Changes Happen

It began as a whisper of difference.

Sandra stood in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when she noticed it.

Her skin — freshly washed, still dewy from the steam — looked… clearer. Creamier. There was a glow around her cheeks she couldn’t remember seeing before.

She leaned closer to the mirror, tilting her head.

The small mole near her collarbone — the one she had half-considered removing — was lighter. Fainter. Almost ghosted.

She frowned for a moment, puzzled.

“I must be sleeping better,” she whispered to herself.

But the next morning, she noticed more.

Her lips looked plumper. Her dark circles were softer, as if blurred by a beauty filter. When she ran her fingers down the side of her waist, she felt a subtle dip where her softness used to be.

The mirror didn’t lie.

Her body was changing.

But she hadn’t changed anything. No new creams. No diets. No treatments.

Except…

Her fingers hovered at her jaw, then down to her neck, to the faint spot where Andy had cum three nights ago — where she had rubbed it in before bed.

It wasn’t disgust she remembered.

It was warmth. A sense of being held. Coated in affection.

Her pulse quickened.

________________________________________

By the fourth day, the change was undeniable.

Her skin had a soft sheen now — a kind of glow that shimmered without makeup. Her breasts felt fuller, heavier. Her hips, more pronounced. Her thighs… smoother.

Even her nipples looked slightly darker, more sensitive to touch. She noticed it when she changed.

More than that, she felt different.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t just see herself.

She saw something… enhanced. Loved. Claimed.

That morning, as she slipped into her white blouse and saw how perfectly it framed her breasts, she finally said it aloud:

“It’s his cum…”

She didn’t say it with shame.

She said it with wonder.

“Andy’s cum is doing this to me…”

She reached for her face cream — paused — and instead, opened the drawer where she had tucked away a small, sealed jar. Additional cum, which for some reason she kept aside.

Inside, milky white.

Still faintly warm.

She dipped two fingers into it.

And rubbed it gently into her cheekbones.

The smell of ginger tea wafted through the air as Andy padded sleepily into the kitchen.

Sunlight poured in through the windows, and standing near the counter — back arched slightly, hip cocked — was Sandra.

She was radiant.

Wearing nothing but a short cotton robe, loosely tied at her waist, and bright, luscious red lipstick that looked almost too sinful for this early hour. Her hair was wild but soft, tumbling around her shoulders like she’d just stepped off a photo shoot.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and smirked.

“Hungry?”

He blinked. “You’re… wearing lipstick.”

She turned to face him — slow, deliberate — then sank to her knees right there on the kitchen tiles.

“Thought I’d put on some color,” she said, tilting her head. “Red makes my lips look fuller when I’m sucking your cock.”

Andy’s heart slammed in his chest.

She untied his shorts, pulled them down, and let his morning wood spring free.

With both hands, she cradled his balls, massaging them gently.

“You remember how sweet I used to be?” she murmured, lips brushing his shaft.

“Your innocent little wife, shy to even say the word ‘cock’ out loud…”

She dragged her tongue along the underside of him, slow and hot.

“And now you’ve got me waking up with cum on my skin, putting on lipstick just to deep-throat you at breakfast.”

She opened wide — slowly sliding her red lips over his tip, then further, inch by inch, until her nose brushed his pelvis.

Andy groaned.

“Fuck, Sandra…”

She moaned softly with him in her throat, the vibrations making him twitch.

Her mouth worked him like a pro — tight, wet, full of slow suction and affection. Her hand stroked the base as she pulled off to breathe, strings of saliva and precum glistening between her mouth and his cock.

“You corrupted me, Andy,” she whispered. “You made me love it.”

She kissed his tip, swirling her tongue.

“Your cock… your cum… your filth.”

Another deep swallow.

“I want it in me. On me. Every morning.”

He was already close.

She sped up — one hand gripping him, the other pressing between her thighs, grinding against her own fingers as she sucked faster, moaning.

“Cum for me, baby,” she gasped. “Give me your first load of the day. Let me taste how proud you are of what I’ve become.”

He grunted, grabbed her hair — and came.

Thick, hot, fast.

She swallowed the first burst with a sigh.

Then caught the next in a nearby spoon — and stirred it gently into her waiting coffee cup.

She took a sip. Smacked her red lips.

“Mmm… two creams. No sugar.”

Sandra was still kneeling, licking a final drop of cum from her lip, when Andy reached down and pulled her up by the waist.

“Turn around?” she asked, voice playful.

