What He Saw in the Archive

She never meant to keep the video.

He never meant to watch it.

But once he did... he couldn't stop.

It was just an old, unlabeled file buried in her phone, forgotten.

Until he found it.

A private moment.

Her on her knees.

Her ex taller, rougher, bigger making her moan in ways he'd never seen.

Now, he's spiraling.

She has no idea.

And they're both pretending everything's fine...

Even as the silence between them grows louder.

Love, lust, jealousy, and obsession collide in a story about what we hide, what we crave and how easily one video can change everything.

*************************************************************************************************

"She said she deleted everything."

It started with music.

Just a playlist.

I was at the kitchen counter, scrolling through Mara's phone to play something while we made dinner together. She was in the shower. I was barefoot, buzzed from a beer and the scent of her conditioner still hanging in the air.

Nothing suspicious.

Nothing sneaky.

We don't lock phones. That's the kind of couple we are. Open. Chill. Secure.

Until I tapped the wrong album.

No music.

Just... files. Folders.

One of them was called "REC_2019".

Another one "KeepSafe."

And buried under that, in a folder called "ARCHIVE," was a single video file with no name.

IMG_4956. mov

No thumbnail. Just a grey screen.

I should've backed out.

But curiosity doesn't whisper.

It burns.

I tapped it.

The video flickered into life.

A dark room.

Warm lighting.

A bed I didn't recognize. Beige sheets. Cluttered side table. Cheap IKEA lamp.

The camera must've been propped up handheld, tilted slightly. I could hear soft giggling, the clink of glasses.

Then she stepped into frame.

Mara.

Not a stranger. Not distant. Not some forgotten version of her.

My girlfriend.

She looked a little younger. Maybe a year. Maybe not. Her hair was longer. She had that almost black lipstick I told her once looked "too intense."

Now? It made my throat tighten.

She was wearing a black lace bodysuit. See through.

Stockings.

No bra.

She looked stunning. Effortlessly so. But different.

Confident. Naughty. Free.

She turned toward the camera and smirked.

"You better not be filming already."

A man's voice answered deep, smooth, with that American accent she once mentioned over drinks.

"You said I could. If I didn't talk."

She rolled her eyes, turned her back to him, and stretched. Her body arched like she knew she was being watched.

That's when I should've stopped it.

When my thumb hovered over the screen.

Paused.

Frozen.

I should've backed out. Should've deleted it. Should've pretended I never saw it.

Instead I sat down.

My heart pounding.

Mouth dry.

He stepped into frame a second later.

Stefan.

Her ex.

The one she said was arrogant. Controlling. The one who made her feel small. The one she said she'd never go back to.

He was tall. Muscled. Boxers hanging low on his hips. Big. Confident. Easy.

I knew the type.

I hated the type.

I wasn't the type.

They kissed. Slowly. Naturally. Like people who'd done it a thousand times.

He cupped her ass. She giggled and reached for his waistband.

"Still showing off, huh?"

He didn't answer. Just smirked and let her peel his boxers down.

And that's when I saw it.

His cock.

Even half hard it looked obscene. Thick, long, heavy. The kind of cock you see in porn and assume is fake.

It wasn't.

Mara dropped to her knees with a little laugh.

She giggled.

I flinched.

That sound the one I thought was mine it wasn't soft here. It wasn't shy.

It was filthy. Excited. Hungry.

She looked up at him with this spark in her eye. Bit her lip. Wrapped one hand around the base.

Her fingers didn't close around it.

"Still too much?" he asked.

"We'll see, won't we?"

Then she kissed the head.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

She opened her mouth wide wider than I'd ever seen her do for me and tried to take him in.

She gagged before she got halfway.

Spit slipped from her lips. Her mascara already starting to run.

He told her to breathe through her nose.

Stroked her cheek.

Gentle. Assured.

She nodded. Obedient.

Opened wider.

Tried again.

My cock throbbed in my jeans.

I wasn't touching it not really.

My hands were in my lap.

But my body was reacting on its own.

Betraying me.

It wasn't desire.

Not the kind I was used to.

It was something else.

Some dark knot of jealousy, rage, confusion and craving.

Her throat flexed as she tried to take him.

Her eyes watered.

Then came the sound.

Schhlk. Gkkkhh. Schhluuppp.

Wet, obscene.

Real.

She gagged once, hard, and then moaned through it.

