Vegeta impatiently tapped his fingers on his biceps over his crossed arms. The waiter had already brought him the bill, and the table had been cleaned, but his damned wife had not returned from the restroom.
The week in the Capitol had been extended a few more days, and he was in a particularly bad mood because he had missed his monthly appointment.
Eventually, he heard the annoying tick tick of her heels.
"Honey, look who I ran into," his wife happily sang in the air, and he shrugged at the name-calling.
"Launch, you know how I loathe..." but the words died in his mouth.
Next to his wife was Bulma in the most desirable red dress he had seen a woman wear. Despite that she wasn't wearing her lavender wig that he had, unconsciously, started to love, he saw the same impish blue eyes under her blue bangs, and her pouty lips hid a playful smirk from the others, because it was directed only to him.
But his moment of admiration was short lived. Arm around her waist, next to her was her husband. He hated the gesture instantly, not for the possessive way he felt, but because it was the perfect visage of a man who flaunted a trophy wife. He held her more like a trophy than a wife.
The man was tall, remarkably tall, still Vegeta knew he could easily take him down. He knew his type, and he knew him too well. He was the minority leader of the opposition in the Senate.
"Vegeta, how's the office? Busy for the upcoming elections?"
But Vegeta ignored him and hotly asked his wife, "Are you ready to go?"
Bulma intercepted, "Yes she is, but you are coming with us."
"Excuse me?" he turned his murderous glare to her and didn't hide his rude tone.
"Come on, man. This session feels like hell; take a drink with us, chill out," the other congressman added.
Vegeta gazed at the couple with awareness.
He had a reason why didn't want to go.
He had seen them in public once, days after his second time with the woman.
The waterfall of her hair had flaunted into the room; she was an oasis in the deserted place; a drink from her lips could satiate the thirstiest man in the world. Nonetheless, her waters were wasted on an inebriate man. Her husband had kissed her, fast and meaningless, and went to brag with his fellows about that swinger party. Her face fell momentary from embarrassment, but she put on a false prurient mask. Faking bravery, she ogled every man in the room until she met eyes with him. She could act all she wanted, but she couldn't lie to him. He had seen true lust in those wetted eyes, her lips parted with real desire, and even though her hair had been fake, her climax wasn't. This blue haired woman wasn't the same that brought his new craving, she belonged to that man. His minx had lavender hair with no untrue wishes. Vegeta left the place immediately, and the next time they were together had asked her to not remove her false hair.
He stood still, thinking how he could flee from the place and leave this version of the woman that wasn't his, when Launch nervously interrupted before the conversation turned into a heated argument.
"Bulma invited us to her house, Vegeta." Knowing him, she put her hands on his chest to stop his increasing rage.
Bulma eyes widened.
"Come on, a little chit chat wont hurt you?" With smug confidence, Bulma regarded Vegeta, but he only saw her hands resting in her husband chest. Purposely, he grabbed his wife by the waist.
Showing off.
They glared at each other, sending daggers between them, aware of the tension of the moment.
But Bulma's husband took out the knife and cut it.
"I can't see how he makes you scream when I can't," he thought he said in her ear, but all of them heard.
Her face crumpled instantly, the daggers turned into feathers, red eyes with furor melted to blue oceans of trepidation as she bit her lower lip with nervousness. For the first time, he saw misgiving in her features, and his gut pulsated with an unnamed feeling.
Well, he made the tension worse.
"Fine, lead the way."
His wife was hysterically laughing at some poor joke of Bulma's husband; Bulma however looked bored, as if she heard the same joke over and over.
"See Bulma, someone appreciate my jokes. She makes my day hard more times than my dick, am I right?" her husband said shaking her playfully by the shoulders, directing the last line to Vegeta.
The man had upped the bar of hatred Vegeta could feel towards another human being. He didn't know what he found more abhorrant about him, the casual way he acknowledged Vegeta had fucked his wife or how he blamed her for his lack of satisfaction.
