My Wife ❤️

You brush a stray strand of hair from Mina's face. She looks so beautiful and peaceful like this. Sleeping like an angel wrapped up in a large blanket. Her hair is sprawled out on the pillow, messy, long and oh so gorgeous. There is this serenity on her features that doesn't exist when she is awake. Not that you've had the chance to check recently. Her lips are slightly parted to allow for soft breaths to escape. Her skin is all white and pristine apart from the few freckles that you dearly love kissing. She is beauty and calm incarnate – all in your bed with your ring on her finger.

Your heart swells, you could look at her like this forever and it still wouldn't be enough. You kiss her cheek, careful to not wake her, and she stirs slightly, coos in unconscious appreciation of your affection.

"I love you, Mina. Have a good day at work," you whisper as you do every morning and off to work you go.

Life with Mina was a blessing. Having this woman around, seeing her decorate the couch with her long legs, illuminate the kitchen with her smile, fill the bedroom with her moans, is the best thing a man could ever ask for.

Stress on was a blessing.

Mina is an ambitious woman, it's one of the million things that drew you to her in the first place. But ambition comes with a price. Late meetings, emergency phone calls, weekends at the office, the work never ends.

You wake up early, go to work early, head to bed alone. You wake up wrapped around her, running too hot but smiling like a teenager in love. You kiss her before you get up from bed, when she stirs, before you leave for work and at least a couple dozen times in between. Because she comes home late, goes to bed wrapped around you, hoping to warm up from the coldness of the outside world, and wakes up when you're gone. She probably kisses you just as sweetly when you sleep too. She looks at you the same way before huddling up next to you and sighing blissfully that she is finally home – in your arms.

Weekends are the saving grace. It's when you're together again, like it was always meant to be. You cuddle in the morning, read next to each other while enjoying the hums of each other's breaths, eat meals in pyjamas — together — and finally talk like you once used to. When life was simpler.

Though, lately even that is slipping between your fingers. You aren't exactly sure you can live only off of these quiet mornings and stolen kisses, but every time you look at her you think you'll be okay. You have to be — you love each other so much.

You spend 10 hours a day at a mediocre job, away from home so you can provide for your family. Maybe soon it won't be just you and Mina and you'll have to be ready for that day. She'd be a wonderful mother; you're sure of it.

You get home to a dark apartment that still faintly smells of her vanilla perfume. You prepare dinner for both of you only to eat it alone. The empty dishes in the sink are reward enough -- it warms your heart to know she still enjoys your cooking, reminds you that things between you are still fundamentally the same, only with less time to spare. You sit on your chair and stare at the one opposite it. You know she does the same — same longing and unshed tears in her eyes.

You finish dinner and prepare for bed. You read a bit — alone, no one to share funny phrasing or surprisingly sweet scenes with. Mina was always there with a loving, although tired, smile and a quiet voice appropriate for the late hours.

It hurts, it really does, to have her so close yet so far away every day. To look at her smiling face only through your phone screen as you scroll through photos of you together. This one's from your honeymoon in Paris — she had ripped her stockings on the Eifel Tower, you'd think it'd be safer. You wrapped your jacket around her legs then and told her she was beautiful no matter what because it's true and took a photo on top of the world while looking at your whole world, her tiny waist fitting comfortably in your arms.

This one's from your wedding, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk from the cake. The look in her eyes is loving and sweet as the glaze on her lips, you remember it like it was yesterday. You could never forget her in that white dress, walking down the aisle, taking your hands, looking into your eyes and saying "I do".

So you have to endure. You have to put your phone down and wipe your quiet tiers because she works hard for you. For both of you. For the eventual third or even fourth of you. And you have to go to sleep in a cold, large, empty bedroom that was once filled with her warmth and scent.

Mina's evening looks different from yours in just about every meaningful aspect. You leave for work happy to go home to your shared space, even if she isn't there, and she leaves with all the faux-modesty of a business-casually dressed woman daydreaming about the prospect of getting railed into oblivion by a man that isn't her husband.

