I heard the door click. A deep voice, his, murmured something I couldn’t make out. Then her giggle. That soft, sultry one she never uses with me anymore. The one that says I already know what you’re here for.
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They didn’t waste time.
“God, you look even bigger than I remember.”
A grunt from him. Movement. Fabric. Her little gasp.
“No, don’t take them off yet… I want you to fuck me in them. I want to hear the heels on the floor while you ruin me.”
My chest tightened.
“My husband’s in the guest room,” she added, louder now. “Door’s open. He’s listening.”
They laughed. Heavily. Confidently. Like I wasn’t a threat. Like I wasn’t even there.
A slap. Her moan. Then:
“Fuck—yes… that’s it. God, I forgot what it’s like to be handled by a real man.”
The bed creaked. Her breathing quickened. My cock throbbed.
“Harder. Don’t be gentle… I’m not your wife. I’m a filthy little whore who missed getting split open.”
His voice now, rough:
“This what your little husband lets you do?”
“He begs me to do it,” she laughed breathlessly. “He needs to know I’d rather be on my knees for someone like you.”
Then I heard it. Her cries starting to rise. Rhythmic. Shameless.
“Oh my God fuck! Just like that! Fuck me like he never could!”
Slap. Moan. Slap. Moan. Louder.
“Shit, yes! YES! Stretch this married pussy he doesn’t even try anymore!”
I covered my mouth. I shouldn’t love this. I shouldn’t be hard. But fuck, I was leaking.
Then the words that hit like a bullet to my gut:
“I needed this. I needed a man again.”
She screamed. Not a fake porn scream. A raw, broken, shaking one. The kind that says she forgot you existed for a second.
The bed slammed the wall.
“Don’t stop! Make him hear it! Make my little husband know who this pussy belongs to tonight!”
And I did. Every. Goddamn. Second.
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