“No,” he said softly. “I want to look at you.”

He kissed her.

Deeply.

Red lipstick smeared between their mouths, her lips already swollen from sucking him dry. She clung to his shoulders as he hoisted her up onto the kitchen counter, robe falling open to reveal her full, soft breasts.

He kissed them one by one.

Licked across each nipple.

She gasped, arching her back as her thighs opened for him, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“You taste like my coffee,” he murmured, mouth trailing down her throat.

“Because I am your coffee,” she whispered. “Addictive. Hot. Better with cream.”

He was already hard again.

His cock brushed against her slick folds — and without a word, he pushed into her.

“Mmmfuck… Andy…” she moaned, eyes fluttering.

He moved slow at first, hands gripping her waist, then her thighs, then her ass.

“You feel so tight this morning.”

“I saved it for you,” she said, voice dreamy. “Didn’t even touch myself last night. Wanted you inside me… right here.”

His strokes deepened.

Each one angled perfectly — pulling gasps from her throat as her breasts bounced with every thrust.

He kissed her again — slower this time — while his hips moved in a steady rhythm. Their foreheads touched. Her hands clawed into his back.

“God, I love you like this,” he groaned. “Dripping. Smiling. Letting me see all of you.”

“Then look,” she breathed. “Look at the wife you made…”

Her legs tightened, pulling him deeper, holding him in.

“You made me your cumslut… your fuckdoll… your perfect little cream whore…”

“And I love you for it.”

He moaned loudly, and she felt it — the twitch, the pulse — his cum flooding into her pussy again, thick and hot, pooling inside.

She didn’t move.

Just breathed.

________________________________________

After a moment, he kissed her nose.

“Should I grab a towel?”

She smiled, tugging him closer.

“Don’t you dare. I’m wearing this load to work.”

Sandra didn’t let a single drop go to waste.

She slid her panties on slowly — letting Andy’s cum press into the fabric and smear across her already swollen lips — then pulled her saree over it with a practiced grace.

She didn’t wear a bra.

Her red lipstick stayed on. Messier now. Kiss-bitten.

Before leaving, she dabbed a drop of perfume on her wrist and reached for her phone.

“Still warm inside me,” she texted Andy.

“No one else will know. But you will.”

He replied instantly:

“Take a pic if it leaks out. I’ll make sure you’re topped up again tonight.”

She stepped into her heels, grabbed her bag, and smiled at her reflection.

She didn’t look like a modest lecturer.

She looked like a woman with secrets.

Campus was buzzing by 10 AM, but Sandra felt like she was walking through it in slow motion.

Every step reminded her of Andy — of his cum inside her, soft and warm and slowly leaking into the cotton between her thighs. Every time she adjusted her saree, she felt it press deeper. Every time she shifted her legs while sitting, it stirred.

She taught two back-to-back lectures.

Each time she turned to write on the board, she could feel eyes on her hips. Her blouse clung to her back. Her perfume lingered in the air.

At the department lounge, three male colleagues hovered longer than usual.

One asked if she was using a new face cream.

Another complimented her saree — a subtle ivory that looked practically translucent in the sunlight.

One even offered to carry her papers.

She didn’t flirt.

She just smiled — open, calm, mysterious.

A younger lecturer leaned close while fixing her tea.

“Ma’am,” she whispered, “you’re seriously glowing lately.”

Sandra stirred her cup slowly.

“It’s probably the new serum I’ve been using.”

“Imported?”

“Sort of,” she smirked. “Very exclusive.”

She crossed her legs, leaned back, and sipped slowly.

The staff lounge was quiet that afternoon.

A few male colleagues sat lazily around one of the low tables — coffee cups in hand, a phone propped up between them, voices low and casual. The clink of a spoon. A short burst of laughter.

Sandra stepped in — heels soft on the tile.

Her saree today was deep teal cotton — soft, breathable, wrapped snugly around her hips. The blouse hugged her breasts tighter than usual. No dupatta. Just a delicate gold chain resting above her cleavage. Her hair fell over one shoulder in thick, dark waves. Her lipstick? A daring red.

As she moved toward the pantry, reaching for her cup, a familiar sound flickered across the room:

A faint wet noise. Soft moans. A male groan.

She turned her head slightly — casual — and saw it:

A porn clip. Playing low on a colleague’s phone screen.

A woman on her knees.

Eyes closed. Lips parted.

A man grunting — thick white ropes erupting across her face — her cheeks, her lips, even her hair. Then, calmly, the woman wiped a strand from her chin… and sucked her fingers clean with a satisfied little smirk.