Mina knocks on an innocuous door and holds her breath in anticipation of what's to come.
Said door opens to reveal a completely usual apartment. This isn't a super villain, some sick bastard, a movie set even. It is just a normal, decently tall and handsome man in a normal, decently homey looking apartment.

"Hi, Mina," He says as if greeting an old friend. Completely normal.

"Good evening, Daddy," She responds, already slightly breathless.

"You're a little late tonight. Again." He scolds as she walks into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy. I was getting ready for you." She looks up at him, trying her best to maintain that false composure, the respect her suit and pencil skirt were supposed to exude, at least the pretence of caring about the promise on her finger but she was already turning boneless against his chest.

The man wraps his arms around her as if they belong there, and kisses her deeply. She melts into the kiss, fully pushing her body against his while letting his tongue take whatever it wants from her. It wants, it would seems, her moans and breath as they all leave her lips between the obscene sounds of their saliva mixing.

His fingers push at the hem of her skirt until it is bunched around her waist, exposing all of her thighs and ass to the furniture in the foreign apartment. Her mind faulters when his fingers find the damp spot between her legs, professional stockings left wet at the though of -

"Were you looking at photos of your husband in the car again?" He asks with mild amusement.

"Yes," Mina admits, breath heavy and warm on his neck.

"Then your tardiness is allowed. Go get changed." The man pulls away from her.

"Yes, Daddy."

"And keep the stocking."

"Yes, Daddy."

If you knew, you'd think you know. You'd be certain he is some company exec that holds blackmail over her. Or her boss and this is his vile way of abusing women trying to provide for their family. Or she is just an attractive woman trying to climb the corporate ladder and the only way to promotion is through late night cheating sessions and pet names. You'd be wrong every time. He is a regular guy she met on Tinder a few years back. He works nothing to do with her, doesn't hold any power, any keys, any knowledge. She just loves his dick inside her — loves that it isn't yours. Loves that you love her and think about her while she is slipping here clothes off and putting on a red collar with the word SLUT on it. The accessory is a formality, really, but a welcome one by all parties involved. That obviously wouldn't include you.

Mina's now on all fours at a doorway to a normal bedroom – not a crazy sex dungeon. There is a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a regular chair, all of them different models, but fundamentally the same things you have in your bedroom. The same things you'd expect to find in any bedroom. The people in the rooms – as well as their actions – are what ultimately matters. This is the part of the night where you are sitting alone on a simple wooden chair while staring at the framed photo of you and Mina. Mirrored, no more than a handful of kilometres from your family home, a naked man is sitting on a similar chair and staring at your almost-naked wife crawling towards him.

Mina's a real beauty like this. You've seen her naked more times than you could count. But this? This is different. Every time her open palm finds the ground in front of her a bony shoulder protrudes from her elegant frame. Her tits are pulled by gravity to appear fuller and only get pushed further down with every hot breath she takes into her ribs. Her spine is impossibly tight, the dip insane, all in order to raise her ass, still in her desire-soiled stockings, as high as possible. That delectable piece of muscular flesh you used to kneed like dough is swaying behind her with every drag of her knees across the floor.

Gone are your dear wife's soft eyes, replaced by hungry dark pools. Her matte black hair falls around your favourite face in the whole world to block sight of anything that isn't the man sitting in front of her and his slowly hardening cock.

The cherry on top is the collar, of course. Red, leathery and shiny — big, proud letters claiming what Mina truly is behind her soft kisses and lazy Saturday morning cuddles you look forward to every night.

"You are so beautiful for me," the man says as he opens his legs in order for Mina to place a kiss on his cock.

"Thank you, Daddy. I've been thinking about this all day." More kisses spill from her lips between her sweet words.

"Can I suck your cock now?" She whispers to his shaft with pretend innocence all while staring at his eyes through thick, black, fluttering eyelashes.

The man grabs a fistful of her hair and exclaims in faux-surprise.

"Mina, you bad girl! You kiss your husband with that mouth?"

