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I slipped quietly through the front door, my heels clicking lightly on the hardwood floor. There he was—standing right where I knew he’d be, eyes wide, a little eager, a little anxious. I smiled sweetly as I closed the door behind me.
“Hi, honey,” I said, setting my purse down. “I just got back from my date with your best friend.”
His jaw twitched. I could almost hear his heart pounding from across the room.
“It went really well,” I added, biting my lip as I stepped closer, letting the tension hang in the air. “Really… well.”
Then I said it, soft but wicked:
“He made a mess in my panties. Do you want to see?”
The heat behind his eyes told me everything I needed to know. So I turned around, slowly lifting the hem of my short dress. My fingers curled into the waistband of my panties, and I began to peel them down inch by inch, drawing out the reveal, watching his breath catch as I bent just enough to tease without mercy.
“Careful,” I warned with a smile as the damp fabric dropped toward my shoes, “it nearly got on my white heels.”
I dangled the panties between my fingers, turning to face him, my voice thick with playful cruelty.
“Do you want to sniff it?”
I held them closer. His lips parted like he might say something, but nothing came out. Just that stunned, aroused silence.
“Your little penis is hard already,” I said with a pout as I looked down. “That’s adorable.”
I stepped closer, pressing the panties against his chest for a moment before strolling toward the bedroom, hips swaying deliberately.
“Come with me,” I said, casting a glance over my shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere you can get a better look.”
He followed me like a shadow, his breath uneven, his eyes drinking me in with every step. I laid back on the bed, legs slightly parted, one arm folded behind my head as I looked up at him with lazy amusement.
“Take it out,” I instructed. “I want to see that little thing of yours while you look at my messy, used-up pussy.”
His hand was trembling as he obeyed. I could see the way his eyes darted between my thighs and his own pathetic arousal.
“Stroke it,” I purred. “Stroke that tiny cock while you think about me getting fully satisfied by your best friend. He took me so deep, it still aches. I couldn’t stop moaning.”
I ran my fingers slowly between my folds, spreading myself just a little, letting him see the evidence of how thoroughly I’d been taken.
“Put it in,” I said softly, like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.
He climbed over me and slipped inside. I bit my lip… then giggled.
“Oh… wow. That feels… different.” My tone was syrupy with sarcasm. “You’re so small, baby.”
He twitched inside me, that little desperate movement trying to claim some space. It only made me laugh harder.
“He felt so good,” I whispered, brushing my fingers against his cheek. “And you… well, I wish I could feel you.”
I let the silence hang before leaning in again.
“If you did a better job,” I said sweetly, “maybe I wouldn’t need to sneak off to your friend’s house to be satisfied.”
His pace quickened. I could feel the pathetic rhythm of his climax building—rushed, needy, hopeless.
“Are you gonna cum, sweetie?” I taunted, my voice light and cruel. “Is that tiny cock about to give me your little squirt? Do it. “Show me what the little guy can do.” Add it to the mess he left inside your wife.”
He whimpered as he released, just a flicker of sensation, just a dribble of ego, nothing compared to the fire that had been inside me earlier. I stroked his hair lovingly as he caught his breath, still inside me, still overwhelmed.
He lay on me for a few minutes, catching his breath. We locked eyes, I smiled at the moment of connection that we felt together. I love it, I love him and I love the way we make each other feel. That moment was everything for us.
“Time to clean up,” I whispered. Putting pause on moment of connection and taking charge in the way I do.
He shuddered but leaned back dutifully as he knelt between my legs, tongue working dutifully, reverently, as I laid back and sighed in satisfied bliss. It wasn’t about pleasure anymore. It was about placing him exactly where he belonged—beneath me. Between my thighs. At my mercy.
“That’s it,” I cooed, watching his eyes flutter closed. “Clean up your messy wife. The wife you can’t satisfy. The wife who has to go to your friend to get even her most basic needs met.”
His tongue was so obedient. So eager to prove what his cock never could. That he loved me, needed me, worshipped me.
“It feels so good,” I whispered, threading my fingers into his hair. “Knowing you’re licking me clean… knowing you’re in your place.”
I arched my hips, guiding him. “Take it all in, baby. His mess. Your mess. My body. All of it. Yours to serve. Never to own.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His tongue, his eyes, his very breath told the story—of a man deeply in love, totally surrendered, completely undone by the woman he called his wife.
And me?
I just smiled.
