Wiping her hair out of her eyes

You meet Emily words with powerful thrusts. Her filthy words turning you on. You are a fucking cheater. The thought of doing it doggystyle again enters your mind as your eyes lock with hers. A powerful thrust deep in her asshole again.

You bring your hands up, but they don't close around her throat. They are gentle, almost reverent. You reach out and brush a strand of her dark, sweat-damp hair away from her face. Your thumb traces the line of her jaw. The intimacy of the gesture is shocking in the context of the raw, debasing act you're performing. It's a contradiction that makes the entire scene spin, blurring the lines between violence and tenderness, between punishment and reward.

Her rhythm falters. She looks at you, her expression confused, the haze of lust clearing for a moment to reveal something raw and vulnerable beneath. She was expecting violence, and you gave her a caress.

"That's my name on your lips," you say, your voice a low, possessive murmur. "Don't you forget it. Not hers. Mine. Remember who pay your bills."

You see it register in her eyes. You're not fucking her because you hate your wife. You're fucking her because she is not your wife. She is a separate world, a clean, simple fantasy. This reassurance, twisted as it is, seems to be what she needed. Her confidence returns.

She leans forward, her hands pressing flat on your chest now, her hair curtaining your faces. She resumes riding you, but the rhythm is different now. It's no longer just a performance. It's a conversation. She's taking you deep, grinding down, her hips rolling in a way that milks your cock, that focuses all the pressure right where you need it most.

"Then make me remember," she whispers, her hot breath against your ear. "Make it so I can't sit down tomorrow without feeling you. So every time I sign a memo at the office, I'll be thinking of this. Of you, splitting me in two for a raise."

The image is incendiary. Her, at her desk, prim and proper for everyone else, but carrying this secret. You grin harder. "I'll buy you a perfect butt plug to wear. Maybe with my name on it. You'll love that weren't you. My name. All for you." Her walls are tightening around your cock, her breathing becoming more ragged. Her performance is near its end. You'll fill her up soon.

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