Days Later

The bedroom was dim except for the glow of Claire’s phone.

She was propped against the headboard in one of Phil’s old T-shirts and nothing else, knees drawn up, screen angled so he could see it if he turned his head. Phil lay on his back beside her, completely naked, cock flushed dark and leaking against his stomach. Claire’s right hand was wrapped loosely around it, stroking with agonizing, deliberate slowness - exactly the way she had every night since their living-room confession.

She had been edging him for days.

Every time he got close she stopped. Every time he begged she only smiled and kept scrolling.

Tonight was no different.

Claire’s thumb moved lazily over the head of his cock, smearing the steady bead of precum, while her other hand scrolled through a dating app filtered hard: Black men, 25–40, body type athletic or muscular, and a very specific set of private-photo requirements she had already made clear in her bio.

She paused on a profile. The man was shirtless, dark skin, carved stomach, and the bulge in his grey sweatpants was impossible to ignore. Claire zoomed in on the crotch shot he’d added to the private album, then tilted the phone so Phil had no choice but to look.

“This one,” she murmured, still stroking him at that same torturous pace. “Says he’s eight and a half, thick. Hosts. And he liked the part in my message where I told him my husband wants to watch me take it.”

Phil’s hips twitched. A low, desperate sound left his throat. Claire immediately tightened her fingers at the base of his cock and stopped all movement, denying him.

“Not yet,” she said softly. “You’ve been good all week. You can wait a little longer.”

She scrolled again. Another profile. Another set of explicit photos. She read the messages out loud in a calm, almost conversational voice while her hand resumed its slow, cruel strokes.

“This one wants to know if I’ll suck him first so he can get it wet before he bends me over. I said yes. I also told him you like it when I still have the taste in my mouth afterward.”

Phil’s cock throbbed hard in her fist. Precum dripped onto his stomach. Claire watched it with open satisfaction and kept him right there - close enough that his thighs trembled, never close enough to let him fall over the edge.

She opened a new conversation, typed one-handed, and showed Phil the screen:

Claire: My husband has been edging for days listening to me talk about black cock. He’s leaking right now while I look at your pictures. Still want to meet?

The reply came almost immediately. Claire read it aloud, voice low and pleased, while her fist twisted slowly on the upstroke.

Phil’s breathing had gone ragged. His hands were clenched in the sheets. Claire leaned over and licked a slow stripe up the side of his cock, then pulled off and went right back to the same teasing pace.

“I’m going to pick one soon,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. And when I do, you’re going to watch me walk out of this house knowing exactly what I’m about to go get. Then you’re going to listen to every detail when I come home still full of him.”

She scrolled to another photo - explicit, close-up, impossible to misinterpret - and held it where Phil could see while her hand kept him throbbing and denied.

“Tell me how hard you are knowing your wife is picking out black cock on a dating app while she plays with you. And don’t you dare come.”