And your wife has no idea.

Your wife's silk robe slides off Gemma's shoulders as she climbs onto your marital bed, the fabric pooling around her like liquid. The scent of your wife's perfume clings to it, a cruel irony as you grab the lapels and pull Gemma close for a deep kiss, before pushing her onto her back. The sheets are cool, and the pillow is still indented from where Rebecca's head lay last night. You spread Gemma's legs wide open, revealing her glistening, perfect pink pussy, and then lift her legs up over your shoulders, her feet pointing towards the ceiling.

You press your cock up against her and sink into her in one smooth thrust, her tight heat enveloping you. She's tight and soaking wet, and clenches around you as you bottom out. The robe slips open, revealing the tight, perfect curves of her body and her small, perfect breasts, her nipples hard against your chest as you start to move. The headboard knocks against the wall - thump, thump, thump - a rhythm that matches the pulse of your heart. The bed creaks under you, the springs groaning under the force of your thrusts.

The sound is muffled by the thick comforter as Gemma arches into you, taking every inch of your enormous length. You hear a pot clinking downstairs in the kitchen, and the hum of your wife drifts up the stairs. You can hear her moving around, with the murmur of the television in the background, which only sets your cock twitching. Gemma's body trembles as you fuck her harder, the silk of the fabric now a wet mess between her legs, knowing that your wife is downstairs, none the wiser.

Gemma’s back arches, her body tightening around you as she cums, her release pulsing around your cock. You follow, your own orgasm tearing through you as you spill inside her, before collapsing on top of her in a sweaty mess, the robe tangled around the two of you. Downstairs, the timer on the oven beeps. The table has been set, the napkins carefully folded. Rebecca calls out, her voice cheerful, oblivious.

Dinner's ready.

THE END.