The Way She Walks In

"The Way She Walks In"

It was just after midnight when I heard the front door click.

Not slam. Not creak. Not fumble. Just that soft, confident click that told me everything I needed to know.

My wife Natasha was home.

I sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, phone untouched on the nightstand, glass of whiskey half-drunk and warm in my hand. My heartbeat picked up--not from jealousy, not even nerves. It was something deeper, darker. A hunger I'd learned to savour.

I heard her heels first. Slow, unhurried. She always came back like this--glowing, powerful, like the night gave her something she wanted. Something I couldn't give her, not directly. But something I could enjoy in a way only I truly understood.

The door to the bedroom cracked open.

Natasha stood in the doorway, silhouetted in moonlight. Her black dress hugged her hips like it was tailored to tempt fate. Her lipstick was still perfect, just slightly smudged in that way that made my stomach twist with want. Her dark hair was tousled, not messy, just used. That's the word that always came to mind. She looked used in the most exquisite way.

"You're still awake," she said, voice smooth and just a little smug.

I didn't answer right away. Just looked at her.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?"

Her smile curled slowly. She stepped into the room, and I could smell it now. Her perfume - and under it, something else. Something musky, unfamiliar, and not mine.

Natasha walked toward me, letting her fingers trail along the edge of the dresser, her hips swaying like she knew I was watching every move. And I was. Every damn inch of her.

"How was he?" I asked, throat tight.

She paused. Tilted her head.

"Curious tonight, aren't you?" she said, inching closer.

My mouth was dry. My body already reacting. She hadn't even touched me yet.

"Tell me."

Natasha leaned down, her mouth close to my ear. Her breath was warm and teasing. "Hmm. He was eager. A little clumsy at first. Young. But I broke him in." Her teeth grazed my earlobe. "You'd have liked watching."

I swallowed hard, hands curling into fists against the sheets. The images in my mind - her straddling him, whispering in his ear, riding him until he moaned her name - they weren't torture. They were fuel.

"Did he finish inside you?" I asked, my voice rough, low.

She smirked, stepping back just enough to begin unzipping her dress.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?"

She let the black dress fall.

No ceremony. No hesitation. It slipped off her shoulders like it was never meant to stay on, pooling around her ankles in a soft whisper of fabric.

She wasn't wearing a bra. Of course she wasn't. Her nipples were already hard, flushed, and just visible in the pale light filtering in from the hallway. Her skin glowed with a sheen of sweat and satisfaction.

And her panties - barely-there lace - were damp. Dark pubic hair visible through the netting of the panties. Darkened moist at the centre. I could see it from where I sat.

Natasha stepped out of the dress and walked toward me like she owned the floor, hips rolling, legs smooth and sure. My eyes dropped between her thighs, and when I looked back up, she was watching me watch her.

"I didn't clean up," she said, voice soft, wicked. "Thought you'd want to taste him."

I exhaled through my nose, hard. My cock throbbed painfully beneath my boxers.

She straddled me without asking. Without asking if I was ready, if I was okay--because we both knew I was beyond okay. This was what we'd built. This game, this trust, this fire.

She pressed her lips to mine, slow and deliberate. Her tongue was warm, tasting of wine and sin. I kissed her back greedily, hands gripping her thighs, fingers digging in.

"Easy," she whispered, pulling back. "I'm still sore."

That word -- sore - sent a jolt through me.

She reached down, took my hand, and guided it between her legs. The heat of her nearly burned through the lace. She was soaked. Not just her, but him, too - still slick, still dripping.

I groaned.

Natasha smiled against my mouth, then rose slightly on her knees, sliding her panties to the side.

"Put your tongue where it belongs," she murmured. "And don't stop until I'm shaking again."

I didn't hesitate. Didn't speak.

I buried my face between her thighs, inhaling the wet, messy mix of her and him and everything I'd been craving since the moment the door opened. My nose buried in her damp, dark curls of trimmed pubic hair.

She moaned - low and lazy - grinding herself against my mouth, threading her fingers through my hair. Her taste was overwhelming. Salty, musky, sweet. Her folds were slick and swollen, her clit firm and begging.

Every time she rocked her hips, I imagined him inside her. The sound she made when he pushed in. The way she probably arched her back, whispered his name, grabbed his shoulders like she was grabbing mine now.

"You like that, don't you?" she gasped. "You like licking me clean..."

I groaned into her, sucking harder.

Natasha was trembling now. Breathless. Close.

And I knew - I knew - this wasn't over.

This was just the beginning.

Her thighs began to tense around my head.

I could feel it in the way she moved - less rhythm now, more need. Her breathing turned ragged, those soft little moans becoming sharper, almost frantic.

She was close.

I sucked her clit again, slowly this time, drawing it between my lips while two of my fingers slid inside her, coated in her slickness - his and hers. The heat, the tightness, the mess - it was intoxicating.

"Right there," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't stop - don't you dare stop -"

I didn't.

Natasha ground harder against my mouth, her hands gripping my hair now, holding me there. Her thighs shook, and then it happened - her whole body tensed, and she cried out, not loud, but raw, like she was letting something go.

Her hips bucked once, twice - then froze.

I felt her pulse around my fingers, her orgasm rolling through her, hot and wet and powerful. A fresh wave of slickness spilled down my hand, and I could taste the change in her - salty, deeper, full of release.

She collapsed forward, chest pressed to mine, her breath hot against my neck.

"Fuck," she whispered, laughing breathlessly. "That was better than earlier."

I didn't say anything. Couldn't. My cock was rock hard, straining against my boxers, leaking. I hadn't been touched once, and I was on the edge.

