29. That was... my wife

He was lying there on the bed, chest heaving as if he had just climbed a mountain. And the one who deserved to rest like that had just walked out of the room.

What I had just witnessed left me speechless. I turned, forcing my gaze elsewhere. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t catch him like that—not like this.

I edged out of the room, scarf still blindfolding my eyes, every sound around me sharper than ever.

Footsteps shuffled. Faint giggles, the tap of hands on the floor. Teases, whispers, the faint brush of someone passing too close. For five minutes that felt like hours, I crept through the space, trying, failing, to find anyone. Every noise, a footstep, a rustle, a soft squeak, tested my patience. Every time I reached a corner, silence. Every time I thought I had a shadow in sight, it dissolved into nothing.

Finally, my patience snapped. I raised a hand. “I give up,” I muttered, voice hoarse, more for myself than anyone else.

Lina’s laugh floated to me, light, teasing. “Sure,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. “I was getting hungry anyway. Let’s eat.”

Eat, after just being fed? I chuckled silently, sarcasm cutting through the tension inside me. My eyes followed Lina and her husband as they moved, laughed, and sat at the table like nothing had happened. I still couldn’t believe it. He had fucked Lina’s mouth like some animal, pounding her without mercy. Her throat must be raw, sore, probably burning.

I sighed. Why should I even care how Lina must be feeling now? It’s none of my business.

And just like that, the obscene, unbearable tension, eased, folded into the everyday. We all gathered around the table, plates in front of us, forks clinking, casual chatter filling the space.

We sat around the table, the women on one side, the men on the other. My wife was next to Lina, both facing us across the narrow stretch of wood. On our side it was me in the middle, Lina’s husband on one end, and Ray on the other. It almost felt like teams lined up against each other, the two wives together, the three of us men opposite them. I ate mechanically, every bite a battle to keep my mind from wandering back to the room I had left.

Dinner carried on, Lina doing most of the talking, her voice filling every gap. I barely listened, still stuck on what I had witnessed.

Then she turned her eyes toward my wife. “Hmm… are you okay? You’re so quiet. And you’re not eating much.”

My wife gave a half smile and lowered her fork. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little throat pain, that’s all.”

I almost choked. For a second, the absurdity of it hit me so hard I wanted to laugh out loud. Really? A sore throat? She? I bit down on my tongue and **** a straight face, but inside, irony burned like acid.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Somebody else just got their throat used like a dumping ground, pounded until I thought she might gag her lungs out. And she was eating fine, lively, not missing a beat at the table. Yet here was my wife, picking at her plate, claiming her throat hurt.

I leaned back slightly, letting the irony wash over me, laughing inside my own head. What a joke. Life really knew how to play with me. The one who should be sore was talking more than anyone else, and the one who was struggling was my sweet and lovely wife.

I nodded, slightly concerned, even reached for her hand on the table, but my thoughts mocked me viciously. She assured me it was just from the cold.

After a few minutes, Lina’s husband started rambling again, going on with his useless stories while Lina cheered him on, laughing at every word like it was gold. I barely listened, my eyes on the food in front of me, when I suddenly felt something brush against my toe. Probably just a mistake, I thought at first. But then it happened again—this time slower, deliberate. A soft, crawling movement, a leg sliding over my foot. Careful and sensually.

It was my right foot. Lina was seated on my left. That left no doubt. It was my wife.

I glanced at her. Her head was bowed slightly, eyes down at her plate as if she hadn’t moved at all. But her leg kept sliding, inch by inch, teasing, tracing my foot in a way that was anything but innocent. Somebody’s feeling naughty, I thought, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth.

I shifted in my chair, pushing my leg further out, making it easier for her. Testing her. Seeing what she would do. She didn’t hesitate. Her leg followed, brushing higher, crossing over mine until I could feel the warmth pressing up, slow, playful, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

I matched her act, pretending clueless, stabbing at my food like nothing was happening under the table. But my pulse betrayed me, thumping harder with every stroke. Then her leg finally landed right where she wanted—over my cock.

Fuck.