"Gladly," she says before wrapping her lips around his hardening cock.

Obscene slurps and sucks fill the room as Mina begins pleasuring the man sitting in front of her. She makes her tongue flat and runs it up and down the shaft, moans when his grip on her hair tightens, begins rubbing her wet pussy through her stockings and panties, the friction not quite enough. He stops her head on an upstroke and grabs the base of his cock.

"Let me wash that mouth of yours," he talks down to her, voice rough and deep.
Mina shudders before opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out, already in a cock-drunk daze.

"Please, Daddy."

The man stands up, gathers spit on the tip of his lips and lets it rappel down into your wife's mouth.

"Thank you, Daddy." And even at this, Mina moans and only rubs her self with more fervour.

"Now to really fuck it into you."

Her lovely hair makes for a fantastic handlebar as his cock pushes past her lips, into the moist cavern of her mouth. His tip presses to the back of her throat before he pulls back and changes the angle. He smears precum on the roof off her mouth, then over her tongue before adjusting and pushing his cock to the inside of her cheek. The same cheek you kissed softly this morning with a whisper of love and devotion on your tongue is bulging with another man's cock. Her tongue runs ravenously on the underside of his hard shaft, eyes full of devotion and never leaving his.

This is probably the luckiest random guy ever. Having this perfect woman — sexy, filthy and horny beyond all measure at just the thought of her sad husband at home — all on her knees in the middle of his normal bedroom, sucking his dick like that? What more could a man ask for? He readjusts and pushes into her throat, feels the ring on her finger press against the back of his thigh in response. She wants this just as much as he does, if not even more. The collar doesn't lie after all.

She chokes around him, spittle gushing wherever her lips don't form a perfect seal around his cock and his head flies back with a strained fuck. Quiet ensues. Deep breaths whistle between his clenched teeth as Mina achieves an outright nasty, nose-stuck-to-skin-throat-fucking-spasming stance. The whole legs-spread-like-a-dirty-stripper-rubbing-her-folds position, with this guy's cock down her gullet.

His shaky breaths, the frantic rubbing of her hand against fabric, and the quiet gulps of her throat are all that fill the air for a couple of scorching seconds before Mina finally chokes. Hard. It's this full-on torrent of spit and precum that explodes out of her mouth — all over the man's cock and balls. She coughs violently and he coos, hands softly caressing her head.

"My beautiful girl. You always take me so well."

Mina's a proper mess now. On her knees, mascara streeks running down her lovely, pink cheeks as even more thick, clear fluids spill down her tits and stomach. She looks up at the man, eyes red and pupils blown out to high hell, her voice is rough, laced with something sinister that would make her terrifying if the words she spoke weren't so pathetic.

"Please, Daddy, I want your cock inside me." The friction through two layers of clothes simply wasn't enough. And now she's pent-up, wet as could be and ready to be manhandled to a better position.

And so she does — her lithe body is easily liftable off the ground, placeable in front of the bed. She bends at her hips, places her hands on the mattress and arches her back like the good slut that she is. From here on out, her legs are easily spreadable, stockings finally rippable and cunt absolutely drenched.

The man slides in. No grand gesture, no condoms — just Mina's moans in the air and the sound of slick skin meeting somehow even slicker insides.

"Fuck, you're so tight," He says as he looks down at where their bodies meet. His fingers naturally grip her hips, digging into her soft skin with possessiveness that has no business imprinting itself on your wife the way it does.

"It's you," she breathes out. "It remembers your cock and your cock only."
His thrusts quicken, hit deeper, fill her so wonderfully.

"Yeah?" He taunts as his hips slam into her ass again.

"Yes." She responds, arches her back more, meets him half-way, begs for more with every twitch of her wet body.

"So your body belongs only to me?"

"Yes." Another exasperated half-moan-half-coherent-agreement.

"So I can just mark you? Bite your skin, spank you red and blue for your husband to find?"

"Ngh – FUCK – No..." Mina tries but his thrusts knock the wind out of her.

