They matched on Feeld, and she's learned to quickly set up a date to establish compatibility. Last Tuesday was their first date. She came home flushed, smiling, glowing. They both wanted to maintain that chemistry, to take it slow just so it wouldn’t end too soon. But they were both very into each other. That first kiss? It left her dizzy. The kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. The kind of kiss that tells your body, this is going to matter. She told me later that they kissed in public like no one was watching. But everyone was. And she didn’t care. They wanted to make it last longer.
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She texted me afterwards:
My Wife: Oh goodness, that was a really good date
Me: Let’s chat tonight! At dinner
My Wife: Ok
My Wife: Thankfully he was tallish (like an inch or two taller than me)
My Wife: We want to meet up this weekend, probably for some sexy time, maybe Sunday night? Is that ok? I’ll wait to talk to you some more ??
Then she kept texting him after.
A lot.
Sweet things. Flirty things. Dirty things. Fantasies that didn’t feel hypothetical anymore.
M: I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to keep kissing someone in a way that was so palpable.
M: I’m the kind of turned on where we’d have had to ignored the clock. ????
My Wife: That kiss felt so right! Definitely hard to stop… I'll need to take care of some business later after bedtime, this is unbearable ????
My Wife: Maybe we should meet up this weekend? ????
M: I think you should lean on me for some inspiration when you’re alone in bed. ????
M: And I would be pretty thrilled to see you again this weekend. You tell me when it works and we can find something fun. Where I can kiss you more.
Then Wednesday, she fucked her other lover. A different man she’s been seeing for six months. Their connection is deeper, built over time. He’s confident, deliberate, a little rough in the way she likes when she’s in that headspace. He calls himself a “pleasure dom” and always makes her wet when they meet. They met in a hotel. She wore something skimpy under her coat. He complimented her constantly. Told her she looked edible. He made her cum. Bent over a chair, eyes locked in the mirror, watching her body bounce while he fucked her until they came together. It was raw. Not unprotected, but emotionally exposed. She came home glowing. Again.
That was two days after meeting M.
By Thursday? She and M were on fire. Texting into the night.
Playful. Erotic. Curious. Hungry.
He told her her laugh made him hard.
She told him she liked being covered in cum. Said she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands.
They started exchanging ideas. Positions. Preferences. She told him how she likes her vibrators used. He told her how he’d taste his fingers after fingering her. She told him she loved blow jobs—maybe because of the control. Maybe because she’s a giver. He told her he’d cum again just from hearing that.
They both did. Separately. Together. Masturbating to each other’s words. Edging into audio messages and texted fantasies.
Then Saturday night, as we were lying in bed, she got another message from him. Sexy. Eager. Her eyes lit up. I offered to give her space to record something back. She didn’t hesitate. I stepped out of the bedroom, left her the silence she needed. It wasn't until later that she shared the audio with me, where I could hear her voice: breathy, wet, needy. She was moaning his name, telling him how wet she was thinking about Sunday. She told him she couldn’t wait.
Sunday: The Main Event
They met late morning and walked to brunch, but she didn’t eat much. She told me later she was too excited. Her whole body was already buzzing. Anticipating. She said her mind kept jumping ahead to the bedroom. That she could barely sit still.
I had nothing to do but wait, so I cleaned the house. The toilets and sinks are sparkling. Vacuumed and tidied up all day, occasionally checking on her location, to see if she was still at his house. Wondering how it was going.
When they got back to his place, it started with kissing. Just kissing. But already he was undressing her, hungry to see what she wore for him. When he saw her lace bra and matching underwear I bought her, he said “Wow.” When he saw her thong, he said it again. She said he looked floored. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.
He touched her slowly at first. Ran his fingers over her skin, pulled her panties aside and ate her out like he was starving. Held her hands while his tongue explored her pussy. Moaned into her. She took her bra off so he could touch her breasts while he licked her. She came—hard—and told him, just like he asked. He loved her sounds. Loved hearing her fall apart.
She said he’d taste her, then stick his fingers in his mouth. Said he looked up at her like a man amazed.
She told him she normally insists on condoms—but not with him. She wanted to feel everything. He’s had a vasectomy, and she has an IUD, so the risks are different. But the intimacy? Total.