Sandra’s breath caught.

Her pussy throbbed.

Exactly like me…

Just like what I’ve done for Andy…

Just like what I want now.

She felt her nipples tighten beneath her blouse. Her panties? Already damp from the ride over.

The men noticed her glance — suddenly flushed, scrambling to hide the phone.

One stammered:

“Ah— Dr. Sandra — sorry, ma’am — it’s just… a silly forward… wasn’t meant—”

She turned to face them, lifting her coffee with a faint smile.

A slow, knowing curl to her lips.

“Mmm… boys will be boys…”

She sipped.

Then added — gently:

“But you really should be more careful with what you watch in public…”

The heat inside her was spreading. Deliciously slow.

A junior lecturer, red-faced and clearly panicked, grabbed a small glass of cold milk from the tray near him and rushed toward her.

“Ah — here, ma’am — maybe… this instead?”

Sandra accepted it — gaze flicking between them all.

Her smile deepened.

She took a sip — deliberately slow — letting just a bit of the milk trickle from the corner of her lips. A pale streak rolled down her chin, glistening.

She lifted two fingers. Slowly wiped it away.

And — without breaking eye contact — brought the fingers to her mouth.

Her tongue flicked out.

Licked them clean.

Then came her voice — soft, playful, wicked:

“Milk should always be savoured…”

She paused. Let it hang.

“Don’t you think so, boys?”

The silence was electric.

The men froze — eyes wide. Faces flushed.

And below the table, she saw it:

Two of them — bulging. Straining. One shifted his chair with a nervous cough. The other dropped a hand casually to his lap, trying — and failing — to adjust himself without being obvious.

“Uh… yes, ma’am…”

Moments later, two of them stood abruptly — muttering an excuse, still red-faced — and hurried toward the bathroom, hands low, belts tight.

Sandra watched them go.

Smirked.

Turned slowly on her heel — hips swaying.

“I’ll let you… finish your break in peace.”

________________________________________

In the corridor, her heart pounded. Her core pulsed. Her panties were soaked.

They’re hard for me…

They have no idea what I really am now. What I’ve done… what I want…

She pulled out her phone. Fingers trembling just slightly.

Texted Andy:

“Baby… just saw the naughtiest thing at college… caught the boys watching porn… bukkake scene…”

“I teased them a little… they couldn’t even hide it… ran to the bathroom with hard-ons…”

“I’m soaked now… can’t stop thinking about it…”

Sandra was waiting for Andy in the car.

They had planned to meet at the edge of campus — a quiet side road lined with bougainvillea and closed shops. It was just after sunset, the light golden, the world momentarily quiet.

Andy slid into the driver’s seat.

“You look… lit up,” he said.

Sandra smiled faintly — the same slow, knowing smile she wore in the staff lounge.

“You’ll never guess what I walked into today,” she said, leaning closer.

“Your wife… may have witnessed a little bukkake tribute in the staff room.”

She told him everything — the porn, the stammering, the milk. Her voice was low, teasing. Every word laced with wicked delight.

Andy’s cock stirred in his jeans.

“They don’t even know what they’re drooling over,” he muttered.

Sandra raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t they?”

Without warning, she unhooked her saree pleats and slipped her hand beneath.

She moaned softly as her fingers found her drenched pussy.

“Still wearing your morning load,” she whispered. “I told you I’d keep it in.”

Her fingers moved slowly between her folds, scooping.

She held them up between them — glistening.

Then — with absolute calm — she brought them to her mouth and licked them clean.

Tongue slow. Deliberate.

She sucked her fingers with a faint moan and whispered:

“Still warm…”

Andy’s cock was rock hard.

“Sandra… fuck…”

She didn’t stop.

She reached over, unzipped his jeans, and pulled out his cock.

“I want a fresh dose before I go home.”

“Right here?”

She gave him a look that said: Are you really asking that now?

Andy barely had time to breathe before Sandra had his cock out.

She stroked it with both hands — slow, sensual, her freshly licked fingers gliding over the shaft. Her lipstick was smudged now, her eyes glazed with lust.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she whispered, licking just the tip.

“Your taste. Your texture. That heat in my mouth.”

She slid him in deep — all the way to the back of her throat — and held there, moaning around him as her tongue swirled.

Her other hand was between her thighs again, fingering her pussy — sloppy and soaked from teasing herself all day.

“You’re going to cum for me, baby,” she whispered between strokes.

