The husband

Tammy stared at the words, chest heaving, knickers soaked through. Her hand shook as she closed the email, forcing herself to straighten in her chair, **** her blouse together. The office spun with noise, phones, chatter, keyboards but all she could hear was her own ragged breath.

She didn’t know it, but a world away, Graham sat frozen at his desk, her image burned across his laptop screen.

It had started by accident. He hadn’t expected her call, at first he’d thought she was sending him something naughty, a filthy little video to spice up the day. He’d answered with a grin, cock stiffening as he saw her face, flushed and trembling.

Then he realised.

The angle was wrong. Too low. The picture was jerky, half blocked by the leather of her handbag. He’d frowned, adjusting the sound, and his blood ran hot as he saw her unbuttoning her blouse, bra disappearing into her bag.

At first he thought he was dreaming. His prim, uptight wife, tits spilling against her blouse in the small room of her office. He’d stared, jaw slack, torn between outrage and lust, a buzzer went off and she ran out of view.

Then a man walked in into the room.

He got his cock out and began to jerk off, Graham had no ide what the fuck was going on, the it happened, they were together

The screen had filled with him—towering, broad, standing over her. And Tammy hadn’t pushed him away. She’d obeyed.

That was when Graham realised this wasn’t for him. Wasn’t a game she was playing with her husband. She hadn’t even known the call was live. He was watching something raw, unfiltered, they kissed and she stroked the strangers cock.

His first instinct had been white-hot rage. To switch off his phone, to catch the first flight to Scotland and storm into her office, to scream until the walls rattled But his cock had pulsed so hard he nearly came untouched.

Jealousy curdled with lust. The sight of his wife, playing the slut for another man split him wide open.

And instead of ending it, he leaned closer. Watched every second.

By the time the call cut out, his decision was made.

He’d see how far she’d go.

He’d be the one pulling the strings.

Now, Tammy sat at her desk, staring at the blank screen, thinking her tormentor was some faceless stranger. In reality, Graham was at home, cock in hand, typing out her fate.

He opened the fake email account, fingers flying.

“Undo one more button. I want to see your tits pushing through that blouse until they’re ready to spill out. Make me proud.”

Back at her desk, Tammy bit her lip. Her whole body screamed no, but the phantom image of that photo loomed in her head. Graham’s disappointment. Graham’s disgust.

Her hands shook as she slipped another button free. Her breasts swelled against the thin fabric, nipples dark and obvious. She crossed her arms, pretending to stretch, her cheeks flaming as she adjusted her posture so the shirt gaped just enough.

Her phone buzzed again.

“Perfect. You look like a slut. Do you feel like one?”

Her thighs clenched. A strangled sound caught in her throat.

She typed back without thinking. Yes.

In his office chair, Graham’s breath caught. Seeing the word in black and white, from her confessing, made him throb with vicious need. He stroked himself harder, imagining her squirming under his command, wetting her seat while the rest of the office typed away, oblivious.

He typed again.

“You’ll do everything I tell you. If you want to keep me from sending that to your husband, you’ll obey. Understand?”

Tammy’s pulse hammered in her ears. The shame of the words, the fear, the crawling humiliation—it mixed into a dizzying ache between her legs. She tapped out: Yes. I understand.

Graham leaned back.

She thought she was trapped. She thought she was falling deeper into someone else’s game.

But really, she had no idea her husband was the one making her spread, tremble, and drip in the middle of her office.