The next morning

The next morning starts off exactly how you planned—Sarah’s already up, humming while she packs her bag for the day. You’re both looking forward to the last full day before she flies back, before your roommates return and the dorm turns into a zoo again. She’s in the bathroom finishing her makeup when she suddenly stops, groans, and pokes her head out.

“Shit. I left my curler at Mom’s hotel. Can you run over real quick and grab it? I’ll be ready by the time you’re back.” She tosses you the spare keycard with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, babe. I owe you.”

You head out, figuring it’ll be a fast in-and-out. The hotel hallway is quiet. You slide the keycard, push the door open without knocking, and step inside.

Moaning.

Low, rhythmic, unmistakably sexual. You freeze, the door clicking shut behind you. The sound is coming from the main room, the beds just around the corner. Your first thought is Mr. Morgan—maybe he flew in early—but something in the pitch of the voice tells you it’s not him.

You move quietly, heart hammering, and lean just far enough past the corner to see.

Mrs. Morgan is on all fours on the king bed, completely naked, her heavy tits swinging wildly beneath her while some stranger—tall, built, definitely not her husband—pounds into her from behind. His hands grip her hips hard enough to leave marks, driving his cock deep with every thrust. She’s gasping, pushing back to meet him, hair wild, wedding ring glinting on the nightstand beside her phone.

“Fuck—yes—harder,” she moans, voice hoarse. The guy slaps her ass and picks up the pace, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her tits bounce and slap together with every brutal stroke, nipples stiff, skin flushed.

You stand there frozen, cock swelling fast in your jeans. The sight of Sarah’s mom getting railed by some random man while her daughter waits back at the dorm hits you like a drug. You watch for what feels like minutes—him flipping her onto her back, spreading her legs wide, burying himself to the hilt while she claws at his shoulders and cums loud enough you’re surprised no one in the hallway hears.

Only when the guy starts grunting, clearly close, do you snap out of it. You spot the curler on the dresser, snatch it silently, and slip back out the door without a sound.

By the time you’re back at the dorm your cock is still half-hard, the image of Mrs. Morgan’s bouncing tits and the stranger’s cock stretching her married pussy burned into your brain. Sarah’s waiting by the door, smiling, completely unaware.

“Got it?” she asks, reaching for the curler.

You hand it over, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. All set.”