The word echoed in my head as I froze for a moment, my cock already stiffening, twitching under the thin press of her foot. She stayed there, bold, testing me, as I chewed slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. A low chuckle slipped inside me, amused, surprised, almost proud of her daring move.

Her toes pressed again, harder this time, right against my cock. I could feel myself stiffening, straining, my cock swelling under her teasing pressure. Every bite I took, I felt her foot pushing, pressing, then easing off, a rhythm that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Then her foot shifted. Her toes slid higher, little careful, and then her toes turned into a scissor, like pinching fingers, brushing over my cock. She paused there, as if testing, like she was checking the shape through the fabric. My breath caught, heat rushing down my cock.

She didn’t grab it, not fully. Just a slow trace, dragging along my length, like she wanted to feel the outline. My cock twitched hard against her touch, begging for more.

I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the pressure. A jolt ran through me, obvious enough that anyone watching would’ve seen it.

Her foot went quiet, hesitation slipping in.

I looked up at her, quiet, no words. Our eyes met across the table. She gave me a small, awkward smile, lips twitching like she was caught doing something she shouldn't.

And then, just like that, she pulled her leg back. Gone. As if nothing had happened at all.

I kept eating like nothing had changed, but my cock was still rock hard. I made sure to let her see it in my eyes—that I’d felt everything, and that I appreciated her boldness more than she could imagine.

She glanced down quickly, nervous, slightly guilty, maybe embarassed, ike she hadn’t expected to end up doing what she just did. I brushed it off. To me, it was simple. She wanted to tease me. And she did.

Dinner was done, plates cleared, and I thought finally—it was time to go. My head was already racing ahead, picturing the night I was supposed to have. The promised dinner I really wanted. The one waiting for me at home, behind closed doors. My cock was pulsing after all that teasing under the table, aching to finally be inside her. I was so fucking horny I could barely sit still.

But no. The night didn’t end there.

Just as I was about to suggest we head home, Lina’s husband stood up with a wide grin and went rummaging through his cabinet. He came back with bottles in his hands—wine, real branded stuff, the kind you don’t see every day. I knew I should’ve said no, but I couldn’t. Not to that. My throat burned with the memory of her foot, my cock still straining, and all I could think was maybe a drink or two would calm me down before I finally had her.

We sat, the men together, the wives slipping into a separate room. Glasses filled, one after another. We laughed, we toasted, we drank. I couldn’t tell when one glass ended and the next began. At some point, the room started spinning, voices blurring into noise.

I don’t even remember closing my eyes. Just the weight of the wine dragging me somewhere far away.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

After what felt like an eternity. My eyes cracked open, heavy as stone. Everything was blurred, doubled, spinning out of control. My stomach twisted hard, sharp pain gnawing inside me as if it wanted to tear itself out. Groaning, I pushed myself off the couch, stumbling forward on weak legs. My stomach was hurting from all that drink and food. I quickly made my way to the toilet.

My body was spinning like I was caught in a storm. Two doors. No, four. My vision was splitting everything into doubles. I rubbed my eyes, but it didn’t help. The toilet felt different. Someone was already there, standing completely quiet in the corner. I squinted hard, trying to place a face, but all I saw were shapes, outlines.

“Is this the toilet?” I muttered, voice slurred, thick on my tongue.

"This is not the toilet. Let me help you," a voice answered, sweetly.

"Thank you… thank you so much," I mumbled, leaning into whoever it was.

They guided me to the toilet right next to this room. I slumped against the wall, dropped onto the toilet seat with a thud, both hands clutching my head. My skull was pounding, my stomach twisting worse with every second.

I sat there, half-asleep, until something caught my eye. To my right, the wall wasn't perfect. Small cracks. Tiny holes, just enough to peek through. I poked my finger and it went through. My drunken brain, sluggish and bored, told me to poke my eye now. So I leaned forward, one eye pressed close.

At first it was all a mess—blurry, shapes blending into each other, like shadows swimming in the dark. My head spun, stomach twisting, but then the picture through that crack started to sharpen. Not fully, little hazy—but enough to catch something.

