17. Wife's POV [Part 1]

NOTE: This fictional story features only adult characters (18+) and portrays consensual interactions throughout.


I woke up with my mind feeling fresh and relaxed. As if the storm of last night had passed.

Beside me, my husband slept peacefully—his mouth slightly open, his arms tucked in close like a child’s. I leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. He looked so cute. So sweet. So innocent. It made my heart ache.

And then it all came back.

The bath. The moaning. The way I’d lost control. The words I had whispered like a woman possessed.

“Fuck you, I want to think about that cock…”

My breath caught in my throat.

Who was that woman last night? Who said those things with such hunger, such filth, such shamelessness? That wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. The memory of my own voice echoed inside me, raw and soaked in lust—calling myself a slut, moaning for a cock that wasn’t my husband's. That man. The old man.

My body remembered every second of it.

A cold shiver ran through me. That wasn’t me… That wasn’t me…

I shook the thoughts away with a tight jaw. No. I still have time. I can fix this. I can pull back. The line hasn’t been crossed yet.

I bathed quickly, scrubbing away every trace of last night as if water could erase desire. As if it could purify what I had let happen inside me. After dressing, I moved into the kitchen and prepared breakfast, keeping myself busy so I wouldn’t think.

He came out smiling, warm as ever. He ate his meal and gave me a gentle nod before heading to his workroom.

I smiled back, forcing it, even as I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Because even with all the determination in the world, something inside me was twitching. My gut tightened. My senses tingled.

It’s about time.

Those words kept echoing in my mind, uninvited.

Time to go to his house. Time to be alone with the old man.

I gulped hard, bracing myself.

The moment I stepped into his house, that same familiar grin welcomed me. That damned creepy smile that used to make me uneasy now made my stomach flutter.

He didn’t say anything. Just waved me in.

My heart thudded, thudded, thudded. I told myself: What happened yesterday should never happen again. I’m going to stay professional. Be normal.

And I believed that.

But my body… my body was telling a different story. I couldn’t stop stealing glances. Ten minutes passed in silence. My hands were working, but my eyes kept flicking toward him. His posture. His expression. Sometimes… his cock.

I couldn’t help it. I was watching, waiting.

Waiting for him to do something.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t look at me. He didn’t stare. He didn’t ogle my legs or my chest or my ass. And I wasn’t ready for the blow that hit me because of that.

Why… why did that hurt?

Why did I feel out of place?

Had I… wanted him to stare? To touch?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I didn't know anymore. I was just… following whatever my body did on its own.

Another ten minutes passed. Still nothing from him.

I started to feel rejected. Unwanted.

And then I moved, not with purpose, not with plan, but from something darker inside me. Something that needed to be seen.

I crawled into his view, heart hammering in my chest. I crouched low to the ground, my knees pressing into the floor, hands sweeping a spot I had already cleaned earlier.

I didn’t need to be there.

I just needed him to see me.

I peeked up, discreetly. Still, his eyes weren’t on me.

The rejection burned hotter.

It felt like a silent challenge. Like he was saying: You’re not worth it. You’re not tempting enough anymore.

And I took that as a challenge.

I shifted lower, deliberately. My skirt lifted up little by little as I arched my back. My ass began to peek out, just slightly, just enough. I didn’t fix it. I didn’t pull the skirt down.

I wanted him to see.

My panties were clinging tight from the heat growing between my legs. I should’ve stopped. I knew I should have.

But some sick part of me… wanted his gaze back.

I wanted to feel that dirty thrill again. That shame. That heat. That silent, humiliating confirmation that he was looking—because I was worth looking at.

I moved even slower, hips tilting, deliberately exaggerating my posture.

I still didn’t hear anything from him.

And yet, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop tempting fate. My breath was already getting heavy again.

Was I doing all this… just to get his attention?

God help me, I think I was.

I saw him glance at me.

Just for a moment. A flick of his eyes.

And then… he turned away.

As if it meant nothing.

He stood up slowly and walked toward his bedroom. But just before slipping inside, he looked straight at me and held it. His gaze remained long enough to say something without words. Something dangerous. Something filthy.

My heart skipped.

That look—it wasn’t casual. It was an invitation.

Like he was daring me. Come on, woman. Step in. Let me ruin you.

I froze on the floor, sponge limp in my hand, thighs trembling.

It hit me like lightning.

If I follow him into that room… that’s it. That’s the line. Once I cross that door, I become something else. Something I can’t take back.

I would betray my husband.

For his cock.

The old man’s cock. That thick, vulgar thing I couldn’t get out of my mind. The one I called better, the one I begged for in whispers when my husband was sleeping beside me.

I clenched my thighs shut and breathed hard.

Just a few steps. That’s all it would take.

Three steps, maybe four, and I’d be inside. I'd see it again. I’d probably drop to my knees before he even asked.

My pussy pulsed at the thought.

What have I become?

I couldn’t believe I was even considering it. That it was a real decision in my head. That there was a part of me—some rotten, perverted, hungry part—that actually wanted to go in.

I bit my lip hard.