And then he slid his cock inside her. Big. Warm. Bare.
No condom.
No hesitation.
She chose to go raw with him.
Even though it’s not what she usually does. Even though she knew it might upset the balance of her other relationship. Even though I’ve told her it makes me feel vulnerable when she doesn’t check with me first.
But in the moment, it didn’t matter.
Because she wanted it.
Because he felt too good to say no to.
And when he came inside her?
He didn’t stop.
He just kept fucking her.
Hard. Deep. Rhythmic. With her legs in the air. On her side. From behind. On top. Reverse cowgirl. In a chair. In bed. Wherever he wanted her, she went.
She fucked him on top. She fucked him slowly while they kissed. He fucked her hard from behind. She came easily like that, something new for her. She hadn’t expected it to work so well, but it did. It worked perfectly.
She came again. And again. She squirted. He licked it up. Sucked her clit. Bit her. Slapped her tits. Told her she was beautiful. Told her she was brilliant. Called her the whole package. Said she made him feel like he was on vacation.
At one point he made her prop herself up while he gave her oral. Made her drink water while he devoured her. She laughed. She cried out. She came again. And again. He said she had the whole package. Said he couldn’t believe how good she felt. That she was smart. Beautiful. Sexy. She said it reminded her of her best experiences, but better. “Topped them all,” she said.
She told him she likes being bitten. Slapped. Held down. Her tits squeezed. He obliged. They kissed between orgasms. They fucked, then cuddled and talked—about childhood, family, playlists. Planned a concert. A weekend away. A sleepover soon. He joked about being ghosted and said he’d be devastated. She reassured him: that’s not who she is.
She told me they laughed, too. That they talked about their childhoods. Their families. Music. She said he’s eloquent. Said she couldn’t keep up with his compliments. Said she felt spoiled, like she didn’t know what to do with herself.
She squirted again while he went down on her.
He slurped it up.
Then fucked her again.
She came while he fucked her.
Again.
They fucked, talked, cuddled, and kissed from 11:30 to 5. Five and half hours of nothing but fucking and connecting. She had “rock star sex hair” by the time she left.
And when it was time to leave?
He helped her get dressed. Complimented her lingerie again. Told her her green shirt looked amazing. Walked her to her car. Kissed her goodbye. She took a photo of him. Then came home.
She drove off.
His cum still deep inside her.
Still dripping into her soaked panties.
She was raw. Still flushed. Still glowing. Still open.
I went down on her. I could taste him on her. Deep inside her. I moaned into her, licking up everything he left behind.
Then I slid into her. And she was still soaked. Still aching. Still wrecked. She wrapped her legs around me and welcomed it. She was wild with arousal. But when she whispered that she was close, I couldn’t hold out. I came inside her too.
We cuddled a bit and it wasn’t long until she was texting him again. Still smiling. Still riding the wave.
They’re already planning to see each other multiple times a week. Brunches. Nights. Probably overnights soon.
This isn’t just a fling. It’s not a one-off.
This is a beginning.
I get to watch her become more, and to watch her choose men who dominate her. To let them have her the way they want. To see her come home full of their cum, with cum on it somewhere, with his taste on her lips and her swollen cunt, and then let me taste it, bury my tongue in it, then finally add my cum deep inside her too.
To tell me how good they made her feel.
To text them again while I rub her feet.
And every time she leaves again, I’ll be right here.
Hard. Waiting. Proud.
And completely, gloriously, wrecked.
And right now? Right as I type this? She’s back at his place for more.
Just for an hour. Just to feel him again. Because she can’t stay away.
She’s still sore. Still wrecked. Still needy.
And me?
I’ll be right here.
Not touching myself, I can’t cum as many times in a day as he can.
Just leaking. Constantly. Pathetically.
Staining my underwear, aching with denial, fantasizing about what she’ll smell like when she gets home.
How she’ll taste when I go down on her.
How he’ll feel in her, still warm, still thick, still fresh, when I slide in after him, trying to make room inside her body that was pleasured beyond words by a better lover.
I’m not the man she rushes to fuck.
I’m the man who waits for the leftovers.
And I love her for it.
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