“And this time, I want to feel it everywhere.”

Andy groaned. “Where?”

“On my tongue. Down my chin. Maybe dripping off my tits if there’s enough.”

“Because I’m your cum-doll now. And I want to play.”

She deepthroated him again — faster now, tighter — her saliva pooling around the base as she fucked him with her mouth like she was trying to wring him dry.

“I’m close,” he gasped. “You’re gonna get it…”

“Then give it,” she hissed, pulling off. “I want to feel that first shot hit my face.”

She stroked him quickly, face tilted up.

Andy grunted — and the first thick rope hit her cheek.

The second splashed across her lips.

She opened her mouth for the third — let it pool on her tongue — and stroked him until he was pulsing empty.

“Fuck yes…” she whispered. “That’s the good stuff.”

She sat back in the passenger seat — legs still spread — and slowly tilted her head.

The pool of cum in her mouth glistened under the car’s dome light.

She let it trickle down her tongue, between her lips, then sucked some back in.

“You’ve turned me into this, you know,” she murmured, smearing a fingertip through the mess on her cheek and drawing a white line down to her throat.

“A woman who plays with her husband’s cum in public like it’s lipstick and moisturizer.”

“And I love it.”

She licked her fingertip clean, moaned softly, then finally — looked him dead in the eyes — and swallowed the rest.

Slow. Proud. Glowing.

“Mmm… that’ll hold me till dinner.”

They were both spent.

Sandra had never felt more satisfied in her life — or messier. Between the blowjob in the car and licking his cum from her own fingers in public, she felt like every nerve in her body had been kissed and set on fire.

Now, post-dinner, she lay in bed in just a towel, hair still damp, belly full. Her legs were still sticky from what she’d not cleaned off.

Andy lay beside her, just in boxers, scrolling idly through his phone. For once, not porn.

“That was a filthy day,” she murmured.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She turned to face him.

“No, baby. I loved it.”

“And now I want to go further.”

Andy blinked.

“Further than sucking me off in public and licking your own pussy juice off your fingers in broad daylight?”

She grinned.

“Much further.”

He put the phone down.

She sat up, towel slipping down just enough to expose the upper curves of her breasts.

“I think I want to do it. Properly. A real bukkake.”

“But let’s start with you. You get me alone first. Drench me like a project.”

Andy leaned in, heartbeat already racing.

“We’ll need to prep,” he said. “I want it to be insane.”

“What kind of prep?”

He ticked it off with mock seriousness:

• “Three days of CumMaxx. No orgasms.”

• “At least 4 edge sessions per day.”

• “Double hydration.”

• “Porn conditioning — you watching nonstop facial and bukkake scenes.”

• “Outfit planning. Makeup. Hair. Scent. Oil. Maybe even a warm-up night with two loads, just to test your absorption rate.”

Sandra was giggling, then moaning softly by the end.

“What am I? A cum-thirsty lab experiment?”

“I’m a program manager, baby — of course I need a roadmap for your pussy, throat and tits.” Andy said, rolling over her.

________________________________________

She slipped out of bed, went to the dresser, and returned with her "slut touch-up kit" — a small case she’d been building just for him.

Red lipstick. Dark eyeliner. A soft setting spray.

She applied the lipstick slowly, carefully.

“If I’m going to be your canvas… I should look the part.”

When she turned around, Andy was already stroking himself.

“Get on the bed,” he growled.

She did.

He straddled her chest and pressed his cock between her breasts — spit-slick and heavy.

She squeezed her tits around him, her glossy red lips parted just below the tip.

“Use me,” she whispered. “Fuck your wife’s mouth. Let me feel it.”

He thrust between her tits, his cock sliding up to her lips with every pass.

She licked the underside, moaning.

“You should really take better care of your wife,” she teased.

“Beautiful skin like this doesn’t maintain itself. She needs her proteins.”

“Daily. Thick. Hot.”

He grunted, fucking her tits harder, guiding the head into her mouth on every upward stroke.

Her tongue swirled.

Her eyes begged for more.

“Respect your wife, Andy,” she whispered. “Drench her. Nourish her. “

“I want your cum on my face. My tits. My soul.”

He growled, lost control — and exploded across her face, thick strands landing on her cheeks, her forehead, her open mouth. The next shot spilled over her breasts. She moaned and caught the last with her fingers.

She smeared it across her skin like lotion, rubbing it in, massaging her breasts.

“We start tomorrow,” she whispered.

“Get ready.”