A muffled, broken "mmffhh " that I thought she only made for me.

It wasn't just noise.

It was her.

She sounded like she loved it.

And Stefan?

He just held her.

One hand on the back of her head.

The other gripping the edge of the mattress for leverage.

He didn't ease into it.

Didn't warm her up.

He just fucked her throat.

Glk-glk-glk-glk-

Her body rocked with each thrust.

Mascara smeared.

Spit poured down her chin, splattered onto his thighs.

Her hands clutched his hips, fingers trembling.

She looked desperate. Overwhelmed.

She looked perfect.

And me?

I was frozen.

Jaw tight. Chest heaving.

My cock strained against my jeans.

I hated it.

I hated how fucking turned on I was.

How familiar the sound of her moaning felt except now it wasn't for me. It never had been. Not like that.

My hand moved lower.

Almost without permission.

I brushed the fabric.

Palmed myself through it.

Then slid inside.

Skin on skin.

I hissed through my teeth.

He pulled out.

Long strands of spit connected her lips to his cock.

She gasped.

Coughed.

Then laughed.

That soft, breathless giggle that used to make my heart flutter.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes glazed, chin wet.

"You fuckin' love that," Stefan said.

She didn't deny it.

She just grabbed his cock with both hands both and fed it back into her mouth like it belonged there.

Slurp. Suck. Moan. Wet. Vicious.

She took just the head at first.

Then more.

Then more.

He groaned above her, deep and guttural.

My hand was moving now.

Slow strokes.

Careful.

I hated him.

I hated her.

And I hated how hard I was.

The video kept going.

Her face was red.

Her chest was rising and falling like she'd just run a mile.

Her mouth swollen. Her chin glistening.

He told her to get on the bed.

She obeyed instantly.

I paused it.

Couldn't watch more.

Not yet.

The screen went black.

I could see my own face in the reflection.

Flushed. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

Still breathing hard.

Still trembling.

I told myself it was old.

A mistake.

She must've forgotten it was even there.

I told myself that as I saved the file to my desktop.

I told myself that as I renamed it:

Mara_1.

I told myself that even as I came.

Came into my palm, eyes shut, whispering her name not mine and picturing her laughing with his cock in her throat.

I told myself it was the last time.

****

"I told myself I wouldn't look again."

I meant it, too.

After that first night, I shut the laptop. Shut the guilt.

I kissed Mara that morning like everything was fine like I hadn't spent half the night jerking off to a video of her choking on her ex's cock.

I even convinced myself it was normal.

Old baggage.

Everyone has it, right?

But my mind didn't let it go.

Every time she bent over in yoga pants.

Every time she smiled with that little giggle.

Every time we fucked and she said my name

All I could think was: did she moan like that for him?

Or worse: was it louder?

And then the question that broke me:

Did she ever stop thinking about him?

I lasted three days.

Three full days of pretending. Smiling.

Fucking her sweetly. Gently.

Washing the dishes while trying not to remember the look on her face when Stefan came on her tongue.

But curiosity is never quiet.

It scratches.

And that night, when she went to bed early after a glass of wine, I grabbed her phone again.

Same folder.

Same path.

But this time... I kept scrolling.

What I found wasn't just another video.

It was a collection.

Hidden in plain sight.

Some videos.

Some pictures.

No titles. No captions. Just pure chaos. And yet every one of them burned like a wound I wanted to lick.

???? File: IMG_5034. jpg

Her.

Kneeling.

Holding his cock next to her face.

She's smiling. Grinning.

The head of it is wet, flushed pink, bigger than her fucking cheek.

She's got one hand holding the base, and even then she can't wrap her fingers all the way around it.

She captioned it:

"Bigger than I remembered ????"

I stared for a long time.

Zoomed in.

She's not embarrassed.

She's proud.

???? File: VID_1182. mov

Her riding him.

Camera shaking. Her POV.

You can hear her gasping between moans, holding the phone with one hand and bracing the other on his chest.

The sound is wet. Obscene.

She rides him slow. Deep.

Looks over her shoulder at the camera, sweat in her hair, and moans:

"Fuck... I forgot how good it feels when you stretch me."

She reaches back. Spreads herself.

You see it all.

You see how much he's filling her.

How tight she is. How soaked.

I had to pause.

I was already throbbing.

I told myself again:

This is from before.

This is just leftovers.

But I couldn't stop.

