The mood in the room as she got ready was a quiet mix of excitement and nerves. I lay stretched out on the living room couch, keeping an eye on the dogs while she showered. When she stepped out, I gently oiled her back and legs.
We didn't say much--our eyes met now and then, soft and searching. There was so much I wanted to say, but the words never found their way out. She didn't have much time to get ready, but still, she looked incredible. She hugged me tightly, blew me a kiss, and said she loved me.
Then the door closed behind her. She arrived at the bar and found him waiting outside. He was around 5'9", with an above average build and an attractive face--one that carried just the right mix of charm and quiet confidence.
Inside, they chose a booth tucked toward the back, sliding into seats across from one another. Drinks were ordered, and conversation flowed with an easy rhythm. When he asked if he could sit beside her, she smiled and nodded, quietly appreciating how often he paused to ask for her consent--it didn't go unnoticed.
Now shoulder to shoulder, his hand began to trace slow lines along her leg. He leaned in and asked softly if he could kiss her. She met him halfway. Their lips touched, warm and seeking, their tongue brushed behind sealed lips. His hand gripped her thigh more firmly as the kiss deepened.
An insatiable hunger stirred in his pants--thick, heavy, and insistent. He adjusted slightly, trying to find comfort while attempting not to raise suspicion. The growing bulge shifted once more, till it lay across his upper thigh and in that moment all his subtle efforts were in vain. She noticed the large distortion of fabric first, then quickly pieced together what her eyes were fixed on. She let out a short smile while noting his impressive gesture. His hand wandered again, gliding along the curve of her legs, the soft stretch of her leggings inviting to his touch. He leaned in close, voice low, asking if he could move her leg on top of his. She said yes again, her voice breathy with anticipation.
She lifted her leg, placing it across his lap. she could feel the shape of him, full and firm beneath the thin fabric separating them. Her breath caught at the sensation, taking in the intensity of the moment.
There she sat, a married woman who rarely indulged in the PDA she craved, now wrapped around a man she'd just met. His lips explored her neck, his hands never idle, and her body responded in kind--alive with the thrill of being seen, touched, and wanted in the open. Their voices drop as the conversation shifts--sex clubs, swinger events, places where fantasies blur into reality. Every suggestion is a spark, every look a silent dare. The air between them grows thick with heat and the unspoken promise of what comes next.
She squeezes her leg around him tighter and in response his imprint tenses under her thigh. He leans in and asks if she's ready to find somewhere more private. Her eyes reach his, a devious grin painted on his face, his hand held out to her.
They rise from the booth slowly, like they're savoring the moment, already teetering on the edge. There's no pretending now--both know exactly where this night is heading. They barely make it halfway to the cars before he pulls her in, his hands on her waist, her lips parting for him without a second thought. Her wedding ring flashes in the night sky as she grabs his shirt, and it only makes the moment hotter.
They stumble into his car, the doors slamming shut behind them. His windows are tinted, deep and dark like confession booths. Privacy, but not quite innocence. She climbs onto his lap, breath ragged. Her heart pounds with guilt and exhilaration, but she doesn't stop. Because this isn't just cheating. It's chosen. It's freedom with her husband's full, knowing consent--an intoxicating dance between loyalty and lust. And in that moment, as her lips find his neck and his hands roam her thighs, she isn't just a wife. She's a woman rediscovering how powerful it feels to be deeply, unapologetically wanted. His hands glide up her body, fingers trailing the curves of her breasts, palms cupping them with a hunger that feels both raw and worshipful. Her nipples, pierced and achingly firm, press into his touch as she breathes out a low moan, her hands already tugging at his belt with urgency.
Clothes come off slowly, then all at once--layer by layer, falling like confessions to the floor. She stands before him, bathed in the soft spill of moonlight filtering through the window. Her skin glows, dewy and flushed, while shadows paint her in strokes of light and dark--highlighting every curve, every soft line, the round dew drop shape of her youthful breasts rising with each shallow breath. He drinks her in with his gaze, greedy and reverent, unable to look away. His freed shaft throbs with a mind of its own, thickening fast as blood floods downward, ignited by the sheer vision of her. His balls tighten, heavy and urgent, every nerve in his body attuned to her presence.
