden door swung inward to reveal a younger man, dressed in the crisp brown shorts, collared shirt, and generic black workboots of a delivery driver. He was bent double, caught in the act of setting the package on the welcome mat in front of the door, clearly intending to leave it. In one hand, the delivery man held a small, brown cardboard box; in the other, his cell phone, with which he likely intended to document the successful delivery. He paused for just a moment, seeming to stare at the tanned legs and bare feet now just a few inches from him, and then straightened up quickly, a wide smile on his face.

From the back, he could immediately see the change in his wife's posture. As she had crossed the entryway to open the door, she walked deliberately, a slight, unaffected sway in her hips. Now, standing face to face with the delivery man though, he thought he could detect a change. The fabric of her shorts seemed to cling to the rounded curve of her ass and he realized that her hips were cocked just so. She stood with one leg straight and the other slightly bent, the smooth curve of her calf clearly visible even with the slight pixelation from the camera. And it dawned on him as he watched that her hands were by her sides in that same unguarded way, her chest thrust just slightly out and her head tipped back, exposing her neck. He didn't need to be able to see to know that her cleavage would have been plainly visible. He half thought he could see the delivery man's eyes dart downward as he reached out to hand her the package.

She took the box from him and tucked it momentarily under her arm. She didn't move from the doorway and, despite the hurry he had seemed to be in a moment before, neither did the delivery man. He imagined they were talking, although the words were lost to him. The young man's smile had not budged. His heart thumped in his chest and he felt warm all over. Involuntarily, perhaps spurred by the memory of all of those videos, somewhere deep down in his guts, he felt himself starting to stir. As he watched, his wife laughed, her head momentarily thrown back. She turned away from the door and walked towards the hall table, leaving the front door ajar. The delivery man stepped across the threshold and into the house. This time, there was no mistaking where the delivery man was looking — his entire body was turned and his eyes clearly locked onto his wife's ass as she bent double now, pretending to rummage in a drawer. A moment later, she came up with it – a pair of scissors – and for just a split second, she glanced triumphantly up at the security camera, before turning back towards the delivery man, now standing in their front hall.

The moment was electric. Caught between sheer panic, on the one hand, and a kind of giddy exhilaration that he couldn't quite describe, he couldn't quite decide what to do. He stared dumbly at his phone for a beat longer, watching as his wife handed the package and the scissors back to the delivery man now, her hand on her hip. The suspense was too much. In a rush, he grabbed his car keys from the desk and bolted out of his office, nearly running over an intern in the hallway on his way to the elevators. It was lunchtime and the elevator was packed. He had no choice but to close his phone momentarily or risk giving everyone a show that he himself wasn't sure he had the courage to continue watching.

As the doors glided open on the ground floor, he pushed roughly past people, nearly charging out the doors and across the parking lot towards his car. Reaching the car, he unlocked his phone screen and slid into the driver's seat, slamming his car door harder than he had intended. He nearly dropped the phone. As he fumbled to start the car, he watched the delivery man lift a tiny orange string bikini out of the package as his wife looked on. The engine coughed to life and he threw the car almost frantically into gear, pulling out without looking behind him in the parking lot and nearly clipping a car that had just pulled in beside him.

The bikini was the color of orange sherbert, on closer inspection. The bottoms, which the delivery man was now holding up – his grin was growing wider by the second, it seemed – were all one color, with four thin strings dangling from both sides of an impossibly small triangle of fabric (the front) and from a second, only slightly larger piece (the back). Casually setting the bottoms across his left shoulder, the delivery man lifted the top out of the box – the same orange strings, now somehow holding together two tiny triangles of matching orange, offset with panels of bright pink and yellow fabric. He roared out of the parking lot, his tires squealing just slightly as the fasten-seatbelt alarm began pinging insistently inside the car.

