Husband Turns Gay: Final Chapter

Abstract: The final chapter.
Bradley and Amy wed, settle in at le paradis, a surprise, and happy ending.
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The gravel crunched under the tires of Brad's old Jeep as he pulled up to le paradis, the engine ticking down to silence amid the chorus of crickets and distant loon calls. It was their third weekend back since the wedding, and Amy had spent the drive from the city sketching out ideas for the living room on a napkin—swapping the heavy oak sideboard for something lighter, maybe a bookshelf to hold photos from the ceremony. The church had been packed, family in the front rows dabbing eyes with tissues, airline buddies from Brad's crew clapping him on the back during the reception, and even Troy showing up with Lance, the two of them whispering and laughing in the corner like they'd crashed the wrong party. Amy still smiled about that; Troy's presence had felt like a nod to the wilder edges of their old lives, before vows and forever.

Brad turned off the headlights, the house emerging from the twilight like a secret: four bedrooms sprawled under a pitched roof, the deck stretching out to frame the lake's glassy surface. The place had been in Bradley's family's for generations, starting as a rough cabin before he poured his pilot's paychecks into expansions—a boathouse down by the water, a guest cabin tucked into the woods, and miles of trails winding through the oaks and pines. Amy grabbed the cooler from the back seat, stocked with wine and steaks, while Brad hauled their duffels inside.

Inside, the air smelled of pine polish and faint lavender from the sachets Amy had tucked into drawers. She'd been careful with the redecorating—Ellen's self-painted portrait of le paradis still hung above the fireplace—but little changes crept in: brighter throw pillows on the couch, a new rug in the kitchen that didn't clash with Brad's fishing gear. They dropped their bags in the foyer and headed straight for the deck, the screen door slapping shut behind them. The lake stretched out, five miles of still water reflecting the first stars, no neighbors in sight for acres. Brad fired up the grill while Amy uncorked a bottle of red, pouring two glasses and leaning against the railing, her tank top clinging to the sweat from the humid evening.

Dinner was simple—steaks charred just right, corn on the cob—and they ate cross-legged on the deck boards, feet dangling over the edge. Conversation meandered from work (Brad's latest layover in Dallas, Amy's training shifts easing up now that they'd both cut hours) to wedding memories. Brad pulled her feet into his lap to rub the arches, his thumbs pressing firm circles that made her sigh. The touch lingered, his hands sliding up her calves, and soon the plates were forgotten, pushed aside as she shifted to straddle his thighs, the wineglass tipping precariously.

Their kiss started lazy, lips brushing with the tang of steak and grapes, but heat built fast—her grinding down on the ridge of his jeans, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady. "Oh Amy, the things you do to me" he muttered against her mouth, voice gravelly from the day's drive. She tugged his shirt over his head, nails raking down his chest. The wedding band on her finger caught the grill's glow as she popped the button on his fly, fishing out his dick—already thick and heavy in her palm. She stroked him slow, base to tip, feeling the vein pulse under her grip while he yanked her tank top off, exposing her breasts to the cooling air. Nipples pebbled instantly, and he latched on, sucking hard enough to make her gasp, teeth grazing the edge.

They didn't make it inside. Brad stood, scooping her up with an arm under her ass, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the deck's far corner, away from the grill's heat. He set her down on the wide lounger, the cushions soft under her back, and stripped her shorts off in one pull, leaving her bare from the waist down. No panties today—just her pussy, already slick and open when he knelt between her spread thighs. Amy watched him through half-lidded eyes, one hand in his hair as he leaned in, breath hot against her folds. He didn't rush; instead, he traced her with his tongue, flat and broad, lapping from her entrance up to her clit, tasting the mix of her arousal and the faint salt from the drive.

She moaned, hips bucking as he sucked her clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue while two fingers pushed inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her thighs tremble. "Bradley, yes darling—right there," she panted, the ring glinting as she clutched the armrest. He worked her steady, fingers pumping in rhythm with his mouth, her wetness coating his chin. The sounds were obscene—wet smacks filling the night air—until she shattered, pussy clenching around his fingers, a sharp cry escaping as she came, juices flooding his hand. He kept going, softer laps drawing out the pulses until she tugged him up, desperate for more.

"Bradley honey...... Please.....Inside me now," she moaned. He rubbing his cock through her soaked lips, coating himself before thrusting in deep. Amy arched, legs hooking over his shoulders to take him all, the angle letting him bottom out, hitting her cervix with a jolt. He set a punishing pace right away, hips snapping, balls slapping her ass with each drive. The lounger creaked under them, wood digging into her back, but she didn't care—clawing at his arms, urging him harder. "Bradley my love - don't stop," she gasped, the words raw from the wedding's echoes still fresh in her mind.

He did, pounding into her with grunts, one hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other thumbing her clit in rough circles. Sweat slicked their skin, the lake air cooling it just enough to raise goosebumps. Amy felt the coil tighten again, her pussy fluttering around his dick, and when she came, it was messy—walls spasming, milking him as another gush soaked his groin. Brad followed seconds later, burying deep with a roar, cock throbbing as he pumped her full, cum spilling out around him when he finally stilled, grinding through the aftershocks.

They lay tangled there, breaths syncing with the lapping waves, until the night's chill chased them inside.

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It's Bradley and Amy's first wedding anniversary. And although they spoke of celebrating in some far away, exotic, romantic place, they chose to spend it quietly at le paradis.

The first rays of dawn sliced through the pines outside, painting the bedroom walls in slivers of gold. Brad stirred under the quilt, the scent of fresh coffee pulling him from sleep. He reached out instinctively, his hand finding only cool sheets where Amy should have been. That was off—Brad was always the early riser, the one who slipped out to brew a pot while she burrowed deeper into the pillows. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood, and tugged on a pair of boxers before padding down the hall.

In the kitchen, the coffee maker gurgled its last, steam curling up from the pot. Brad poured a mug, black and strong, the bitterness grounding him as he took a sip. The house felt too quiet without her humming or the clink of dishes. He wandered into the living room, scanning the couch. Empty. The den next—her sketchpad lay open on the desk, half-finished doodles of built-in shelves, but no Amy. He stepped to the sliding glass doors, peering out at the deck and the lake beyond, mist rising off the water like a lazy breath. She wasn't there either.

A soft rustle drew him toward the guest room at the end of the hall, the door cracked just enough for morning light to spill through. Brad pushed it open quietly, mug in hand. Amy sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by a scatter of paint color samples and fabric swatches—pale blues, soft greens, creamy neutrals pinned to a corkboard propped against the pillows. She looked up, her hair tousled, wearing nothing but one of his old flannel shirts, unbuttoned enough to show the curve of her breasts and the shadow between her thighs. The sight, stirring his dick half-hard already.

"Good morning. You're up early," Brad said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool while his eyes traced the way the shirt gaped open.

Amy's face lit up, a smile breaking wide as she scrambled to her feet, the swatches tumbling to the floor. She crossed the room in three steps, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Good morning my love." Her body pressed flush against him, warm and soft, the faint scent of her skin mixing with the coffee on his breath. She pulled back just enough to hold out three paint cards, fanning them like a poker hand. "I've decided on three possible colors for the nursery. Which one do you like best?"

Brad took the cards, his free hand settling on her hip, thumb brushing the exposed skin where the shirt ended. He studied them. "I think this one is the... wait... did you say nursery?"

Amy looked up at him, eyes soft and full of that quiet joy she'd had since the wedding, like she'd unlocked some secret just for them. She cupped his chin gently, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips—slow, moist, gentle, tender. "Yes, darling. We're starting a family. I'm pregnant."