???? File: IMG_5145. jpg

Her face.

Covered.

Cum streaked across her mouth, her nose, her cheeks.

Her eyes half lidded. Her tongue out.

She's holding Stefan's cock like a mic.

Still hard. Still wet.

Still leaking.

She looks wrecked.

Happy.

Worshipping.

I've never seen that look from her.

Never even imagined she could look that messy. That ruined.

I closed my eyes and came in my pants.

Afterward, I sat on the couch with the phone still open on my lap.

The photos burned into my skull.

I couldn't stop seeing them.

The comparison was killing me.

My cock. His.

My cum. His.

My sex. Her sex.

She always pulled the covers up after we fucked.

Always said she felt "messy."

She didn't look messy in that photo.

She looked... proud.

I should've felt disgusted.

I told myself to delete it.

Instead, I airdropped them to myself.

All of it.

Saved it to a locked folder. Named it something neutral.

"SYS_CACHE_7"

Like that would make it less real.

That night I couldn't sleep.

I lay next to her, staring at the back of her head.

Wondering what she was dreaming about.

Wondering if she ever thought about him his size, his voice, the way he talked to her like she was just his fucktoy.

I reached for my phone again under the sheets.

Opened the folder.

Clicked play.

There she was again.

Hands and knees.

Back arched.

Moaning, "deeper, Stefan... fuck... yes harder just like that..."

And I came silently in the dark, biting my tongue so she wouldn't hear me.

My girlfriend slept next to me.

And I was jerking off to the ghost of a man she said she regretted.

I didn't tell her.

I wouldn't.

But something had changed.

I couldn't unsee it.

I couldn't unfeel it.

She had given a piece of herself to someone else.

A piece I'd never tasted.

A version of her I'd never owned.

And now that I'd seen it?

I didn't just want her.

I wanted that her.

And I'd do anything to get it.

Even if it meant becoming him.

****

"I didn't ask her. I just tried it."

I told myself it was nothing.

A little roughness.

A little roleplay.

She'd like it.

Right?

Not because I saw it in the video.

Not because I wanted to hear her choke again.

Not because I wanted her to say his name while I was inside her, just to see if she remembered how it felt.

No. This was for us.

I started slow.

It was a Tuesday night.

She came out of the shower in just one of my old T shirts, no bra underneath, towel wrapped hair tumbling over her shoulders.

She kissed me lazily, sleep drunk and soft, curling into my lap like she always does when she wants me to initiate.

Normally I'd take my time.

But this time... I didn't.

I grabbed her hips.

Pulled her forward.

Lifted her shirt without a word and palmed her tits until she gasped.

"Mm... you're eager tonight."

I didn't answer.

I kissed her hard.

Slid my hand down between her thighs.

She was already wet.

And when I pulled her into my lap and whispered, "Ride me," she blinked.

"Like this?"

"Just like that."

She slid down onto me slowly.

Tight. Warm. Familiar.

But all I could think about was that other angle.

Her on top of Stefan.

One hand holding the camera, the other on his chest, whispering how she forgot how much she could take.

I gripped her hips harder than usual.

"Ride it. Let me see you take it."

She started moving.

Slow at first.

Rolling her hips.

Her fingers slipping down between her legs.

I watched her.

Not her face her body. Her reactions. Her rhythm. Her limits.

"Deeper," I said. "Come on. Give it to me."

"I am," she panted. "You feel so good "

"No. All of it."

I shifted my hips and pressed up into her harder. She moaned, loud and surprised.

I didn't stop.

Her nails dug into my chest.

Something flickered across her face.

Not fear. Not discomfort.

But recognition.

Like she remembered this.

This rhythm. This demand.

This pace.

"You like it rough now?" she whispered, breathless.

"You don't?" I growled, pulling her shirt over her head.

She smiled and there it was.

That little smirk. That glint.

She leaned forward, lips brushing my ear.

"I didn't say I didn't."

That was all I needed.

I flipped her onto her back and started fucking her harder.

Her legs wrapped around me instinctively.

She moaned louder. Wilder.

And when I grabbed her hair just like he did and said, "You like being fucked like this, don't you?"

She whimpered.

God, she whimpered.

"Yes yes, baby don't stop fuck harder "

I lost it.

Her face, flushed and wet with sweat.

Her tits bouncing as I pounded into her.

My hand at her throat, not squeezing, just holding her there.

