Yesterday, my wife, 36, decided to treat herself to a pedicure. When she arrived, her younger friend with benefits, a 23-year-old Black man, insisted on paying for it. Although she told him she usually covers such expenses herself, he was adamant, asserting that a man should take care of her pampering. He even subtly chastised me, 34, for not doing so.
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After the session, she returned home carrying the unmistakable scent of liquor and intimacy. She confided that after her pedicure, they went back to his apartment where they shared an intense, hour-long encounter. The lingering aroma of his cum and alcohol clung to her skin as she greeted me with a tender kiss, then retreated to the bedroom to change into something comfortable.
When she didn’t resurface for quite some time, I went to check on her and found her asleep, lying face down and softly snoring. While she rested, I received a text from him asking if she had arrived home safely. After I assured him she had, he replied teasingly, “I know you could smell that cum—don’t lie,” which stirred an unexpected excitement within me.
Curious, I peeked at her panties to see the evidence left behind. Still a bit intoxicated, she stirred and murmured, “Oh, he came so much this time and wore me out. I’ll get up soon to make dinner,” before slipping back into a peaceful slumber for the rest of the night.
He ravaged her with such passion that she slept nearly twelve hours straight. The next morning, she was up early, cooking, cleaning, and looking completely rejuvenated.