Despite the apprehension, Vegeta felt the need to discuss his sexual moments with Bulma, the need to defend her aptness was higher.
"Perhaps your dick is the problem, I had no problem with her."
He didn't want to see her face; it repulsed him the way he talked about her, as if she was just a whore he had fucked the other night. Even so, his gaze found hers and perplexed him. Her diamond eyes shone with gratitude, and her pearly face thankful that someone had encouraged her desires.
He almost yelled to the room, 'shouldn't that be your fucking husband?'
Instead Vegeta felt smug pride that he was the one who had done it.
"Nah man, your wife sure give me hard balls quickly."
Like any woman would do? He thought.
"Well, I had no problems with him either," his wife timidly tried to add to the conversation.
Oh please, Vegeta almost rolled his eyes. Launch was the easier woman to please if that was the matter. Missionary, doggystyle or cowgirl and she was coming. Of course, he couldn't say that of his own wife. Wanting the conversation to be over, he crossed his arms and turned away.
Surprising all of them, Bulma suggested
"Maybe you should show him."
Three pairs of incredulous eyes turned their attention on her.
Her husband had a hard time understanding what she meant, but slowly a lewd smile appeared on his face.
The other woman faced many emotions in just a few seconds: shock, yearning, stupefied, coveting, mistrust, and many more.
Vegeta on his part was the only one in vocalize his thoughts.
"WHAT?" He roared incredulously.
How can she have suggested that? Six months ago, Bulma had apologized silently for her husband's fetishes, and now she was encouraging them?
And what about him? Did he mean nothing to her?
Did their meetings mean anything to her?
It wasn't just about the sex; it had been the best sex he had ever had, but it was beyond that. They always talked for long after finishing; they knew people around them were still switching couples, taking pills to last longer, repeating the acts of sins. They instead argued over everything and nothing.
How could she expose them like that?
She had confessed her most secret desires in the confines of their room, unburdening her fears.
'If he leaves me for somebody else, people will know it was because of me'
Bulma had spent her youth submerged in her work, and her previous relationships hadn't lasted more than a year. Her face occasionally appeared in the tabloids with captions such as 'Bulma Briefs: Too busy to love' or 'Another man that flies away from her'. When she got married the captions changed to 'How long will the marriage last?' and 'Divorce is around the corner'. She feigned ignorance, that they didn't get to her. But they did.
And him, he had opened up to her in a way that he hadn't with his wife, or anyone else. He had voiced his big ambitions and how hard he fought for them, how he had to crawl to the top of the pyramid of power doing corrupted acts that were against his moral code. For the first time, he had made the mistake of revealing secrets of the congress, that if her husband knew, could help them win the upcoming elections. That's why the week had extended, Vegeta's side of the congress was winning and the opposition didn't know how to stop them. She could have helped her husband, but she didn't.
What did all of this mean to her?
"Oh yes baby, I want to see that hole of yours pounded by somebody else."
Of course, he would! What was wrong with that fucking idiot? If Bulma were his wife, he wouldn't let another man see her, much less touch her. If she were his, she wouldn't have to hide her true colors under some wig.
But she wasn't his. She belonged to the other man. Did she want to please her husband?
That thought made Vegeta snarl.
"Well if he doesn't want to, maybe next time I can see you riding some other man's dick?"
It made Vegeta stand.
"I'll show you how to please your wife," he paused and looked at his wife. "You can fuck her if she wants."
Launch turned into the perfect incarnation of smuttiness, and Vegeta could perfectly imagine her blonde wig, her worked up voice made apparent her own arousal.
"Does it excite you watching me being fucked by someone else Vegeta?"
"Yes," he agreed.
But it wasn't for her, his answer. He withdrew his onyx gaze and looked straight at the azure eyes in front of him; they pleaded to him. 'Show him, make me scream like he never will'.
Yes he answered.