"He's a good guy. I love him. I don't want to — oh my fucking god, don't stop" The man finds his favourite spot inside her. The one that turns her brain to mush, makes her legs buckle.
Her knees hit the floor and he follows, thrusts never letting up, only digging deeper and deeper, harder and harder as she moans into the bedsheets now. Different bedsheets than the one you're currently laying on, flipping through photos of the happiest day of your life with unshed tears in your eyes.

"He's a good guy," Mina manages between whimpers and moans. "I don't want to hurt him."

"Then why are you in my room?" The man punctuates his sharp words with slap on her ass that Mina keens at. "Why is your cunt clenching around my cock? Why are you moaning into my bed?"

"Because... it feels too good — so fucking good, please don't stop." Mina's legs are already shaking, cunt squelching and gripping the man's cock with wanton desperation.
The man leans in, places his hot breath right next to your wife's ear and whispers

"If your husband's a good guy, where does he finish?"

"Nowhere, never — OH FUCK"

It's the confession that breaks the dam. The feeling of this man's cock stirring her insides as she talks about you — it sends her right over the edge, crashing into a toe-curling-brain-scrambling-cunt-pulsing orgasm all around another man's dick.

He comes as well. With a growl starting deep in his chest and finishing hot right on her ear, he empties rope after rope of cum directly into Mina's greedy cunt.
Their pants fill the air as the wet sounds of bodies pounding into each other subsides.

Eventually their breathing stabilises and soon after your wife's in her car, clothes thrown on in haste.

There is so much wrong with the way she looks when she enters the dark apartment where you are blissfully sleeping, wonderfully unaware.

Her hair is a complete mess, going haywire, wet and sticking to her face. That lovely face you see smiling in every bright dream you have is covered in the sticky remnants of spit, mascara and another man's precum, all dried now on her perfectly white skin.

Her clothes are all wet. Shirt clinging to her breasts, a large spot of dripping cum has formed on her skirt under her cunt, where her stockings were ripped.

And she is fucking ravenous. She finds a now cold meal on the counter with a hand-written note next to it.

Hope you had a good day, love. Eat well and sweet dreams ♡

She smiles at the note, takes the plate and walks to the table. She sits on your chair with her skirt rolled up around her waist and begins eating. She doesn't even taste the food as she gulps it down, the heat already forming in her core from a combination of aphrodisiacs that should not maker her feel the way she does.

The situation is all wrong; immoral as can get really. But there is this disgustingly hot dissonance between the photo on the table, your eyes so bright and sparkling and the way another man's cum is dripping out of her swollen folds. The difference between the feeling of your food and the ghost of his cock sliding down her throat. The thought of climbing into bed with you after having collapsed on another one not even an hour ago.

She clears the plate but her hunger doesn't disappear.

Mina finds herself the same way she does too many nights now. Tears in her eyes from the reality of who she is, face pressed against the chair you used to sit on when you two had dinner together — what feels like a life time ago — three fingers deep in her cunt and curling in chase of another orgasm. Because it was never enough. This — her licking the still warm cum off of the chair as she fucks the rest of it even deeper into herself, bits of your cooking, the meal you prepared with love and devotion, still on her tongue — mixing in with the other man's semen — is who your wife was. In these moments, when the whole world stilled in nights between work days, Mina is pathologically cumming and crying, legs spread like the cheapest whore in the middle of your living room, all while hating every single choice she has ever made.

Her orgasm subsides, his cum gets swallowed, all evidence cleaned up. But the guilt? The guilt stays. Deep behind her rib cage, next to the harrowing question of "why". Why am I like this? What do I do? How can I look at him tomorrow?

She scrubs in the shower, brushes her teeth for longer than necessary or recommended, applies all the lotions and products she owns — all in order to clean herself, to mask her true nature, to allow herself to climb into bed next to you and kiss your cheek lovingly.
She wraps her hands around your body and buries her face in your chest, wets your shirt with her tears and tries to not shake too much.