Claiming her.

Testing her.

I watched her carefully.

Looking for any reaction.

Any moment where she might slip.

Say something she didn't mean to.

A name. A memory.

But all I got was moaning. Crying. Clawing.

When she came, she arched up into me with this deep, desperate cry "God, yes fuck just like that!"

And in my head?

She wasn't talking to me.

Not me.

She fell asleep on my chest not long after.

Peaceful. Sated.

And I stared at the ceiling, still hard.

I didn't come.

I couldn't.

I slipped out of bed, grabbed my phone, and opened SYS_CACHE_7.

Found the video.

The one where she's bent over.

Where Stefan slaps her ass and makes her beg.

Where she looks back and says, "More. Harder."

I watched it in the bathroom, dick in my hand, whispering her name.

When I came, I came with my teeth clenched, imagining her full of him.

Imagining that it was me she was wrecked for.

It wasn't.

But I was getting closer.

****

"She doesn't know. And it's killing me."

I thought she knew.

I was sure she knew.

The way she smiled after I choked her.

The way she didn't say anything when I pulled her hair and made her ride me harder than she ever had before.

The way she moaned louder. Clawed deeper. Told me I was "ruining her" and then kissed me like I was all she needed.

I thought it was a signal.

I thought she was saying:

I remember what I used to be. And I know what you saw.

But she didn't.

She wasn't playing some game.

She wasn't baiting me.

She just didn't know.

I found out the truth by accident.

Another night. Another bottle of wine.

We were laughing on the floor, half watching something on Netflix, half fucking around.

She crawled into my lap and kissed me.

Straddled me, her hips rolling slow against mine.

Soft. Warm. Safe.

I froze.

That's when it hit me how different it was.

How different she was.

With me, she melted.

With Stefan?

She fucking burned.

Later, she went to sleep early. Again.

I stayed up, phone in hand, staring at the lock screen on her nightstand.

I told myself it was the last time.

I went to Recently Deleted again.

They were gone now.

The system had auto emptied it after 365 days.

But something still didn't sit right.

So I went to Settings.

Scrolled to Storage > Photos > Hidden Items.

And that's when I saw it:

Last Accessed: When i accessed it, and before that almost 2 years ago.

She hadn't touched that folder. Not once.

Not in days.

Not in months.

Not even in years.

And that's when the full weight hit me:

She really forgot.

Forgot those videos were still on her phone.

Forgot that picture of her holding Stefan's cock to her face, laughing like it was her favorite toy.

Forgot the clip where she begged him to creampie her.

I was the only one watching.

She moved on.

She meant it when she said Stefan was a mistake.

The person I'd been fucking for the last eight months wasn't the same girl in those videos.

She wasn't faking it with me.

She wasn't chasing some ghost.

She was here. Now. With me.

But I wasn't.

I'd built this whole narrative.

That she missed him.

That she wanted him again.

That she was hiding something.

But I was the only one hiding.

The only one lying.

Because what I couldn't admit not even to myself was this:

I didn't want her to be innocent.

I wanted her to remember what it felt like.

To crave it.

To think about it the way I thought about it.

Because I didn't just get off on the videos.

I got off on the shame.

On the humiliation.

On the comparison.

On knowing there was a version of her I'd never truly own only witness.

That night, I did something new.

I waited until she was asleep.

I got into bed next to her.

Reached under the covers and started stroking myself in silence.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Then I whispered:

"Tell me about him."

She stirred slightly. Eyes still closed. Her body warm against mine.

"Mmm?"

"Nothing," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Go back to sleep."

She did.

I didn't.

I kept going.

Thinking about the video.

About how she looked with spit trailing down her chin.

About the way she moaned, "More. Harder. Yes, please, don't stop..."

I came with my hand clamped over my mouth, silently falling apart beside her.

And when it was over, I rolled onto my side, still panting, and whispered:

"You really have no idea, do you?"

She didn't stir.

She just breathed.

Peaceful. Safe.

Dreaming.

Probably of nothing.

Definitely not of Stefan.

****

"He saw it. I know he did. I just don't know when."

Mira's POV

It started because she was trying to be sweet.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table again and he didn't move. He was in the kitchen, singing quietly to himself while cooking pasta, unaware that it was going off like a forgotten alarm clock.

She picked it up, just to check.

Just to silence it.

That's all it took.

Swipe. Unlock.