I frowned, squinting. What the hell was that? Hair... but only few strands. I focused harder, scanning every bit of the small view I had.

One leg... was raised and...other leg was trembling. And right beneath it—something thick, dark, pressing between folds of flesh.

My heart kicked against my ribs. My drunken brain struggled, slow to put the pieces together. For a second it didn't make sense. Just skin and movement. A strange angle. A blur of wetness.

Then it hit me. That was... pus– And the thick, stiff thing rubbing along it… fuck, that was a cock.

I swallowed hard, throat dry. Even through the haze I knew the shape, the sheer size. Lina's husband. Had to be.

I turned my head away fast, shame slicing through the fog. "No… I shouldn't be seeing this," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut.

But my body betrayed me. The pull was too strong. I leaned back, my eye finding the crack again.

And there it was—narrow view, nothing else. Her pussy spread open by his fat cockhead grinding against her cunt, spreading her wetness everywhere before pushing harder. Toes curling in air, as he **** the tip in.

"Fuck…" I whispered, heat rushing through me, cock stiffening in my pants.

The world was spinning around me, but that small opening… it gave me just enough to see. Not their faces. Not their bodies. Only the wet, obscene joining of cock and cunt.

Her pussy was spread wide, glistening, swallowing down that thick cock again and again. Every thrust shoved more of him inside, his fat cock gliding in and out with a dirty sound that made my head pound harder.

The wall cut off everything else. I couldn't see her expression, couldn't even catch a glimpse of her tits or the way he must've been holding her. All I saw was her cunt—pinkish, raw, stretched—and his cock slamming into it without mercy. His balls smacked against her with every violent stroke, sticky threads of wetness stretched and broke apart.

It was maddening, that narrow view. I wanted to look away, but my eyes stayed locked on that one spot, hypnotized. I wanted to see more, the expression she must be making, taking that cock. My cock twitched in my pants, pressing painfully, as if it wanted to be right there where his was, splitting her open.

Her pussy seemed so tight, struggling to not get torn apart, juices spilling down her thighs, covering his shaft until every thrust left a wet sheen under the light. She was dripping, soaked, taking him over and over while I sat there, drunk, breathless, unable to look anywhere else.

The sounds echoed louder than the sight. Wet smacks. His low growls. Her muffled cries—faint, broken, like she was **** on the air with every thrust. My stomach twisted, heat flooding through me.

Fuck. Lina. Taking it like that? My head spun harder, but I couldn't tear myself away.

At first, it was muffled, broken by the fog in my head. But then the sound came sharp.

A cry. High, sweet, but cracked with strain. Then another. Louder. Moans turning into little sobs, bouncing off the walls.

I pressed closer to the crack, and my vision sharpened enough to see him drop her leg. Her foot hit the floor with a smack, and the next second— smack

His hand slammed against her ass.

She screamed out, body trembling. My heart thudded.

"Fuck…" I breathed, cock twitching painfully.

Her ass jiggled with each slap, round and perfect, reddening with every strike. His hips pounded forward, each thrust making her flesh ripple.

I couldn't help it. The drunken haze, the pounding lust—I fumbled at my zipper, cock springing free, stiff and aching. My hand wrapped around it without thinking. I needed relief, even just a rub.

The view was narrow, but that made it filthier. Just her cunt taking him, his cock slick and merciless, her ass bouncing back against him like a slut. Every moan she let out was sharp, echoing right through the wall into me.

Then he grabbed her hair. I saw the motion, her head pulled back, arching her spine. That's when her tits came into view, bouncing hard as he fucked her deeper.

My breath hitched, hand moving faster over my cock. My eyes glued to every little detail—the redness of her ass, the way her tits jiggled with every thrust, his fat cock splitting her open like she was nothing.

"Lina…" I muttered under my breath, my voice hoarse. "Even though you always act so cute, bubbly… deep inside you're a proper whore, aren't you? You love it rough."

I bit down on my lip, jerking faster. Her cries filled the room, no shame, no holding back. He smacked her ass again, harder, and she moaned like she wanted it.

"Fuck… yeah… the way he's pounding you," I whispered, precum slicking my hand. "You're taking it all like a nice little slut."

