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This is the continuation of “Part 1 – After the Wedding Ceremony”.
Read Part 1 here:
My goal is to write a multi-part story that covers the first 3 months of our marriage, starting with “After the wedding ceremony.” The first three parts of the story focus on the first three days of our marriage, which were spent in the hotel we had the wedding reception in. When we rented the ballroom for the reception, the hotel threw in a free 3 day, 2 night stay as part of the wedding package. Part 2 starts when I wake up the next morning after our first night together as a married couple.
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7:30am, Sunday, Dec 19
I wake to the sunlight leaking through the gap in the heavy curtains, painting a golden stripe across the wrecked bed.The first thing I feel is the ache in my neck from the couch, the second is the sticky pull of dried precum glued to my thigh. Then I hear soft moans and whispers. I blink, focus, and then the sight hits me.
Leanne and Paul are facing each other on their sides, sheet kicked to the foot of the bed. Her back is to me, her perfect skin glowing in the morning light, one long leg draped high over his hip. Paul’s hand cups her ass, fingers spread wide, holding her open as he rocks into her with slow, lazy thrusts. Every time he slides home, her pussy lips cling to his thick shaft like they never want to let go. I can see everything: the shine of her juices coating him, the way her inner lips drag along his length on the out-stroke, the soft quiver of her thigh each time he bottoms out.
They’re whispering, lips brushing, kissing between words I can’t quite catch. “…so good in the morning…” “…love how you feel…” Soft moans from her, low rumbles from him. It’s tender, intimate, and they haven’t even noticed I’m awake.
I shift just an inch. The couch creaks. Leanne’s head turns instantly. Over her shoulder her eyes lock onto me. Paul never stops moving (slow, steady strokes that make her breath hitch). “Good morning, husband,” she says, voice sweet, lips curling into a loving smile (while another man’s cock is sliding in and out of her). “Sleep okay?” I nod, throat too dry for words.
She gives a tiny roll of her hips that makes Paul groan, then pushes up and swings a leg over him. In one fluid motion she’s on top, reaching between them, guiding that slick, gleaming cock back inside her. The sound she makes when he fills her again is pure bliss (half sigh, half moan).
She lowers herself until she’s lying on his chest, breasts pressed to him, and starts a slow grind. Turning to me as she lays her head on Paul’s chest, she whispers, “I love you” as she grinds Paul’s cock in and out of her pussy. After a few minutes, a little tremor starts within her. She looks at me, “I’m cumming again, baby…”
She sits up with her hands bracing herself on his chest. She starts to grind her hips faster and faster until she starts slamming her pussy all the way down onto his cock. The wet squelching and her pussy slapping against him is obscene in the quiet room. Paul’s hands slide down to grip her ass, spreading her cheeks so I can see his shaft disappearing over and over into my wife’s married pussy. Her back arches and her head falls back letting her long brunette hair sexily around her. And then she cums hard. A sharp cry, body shaking, a gush of clear fluid that soaks his balls and drips onto the sheets beneath them. She collapses forward, trembling, kissing him hungrily while the aftershocks ripple through her.
Just as her body settles down and she has a minute to regain her breath, the doorbell chimes. “It must be room service.” Leanne laughs, “Perfect timing. I’m starving.” She climbs off Paul (his cock slipping free with a wet sound, shiny with her orgasm) and grabs one of the hotel’s thick white robes. It barely closes over her breasts and stops mid-thigh, the belt tied loose. Dried streaks of last night’s cum still decorate her inner thighs like erotic war paint.
She walks to the door, opens it wide. The young waiter (college kid, maybe twenty) steps in with the tray in hand and freezes. His eyes dart from Paul lounging naked on the bed, cock half-hard and glistening, to me on the couch in my boxers, then to Leanne (robe slipping off one shoulder, nipples poking through the terrycloth, legs on full display, and the hickey mark from last night on her neck).
“Morning!” she chirps, bright as sunshine. “Just put it right there, sweetie.” He practically drops the tray, cheeks flaming. Leanne signs the receipt, bends a little farther than necessary to fish a twenty from her purse by the table, giving him a flash of the tops of her perky breast right down to the areola of her nipples, and hands it over with a smile. “Thank you so much.”