The drive home was short – his office was only about five minutes from the house in good traffic, and although lunch time was not as bad as quitting time, every car between him and his house felt like a personal affront. He absently clipped his phone into the cell phone holder mounted on the dash and drove, watching the camera hawkishly and paying only slight attention to the road or the other cars on it. On the screen, the delivery man was now inspecting a second suit – white, slightly less revealing, perhaps – while his wife looked on. He drove, the feeling of warmth and excitement spreading in his stomach unmistakably now, even as he continued to fight down the fear of what he was watching.

The joke had been a joke, but only sort of. The thing was, he had not planned to make it, had not intended to bait her into this. It was not a dare. They had discussed something like this before, although he had stopped just short of telling her about the videos and the sub. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it momentarily occurred to him to wonder if she had found it on her own; if she were following a script that he had thought only he knew about. Turning into their subdivision, he watched as the delivery man stepped just a little further inside the entryway, closing the door softly behind him. Even without sound, he imagined that he heard the heavy front door click as it latched. The delivery man handed his wife the orange suit, setting the white one back into the open box, which he carefully placed on the floor by his feet.

He turned down the short alley that ran behind their houses, a long row of tidy three-story suburban homes, most of which had large, green backyards and unattached garages. Theirs was four homes in from the very end of the block and as he drove, he could see the outline of their garage and, over the back fence in the neighbor's yard, the in-ground pool that they had put in last spring. The bikinis were a big part of his motivation for that pool. The pool was expensive and the upkeep was a nuisance, but the bikinis. The bikinis made it feel worthwhile. It had been his idea. He swung into the garage as the door was still rising, not waiting and nearly clipping the bottom as it clattered up in its tracks.

He sat now, heart pounding, garage door open, and stared at his phone, still sitting in the holder on the dashboard. His mouth fell open. As he watched, his wife stepped towards the delivery man and briefly pressed the length of her body against him, her hands on his chest. His hands instinctively rested on her hips, his fingertips just touching the curve of her ass. She kissed him – she kissed him! Sparks exploded in his mind and he felt momentarily dizzy. And then he watched as she stepped back, reached down, and taking hold of the hem of her tank top, lifted it off over her head in one smooth motion.

Her back was to the camera and so, it was more in his imagination than it was on the screen that he saw the way that her tits fell and bounced lightly as she stripped the shirt off. He could see the lust on the delivery driver's face. As he watched, his wife slipped her hands into the waistband of her shorts and shimmied her hips, sliding the shorts down and into a pile at her feet in one quick motion. She was completely and utterly naked. His heart was in his throat and he felt lightheaded, but at the same time, he was dimly aware that his cock was standing at full attention in his suit pants, uncomfortably confined and tenting the trim wool fabric. The delivery man just stared and stared.

Sitting in the garage, he watched as his wife slipped the fabric of the suit between her thighs, tying first one side and then the other, so that the orange strings hung in perfectly round bows, each one crowning her hips. She ran her fingertips along the inside of the hem, making sure that it lay flat across her ass. It looked absolutely perfect. As the delivery man watched, she tied the top of the suit together, hooked it over her head and then, not breaking eye contact, fitted each of the two small triangles over her breasts. Reaching behind herself to tie the last string caused her to thrust her tits forwards and towards the delivery man and on the video, he thought he saw him lick his lips.

His wife spun, slowly, modeling the suit for the delivery driver as he watched. Surely, it would end here, he thought. He knew what he would do as soon as it did – charging into the house, surprising her, and fucking her passionately on the floor. In spite of all of the emotions, this registered as unmistakably one of the most erotically charged experiences of his life and he could not help but trace the outline of his cock over his suit pants. And then, as he watched, his wife dropped to her knees, her back to the camera, and her hands rose to the delivery man's waist. For the second that day, he gasped audibly.

