Inside the wife

The rhythm of the straw mattress becomes a frantic, heavy percussion against the wooden floorboards as the slow burn finally ignites into a searing heat. You move with a steady, commanding power, your hands pinned against the headboard on either side of her face. She meets every thrust with a ****, climbing intensity, her eyes locked on yours, searching the face of the man who has utterly replaced her husband in her own bed.

As the tension coils toward a breaking point, your mind flashes back to the guard’s warning about the "cycles." A dark, exhilarating thrill surges through your blood. The thought of your royal seed taking root here, in this humble miller’s cottage, is more intoxicating than any mead.

You imagine her belly swelling in the coming months, your bastard growing in a commoner's womb, and will end up becoming a commoner itself. Meanwhile, the cuckold Miller would be returning from his nights of debauchery, none the wiser. The irony is delicious, a royal bastard raised on grain and hard work. "I'm going to cum in you."

"Yes," she whimpers, her voice breaking as she feels the shift in your pace.

The climax hits like a physical blow, a white-hot explosion that leaves you both breathless and trembling. You pour everything into her, the thought of possibly impregnating her overwhelming your reasons. She cries out, her fingers digging deep into the muscles of your back, her body arching one last time before collapsing back into the linens.

For a long moment, the only sound is the frantic thumping of two hearts slowing down and the dying flicker of the candle. The once loyal wife, now an adultress, lies there, flushed and spent, her dark hair a tangled halo on the pillow. She looks up at you, a dazed, knowing smile touching her lips.