The kid mumbles something, adjusts the front of his pants, and bolts. Paul chuckles from the bed. Leanne grins, drops the robe completely, and crawls back to him naked. They feed each other strawberries and melon from the tray, licking juice off fingers, kissing between bites like the most natural thing in the world.
I finally drag myself up, legs stiff, and head to the bathroom. I brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and take a quick shower to feel fresh again. As I was getting ready to walk out of the bathroom in one of the hotel robes, Leanne walks in toward me, still naked, skin glowing. She stops, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me deep and slow. I taste Paul on her tongue, smell sex on her skin.
“You okay, baby?” she asks, searching my eyes. I smile and look down at my crotch. My cock is tenting the robe like a flagpole. She laughs softly, reaches down, and gives me three slow tugs through the fabric. She kisses me and murmurs, “I love you.” Another tug, another soft kiss, then she releases me and steps past.
I turn to watch her walk away. I crave those long, sexy legs I’ve worshipped for years, that perfect ass swaying, knowing exactly where it’s been and who it belongs to right now. My heart feels like it’s going to explode with love and lust at the same time.
As I walk out of the bathroom, Paul slides out of bed, stretches, gives me a casual “Morning, man,” and a fist bump like we’re old buddies. His cock swings heavy between his legs (soft and still bigger than me hard). He heads straight for the bathroom. He closes the door behind him. I hear Leanne’s delighted giggle the second he steps in, followed by the sound of the shower starting again and her playful squeal when he obviously pins her against the tile.
I pull open the curtains and let the morning sunlight into the room. I sit on the edge of the couch, turn on the TV, and eat my breakfast ordered by my loving wife. I sat and ate while listening to the muffled sounds of laughter, kissing, and unmistakable wet slapping echoing from the bathroom.
9 am
The shower finally goes quiet. I hear the low murmur of voices, a playful slap, Leanne’s bright laugh, then the soft click of the bathroom door. Right before they come out of the bathroom, I finish the last bite of toast and slip out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door almost shut behind me.
The morning air is warm, salted with ocean, and the pool below sparkles like a postcard. I sink into one of the cushioned chairs, phone in hand, scrolling Google News while my pulse still drums from everything that has happened since we said “I do” less than 24 hours ago.
Twenty minutes later the door slides open again. Leanne steps out looking stunning in a short, yellow, sleeveless, spaghetti strap, sun dress that skims mid-thigh, no bra, and high heels. The skirt flutters around those endless legs I’ve worshipped since the day we met, and her long brunette hair is still slightly damp, falling in loose waves over one shoulder. The scent of her lotion drifts over me like a drug.
She doesn’t say a word—just walks straight to me, climbs into my lap like she’s done a thousand times, and curls against my chest. Her bare thighs straddle mine; the hem of her dress rides up enough that I can feel warm skin against my legs. She kisses me slow and deep.
For a long, perfect minute we just sit there, staring out at the ocean, her head on my shoulder, my arms around her waist like any normal newlywed couple. Then she sighs happily. “Paul got a work call,” she murmurs against my neck. “He has to run downtown for a couple hours. So guess what? You’ve got me all to yourself this morning.” My heart leaps (actually leaps). She feels it, laughs softly, and nips my earlobe. “Coffee, a little shopping, lunch… just us, baby. Like a real honeymoon morning.” I slide my hands up her thighs, testing. “Can I finally—”
She cuts me off with a gentle finger to my lips, eyes sparkling. “Not yet, husband. You know the rules. This pussy is currently on loan to another man and his thick cock.” She grinds once, deliberately, letting me feel how warm she is through the thin fabric. “Keeping you starving for me is half the fun, remember?” I groan, drop my head back against the chair. She kisses my neck. “Besides… you love it. You know you do. Tell me you love it.” “I love it,” I admit, voice rough. She rewards me with the sweetest smile and a quick peck. “That’s what I thought. Now come on, let’s go be cute in public.”
We leave the suite hand in hand. In the elevator she leans against me, humming, perfectly innocent to anyone watching. I’m half-hard the entire ride down.
10:00am
We get to the coffee shop. It is quiet. We snag a little table by the window. She orders an iced vanilla latte; I get my usual frappe. We talk about the wedding like any other couple – how beautiful the flowers were, the music, how the reception went and all the different people that came. She laughs with her whole body, eyes crinkling, and for stretches of minutes it really does feel like it’s just us again.
