58. Wife's POV

I stayed there on the bathroom floor for a while longer, simply enjoying the feeling of having nothing left to rush for. My breathing gradually slowed down, and the contented smile didn’t leave my face. I was so relaxed that, for a moment, I honestly felt like I could just close my eyes and take a nap right there.

But I couldn't stay there forever.

My gaze drifted toward the wall, toward the hole that had started all of this. It was covered again from the other side, and seeing it made me remember that I should probably cover my side too.

I better take care of that before I forget.

With a few slow stretches, I pushed myself up from the floor, my thighs still slick with our mixed cum. I felt wonderfully relaxed as I reached for the board and carefully placed it back over the opening, making sure it was properly covered.

There. Done.

Satisfied, I turned my attention to the shower. I took a quick bath, letting the warm water wash away the last of my tension. By the time I finished, I felt completely calm and refreshed, almost as if nothing unusual had happened.

I stepped out of the shower, the flashlight from my phone still emitting a soft beam around the dark bathroom. I instinctively looked around for my clothes, then suddenly remembered.

Shit. I didn't bring any clothes in here.

I swept the flashlight around the room anyway, hoping I might have left something behind, but there was nothing. Then, thankfully, I spotted a towel.

Thank god.

I wrapped it around myself. It was small, barely covering my nipples, with the lower edge riding high on my ass and leaving most of my thighs exposed. I stepped out of the bathroom and saw my husband standing, that worried, off expression on his face like he’d been waiting the whole time.

It didn’t feel right. I’d just had two screaming orgasms on another man’s dick while he worried about me, and now he looked so… pathetic. Anyways, a little spark of something new lit up inside me. I met his eyes and didn’t look away. No nervous glance this time, no quick diversion. I held the stare, letting him see me fully, and watched the change hit him instantly. His pupils blew wide and his hand dropped to his crotch, fingers curling around the obvious bulge in his pants.

I smiled and took one slow, sensual step forward, hips rolling with each movement. Another step, even slower, letting the towel shift and cling to my wet skin. He squeezed his cock harder through the fabric, eyes locked on my barely-covered tits. The power rush felt incredible. I bit my lower lip, giving him that nut-cracking look I have seen in movies that drove men crazy, then hooked two fingers under the towel’s edge and lifted it teasingly. I stopped just short of flashing my bare pussy, the fabric hovering right above the spot where the neighbor’s cum had painted me earlier.

I had no idea what was going on or why I was doing this. I hadn't planned any of it, yet somehow I found myself simply going with the flow.

His breathing turned ragged. He stepped forward like he couldn’t help himself, hand still gripping his dick. I raised my palm flat out in front of me. “Stop.” A clear signal. He froze mid-step and actually backed up, face flushing. The sight made my pussy tingle all over again.

God, he was so easy.

Here I was, freshly orgasmed and dripping from the young neighbor’s load, and my own husband stood there hard and obedient because I told him to. A part of me found the sight disappointing. He wasn't like them. I wanted that confidence, that presence that could make me feel small and quiet without even trying. With them, I was the one who lost control.

But here, with the man I had actually wanted to have that kind of power over me, it was opposite. He was practically dancing on my fingers. How pathetic, I thought.

But then again, maybe that was the whole point. If he had been like them, I might never have gave in to them in the first place. Maybe this was simply the role he had fallen into, the weak, pathetic husband who had no idea how little control he really had anymore.

And yet, despite the disappointment, I couldn't deny that I liked it. There was something intoxicating about knowing that I could control his emotions so easily. It gave me a strange sense of superiority, a feeling that, for once, I was the one holding all the power.

The irony wasn't lost on me. In front of the other men, I was the one who gave in. Here, I was the one making someone else feel powerless.

He had no idea his wife had just tongue-fucked through a hole and rubbed another man’s cock all over her married cunt until they both came. And now he was getting off on the scraps I threw him.