No password change. Same gesture as always.

Just like hers.

She didn't mean to see the notification.

Didn't mean to open Files.

Didn't mean to scroll through recent folders.

But once she did... her heart dropped.

SYS_CACHE_7

She tapped.

The first photo was her.

Kneeling.

Smiling.

Big cock beside her face like a fucking trophy.

Stefan's.

Not blurred. Not cropped. Not distorted.

Saved.

Curated.

And not just one.

She flipped through the rest of the folder like someone ripping off bandages fast, then faster.

Her riding Stefan in bed.

Him slapping her ass.

A creampie leak shot.

Her mouth stretched wide, spit pooling in her palms as he fed it to her.

Her face wrecked in every frame.

She'd forgotten these existed.

She genuinely forgot.

Her stomach sank.

It wasn't the shame that hit first.

It was fear.

How long has he known?

What did he think when he saw it?

Why didn't he say anything?

She exited the app.

Hands shaking.

Opened her own phone.

Her photos. Her folders.

And there it was under a renamed old folder she hadn't touched in years.

"ARCHIVE_SET_2019 PRIVATE"

She never deleted them.

Not on purpose.

Not because she wanted to keep them.

She just... forgot.

Buried things you never plan to see again.

She started deleting everything, frantic now.

Video by video.

Photo by photo.

And then she saw one she hadn't noticed before.

"VID_2319. mov"

She paused.

Tapped it.

The video started in a parked car.

Her thighs were bare.

Camera pointed down between her legs.

She was moaning.

The leather squeaked as she bounced slowly riding him.

His voice in the background: low, smug.

"Fuck, Mara. You're so tight. You miss this, don't you?"

She didn't say anything.

She just kept moving.

In the video, she looked back at the camera, smiling through a breathless moan.

She looked alive.

Something twinged deep in her chest.

Not arousal.

Not regret.

Nostalgia.

The kind that flashes hot and sharp for two seconds, then dies cold in your throat.

She didn't miss him.

Not really.

But that version of her the one who could fuck in public without caring, who got off on being watched, on being messy she hadn't seen her in a while.

But it was past.

All of it.

She deleted the video.

Watched the screen go black.

Then sat very still.

He knew.

He'd seen it all.

Saved it.

Kept it close.

Not because he wanted her to feel ashamed.

But because he didn't know how to say he'd never seen her that way before.

That maybe he wanted to.

That maybe it broke something in him to know someone else had.

She stared at the wall.

Heart pounding.

What was she supposed to do now?

That night, they watched a movie together.

He chose something funny. Light. Something to kill the silence.

She sat beside him on the couch, legs curled beneath her, hand half resting on his thigh.

The energy was off.

Too casual.

Too performative.

He smiled, but didn't really look at her.

She laughed, but not at the movie.

They were both waiting.

For something.

A confession.

A confrontation.

A surrender.

But neither said anything.

And when the credits rolled, she kissed his cheek and whispered:

"Bed?"

He nodded.

They stood.

Brushed their teeth.

Climbed in side by side.

And for the first time since they met

They didn't touch.

****

"I thought I was alone."

He wasn't working that day.

She had a last minute meeting canceled, got to leave work early, and didn't even text him ahead of time. Just wanted to surprise him. Maybe grab lunch. Sit on the couch together and forget how weird things had been lately.

The moment she stepped into the apartment, she knew something was off.

The front door was unlocked.

Shoes were still by the entrance.

His phone was face down on the dining table.

But the place was silent.

No music. No TV.

Just the faintest rhythm of something soft.

She crept down the hall.

The door to their bedroom wasn't fully closed.

That's when she heard it:

The wet sound of skin against skin.

Slow. Rhythmic. Steady.

A man's breath hers, actually. But broken. Uncontrolled.

She froze.

Took one step closer.

The door was cracked open just enough.

And what she saw made her breath catch.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Pants around his thighs.

Back slightly hunched.

Eyes locked on his laptop screen.

He didn't notice her.

Not the soft creak of the hallway floor.

Not the outline of her shadow.

Because he was gone.

Consumed.

His hand worked up and down, tight around his cock, leaking and flushed red.

His mouth hung open.

Short little grunts escaped from his throat.

He was mumbling something under his breath she couldn't hear the words.

And then the audio from the laptop drifted out, clear enough to catch:

"Yeah, that's it watch your girlfriend get used. You like that, don't you?"