He watched as she unbuckled the delivery man's belt and unbuttoned his shorts. As his wife gently tugged the fly of the shorts down, he reflexively unzipped his own. And as he worked to free his swollen cock from his fly, he watched as his wife's slender fingers disappeared inside those same shorts and reemerged a moment later, drawing out what was unquestionably the largest cock he had ever seen. It looked almost as thick as her forearm on the camera, although surely it couldn't actually be (could it?). It wasn't even fully erect and he watched, now stroking his own cock absently, as his wife gently traced, teased, and tugged it until it rose proudly in front of her. It was thick and long and as he watched, he imagined that he could see the veins in it, although these were almost certainly not visible on the camera. The delivery driver seemed to awake from a trance now and haltingly at first, bent forward to slip a hand inside her bikini top, cupping and then kneading first one and then the other breast.

As he watched, his wife leaned forward decisively and, to his complete shock, appeared to engulf the entirety of the huge cock in her mouth. He gripped his own shaft tighter as he watched, and a low moan escaped his lips as he watched the delivery man's head go back, his eyes at the ceiling. His hands found the back of her head and as he watched the delivery man gently fucking his wife's face, he began to pump his own his in time with the thrusts, fucking his fist slowly. He could see his wife's hands now, cupping the delivery man's heavy balls, her thin fingers tracing and teasing. This was a favorite trick of hers and he knew now, watching, that this show was nearing its apex.

As he watched, he realized that his wife had shifted slightly on her knees, using her free hand to steer the delivery man's hip and his cock to lead him, she had turned his body and hers to cheat towards the camera. He realized only right before it happened what he was about to watch. The delivery man tensed, clutching at his wife's shoulder suddenly, as if in warning. In a single fluid motion, she sat back, and without missing a beat, stroked a thick white rope of cum out of his cock. It landed heavily across her tits. A second rope caught her across the lips and chin. A third and then a fourth on her neck and between her breasts. She stroked every last drop out on her chest and then, glancing directly up into the delivery man's face, she sucked the tip of his cock clean and licked her lips wickedly.

As the delivery man stumbled back, still letting his orgasm wash over him, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Leaving his phone in the car, he climbed out the driver's door and along the wall of the garage. He covered the short walk from the garage across the deck of the pool and the patio in a few long strides, his hard cock flopping in front of him and his shirttails billowing behind him. He opened the door just in time to hear the heavy click of the front door closing. There was a missing sound. As he rounded the corner from the family room into the living room, the heat of his lust felt like fire pumping through his veins.

His wife was still kneeling on the floor in the front hall, almost as if she had been expecting him. Her face, neck, and tits were still covered in thick, white cum and the look on her face was as wanton and wild as he felt. Kicking out of his shoes and stepping out of his pants in the doorway, he shoved her roughly down onto her back, laying her out across the cold, hard tile of the front hallway. The opened package lay on the ground next to her, the white bikini still visible among the packing material.

Pulling the bottoms to the side, he plunged his cock into her in one swift motion. She was soaking wet and they slid easily together. He leaned close to her face – so close that he could smell the cum on her lips and on her breath – and then kissed her deeply. He tasted the cum on her lips and the smell of cock and sweat on her breath was unmistakable. Pulling his own shirt off now, he began fucking her with long, slow, deep strokes. Her hand was inside the bikini bottoms, moving furiously as he fucked her and she came quickly and hard. He could not hold back now either and, pulling out, a long, hot jet arced across her stomach, landing partly on the bikini bottoms, partly on her hand and forearm. A second stream mixed with the cum already running down her chest. It felt for a moment as though he might black out, his orgasm was so intense.

She ran a hand through his chest hair, gently touching him, caressing. Her eyes were searching and her expression was a mixture of curiosity and concern in equal measure. Guiding his still hard cock back between her legs, she took him by the hip and pulled him back inside of her. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck, she pulled him down on top of her and they fell together a final time, holding close and pushing, pulling almost tenderly. When his orgasm came again, she pulled him as deep as she could with her arms and legs, so that he filled her as completely as possible. Outside, you could hear the rumble of the box truck as it started away from the curb as they lay together on the cold tile, holding each other.