47. Wife's POV

He kept his hand firm, making me do all the work. Every little thrust sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through me, dragging me closer to the edge, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

I was completely gone in it, lost in the rhythm of my own desperate movements, my ass bouncing, my body chasing the high that was about to tear through me.

Every time my ass sank down, I could hear the faint, wet filthy squelch of his fingers sliding inside me, the kind of lewd, sticky sound that left no doubt how drenched I was. It echoed in my ears, each slippery noise making me clench tighter around him.

I did froze at the thought that it might carry across the room, but when I glanced down, my husband was still busy, his eyes fixed on the book, too focused to hear the faint, obscene sounds her wife's cunt was making. That only made it worse—made me grind harder—because I could hear what he couldn’t, every dirty squish reminding me of my wrong betrayal.

But then, suddenly, I couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. For a second, I thought he had just slipped lower, so I moved my ass even lower, searching for them, needing them back inside me at any cost. My cunt was aching, open and leaking, begging to be filled again.

I crouched there pathetically on the floor, spread and needy, grinding down against nothing. It didn’t even occur to me that he had pulled his hand away. My brain couldn’t put it together. I just wanted him back inside me.

The way I must have looked, sitting there with my ass bouncing in the air and my pussy gaping, trying to catch something that wasn’t there, it was shameful, disgusting, and yet I couldn’t stop myself.

He was definitely holding back his laughter at my poor ass situation. He had purposefully moved his hand away, waiting for my reaction, and I showed him exactly what he wanted, how desperate I was, like a hungry pet.

I noticed my husband stretching his arm, returning the book to the old man with a polite smile. My lips pressed together in a small frown.

Was that it? Was it really over?

No. Not yet.

It couldn’t end here, not when I was so close, not when I was seconds away from falling apart.

A dull ache spread through me as the heat refused to die down, pulsing and twitching inside me. It felt cruel, like I had been denied something I needed more than air.

Hesitantly I pulled my skirt back into place, covering myself, forcing the fabric over my throbbing ass that pulsed with every beat of my heart.

My husband moved ahead, stepping out of the dim room, leaving me trailing behind. Just as I was about to exit, my hand reached for the door, but it stopped from opening completely, just enough for my fingers to slip through the narrow gap.

“Wait!” I shoved one arm through. “It's stuck,” I hissed, trying to force the door open.

From behind me, the old man’s voice followed. “It seems… the door’s acting up again. What luck! Guess we will be spending some more time here.”

A sudden, heavy and invisible pressure pressed against my womb, sharp and consuming, threatening to fold me onto my knees. My insides tightened, my body instinctively reacting. Every inch of me betrayed how ready I was, trembling in a mix of fear, anticipation, and a dirty thrill.

Before I could brace myself, the old man shoved his face right into my ass. The sudden impact caught me completely off guard, my breath caught in my throat. W-wait… I tried to press my arm down against his head, to stop him, but he was in no mood to listen.

He pushed my arm aside, lifting my skirt up high and started spreading my ass wide with both his hands, exposing both of my dirty holes.

My panties were already tugged aside from earlier, leaving me completely vulnerable. He didn’t waste a second. His tongue shoved in deep, hot and wet, making my whole body jolt. A choked gasp slipped past my lips as the sensation shot through me, sharp and obscene.

Slurping sounds filled the small room, wet and faint but loud enough that I could hear every filthy slurp of his tongue inside me.

My knees shook. My hand gripped the edge of the door desperately, clinging to it for balance, while my other hand flew up to cover my mouth. I bit down on my knuckles, fighting back the moans that threatened to spill out. My head spun, my thoughts crumbling away as his tongue worked deeper, circling and pressing in ways that left me trembling, drifting into a trance of shame and ecstasy

The old man growled loudly, after my husband pushed the door hard enough to break our concentration. Thr old man's tone was a little annoyed, and rightly so. It wasn’t nice to disturb someone when they were enjoying themselves, and right now he was enjoying me, and I was enjoying his tongue.

“Give it a little pressure… steady… we’ll take care of this side,” he instructed.

But my dirty mind already knew the intention behind those words. He was guiding him and also ordering me. He wanted me to press down, to grind my soaked cunt over his mouth like an animal in heat.

My hands trembled against the door as I lowered myself, obeying him. My cunt touched his already still tongue. He just held it out, flat and waiting, making me do all the work.

He remained still. He just let me ride, groaning deep in his throat, while I worked myself harder and harder, like a pet desperately seeking release. I was ashamed, but my cunt was on fire, and once I started, I couldn’t stop.