In three strikes, he reached for Bulma, removed her flesh from her husband lap and rested her body on the couch opposite of him. His fingers slid down the zipper on her side and removed her dress rapidly. She had tried to remove her undergarments quickly but he stopped her. She was wearing a boring black set of underwear, and he had seen her most intrepid sets of lingerie. His questioning brow lifted with amusement.
"If I knew this would happen, I would have worn my better set," Bulma joked.
Vegeta amusement stopped. His mouth reprimanded hers with a sudden intense kiss.
No, she couldn't go carelessly saying things like that, confusing his brain not knowing if she meant wearing the lingerie for him or for him.
The kiss broke allowing them to breathe again, and Vegeta undressed hastily; he hovered over her form, and when he noticed his arms were shaking, he studied her. She was trembling under him too, but he knew it wasn't only desire perspiring from her pores, she was mirroring his hesitation.
He was frightened of what they could see, petrified to reveal not only to them but to himself, to her, what was really happening between them.
Art. 3 Clause B: This is just sex
But both of them knew there was more under the nasty surface.
He spread her legs apart knowing he could get lost in between her thighs, he kissed her drunkenly, aware of the addictive taste her mouth provided; he sank into her core, admitting he wanted to do it more, only to her, only him.
Vegeta sunk to the hilt at the first stroke; she was beyond wet. As he pulled out, just to strike back with more force, she whimpered, squirming pitiless under him and wrapping her arms around him to press his body against hers. He let his hard muscles grind her petite form and traveled his wandering hands in the valley of her breast. Full in his palm, he pressed her ripe fruits, clenching a loud moan from her trembling lips. His coarse lips slanted hers in a tender, yet demanding fashion and his tongue tasted the trace of wine from hers. Gently sucking at her neck, he kissed his way down to her mounds. Her back arched when he sucked on her supple breasts and her cheeky nipples hardened when his teeth poked at the sensitive nub.
She was like warm butter, melting in response to his burning touch; all he wanted was to excite her, stimulate her most hidden corner, find all her concealed erogenous zones and overwhelm them with magnificent sensations of joy.
Her lids were fully closed while her lips fully open, with every shove into her, loud moans of pleasure made her quiver chest to chest with him. She was about to scream her release, his name about to part her mouth.
Blue Bulma was about to be his.
"Scream his name," Vegeta instructed near her swollen plums.
His voice, alien with emotions, carried abhorrence and wrath for what he asked, but dread and panic if the other couple uncovered what was growing between them. Turquoise pearls of disbelief opened with abnegation, demanding explanation of such erroneous command.
He lowered his mouth next to her ear and whispered furiously, "Scream his name when you cum, scream it while I'm inside of you." His pace increased with wildness, hitting her most sensitive spots making her do what she was told, if he asked for bloody murder from her in her state, she couldn't have denied it.
In a lofty scream Bulma's voice filled the room "Oh Raditz!"
He ceased moving almost every muscle of his body; his brain wasn't ready for his own reaction.
"Oh yes baby, do you like that little whore? Aren't you the biggest slut?"
Vegeta turned in Raditz direction, his body shook with adrenaline and rage.
A tiny set of white teeth pulled his earlobe, snacking back his attention. Bulma was proclaiming his time with her, and the world reduced to just the two of them. Only to her ears he instructed again.
"Scream his name," one hard stroke hit her. "When he is fucking you, scream his name thinking of me making you cum." His thickness slid in and out of her smooth walls. "Recall every thrust I made into you." Balls deep into her, he pulled harder, "Scream his name when you want to scream mine."
In a moment of vulnerability, he allowed his eyes to search her face, awaiting a refusal of his orders. Her hands grabbed his face desperately and her mouth stole the air inside his lungs, her insides were spasming, her pussy getting tighter, and her face detached from his, panting over his lips.
Her gaze trapped him in a juncture of acceptance, an instant of comprehension and a timeless agreement. She had seen his eyes directly, passing inside of his soul when screamed again.
"Raditz, oh Raditz I'm coming."
This fic but mostly this chapter was inspired by this drawing
post/177248396695/ménage-à-trois-raditzbulmavegeta-3