But every time she lifts her cup and I look at her lips, I see flashes: those same lips stretched wide around Paul’s cock last night, those same eyes rolling back as she came all over him. My cock stays in a permanent state of an aching, semi-hard erection the entire conversation. She knows. She sees me glancing at the love mark on her neck that reminds me of the events of last night. Every now and then she “accidentally” brushes my knee under the table or licks foam off her straw a little too slowly.
11:00am
After coffee, we drove to the mall. The sun is high and the December wind blows. She slips on sunglasses and we wander into the mall hand in hand. The mall looks beautiful with all the holiday decorations, lights, and Christmas favorites playing over the speakers. Victoria’s Secret is inevitable. She drags me inside, fingers laced with mine, and starts pulling lace and satin off the racks like a kid in a candy store. A crimson mesh teddy. A black balconette bra with matching crotchless panties. A baby-pink garter set. She holds the teddy up to her body in front of the mirror, meets my eyes in the reflection. “Imagine Paul peeling this off me tonight with his teeth while you watch,” she whispers just loud enough for only me to hear. My knees nearly buckle. She adds a white crotchless lingerie set to the pile as well as a yellow thong string bikini set. “For the pool later,” she says innocently, then leans in. “And the lingerie for when he bends me over the balcony railing after dark.” I pay (of course I pay), cock straining against my shorts so obviously the college girl at the register blushes when she hands me the pink bag.
We wander more. She tries on sundresses just to twirl for me in the fitting-room mirror, flashing the fact she’s still wearing nothing underneath. She tries on some new high-heels, always opening her legs just enough so that me and whoever is behind me catch a glimpse of her shaved pussy. She buys a delicate gold anklet with a tiny charm that screams hotwife for those who know. It dangles against her skin (my stomach flips the second I see it). Lunch is tacos at the food court; she sits across from me licking salt off her fingers in a way that should be illegal.
2:25pm
By 2:25 p.m. we’re done with the mall. My wife is content with her retail therapy and ready to head back to the hotel. With her shopping bags in hand, she loops her arm through mine as we walk back to the car. “Let’s go drop these off and change for the pool,” she says, voice light. “I want to swim a little and get some sun.” She squeezes my hand, leans up to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for this morning, baby. I loved having my husband all to myself for a little while. Thank you for buying all the new clothes and shoes for me.” She adds teasingly, “I’m sure Paul will appreciate seeing me in them.”
I open the passenger door for her and step back just enough to watch. Leanne pauses on the curb, one hand on the roof, the other smoothing the hem of her pale-pink sundress. Then, slowly and deliberately, she lifts one endless leg and slides it into the car. The fabric rides higher and higher, until the shadow between her thighs parts and I’m gifted a perfect, heart-stopping second of her bare pussy still glistening from this morning, framed by smooth skin and the golden glint of that new anklet. She lingers there, foot on the floor mat, knee bent, letting me look. Her green eyes lock on mine, lips curling into a naughty, loving smile. “Careful, husband,” she murmurs, voice velvet and teasing. “Keep staring like that and you might make a mess of your pants in public”, she smirks. Then the second leg follows and she settles into the seat like a queen, thighs pressed together, sundress barely covering what I’m not allowed to touch.
I close the door, walk around the hood on wobbly legs, cock throbbing hard, and slide behind the wheel. We pull back into the hotel garage and head to the room to get ready for the pool.
4:00 p.m.
The suite door opens and Leanne steps out of the bedroom like she’s walking onto a runway. The yellow string bikini is obscene in the best possible way. Two tiny triangles cover her nipples, the fabric clinging to the soft swell of her B-cups. The thong bottoms are a sunshine-colored triangle that disappears into the crack of her ass and a small patch over her pussy that does absolutely nothing to hide the outline of her lips when she moves. The new gold anklet flashes every time her foot lifts. She spins once for me and the sight punches the air from my lungs. She looks so hot!
“Ready, husband?” she asks, voice honey-sweet. I’m already holding the towels like a bellhop. We ride the elevator down with another couple who can’t stop staring. Leanne pretends not to notice, but I see the tiny smirk playing at her lips.