Natasha pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes.

"You didn't touch yourself, did you?"

I shook my head.

"Good boy."

She kissed me, tasting herself - and him - on my lips. Then her hand slid down my chest, slow, trailing over the waistband of my shorts.

"You want to cum?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

I groaned, hips lifting helplessly.

"Beg."

My voice was hoarse. "Please... I need to... I've been waiting -"

"Hmm." She slid her hand beneath the waistband and wrapped it around me. "You're so hard. So ready. Look at this."

She stroked me once - slowly, tightly - and I nearly lost it right there.

"I want to feel it," she whispered. "All over me."

She climbed off my lap and knelt in front of me on the floor. Her tongue flicked out, teasing the head. Then she looked up at me, dark eyes gleaming.

"I want you to cum while thinking about what he did to me."

Natasha spit into her hand, wrapped it around my shaft, and stroked me with purpose now - slick, fast, no mercy. Her other hand massaged my balls, her lips brushing the head with every pump.

"Was he bigger than you? Hmm, maybe just a little. But not as good."

My whole body tightened.

"I let him finish in me. Twice. Didn't even pull out."

A sound escaped my throat--half groan, half plea.

Her mouth opened, tongue out, and her grip sped up. "Show me how much you love it."

I came hard.

With a grunt and a shudder, I exploded over her mouth, her lips, her chest. White, hot, blinding. She didn't pull away--watched me the whole time, smiling like she'd won something.

Maybe she had.

Natasha was still on her knees, flushed, chest glistening with my release, lips parted like she wanted more.

But she wasn't done with me--not yet.

Natasha stood slowly, slipping out of her panties, and climbed back onto the bed without a word. She sat with her legs parted just enough for me to see everything. Her shaved folds were swollen, slick, shining in the moonlight--and unmistakably filled. Some of him still inside her.

She leaned back on her elbows, watching me. Testing me.

"Well?" she said. "Didn't you say you wanted to taste me?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

She arched a brow. "All of me?"

I nodded, already moving between her legs.

Her scent was stronger now--thicker, richer. It clung to her skin, a mix of sex and sweat and something heady that lived in the back of my throat.

I lowered myself, face inches from her core. I could see it--his cum, still wet inside her, mixing with her arousal. Slowly, reverently, I pressed my tongue flat against her slit and dragged it up.

The taste hit me like lightning.

Salty, musky, deeply intimate. Not just her--but them. Everything they'd done. Everything she let him give her.

Natasha gasped above me, not from the sensation, but from the power of the moment.

I licked her again, slower this time, savouring it. Letting it coat my mouth, my lips, my pride. Her hands slid into my hair again, but this time she didn't guide me. She just held me there, as I fed from her.

"God," she whispered. "You're such a filthy little thing."

I moaned into her, tongue circling her entrance, slipping inside just enough to taste more of him, of her, of their lust made real.

"I let him cum deep," she said, voice breathless, almost dreamy. "I clenched around him, pulled every drop out."

I groaned again, pressing my face harder against her.

She writhed now, her body responding all over again, not to the sensation alone, but to the devotion. To the way I worshipped the mess she brought home.

"You like this," she said, biting her lip. "Licking up another man's cum from my used little pussy."

I growled, tongue flicking her clit now, slow circles, her thighs trembling again.

"You're mine," she gasped, voice shaking. "Every part of you. Even like this."

I sucked gently - then harder - and she cried out again, a second orgasm rushing through her, less controlled than the first. She clutched my head, grinding into my mouth as her body spasmed, hips jerking.

I didn't stop until she collapsed, spent, moaning, panting.

Until she was empty.

Natasha lay back against the pillows, her chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied waves. Her thighs still glistened. My mouth was wet with her. With him. With all of it.

I sat beside her, still breathless, eyes tracing every inch of her flushed, ruined beauty.

She looked at me, smiling like she knew I was ruined too.

"You're perfect like this," she murmured. "Worshipful. Owned."

I swallowed, nodded. "You're everything."

Her fingers reached for my face, gently pulling me down for a kiss. Her tongue explored my mouth like she was tasting what I had just tasted. She moaned softly into it.

"I've been thinking," she said, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes.

I raised a brow. "About what?"

Her smile curled wicked. "About the next time."

I felt my heart beat harder.

"Oh?"

Natasha ran a fingertip down my chest. "He's older. Confident. Married--but his wife knows." Her voice dropped lower, silky. "He's... experienced."

I tensed, aroused all over again. "You've talked to him?"

She nodded. "Met him for drinks last week. He was polite. Charming. But he made it very clear what he wanted from me."

She paused, then leaned into whisper, "And I told him what I wanted, too."

I licked my lips. "What did you tell him?"

"That I had a husband who likes to watch."

My breath caught.

Her hand slid between my legs again, finding me already half-hard. "Would you like that?" she purred. "Sitting in the corner, watching me take another cock? Seeing it go inside me while I lock eyes with you?"

I nodded, barely able to speak. "Yes."

Natasha straddled me again, slow and fluid, grinding against my sensitive length, smearing everything between us. "And when he finishes in me... you'll be the one to clean me up. Just like tonight."

She kissed my neck, hot and slow.

"But next time, you'll see it. You'll watch it dripping out of me while you kneel."

I groaned, already aching for it, already imagining her on her knees for another man, bent over, moaning his name while I sat, caged in desire.

"I'll let him take his time," she whispered. "Let him use me fully. And when he's done, I will walk over to you - legs shaking, pussy leaking - and I'll say two words."

I looked at her, lost.

"What two words?"

She smiled darkly.

"Clean me."