“Two-fifty.” She smiled deviously when she had said it, a year and a half ago. There are a lot of reasons I should want this. Sending my son to college. Remodeling our bathroom.

But what’s happening today is why I really did it. I worked hard. I worked a lot. I made partner.

And, as it happened, I made the requisite $250,000 salary. “What will it take for you to be my stay-at-home trad bimbo?” I had asked, jokingly. I wasn’t really sure if she would go through with it. Even now my heart is pounding watching her walk in front of me. Hers must be too. But she doesn’t seem to have any regrets as she glides into the gym.

Me, I’m not so sure. I feel dizzy.

My wife is wearing a white bodysuit which hugs her waist, resting a few inches above her hips. She never works out but even pushing 35 she has a body like when we met 15 years ago. Better, even. Her waist is snatched; her hips flare out like a bell. Her pussy is trying to escape the thong; it is somewhat more respectable regarding her pillowy buttcheeks, but you can still see them jiggle every step she takes.

People are staring as she runs. I’m staring, but I’ve got a right. A man takes the treadmill next to her during warmup. He’s in the wrong spot, apparently – someone comes along to explain this to him, and he sends them away. He’s happy where he’s at.

My wife unzips the top of her body suit. Her neck and chest are getting red from the exercise and possibly the attention. This man running next to her is a giant. I’m tall, but not tall like this. He looks like they dug him out of a glacier. He is, to his credit, trying really hard not to stare. And this is when she really surprised me.

During the next cooldown phase she looks at me for the last time with a lunatic expression of glee and mischief. Until now I wasn’t sure if she was really going to take me up on this, or if the outfit was as far as it would get. Now, I’m sure. She whips her head the other direction and starts chatting with the man next to her. Her ponytail and other things bounce gamely as she hops along.

They’re still talking as they head back to the weights phase. What’s she saying – asking for help, maybe? She has a kind of unsweet look, eyes wide but mouth set firm and her lips sucked in a bit, the barest attempt to mask her lust.

She lays back on the plastic bench, pressing dumbbells upwards. Her arms are shaking with effort. She pushes until the point of muscle failure. I see her hands and arms moving like jello. Her hair is pressed against her neck which is glistening with effort.

Situps are a struggle as well. This is when her new workout buddy starts helping her. He grips her thighs to give her some support as she wrenches her core upwards. He is, again, to his credit, trying to this in a strictly clinical manner as would a trainer or physical therapist. He is failing. I can see him greedily digging into her skin, pressing down on her thighs and sliding his hands upwards. He’s lucky.

My wife nods blankly and vigorously as he gives her some pointers she is not listening to. When they start stretching, he works her like playdoh, yielding with minimal effort. In a low hip-abductor stretch she brings her whole torso down level to the floor. The man grabs her by her ponytail and pulls her back up. Her lips part and she literally, out-loud, moans.

Class ends. I see them sneak into the shower. I sit on one of the benches in the waiting room and wait for her video call with my headphones on. I wave away an attendant who is trying to sell me something.

When I look back to my phone, I see my wife’s hands pinned against the tile of the shower. Her wrists are crossed, and he holds them both in his huge clenched fist. His cock is erect. She is looking up at him, doe-eyed and breathing hard. Wow. His cock is big. I doubt she’ll even try to oh. Just like that huh? She says I’m too big for her mouth. But he is gliding in and out of her slick throat effortlessly. Drool forms around lips and dribbles down her chin, falling onto her unzipped chest which heaves with each thrust. After a bit of this he helps her up and props her against the wall at a wide angle, taking her from behind. Each thrust compresses her plump, elastic butt and causes her to huff a little.

I’m not sure if she’s going to cum on his cock. It took us years to oh. Is she breathing? Remember to breathe. She opens her mouth and screams as she comes harder than I’ve ever seen. He keeps it going, reaching around and pressing wet fingers to her clit. She makes to bat him away, but then just lays her hand over top of his and helps him work a stacked orgasm out of her.

She slides off of him, haltingly, and turns around. She tugs playfully at the condom he’s wearing. This makes me nervous. She’s not on the pill, right? I haven’t come inside her since our s.. oh. Maybe she is? She leans backwards, arching into him, clasping against him with her hand behind his neck. His hands search over her breasts and neck, pinning her against him. He fucks her with short, stuffing thrusts for the odd angle. He says something I can’t make out, and then pulls backwards. His cock is twitching. She tries to pull him back into her but he withdraws.

She lays hands on his chest, her fingers streaking effortlessly through trails of sweat. She presses more firmly into his chest, turning him to a small chair in the shower, pushing him down into it and then mounts him confidently and rides.

“I can’t hold it.” She grabs his arms and rides harder – not really riding but just falling down on his cock, pushing off his unyielding shoulders and falling back down. The man’s face is agonized, red and rigid with effort. But he relents. He comes inside her for a full minute. I can see his cock pulsing, its full length too much to fit into my wife all at once. He collapses into my wife’s slick breasts still bouncing gently and sighs. She dismounts him and gets on her knees, cleaning him off. I can see a mess of stick around her thighs and dripping down them.

He wants to stay and take care of her. He’s really kind of a gentleman, and I feel a sense of appreciation as he starts the shower for them. But she pushes him out of the shower and sends him away. My wife walks over to the phone and looks into the camera. “You better get in here.” I do as I’m told.

“I didn’t know you were on birth control?” I say as I put my stuff down by the door.

Her eyes are starlit. “I’m not.”

“You’re having someone else’s kid?”

“That depends on how fast you are. And um,” she looks down at my gym shorts, raised to full mast. “How fast your swimmers are.”

“I thought we were done after one?”

“That ship has sailed. We’re having two. You get to choose whose two they are.”

I look at her, dumbfounded. I take off my shorts and underwear. She reaches up to my shoulders and pushes down, guiding my face into her pussy. “Better clean things out first..”