When the doors open to the pool deck, the late-afternoon sun is molten gold, the water glittering like liquid sapphire. Families, honeymooners, a few bachelorette groups; every head turns as she saunters past.
We claim three loungers near the deep end. I rub scented lotion into her back, shoulders, the backs of those endless thighs (my hands shaking the entire time). She hums contentedly, arching just enough to make the job harder. When I finish, she kisses my cheek, whispers “thank you,” and dives in.
For twenty minutes we’re just a normal couple: splashing and laughing with her legs wrapping around my waist in the water for a second like old times. After I had my fill of swimming, I climb out of the pool and lounge on my chair looking forward to reading a new book I bought. That’s when Paul appears.
He drops his towel on the chair beside me, gives me an easy fist bump. “Hey, man. Sorry I bailed this morning, emergency thing at work. Glad I made it back.” He’s already peeling off his T-shirt, revealing the kind of torso that makes dads suck in their stomachs. His eyes scan the pool until he spots her. We both go quiet.
Leanne is floating on a white raft, arms draped lazily, sunglasses on, yellow bikini glowing against her skin like a neon sign that says LOOK AT ME. Water beads on her stomach, trickles between her breasts, drips off the strings. Paul exhales a low “Jesus Christ” under his breath. I can’t even be mad; I’m thinking the same thing.
Without another word he cannonballs in, surfaces right beside her raft, and pulls her into the water with a playful yank. She squeals, wraps her legs around his waist, and kisses him like they’ve been apart for months instead of hours. It’s deep, hungry, hands everywhere. To every stranger on the deck they look like the actual newlyweds. I’m just the guy holding their towels.
They play like teenagers: splashing, dunking, climbing on each other’s shoulders. At one point she’s perched on his shoulders, thighs clamped around his neck, laughing down at him while he spins her in circles. The yellow thong rides up completely; half the pool gets a flash of everything. I’m throbbing so hard I have to shift the towel over my lap.
She catches me watching and smiles at me. Then she starts the show. She dips into the water, comes up slow with her back arched, water streaming off her breasts, nipples like diamonds under wet fabric. She swims over to Paul, presses her whole body against his, and whispers something that makes him grin like a wolf. A second later his hand disappears under the water between her legs. Her mouth falls open, head tips back, and even over the pool noise I swear I hear the softest moan. They stay like that for long minutes (kissing, touching, her grinding slowly against his hand while pretending to just “float”).
6:15pm
Around 6:15 the sun starts to dip. Leanne finally paddles to the ladder. Paul is right behind her. Water cascades off her body as she climbs out, the yellow thong plastered transparently to her skin, the triangle in back completely swallowed by her ass. Paul follows, water dripping from his abs, swim trunks doing a terrible job of hiding how hard he already is. He walks two steps behind her the whole way back to our chairs, eyes locked on her swaying hips and ass like a predator.
She grabs a towel, dries her chest, then hands me the stack. “Honey, go and return these to the towel hut” she says. “We’ll meet you on the path back to the room.” I obey, of course.
When I catch up two minutes later, Leanne’s walking ahead, hips rolling with every step, water still dripping down her legs. Paul trails just behind, shamelessly staring at her ass like it’s the only thing on earth. Every few steps she glances back (first at him, then at me) and gives the tiniest extra sway, knowing exactly what she’s doing to both of us.
When we get to the doors of our rooms Paul pulls her in for a deep kiss, hands sliding down to cup her ass. Afterwards he tells us, “Gonna grab a quick shower in my room. Meet you guys for dinner?” Leanne looks at me, eyebrow raised. I just nod, throat dry.
We head into our rooms. The second the door shuts behind us she’s on me: pushing me against the wall, kissing me hard, grinding her wet body against mine. In the shower she soaps me up slowly, hands everywhere except where I need them most, humming happily while I tremble. When we’re rinsed off she steps out first, wraps a towel around herself, and tosses me one with a grin.
“Dress nice tonight, baby,” she says, toweling her hair. “I am looking forward to a nice dinner.” She drops the towel, and walks naked into the bedroom to pick her outfit.
