Chapter 16: Wife's POV [Part 1]
I stood up slowly, my legs trembling beneath me. My knees almost gave out from sitting like that and from what had just happened. I was weak. Not just in the body, but in the mind. My pussy was still tingling even throbbing, like it was alive and pulsing with need.
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And I hated it. I hated how wet I felt from that disgusting, filthy moment. I didn’t even look at him—I couldn’t. If I had met his eyes, I might’ve fallen apart right there.
His magic was working on me. That thick, dirty energy he carried in his presence, that shameless, overpowering masculinity that soaked into the air like smoke. It had taken hold of me, crawled under my skin, into my thoughts. I didn’t trust myself to stay another second near him. I needed to get out of that house immediately or I didn’t know what I’d do.
I pushed the door open and stepped outside, heart pounding, hands clammy. My body was moving on its own, but my mind was swirling. It was all I could think about.
Did he really… press his cock on my lips?
Not brush. Not graze.
Pressed.
Was it a mistake?? That's not possible. It was deliberate. Firm, warm, heavy… right against my mouth through that flimsy fabric. And I had let it happen. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t flinch. I sat there like a fucking whore with my lips slightly opened , practically offering my mouth to him.
His thick cock, resting on my lips like it belonged there. And the worst part? The part that made my pussy clench as I walked? I liked it.
I liked the way it felt.
I liked how thick and hot and bold it was.
Inside the house, he was still working. Still sweet. Still blind to what had just happened to his wife, mere minutes ago, not even a full block away.
How that old man was making advances on his wife. And how his wife was letting it happen.
I slipped into the bathroom, my breaths shallow, chest rising and falling too fast. I shut the door and locked it quietly. My hands were shaking as I pulled down my panties.
Fuck.
The fabric clung to my pussy lips, sticking lewdly to my skin. When I took them off, a string of wetness stretched between the cotton and my swollen folds. I’d never been this wet in my life. Not even for my husband.
But for that old man… For his cock. His smell. His audacity.
I stared at my own reflection in the mirror, panting, cheeks flushed, shame burning through me.
I slowly brought one finger slowly up to my mouth and pressed it against my lips.
The same spot. The same place his cock had rested just minutes ago.
My eyes fluttered at the memory.
Right here. His cock was right fucking here.
And my lips had twitched. They wanted to wrap around him. My mouth had been slightly open.
What if—What if my mouth had been open wider? What if I’d pushed my face just a little more? His cock would’ve slipped between my lips. He would’ve filled my mouth in one smooth push. I wouldn’t even have had time to react. He would’ve been inside me, leaving me gasping for air.
My tongue twitched just thinking about it. The weight of it. The salt of his skin. The way my jaw would’ve ached trying to take all of it in. How my lips would’ve stretched, spit dripping as he forced it deeper and deeper and
I whimpered softly, thighs clenching together.
No. No. Stop it. Stop it.
These disgusting thoughts.
I gripped the sink, breathing hard. “You can’t betray him,” I whispered to my reflection. “You love your husband. You’re not this person.”
But I couldn’t stop imagining it. His cock inside my mouth. My tongue sliding under the thick shaft, tasting him. My lips wrapped around him, eyes wide with shock as he held my head down, made me choke on him.
I slapped cold water on my face, trying to ground myself.
I should’ve pulled away when he leaned in.
But deep down, a filthy voice whispered:
Why didn’t you open your mouth, slut?
If I had… if I had just opened wider… maybe I’d finally know how he tasted. Maybe he would’ve shoved it deeper, fed me every inch, made me gag on his cock.
I shook my head hard and stared at myself like I was looking at a stranger. My thighs were still rubbing together. My nipples poked hard against my shirt, aching for attention.
I should be ashamed. I was ashamed.
But that shame only made me wetter.
I closed my eyes and bit my lip. Deep down… I was wishing. Wishing that my mouth had been just a little more open. Just wide enough for that cock to slide past my lips. I could’ve finally tasted him. That cock that haunts my thoughts now. That thick, old, filthy cock. I would’ve sucked it. I know I would’ve. I wanted to. Even now, part of me still wants to run back and finish what he started.
My fingers twitched at my side, aching to touch my pussy. Just one rub. One little stroke. Just enough to—
No.
No.
I slapped my face lightly and stood up, panting. I took my panties off, stuffed them deep in the laundry basket, and grabbed a clean pair from the drawer. I didn’t even wipe. I wanted to feel that slickness between my thighs. I deserved to feel it. Like a mark of shame. A reminder of what I almost let happen.
I threw myself into chores after that, trying to keep busy. Trying to not think about his cock. His smell. The way my lips had welcomed him.
Eventually, I made my way into the kitchen and fixed his meal.
I handed him the plate of food.
He smiled at me, soft and grateful.
I wanted to cry.
He had no idea that just an hour ago, his wife had been on her knees with another man’s cock pressed to her lips—wishing, aching, that she had just opened her mouth and sucked it in.
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