There's no doubt, no hesitation--just the pull of something sacred and carnal. He looked down at her, voice low and deliberate. "Would you suck my dick?" She didn't hesitate. At this point, she would've done anything he asked--and they both knew it.
Her hands reached for him with reverence, fingers curling around his thick, pulsing length. She felt his heat pressed against her palm, the weight almost surprising. She studied it--this bold, beautiful cock now inches from her face. Smooth skin stretched tight over ridges of swollen flesh, the head shiny and slick with anticipation.
She inched closer, her breath warming his shaft, lips parting as she drew him into her mouth. Slowly at first, savoring the stretch of him, letting her tongue circle the tip before easing lower. Her lips wrapped tightly around his girth, and he exhaled a sharp breath, hand gently coming to rest on her head--not to guide, but to ground himself in the moment. She began to move, a slow bob of her head that grew deeper, more confident with each stroke. Her cheeks hollowed, throat softening as she took more of him in. His hips jerked forward, unbidden, and she welcomed it--despite the sudden depth that made her eyes water and her throat spasm around him. It wasn't easy.
Her husband knew her mouth like no one else. He could bury himself fully in her throat, hard and fast, and she'd take it, effortlessly, like a gift she'd long since mastered. But this--this was different. This man had a porn star's build, thick and long in a way that tested the limits of even her practiced mouth. As he began to thrust, the rhythm growing faster, her breath came in shallow gasps between strokes. Her hands gripped his thighs, her jaw stretched wide, spit slicking his length with every wet, obscene sound.
Her throat clenched as he hit the back of it again, and again. She gagged--but didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The pressure was overwhelming, the sensation intense, her eyes blinking back tears as she choked down moans between breaths.
Finally, she pulled back, gasping, eyes glassy and wild with lust. She needed a break.
And he looked down at her like she was the most stunning, filthy angel he'd ever seen. She leaned back across the seat, legs parting slowly, her breath catching as he moved in close--his body warm between her thighs. His erect head hovered at her entrance, thick and swollen, teasing her with the promise of everything to come.
Her pussy pulsing in anticipation aching to be filled, to be stretched.
When he finally pressed forward, the thick crown of him slipping past her folds, she gasped--she felt the stretch and the accompanying shock. She didn't resist. Her body welcomed him with a greedy, wet need. He pushed deeper, inch by delicious inch, her walls clenching involuntarily around him as he filled her in a way she wasn't used to--a fullness that was overwhelming, foreign, and utterly intoxicating.
He began to move, slow and steady at first, his cock dragging along her inner walls, each stroke sending waves of sensation through her core. She could feel every vein, every twitch of arousal inside her. The steady grind of his hips rocked her body in place, a rhythm designed to make her lose control.
She was completely open to him now--and it felt as though her body had been waiting for this kind of stretch, this kind of possession, all along.
The windows fogged thick with heat, the air heavy with sweat and the scent of sex. Their bodies moved in sync, hands gripping, lips parted, breathless moans swallowed into each other's mouths. Every thrust of his hips sent a shockwave through her--deep, relentless, and consuming.
She held on tight, fingers clawing at his back, legs trembling from the strain of keeping up. It felt like a workout just taking him. Her body refused to fully relax, stretched wide and filled beyond what she was used to, every nerve singing with stimulation.
But the reward--the delicious, girthy friction rolling through her with each stroke--was everything. He was hitting places that lit her up from the inside out.
Then suddenly--he pulled out.
Her body clenched at the emptiness, a soft whimper escaping her lips. But before she could even process the loss, she felt it--his cock throbbing, slick and wet, pulsing in his hand.
Then--release.
Thick, hot ropes painted her abdomen in sharp, satisfying bursts. Shot after shot pulsed from his tightening balls, landing just above her neatly trimmed mound, the warmth spreading across her skin.
She exhaled a soft, breathy laugh, running her fingers through the mess with a wicked smile. One fingertip rose to her lips--and she tasted him, slow and deliberate, her tongue curling around the salt and heat of it.
Her eyes met his as she sucked it clean, pupils wide and glowing.