7:15pm
The suite door clicks shut behind us at 7:15p.m.. Leanne steps into the hallway and the sight steals every ounce of air from my lungs. She’s in a short, tight black dress that hugs every curve, the neckline plunging deep enough to make my pulse stutter, the hem barely skimming the tops of those endless thighs. Her makeup is sultry with lips a wet, glossy red that begs to be ruined, and her long brunette hair falls in glossy waves over one shoulder. The gold anklet glints above the black high heels that make her legs look a mile long. Her scent is tantalizing and hypnotizing, a cloud of it trailing behind her like a promise. She is just radiantly beautiful and sexy.
She glances back at me, eyes sparkling with mischief and love. “Come on, husband,” she purrs. “Let’s go feed me…” and then with a teasing smirk, “then maybe Paul will have dessert.” I follow her down the corridor like a man walking toward the sweetest kind of ruin, heart hammering, cock already aching for whatever the night has planned.
We reach the lobby first. Leanne is a vision in that short, tight black dress. No bra, no panties, just smooth skin, glossy red lips, and that tiny gold anklet winking with every step in her strappy heels.
Paul steps off the elevator and stops dead. For a full three seconds he just stares, mouth actually parted, like the sight of her has short-circuited his brain. Then he crosses the marble floor, cups her face with both hands, and kisses her (slow, deep, possessive). She melts into him, arms sliding around his neck, one leg popping like they’re in a damn movie poster. When they finally break, she’s breathing hard.
I trail two steps behind as we head to the car, watching his hand settle low on her back, fingers brushing the top of her ass like he already owns it.
I’m the chauffeur tonight. They climb into the back seat together, thighs pressed, her hand immediately on his knee. I adjust the rear-view mirror and meet Leanne’s eyes. She smiles (sweet, naughty, loving) and mouths “I love you” before turning to Paul and kissing him again while I pull out of the hotel garage.
The drive to the restaurant is torture. Soft moans, rustling fabric, the wet sounds of slow kisses. Every red light I glance back and see more: her dress riding higher, his hand disappearing under the hem, her head tipping back against the seat while his fingers move inside her making soft squelching noises.
I drop them at the entrance by the valet and then park the car. By the time I walk in they’re already seated in a curved leather booth side by side, thighs touching, his arm draped along the backrest behind her. The hostess leads me over to them. Looking at them in the booth, I feel like a third wheel.
Dinner is delicious and surreal. Leanne feeds Paul bites of her filet from her fork, licking sauce off her lips while looking straight at me. Paul’s hand spends more time on her bare thigh than on his drink. Conversation flows easily. He’s funny and smart. I am finding that I actually like the guy. It’s impossible not to. Every time Leanne laughs at one of his jokes and leans in to kiss his cheek, my cock jerks against my zipper.
Once we are ready to go, I pay the bill and go get the car. Outside, I pull the car around. They’re waiting under the awning, her back against a pillar, his body crowding hers, kissing like they’re minutes from ripping clothes off right there on the sidewalk. They slide into the back seat still laughing, still touching. Paul leans forward. “Hey man, there’s a lounge ten minutes away, live band Leanne loves. Let’s check it out.” I nod and pull out.
9pm
The lounge is dark wood, low lights, and a killer jazz-funk band. Paul orders a round of drinks (whiskey for him, espresso martini for her, water for me). They never leave each other’s side. When the band slides into a slow, sexy groove, he pulls her onto the dance floor. I stay in the shadows, holding her little black clutch like a purse caddy, and watch.
They don’t dance, they fuck with clothes on. Her back to his front, ass grinding slow circles against the thick ridge in his pants. His hands roam (one sliding up to cup her breast through the dress, thumb brushing her nipple until it’s a hard point under the fabric; the other hand splayed low on her stomach, pulling her tighter against him). Her head falls back on his shoulder, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. Every slow roll of her hips is a promise of what’s coming later. When the song ends they don’t stop. They just keep swaying, kissing, his hand slipping lower until it disappears under her dress in the middle of the crowd. She gasps into his mouth, thighs trembling.
Eventually they drift back to me, flushed and breathless. Paul orders another round. While we wait he pulls her onto his lap right there at the bar, dress riding high enough to flash the bottom curve of her ass to anyone looking. They make out like teenagers (tongues sliding, soft moans, his fingers tracing the edge of her dress where it meets bare skin). I stand two feet away, clutching her purse, cock leaking a wet spot in my boxer briefs.
