For nearly a decade, I’d been with my girlfriend — a petite, dusky-skinned Indian woman, all curves in the right places — and yet, for the last few years, I couldn’t deny that I’d strayed. She had caught me three times, once red-handed with my cock in another woman’s mouth. Each discovery pushed her deeper into cold distance, and while I tried to ignore it, I knew the cracks were widening.
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One evening, during a fraught attempt to mend the rift, she turned to me and said with a biting edge, “How would you feel if I took a dick in my mouth?” That question cut deep, and I pledged to her then that I would never betray her again — I loved her, and she was the only one for me. She was innocent, only ever mine, and I’d made sure no one had seen her naked but me.
Months passed, but something in her remained different. She began spending more time with her college friends, going to house parties, laughing more freely without me.
Among her circle was a man who drew her attention — tall, dark, nearly six feet, the type she’d always found irresistible. I noticed the subtle shift, her emotional connection to him blossoming, but I stayed silent, unwilling to ignite further tension.
Then came the invitation — a solitary house party at his place. She dressed to kill: tight, ass-hugging jeans and a cropped top, a look both innocent and provocative. When she arrived and found no one else there, she inquired, but he shrugged it off, promising others would come late. They uncorked wine and settled in to watch a movie together.
He spoke of betrayal, his girlfriend’s infidelity shattering him. It triggered an outpouring from her, tears flowing as she recounted the trauma of finding me with another woman. He enveloped her in a comforting hug, whispering that they both deserved better. She said nothing but didn’t deny his words.
Then, riding the wave of raw emotion and alcohol, he leaned in and kissed her. She froze, shocked, but didn’t pull away. The kiss deepened, hands roaming until he slipped his hand under her top. Snap out of it, she thought, pushing him away, whispering her love for me — her man — refusing to go further.
He challenged her, “Does he really love you? Has he ever pushed you to this?” His words stirred doubt. She argued against their actions, claiming it was wrong, but the line blurred.
She packed to leave, but he stopped her, pressing that they savor the moment. Torn between guilt and desire, she hesitated, and then his lips found hers once again. This time, she surrendered, their passionate kissing swirling into something deeper.
Within minutes, her jeans pooled at her ankles as he caressed her through her panties. When she lost control, he removed the barrier, spanking her plump ass and spreading her legs to finger her eagerly. His fingers coaxed moisture from her, preparing her for what was to come. He pressed her breast firmly as he whispered, “You deserve this. You deserve better.” Spanking her tenderly, he forced her to repeat those words with each smack, six or seven times.
He gripped her neck firmly and seated her on the floor before dropping his pants. Naked and vulnerable in front of a man who wasn’t me, she hesitated, shying away at first — but the moment was already thick, inescapable. His cock pressed against her face, and when he turned her towards him, she glimpsed the full length of his impressive shaft — eight inches, easily. She recoiled, stunned by its size, having expected this to be a harmless embrace.
Without warning, he grabbed her mouth, easing himself inside. She struggled, unprepared for such dominance, as he taunted, “Out of practice?” She gasped, admitting she’d never taken anything so large. Laughing, he pushed deeper.
She began to suck him eagerly, her mouth full and willing as he stood, savoring her delicate throat. He then directed her to her knees, unleashing a relentless oral assault until she was brought to tears. He asked her, “Was his cock in another’s mouth like this?” She looked up, nodded, then obediently resumed pleasuring him.
When he finally lay back, she continued servicing him, until his release spilled into her mouth and onto her face. Unbeknownst to her, he snapped a few photos of her intimate submission. Mortified, she fled to clean up and dress, bursting out of his home.
The guilt was overwhelming. She cut off contact with him, but the secret weighed heavily on both of us.
Eventually, our routine resumed; we made love every other day, her affection growing more genuine as she reclaimed herself. Then, one evening, I received a message from an anonymous Snapchat account — photos of my sweet, innocent girlfriend, trying to conquer that enormous stranger’s cock.
I confronted her, and she confessed everything: how she’d let herself get carried away, her apologies sincere. Forgiveness came, slowly but surely.
Now, every time she takes my cock into her mouth in that familiar way, I grow impossibly hard, imagining the memory of that dark stranger’s monstrous size she once faced.
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