As I entered the house, all I could think about was taking a bath. I couldn't stand the sticky mess in my panties or the shameful tingle on my breasts—ugh. How pathetic.
I dropped the recipe sheet onto the table and headed straight to the bathroom. The second the water hit my skin, a soft hiss left my lips. Cool, calming… slowly lowering the heat burning inside me.
I leaned against the wall, letting the water run down my face, eyes shut, trying to calm down.
"Alright," I whispered to myself. "Let's… let's go over what happened today."
So he gave us the instructions normally, and we got busy with cooking. Everything was going fine. We were chopping the rest properly, focused. It was nice.
But suddenly... Lina got bored and suggested that game.
"Fuck.", I hissed. "That's where it started."
I mean, okay… she just wanted us to take a breather. That's why she suggested the game. And to be honest, the game itself wasn't weird or anything.
Just a simple, fun game. To find the piece of paper on the other person. Sure... I got little flustered at the beginning.
I mean, she suddenly put me on the spot like that—it was bound to get me all flustered. Also, I am not used to such things.
Anyways, I... tried my best. I really did. Checking pocket after pocket, hoping to find whatever it was… until I touched something I definitely shouldn't have.
I stared down at my hand, water still dripping off my fingers. It was warm… fat… I knew what it was the moment I touched it.
But then again—could it really be that? Could it really be that long? It had reached so far down his pocket.
I couldn't believe it. Or maybe… I didn't want to. I tried to reason with myself. It couldn't be what I thought. There was no way. But… just to be sure. I swear that's all it was—just to confirm. Even though It was pretty evident. But still some curious part of me wanted to check.
If it was really that lon... How shameless.
The word struck like a whip in my mind. Disgusting. I knew what it was, and still… I held it. I pressed my palm to it like some depraved pervert.
But then, another voice… softer, sly, soothing.
No… Not shameless. Just… curious.
That's all it was. A heat-of-the-moment reaction. I didn't mean for it to be sexual. I just wanted to confirm. It wasn't wrong to confirm, right? The thing was thick, hot… surprising. Anyone would've double-checked. That doesn't make me bad.
Still, you squeezed it. You didn't pull away. You held it like you wanted to feel it.
Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't.
But what's the point in shaming myself now? I'm not some slut. I still love my husband. Nothing's changed. I didn't cheat—I just touched. That's not betrayal. That's barely even anything. Just skin contact. Just a game.
So no, I'm not shameless. Just… curious. And maybe a little too excited.
But it felt good. And if something feels that good… how wrong can it really be?
But at the same time... I think that's when I dug my own grave.
I gave that fucker a reason to grope me like that. And... what the hell did he even do to my tits? Its like he has rewired them. It feels different. Very different.
I pressed one hand to my chest, resting it over one of my tits. Slowly, I began to mimic him. The way he had grabbed me—so rough, so violent. I remembered how he had lifted it up, twisted it, stretched it. My fingers followed his path. I lifted it the same way, copying what he did, squeezing it in all directions. I pulled, stretched, just like he had. Then, I pinched my nipple—hard. It didn't feel the same, but it was enough.
"Aaahhnn…" I gave in, voice moaning with pleasure.
He… taught me something. Something I never knew. Something I shouldn't like, but fuck… I did.
I never thought I could feel this good just from playing with my own tits. My husband never touched me like that. He was gentle, careful… soft squeezes here and there. But this? This was different. This was… filthy. Intense. Shameless. The way he handled me—he didn't treat them like something fragile. He treated them like they needed to be punished, like he wanted to break me with just his hands.
And I started this… didn't I? I was the one who squeezed his cock first. And what he did… that was just payback. I can't really blame him for that. Right?
Besides, it was just a game. Just a silly little game Lina came up with. No need to overthink it. Things just got a little… heated, that's all.
Sure, if someone were to hear about it, it might sound like I did something unforgivable. Like I crossed some horrible line. But I don't think so. Not really.
My love for him hasn't changed. Not even a little. I still love him. The same as before.
And it would be a lie—an absolute lie—if I said I didn't enjoy it. Because I did. I enjoyed it so damn much, more than I ever should have. That thrill, that touch, that twisted rush that made my body light up… he didn't just grope me, he made me feel things I never experienced.
And when I lost the game… when I had to say it, when Lina made me repeat it louder…
"I lost."
God, the humiliation. The shame that washed over me. The heat on my cheeks, my skin crawling. But underneath all that…
I liked it.
I liked admitting my pathetic defeat. I liked saying it with my own mouth, telling them I lost—no, that I got played. It wasn't the defeat that made me feel pathetic, but the way I had lost. That I let another man touch me like that and I couldn't even stop him.
I was weak.