10:15pm
She finally slides off his lap, cheeks glowing. She leans in to me and whispers, “Take us home, baby. Paul’s ready for dessert.”
The drive back is pure porn. In the rear-view mirror: dress straps fallen off both shoulders now, one perfect breast completely exposed, nipple hard. Paul’s mouth latches onto it while his hand works between her spread thighs (two fingers pumping slow and steady). Wet sounds fill the car. Leanne’s eyes flutter, then find mine in the mirror. She smiles around a moan.
Then she sinks down, unzips him, and that thick cock springs free. She doesn’t tease; she swallows him to the root in one smooth motion, head bobbing, cheeks hollowing, the car filling with the obscene music of her mouth on him. Every few strokes she pops off, looks up at me in the mirror, and grins with saliva shining on her chin before diving back down.
Paul groans, threads fingers through her hair. “Fuck… I want to slide inside you now.” She climbs up, straddles him facing him, hikes her dress to her waist (no panties), and sinks down in one slick drop. The sound she makes is pure animal relief. The car rocks gently as she starts to ride (slow at first, savoring, then faster, breasts bouncing free of the dress entirely). Paul sucks one nipple, then the other, hands spreading her ass wide so I can see everything in the mirror: his cock stretching her, shining with her juices, disappearing again and again.
Her first orgasm hits just as I’m circling for a spot (back arching, head thrown back, and a sharp cry). She keeps going, chasing a second. By the time I finally kill the engine in a dark corner of the garage she’s grinding hard, dress rucked up over her hips, Paul’s mouth on her throat, both of them panting. She cums again (harder this time), thighs shaking, pussy visibly pulsing around him. When the tremors fade she collapses forward, kissing him lazily, then looks back at me in the mirror with glazed, happy eyes. “Take us upstairs, baby,” she whispers, voice raw. “We’re just getting started.”
I get out and open the back door, and watch my wife climb off Paul’s lap (dress still around her waist, his cock slick and shining, her thighs trembling). She smooths the fabric down like nothing happened, takes Paul’s hand, and together they walk toward the elevator, leaving me to follow with her clutch and a painful erection.
The elevator doors slide shut. Leanne steps towards me, pressing her body to mine, her back to Paul. She tilts her face up, eyes glassy with raw, unfiltered lust, red lips parted like she’s already tasting what’s coming. Paul’s arm snakes around her waist from behind, hand disappearing under the hem of her short, tight, black dress. His fingers find her pussy instantly, still dripping from the car, and he sinks two deep inside her with a single slow push. Her dress rides up her body, half-way exposing her pussy and ass.
Her breath hitches; her eyes never leave mine. I watch her pupils blow wide as Paul starts a lazy, deliberate rhythm, knuckles flexing under the fabric, the wet sound of her pussy loud in the quiet elevator. Her hands grip my shoulders for balance, nails digging in, and every slow thrust of his fingers rocks her hips against me.
Paul leans in, lips brushing her ear. “Tell your husband what you want right now,” he murmurs. She licks her lips, voice trembling with need. “I need Paul’s thick cock inside of me, baby,” she whispers to me, eyes locked on mine while Paul’s fingers fuck her inches from my stomach. “My pussy is so hungry for him.”
The elevator dings. The doors begin to part. She smiles (slow, filthy, loving) and steps back just enough for Paul’s slick fingers to slip free with an audible wet sound. She brings them to her mouth, sucks them clean while staring straight at me. Then she takes Paul’s hands and eagerly pulls him out the elevator down the hall to the room. I follow behind and see that my wife didn’t even bother to pull her dress down. I watch her half-naked ass and legs sway as she walks down the hall holding Paul’s hands. I’m sure the security cameras clearly caught what was happening. The hallway carpet swallows our footsteps. I swipe the keycard. The lock clicks green. The second the door shuts behind us, the leash snaps.
10:45pm
Paul backs her against the wall hard enough to rattle the framed art. His mouth crashes onto hers, hungry and claiming. She moans into him, nails raking up his back, legs already parting so he can grind that thick bulge against her. I stand frozen three feet away as he yanks the thin straps of her black dress down her shoulders. The fabric catches on her hips for a second, then pools at her feet like spilled ink. She’s completely naked underneath – no bra, no panties, just flushed skin, hard nipples, and that tiny gold anklet glinting in the low light.
