Wait for Sarah to finish getting ready

You drop onto the dorm couch while Sarah finishes in the bathroom. Your mind replays every detail from the hotel room. Mrs. Morgan on all fours, that stranger’s cock slamming into her married pussy again and again. Her heavy tits swinging like pendulums, slapping together with every brutal thrust. The wet sound of her cunt taking him deep, the sharp crack of his palm on her ass, the way her cheeks rippled and shook with each impact.

You picture Sarah’s face if she walked in and saw it. The shock. The tears. The way her world would crack open. Then you imagine Mr. Morgan finding out—his wife bent over, begging some random guy to fuck her harder while his wedding ring sits forgotten on the nightstand. The marriage would explode. The fallout would be nuclear.

Yet your cock is throbbing in your jeans, straining against the zipper. You can still see the exact moment he buried himself to the hilt and her ass jiggled so hard it looked like a shockwave rolled across her skin. You remember the way her pussy lips clung to his shaft on every pull-out, shiny with her cream, before he drove back in and made her scream.

Sarah calls from the bathroom, cheerful and oblivious. “Almost ready, babe!”

You shift on the couch, trying to adjust your hard-on without making it obvious. The image of Mrs. Morgan getting railed won’t leave your head. Her tits bouncing wildly, her ass rippling with every punishing thrust, the stranger’s cock stretching her open while she moans like a desperate slut. You swallow hard, pulse pounding in your ears, and wonder how the hell you’re supposed to focus on your nice day out when all you can think about is Sarah’s mom taking another man’s load.