She's asleep (safe)

You breathe a sigh of relief as you text Peta to Livestream on silent. You want to cum with her right next to your sleeping wife. Your heart is a frantic bird beating against your ribs. You watch the small screen, the glow painting your face in shades of sin. On it, Peta's face is visible now, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her eyes are half-lidded, fixed on her own phone's camera, and by extension, on you.

Her free hand begins to move again, a slow, deliberate circle against her clit. She knows what she's doing. She knows you're watching. She puts on a show, her hips canting up, a soft gasp you can't hear but can feel through the screen. You match her rhythm, your strokes growing faster, more ****. The world narrows to this tiny, illuminated rectangle, to the woman who is your escape hatch.

You're close. So close. The pressure is building at the base of your spine, a familiar, intoxicating climb. Your eyes flick from the screen to Ava's sleeping form. The juxtaposition is a knife twisting in your gut. The pure, untrusting line of her back against the raw, wanton display on your phone. The danger is the final push. The thought of waking her, of her eyes opening right now, of being caught in this flagrant act of betrayal, it's what sends you over the edge.

You bite down on your lip, hard, to stifle the groan as you spill over your own hand. It's a sharp, powerful orgasm, laced with the metallic tang of fear. On the screen, Peta's body arches, her own release silent and cinematic. You watch her come down, her chest heaving, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across her face.

The video ends. You are left in the aftermath, the sticky evidence on your skin, the stinging guilt in your soul. Your phone buzzes one last time.

A single text from Peta.

"Better than a sleeping pill, isn't it?"

You quickly clean yourself up with a sock under the bed, a grim, efficient transaction. The room is quiet again. Too quiet. The silence is no longer a refuge; it's an accusation. You place the phone face down, as if that can hide what you've done. You roll over, your back to Ava, and you don't sleep. You just lie there, watching the numbers on the clock change, a silent vigil for the man you used to be.

https://www.patreon.com/JasonMaster