She attacks his belt with frantic fingers while he kicks off shoes, rips his shirt over his head. Clothes fly. Within seconds they’re both bare and clawing at each other like animals finally set free. Paul lifts her (hands under her ass) and she wraps those endless legs around his waist. He carries her to the king bed, drops her on her back, spreads her wide, and drives into her in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is inhuman (half scream, half moan). Her back arches off the mattress, toes curling, pussy already squirting before he’s even bottomed out.
And then they forget I exist. For the next two hours the suite becomes their universe. He flips her, folds her, owns her in every position imaginable:
- Missionary with her ankles over his shoulders, pounding so deep the headboard dents the wall.
- Doggy on all fours, her face buried in the pillow, ass high, his hands leaving pink prints on her hips while she screams his name.
- Forward cowgirl with her grinding her clit in a back and forth motion against him until she squirts
- Reverse cowgirl facing me (just once, for maybe thirty seconds), her eyes glassy and unfocused, tits bouncing, pussy stretched obscenely around his cock as she grinds down hard enough to make herself squirt again. She never even registers that I’m there.
- Standing against the floor-to-ceiling window, her palms flat on the glass, tits pressed to the cold pane, Paul slamming into her from behind while the ocean watches.
- Spooning on their sides, slow and deep, her leg hooked back over his hip so I can see every inch sliding in and out, her juices coating his balls, dripping onto the sheets.
- Standing with him carrying her and slamming her onto his cock.
- Scissors position, where she is laying on her side and he straddles her leg on the bed, holding her other leg in the air, pounding into her deeply
I move around them like a ghost. I kneel at the foot of the bed, inches from where his thick cock pistons into her, watching her lips grip him on every stroke. I stand beside them while he sucks fresh hickeys onto her neck and breasts (dark purple blooms that will still be there long after checkout). I put my face so close I can smell them, taste the air thick with sex, hear the wet slap of skin on skin and her broken, desperate pleas: “Harder… don’t stop… please don’t stop… fuck my married pussy…”
She never once looks at me. Not a glance. Not a smile. Not a single acknowledgment that her husband is in the room. And that (more than anything) almost makes me cum untouched. Because she is gone…completely lost in him…lost in the pleasure…lost in the raw, animal need. She is Paul’s tonight (body, soul, voice, every squirting orgasm). And watching her disappear into that lust is the most delicious joy I’ve ever felt. Dopamine floods my brain. It makes my cock rock hard and it makes me hunger for my wife. I fight the urge to touch myself with everything I have. My cock is leaking so bad. There’s a wet spot on my slacks the size of a silver dollar. Twice I feel the edge creeping up (balls tightening, vision tunneling), and I have to grip the base hard through the fabric just to stop it. They don’t notice a thing.
12:47am
I glance at the bedside clock through a haze. Paul finally flips her onto her back one last time, hooks her knees over his elbows, and folds her nearly in half. He pounds like a machine (relentless, punishing, perfect). Her eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent scream, and she starts cumming in waves (one long, rolling orgasm that doesn’t stop). Clear streams squirt around his cock with every thrust, soaking his groin, the sheets, the mattress beneath them. Paul growls, slams deep one final time, and unloads. I can actually see his shaft pulse, see the base of his cock throb as he pumps rope after thick rope into my wife’s married pussy while she convulses beneath him. They stay locked together, trembling, breathing hard, kissing slow and sweet through the aftershocks.
Then, without a word, they roll to their sides (still joined), curl into each other like puzzle pieces, and fall asleep almost instantly. Her head on his chest, his arm locked possessively around her waist, her thigh draped over his, his softening cock still inside her, a slow trickle of their mixed cum leaking onto the sheets.
The room smells like sex, sweat, her lotion and his cologne. I sat on my cuckold chair for a long time, chest heaving, cock aching so badly. Eventually I strip to my boxer briefs (front soaked through with precum) and lay on the couch again. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, replaying every second in high definition: every scream, every squirt, every time she forgot I existed. But I don’t touch myself. I want the ache. I think I’ve become addicted to the ache, addicted to craving my wife. At almost 2am, I finally drift off to sleep.