I kept my eyes on his, letting the silence stretch while I enjoyed the way his cock twitched visibly under his hand. The towel stayed lifted just enough to promise everything and give nothing. My nipples hardened against the thin fabric. I could still taste the neighbor’s cock on my tongue and feel the stretch of that fat head against my clit. Meanwhile my husband just stood there, desperate and waiting for permission like a good boy. The thought made me wetter. Maybe I’d let him watch next time…

I felt naughtier with every heartbeat. I wanted to see exactly how far he would let me push him. Slowly I turned my back, bent forward at the waist, and arched so my ass spread for him. The towel rode up higher. I slid my hand between my thighs, dragging two fingers upward in a lazy stroke until they brushed my tight little hole. I pressed the pad of one finger against the puckered hole, circling once, then covered it with my palm like a secret he no longer had any right to. The message was clear even without words: this hole isn’t for you anymore. You don’t deserve it.

A broken sound came from behind me.

“C… can…”

“Pl… please…”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. He sounded so desperate, so breathless, like the words were being squeezed out of him. I straightened just enough to glance over my shoulder, giving him the full weight of my stare. The look said everything: Yes, Beg more.

I walked toward him, towel barely clinging to my body. My eyes dragged over every shaking inch of him, from the flush on his neck down to the little bulge straining his pants. I imagined how the old man's or the young neighbor's cock would bulge inside their pants, the difference in size would be painfully obvious. Compared to them, this one looked like it might spurt from nothing more than my stare.

How cute. A tiny volcano ready to erupt at any second.

But regardless of how bold I was becoming, a very small part of me still resisted, an uncomfortable knot somewhere inside me fighting back against the corrupted thoughts I was letting take over.

Stop being so mean to him. What the hell are you thinking? This isn't right.

He was my husband, after all. The same man I had once loved, the same man who had once made me feel wanted and satisfied. And here I was, looking at him with nothing but contempt, mocking him in my own thoughts as though he were someone beneath me.

You're being disgraceful.

The thought made me pause. Maybe I really was being cruel. He hadn't even done anything wrong. He was simply reacting to me, trusting me, completely unaware of the thoughts running through my head.

But then another part of me quickly came up with an excuse.

So what? I told myself. I'm only thinking it. He doesn't know what I'm thinking. And after everything that's happened, am I really supposed to pretend I still see him the same way?

It was a weak justification, and I knew it. But somehow, it was enough to quiet that guilty voice. And with that thought, I let myself slip back into the strange feeling of control I had been enjoying.

I stopped close enough that he could smell the neighbor’s cum still drying on my skin. His eyes were glassy, lips opened, chest heaving. I didn’t touch him. I simply let the silence and my gaze do the work, pressing down on him until his knees looked ready to buckle.

I looked at his pleading and desperate eyes, and felt a tiny crack in my resolve. Maybe I couldn’t be this harsh. I placed my hand above his thigh, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over the fabric. Each loop brought me closer to that straining bulge, never quite touching, just letting the heat of my palm tease him. His cock jerked visibly in his pants, trembling like a leaf in a storm, knees locked, breath hitching every time my fingers drifted nearer.

God, he was enjoying this more than I was, wasn’t he?

The thought made my own pussy throb, slick and aching under the towel. I leaned in until my lips brushed the shell of his ear, hot breath washing over his neck. My fingertips finally grazed the outline of his cock through his pants, pressing lightly, feeling it jerk and leak against my touch. He was so hard it almost hurt to watch, that tiny volcano ready to blow from nothing. His breathing turned ragged, chest heaving fast, each inhale shorter than the last. I pulled back just enough to study his face, watching how close he already was.

Fuck, he might cum without me even stroking him.

A challenge lit up inside me like fire. I was going to make him cum in under a minute.

“C… can you—” he started, voice cracking.

I pressed my finger firmly against his lips. “Shhh.”

My other hand slid lower, cupping his balls through the thin material. I gave them a squeeze, not too hard, not too soft, just enough pressure to make him gasp and buck. At this point, I was simply letting my intuition take over, doing whatever felt right in the moment.

His whole body shuddered violently. His cock jerked once, twice, then a wet spot bloomed fast across his pants, spreading as he came hard, pulsing and soaking the fabric in thin ropes. Thirty seconds. Not even a minute.

Pride surged through me sharply. I watched every twitch, every helpless spurt, panting like he’d run a mile. I waited until his breathing had eased a little before leaning closer and whispering teasingly in his ear, “Guess it's your turn to bathe now.”