**What Happened Last Night?**

Chris’s eyes snapped open as the phone alarm blared. The room was still pitch black. It took several seconds for reality to hit: he wasn’t in the marital bed anymore. He glanced at the screen—the phone wasn’t where it usually sat. A cold shiver ran down his spine when it clicked: he was in the fucking cubbyhole. No windows. No air. No her.

“Did I dream all that shit last night… or was it real? It was real. It was fucking real.”

Anxiety clamped down on his chest like an invisible fist. He staggered up, dressed on autopilot, and shuffled into the hallway. Routine. His precious, boring routine was the only thing keeping him upright.

In the kitchen everything looked… normal. Too normal. The master bedroom door was still closed. Adriana had become a much heavier sleeper since her promotion. He started making coffee, and exactly five minutes later she appeared alone, hair loose, radiant smile plastered on.

“Good morning, darling,” she sang in that musical little voice she always used to disarm him. She stepped close and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Mmm… the coffee smells amazing. Last night was incredible—I’m so pleased with how adult you behaved, Chris. Really.”

Chris swallowed hard.

“And… and Malik? Is he having coffee?”

Adriana let out a light giggle as she poured herself a cup.

“Malik left, silly! He headed out shortly after you went to bed. After that coaching session I bet he’s already hard at work climbing the rankings, hehe.”

Chris froze, coffee pot still in hand. “That… that’s not possible.” He had seen everything. The wall-shaking thrusts. The way Malik had used her like a rag doll. The thick ropes of cum painting her face. The door slamming shut right in front of his nose. How the hell could he have left so soon?

A terrifying fear crawled up his throat and choked off any more questions. Adriana’s carefree, cheerful attitude acted like anesthesia. She glanced at the kitchen clock and hopped off the stool.

“Shit, Chris! We’re going to be late and I’m the one who has to set an example. Come on, come on!”

The day at the office passed in eerie… normalcy. The section was a productivity furnace. Everyone working at 200%. The group chat was dead quiet: only complaints about the photocopier jamming and the coffee machine running out of milk. Routine. Calm. Chris’s natural habitat.

Half an hour before end of shift, Adriana approached his cubicle with a thick stack of reports. She lowered her voice and spoke in calm, professional tones:

“Mr. Cuck, I’m here to lend you a hand. These reports need to be finished today.”

Chris looked up.

“But… Mrs. Chechik, that’ll take me at least two hours.”

Adriana leaned in close, her vanilla scent hitting him like a ****, and whispered right against his ear:

“Do you want to be in the top this week? Then you’ll thank me later. By the way… Mr. Vargas offered to drive me home and said I’ve been neglecting my little hubby. So when you get back, your wifey will be ready for you to eat her pussy. Sound good, Mr. Cuck?”

His cock throbbed painfully just from her whisper. The heat of her breath, the playful tone, the promise…

“Yes, Mrs. Chechik! Thank you, Mrs. Chechik!”

He grabbed the reports like a puppy promised a walk in the park and dove into the work with pathetic enthusiasm.

To his surprise, almost the entire section stayed for unpaid overtime. Adri really was revolutionizing performance.

At 11:22 p.m., fingers cramped and hands aching after more than three hours of typing, Chris finally shut down the computer and drove home.

As he turned into his street he thought he saw Mr. Vargas’s car pulling away. He parked fast, heart hammering, and ran up the stairs. He burst in exhausted but excited and headed straight for the bedroom.

There she was, just as promised: sprawled naked on the marital bed, legs spread wide, lazy smile on her lips.

But something was off.

The room smelled thick, heavy. Adriana was lightly sweaty. Her pussy glistened—swollen, soaked—and a creamy white trail leaked slowly from between her lips.

“Had she been playing with herself earlier?”

“Hi, love,” she purred. “You know what to do. Just your tongue, okay? Nothing else.”

Chris nodded like a teenager on his first time and dove headfirst between her thighs.

Adriana let out a soft little moan when his tongue made contact. The taste hit him like a punch: intense, salty, creamy, slightly bitter. Thick. White. It flooded his mouth instantly.

He felt dizzy. Light-headed. Floating.

She grabbed his hair hard, teeth clenched, and whispered so low it was almost inaudible, voice hoarse and dripping with pleasure:

“Mmmh… yes… eat that cum, cuckold… clean your slut wife’s dirty pussy properly…”

Chris closed his eyes and kept licking, swallowing, obeying. The taste of another man—still warm inside her—filled his mouth while his own useless cock throbbed against the mattress.

And, as always, he didn’t dare ask a single question.