Her ass clapped against him, round cheeks red and glowing, and I stroked faster, drunk and shameless. My cock was leaking, stiff as steel, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Her cries didn't stop. If anything, they got filthier.

He slammed into her again, rough, spanking her ass loud. Her cry bounced off the walls, louder, wetter. Her leg shook, her body shivered. She was cumming already.

"F-fuckkk—I'm...!" she screamed, her thighs shaking against him. Her pussy clenched, leaking, as he kept hammering mercilessly.

He didn't stop there. He kept going. Her moans grew ragged, ****, body shaking hard.

"Ohhh godddd—ahhhh... fuckkk...yesss...I...am!"

Her knees buckled, legs trembling violently as another orgasm ripped through her, pussy dripping down his shaft. Her voice cracked, screaming, begging him not to stop.

My cock twitched in my hand. My chest was tight. My head spun harder, but my ears caught everything. I couldn't ignore it anymore. That voice… it sounded so much like hers. Too much.

"No…" I whispered to myself, pumping my cock faster. "No way… that's not her. It can't be."

But the pounding against the wall didn't lie. Her gasps, her begging—it clawed at my mind.

My cock jerked violently, as if it knew the truth. That wasn't lina's voice—it was hers. My wife.

"No… you're drunk," I hissed to myself. "You're imagining it. It's Lina. It has to be Lina."

But then he stopped, pulled his dick out and shoved her down. My heart pounded in my throat as she went on her knees. Through the crack, I saw her mouth opened wide, tongue hanging out, waiting. His cock slapped wet across her cheek, then her lips, smearing spit over them. She gasped, breathless, before taking him in.

"Ughhh…" she moaned, muffled as the head stretched her lips.

The sound stabbed through my chest. I froze, cock throbbing in my fist. No... way...

Her moan came broken around the cock, gagging between thrusts.

"Mhhhhhggghhh—mmmhhh!"

The words vibrated through the wall and into me.

She choked, sputtering, and then it hit. Her body started shaking, shudder rolled through her as she came on her knees, moaning loud around the cock.

"Uggghhhmmm—mhhhh—ohhhh fuckkkk!"

My hand worked faster, precum slicking my shaft. My eyes were glued. My wife's voice—moaning in orgasm—while her throat was stuffed full of another man's cock.

Her lips back down his shaft, gagging loud, slurping. Her tits bounced as she bobbed, saliva pouring.

"Glkkk-glkkk—ahhhhh-mhhhhh—fuckkkk"

My head spun. "Holy fuck…" I muttered, stroking furiously, my own orgasm clawing up.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. It was her. It had to be.

My hand stroked harder, precum flying as he whispered hoarsely, "I thought your throat hurt… after that brutal fuck earlier today…right infront of your hus-"

The words didn't come through. He was saying something to her and she sucked him like she'd been starved, ****, taking every inch like it was natural.

"Holy shittt…" I muttered, face hot, cock throbbing in my grip. My heart thundered so loud it hurt. Those lips... it was clear. Too clear. My wife.

And still, I couldn't stop. My hand blurred on my cock as he groaned. His cock burst, cum gushing into her mouth. I watched, stunned, as it spilled out over her lips before she closed her mouth and gulped it down, her throat working as she swallowed every drop.

"Fuck… fuck…" My voice broke, body convulsing. My cock exploded in my hand, hot strings of cum splattering my shirt, my thighs, my fist. My forehead slammed against the wall, vision swimming as I emptied everything.

When it was done, I collapsed onto the toilet seat, chest heaving, my head spinning like it was going to split open. My cock still twitched, sticky in my hand. My heart wouldn't slow, trembling at what I just saw.

I looked again, she was licking her lips, wiping her chin.

Her voice still echoed in my ears. Her mouth, sucking, swallowing. My wife's.

"No… it wasn't her. It can't be. I'm drunk. Just drunk."

I shoved my cock back into my pants with shaking hands, tried to stand, but my legs gave out. My skull felt like it was splitting.

Then—blackness. I dropped, the world spinning, sinking somewhere into the dark.