And worse?
It felt good.
Pleasure. Not the soft, loving kind. Not what I had gotten used to for years. No. This was raw, twisted, degrading ecstasy. My body wasn't used to it. My mind still tried to reject it. But my heart?
My heart was racing for soemthing darker, twisted. If anything, I should be grateful to him.
I squeezed my thighs shut, breath shaking.
Okay. That's enough. I need to stop thinking about it. I took a deep breath, forcing the thoughts away. I should hurry up before he comes looking for me.
I quickly prepared lunch and dropped him in his workroom. He seemed lighter these past few days, as if something that had been weighing him down had finally started to lift. And maybe it was the same for me. Maybe I was finally accepting what I wanted. I had been the one making it all so difficult, acting like it was something huge, when in truth, it wasn't. It was just... normal. Natural. Not that serious.
It was already night, and I was restless, burning inside. The heat between my legs had been bothering me the entire evening. I waited until he was done brushing, sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing his towel through his hair. That's when I walked in—wearing nothing but black lace. Sheer and tight, the straps hugging my body, nipples faintly visible beneath the thin fabric. I didn't speak. I just stood there and let him look.
He blinked, caught off guard, but then smiled like a dork. "Wow... you look amazing," he said, standing up.
His hands were warm as he wrapped them around my waist and lifted me with ease. I let out a small giggle, mostly to keep things light, as he carried me to the bed and dropped me gently onto the mattress. I opened my legs slightly as I looked up at him, my eyes daring, inviting. He hovered over me, leaning in for a kiss. I let him taste me, biting his lower lip just enough to make him gasp.
I pulled him down, straddled him. I wanted to take control tonight. My hips moved on their own, grinding against his crotch, feeling him harden beneath the shorts. I pulled at his shorts, eager, desperate to feel more. He responded, but his rhythm, his touch—it was too soft, too careful. He kissed down my neck while I guided his hand up to my breast, placing it there like a command.
But he just left it there.
A weak squeeze. Gentle. Barely anything.
My teeth clenched. I wanted to scream. What was this supposed to be? Foreplay? No. This wasn't enough. Not even close. I wanted fire, pressure, hunger. Not some delicate patting like he was afraid to hurt me. I kept my face neutral, swallowing the irritation. Of course I loved him. He was sweet, he was mine. He did everything else right.
But right now... right now I wished he had the hands of him. Or the old man. They didn't hesitate. They knew what to do, where to touch, how to push past my limits until I couldn't even think straight.
My body betrayed me. I groaned in frustration, subtly pushing his hand away. He looked at me, confused. "Too much?" he asked with concern.
I smiled. "No, no... it's okay," I whispered.
I reached down with my own hand and grabbed my breast. Squeezed it hard the way he did earlier. My thumb brushed over my nipple, pressing in. I moaned. Loud. I didn't care. If I couldn't get what I wanted from him, I'd give it to myself. I wanted the same feeling again. That raw, twisted pleasure that made my head spin.
He watched me, his breath shallow, unsure of what to do. I leaned into my own touch, arching my back, pretending like it was all just part of the moment. But deep down, a part of me was disappointed. Not with him. But with the truth.
Some things... only they had awakened in me.
Still, I smiled at him, sweet and encouraging, like a good wife should. I shifted, crawling forward on the bed slowly. I got on all fours, my back arched, my ass lifted just enough to tease. I gave a little glance back over my shoulder, letting my hair fall to the side, my eyes half-lidded.
He took the bait.
I felt the mattress shift behind me, then the warmth of his body pressed close. His hands clutched my waist, and soon, he was pushing into me. I gasped, but not from shock—from something else. He was trying, I could feel it. His pace was steady, his hands gripping me tighter than usual. But it wasn't rough. Not raw. Not like that. It was decent. But I wanted more than this.
I closed my eyes, biting down a moan—not because I was holding back pleasure, but because I was holding back disappointment.
I wanted to be used. Fucked senseless. Thrust into so hard that my breath got knocked out. But he was... careful. Sweet. Loving. His hands never wandered far, his rhythm never lost control. I knew he loved me, and I loved him too, but god—I needed more than this.
I reached forward, pressing my palm to the sheets, and with the other hand, grabbed one of my tits. I groped it hard, pinched the nipple, trying to mimic his hand. My breath hitched, my body shuddered.
That's what I wanted. That sting of pleasure. That desperate need. Not this safe, measured fuck.
I rocked my hips back harder against him, forcing him deeper, trying to draw something more out of him. Maybe if I just showed him how much I wanted it, he'd change. Maybe—
No. He was trying his best. And I couldn't blame him. He wasn't them. He'd never be them.
But god, how I wished he was.