He growled again, not with annoyance this time, but with satisfaction. His voice carried to both sides of the door. “Yeah… that’s it… little push here, little pull there… don’t rush it.”

A pitiful whimper escaped me as I pathetically nodded at his words. He was controlling my pace with nothing but his words. I kept rocking, dragging myself along his wet tongue as per his command.

Each grind made my clit spark, my thighs shaking, but it was the humiliation that tore me apart inside—the realization that I was rubbing myself raw on an old man’s mouth while my husband stood right outside the door, trying to help me get out of the room, was too much for me to handle.

Godddd.

A muffled cry tore from my throat as I came, gushing all over the old man's face, my legs shaking like leaves in the wind. My eyes rolled back, dazed and cloudy, my lips pressing against the wood of the door as I struggled to breathe. My chest heaved, and every frantic gasp fogged the surface in front of me.

“Are you sitting on the floor?” my husband’s voice called, faint through the wood.

The old man didn’t answer. Instead, he rose in one swift motion, his grip tangling harshly in my hair. The sudden pain ripped me out of my trance, my head pulled back until my throat arched.

He leaned in close to my ear, his lips touching the skin, and threw a single command—‘Reply.’

The word alone made my stomach twist. He was ordering... me to lie to my husband, to speak on his behalf as if nothing was happening.

My scalp burned under his grip, my body still shuddering from release, and yet I couldn’t fight it. I was going to comply. I was going to lie for him while my husband stood unaware on the other side of the door.

I whimpered, trembling in his hold, the shame and thrill twisting in my belly.

So ̶p̶a̶t̶h̶e̶t̶i̶̶̶̶- No, so amazing❤… I opened my lips helplessly to do exactly as I was told, words falling out in broken bursts, stammered and breathless.

“H-he’s… uh… trying to… m-move it… from the bottom…” I gasped, struggling to keep my voice steady, though every syllable was soaked in the tremor of submission.

He turned me roughly to face him, a disgustingly triumphant smile crawling across his face. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes, so I turned my face sideways, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

His hand disappeared into the waistband of his loose shorts, and my stomach melted, as I felt a hot thing pressing against my stomach. I couldn’t help it—I stared down at it, my mouth slightly open, drooling despite myself, desperate to taste that dirty cock, to feel him inside me.

He didn’t give me a chance to recover. His cock moved down, teasing the folds of my pussy, rubbing against me with teasing pressure. I gasped, my hands pressing against his chest, my knees buckling. I wasn’t ready to take him fully, not with my husband so close, and yet my body ached for it. Every stroke, every press, made my cunt throb and leak, the humiliation mixing with a sick, thrilling heat that left me desperate and begging.

I grabbed his fat, throbbing dick in my hand before he could shove it inside me, because if he did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave this room even if the door opened. I kept staring at it like a junkie staring at her next fix. My fingers trembled as I wrapped around him, feeling the heat, the weight, the pulse. My heart hammered in my chest, half terrified, half desperate. He leaned in, lips brushing against my neck, sucking softly, and I shivered.

“Start rubbing,” he whispered, his voice low, commanding.

I replied, shaking. “W-we can’t… f-fuck here… it’s too risky,” I stammered, my body betraying me, aching for it even as my mind screamed for caution.

He bit my neck lightly, enough to make me quiver. “Show me that you need it,” he murmured.

I looked at him, lost, unsure. My body wanted it, ached for it, but the risk of being caught, made me hesitate. He bit again, firmer this time. “Do it.” That was all I needed.

I moved. I rubbed his fat dick against my cunt like a whore, feeling every inch, every pulse, the slick warmth soaking him as I pressed down. My cunt throbbed with every rub, every drag, my body quivering as I surrendered, desperate, exposed, and shamelessly wet.

The old man caught my cheeks in his hands, tilting my face roughly toward his. My eyes stayed squeezed shut, burning with shame, but he leaned in anyway, pressing his lips to mine in a deep, wet kiss. I was already trembling, rubbing his fat dick against my cunt, and the kiss sent a jolt straight through me, making my body clench and shudder with an orgasm.

His saliva coated my lips, invading my mouth, and I finally opened my eyes to see him so close, so dirty, and realized what I was doing.

The smell of his old, stinking mouth made me gag, but the sensation was unbearable and addictive. I gasped, trying to catch a breath. I was kissing him, this disgusting old man, mouth to mouth, the same mouth I had only ever used for tender kisses with my husband. Humiliation shot through me hotter than any lust.

