Fuck her all night

The quiet of the miller’s cottage is shattered for hours as you fuck the wife again and again, the initial slow burn escalating into a relentless, rhythmic heat. The two of you fuck, breed, rest, and repeat. Even though it isn't confirmed, you're driven by the thought of fathering your bastard on this humble bed.

"You feel that?" you whisper, your hands pinning her wrists against the linens. "Every touch, every gasp... you’re a sinner now, just like him. While he's fucking a harlot somewhere, here you are spreading your legs for someone you don't even know."

She lets out a broken moan, her head thrashing against the pillow. The realization doesn't make her pull away; instead, she clings to you with a ****, frantic energy, her nails scoring marks down your back. "A sinner," she repeats breathlessly, her voice caught between a sob and a laugh of pure, unadulterated release. "Yes... let us both burn, then."

As the small hours of the morning tick by, you don't let up. You push her to the brink of exhaustion, fueled by the primal satisfaction of knowing that while the Miller pays for his pleasure with copper, you are taking yours without any coin. Every time you cum in your adultery partner, you imagine her belly swelling and her breasts become engorged with milk, as her body adapts itself for the eventual motherhood.

By the time dawn arrives, the bed is damp with the sweat of your relentless sowing. You stand, your muscles aching with a satisfied fatigue, and begin to pull on your noble garments in the dim, grey light. She remains sprawled across the straw mattress, her chest rising and falling in deep, rhythmic slumber, exhausted by your fucking.

You cover her with a blanket, so that when her husband returns, he wouldn't suspect anything. Near her hand but hidden by the blanket, is a coin for her trouble. Hopefully it remains hidden or otherwise the husband would be celebrating big at the whore house tomorrow night.