"That's wonderful sweetie."

You continue. "That's wonderful, sweetie," you say, your voice a portrait of paternal pride. Your fingers are moving inside Peta, a slow, deliberate rhythm. You're mimicking the beat of a lullaby, a cruel parody of the loving husband on the phone. Your thumb is pressed firmly on the phone's screen, right over Ava's smiling face, grinding the device into Peta's clit.

"You have no idea," Ava gushes, oblivious. "Kyler's got this whole design worked out to match my dress. She's so talented. She said she wanted to make something truly special for you, too."

Peta's breath hitches. She's biting her lip, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to stifle the sounds that want to escape her. The muscles in her thighs are tense, quivering under your touch. She's fighting for control, and you're loving every second of her struggle.

"I can't wait to see it," you say to Ava, your fingers curling inside Peta, finding that spot that makes her whole body clench. "She's really a gem." You hold your phone and rub her wet cum all over the photo of your wife's face. Soaking wet of Peta cum.

"She really is," Ava agrees. "Oh! Before I forget, did you transfer the money to the main checking account? I paid the deposit for Kyler's mask supplies and the final balance on my dress with the card, and I want to make sure we have enough in the bills account for the mortgage and utilities coming up."

Your blood runs cold. The family account. The one you meticulously keep separate, a fortress of sensible finances. And the one from which you're planning to pay for this entire weekend of fantasy. A cold dread, sharp and metallic, cuts through the haze of your arousal. The numbers. The spreadsheets. The reality.

But the sensation in your hand, your phone, slick with Peta's arousal, the picture of your innocent, trusting wife smeared with the evidence of your sin overrides the dread. This is more real than a mortgage payment.

"Yep, all taken care of this morning," you lie, the words sliding out as smoothly as Peta's juices coat your fingers. The lie is a new thrill, an added layer to the transgression. You're not just fucking your secretary, you're defiling the very ledger of your family life.

"Oh, good!" Ava says, her relief palpable through the phone. "You're the best. So organized. I don't know what I'd do without you."

The praise is a whip. You drive your fingers into Peta harder, a punishing thrust that makes her gasp audibly. You quickly cover the phone's microphone.

"Bored?" you mouth silently at her, a cruel smirk playing on your lips. Her eyes flash with happiness and lust, a perfect, volatile cocktail.

"I know what you'd do, honey," you say into the phone, your voice laced with mock affection. "You'd manage. You always do. You are my perfect hotwife and mother to my children." Hotwife said together as a way to cuck your wife without her ever knowing.

Peta is writhing now, no longer trying to be quiet. She's grinding herself against your phone, against your wife's smiling face, chasing her own climax. The sounds she's making wet, desperate little pants, are growing louder.

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