How did it even come to this? My mouth was tightly mashed against an old man’s mouth, his saliva mixing with mine.

When did it all begin? Was it when he hugged me? Or Was it when I started doing chores at his house?

Yeah, it started then. From that moment, my fate shifted, my control slipping without me realizing. Look at me now. Look at who I’ve become. This is me. This is exactly who I am.

“You,” he growled, voice low and commanding, “stick out your tongue.”

I hesitated for a second, my mind screaming, my body shaking, but obedience overtook my shame. Trembling, I did as he ordered, letting my tongue touch his.

Immediately, he devoured me again, his mouth pressing into mine with more hunger, and this time I couldn’t resist reciprocating. My body arched, pressing down on him as I moaned against his lips, the heat of my cunt, slick and desperate, driving me wild. I could no longer hide myself, my need too raw, my shame and lust colliding in a flood I couldn’t control.

Every kiss, every pressure of his mouth on mine, sent me further into a haze of arousal and degradation. I was caught, completely lost, and the realization that I was letting an old man dominate me, mouth to mouth, while my husband remained just outside, made my orgasmic desperation reach its peak.

We kissed like mad, a frenzy I had never experienced before. It was dirty, raw, a kiss made for me and me alone. Not those pathetic, tender kisses with my husband, but this—something filthy, demeaning, overwhelming. I was made for this.

Our bodies pressed tightly against each other, my hands gripping his neck like a lifeline, his saliva covering my face while mine smeared across his. Our eyes locked through the chaos of our kiss, every second of humiliation burning hotter in me. I was utterly lost, melting into the filth of it, and every inch of my body responded, aching and wet.

He shifted forward a little, losing balance, and my back bumped against the door with a soft thud. My husband’s voice came instantly, a little nervous. “Hey, everything good in there?”

I was too lost to give a fuck, too consumed to even think about him. But the old man was still in control. He pulled back just enough from my mouth, keeping me trembling and in control, and growled low, “Of course. Let’s focus on the door.”

But the old man’s reply wasn’t enough for him. “Hey, you okay?” my husband called again, his voice a little louder this time.

I gasped for air, my chest heaving, my body still trembling from the kiss. I forced out a reply, broken and ragged, just to end the conversation quickly. “Eah… don’t… worry… just… focus on the door. I’m… just taking… a break… for a minute.”

Every word I spoke was just another act, another layer of self degradation I couldn’t escape.

“Hang in there, okay?” my husband replied back. “I’ll get this damn thing open, I promise.”

The old man looked at me, smirking at his sorry ass and my poor state and growled again. “Hear that? Look how much he cares for you.” He pressed my cheeks harder, making me stare at him like a crackhead. “Really giving it his all out here.” A faint chuckle followed. “Aren’t you a lucky woman? A husband who’d push and strain himself just to get to you.”

He gripped my tongue, holding it out like a leash, and I froze. My body stiffened, completely at his mercy, unable to reply to my husband until he allowed it.

“You are right about that,” my husband said, his voice calm. “She’s lucky.”

The old man’s other hand slid down again, teasing and fingering me while his voice purred, “How about a word for him, hm? Something to keep him going. A little motivation will do him good.”

Finally, he released my tongue, and I gasped, broken and trembling. “Y-You… can… do it…” My voice was shaky, my mind still half lost in the wet heat of his touch.

His fingers kept moving over my pussy, driving me wilder, making me moan. “Keep… going…” I closed my eyes, my voice cracking as I continued, “You’re… doing… so… good…” Every word carried my hidden intention, meant for my husband and layered so the old man felt it too.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice low and commanding. “Keep telling him… let him know how much you… appreciate him.” He leaned in, pressing a short messy kiss against my lips, and I shivered before continuing.

“I… believe… in you…” My body trembled, inching closer to orgasm as the old man’s fingers worked me, each stroke driving me higher while my words dripped with shame and obedience. “Don’t… stop…” I whispered, both for him to keep moving inside me and for my husband to keep trying his best.

The old man’s fingers stopped, and his low whisper cut through the haze of my pleasure. “That’s enough for today.”

He then pulled my skirt down, letting it fall into place, then turned me toward the door. My legs wobbled, knees weak, every inch of me still burning with heat and humiliation. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and finally my husband appeared in the dim light.

I moved past him quickly, trying to hide my messy, flushed face, forcing my steps to be calm, normal, even though my body was screaming with what had just happened. The shadows of the room cloaked me, keeping my shame just out of sight, but inside, I was satisfied...