She blinked.

Stepped back a bit.

Heart pounding.

Cuckold POV.

Hot wife category and vixen.

Humiliation play.

Big cock comparison.

Her eyes flicked to the screen.

There it was.

The same body type as him tall, broad.

The girl moaning under him was moaning for size, for stretch, for more.

Her stomach twisted.

He was watching porn that mimicked what he saw of her.

Her and Stefan.

She didn't know what to do.

She should've said something.

Knocked. Called his name.

But she couldn't.

She watched.

Watched as he fucked his fist harder.

Watched his hips jerk.

Watched his thighs tremble.

He groaned, low and desperate.

And when he came it was intense.

She saw it.

Spurt after spurt, landing across his hand and thigh.

He arched a little, gasped, then slumped.

No shame.

Just silence.

Then he reached for tissues.

Wiped himself off like it was nothing.

Like he did it every day.

She stepped back into the kitchen, fast.

Turned the faucet on. Loud enough.

Opened the fridge like she'd just arrived.

He walked in two minutes later, hair still slightly messy.

"Hey," he smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Hi," she said, smiling back. "I just got in."

They kissed.

Held it one second longer than normal.

"How was your day?"

"Long. You?"

"Weird. Quiet."

He didn't know she'd seen him.

And she didn't tell him.

But the image stayed in her mind all evening.

That night on the couch, they watched TV like nothing happened.

He reached for her hand.

She let him.

Her thumb grazed his knuckles.

And she thought:

He's hurting.

He doesn't know how to say it.

He's trying to understand me the only way he knows how.

She leaned against his shoulder.

He kissed her temple.

And neither of them said a word.

****

"I don't know who I am when I'm watching these things. But I know I love her."

It wasn't just once a day anymore.

It wasn't even just at night.

It was morning. Lunch break. Showers.

Any moment alone. Any time she wasn't around.

Not because he didn't want her.

But because he couldn't stop chasing the feeling.

The videos weren't just porn anymore.

They were a mirror.

A punishment.

A release.

A craving.

He became picky about them.

Would skip anything that felt too fake. Too cheerful. Too easy.

He wanted authentic humiliation.

He wanted to see women wrecked.

Used. Broken.

Calling names that weren't his.

He wanted POV shots.

Shaky camera. Bad lighting.

Anything that made it feel real raw like he was right there, hidden just out of sight.

He wanted to be the boyfriend watching from the closet.

The husband holding the phone, getting off on what he could never do for her.

He needed to believe it.

Cuckold.

Cheating girlfriend.

First time with a bigger cock.

Girlfriend moaning too loud.

"You've never come like this before."

"She's mine now."

Each keyword narrowed the tunnel, guided him toward exactly what he wanted what he hated wanting.

That day, he watched in the shower.

Phone balanced on the shelf, screen propped against a bottle of shampoo.

Steam curled over the glass.

The shower hissed around him, hot water pelting his shoulders, masking the urgent sound of his fist working his cock, slow and relentless.

The video was titled something generic "Girlfriend Fucks Someone Bigger for Her Boyfriend" but it could have been a documentary of his own mind.

The POV was close, just off-center, as if the viewer was meant to be the boyfriend close enough to see the tension on her face, the hunger in her eyes, the flush rising up her chest.

She was petite, delicate legs spread wide over the lap of a man who was visibly, unmistakably bigger. His cock looked obscene next to her, stretching her open while she whimpered and clung to his arms.

The phone-cam jostled with every thrust, catching flashes of her face:

Mouth open, hair sticking to her cheeks, eyeliner smudged from tears and sweat.

"Baby, I'm so sorry, he's just so big," she sobbed, voice shivering, honest.

"You wanted to see me happy, right? This makes me happy... but I need you to watch, I need you to cum for me. Please, cum for me..."

The boyfriend's voice was shaky, off-camera.

"God, you're beautiful. I love seeing you like this. Show me how good he makes you feel."

The bigger man leaned in, gripped her hips, and started fucking up into her hard, deep, relentless. Her body rocked with each stroke, tits bouncing, moans turning high and wild, her pleasure overwhelming the room.

She turned to the camera, biting her lip, eyes rolling back as she rode the edge.

"I'm gonna cum oh my God, I'm cumming on his cock... fuck... fuck..."

Her hand shot between her legs, rubbing herself frantically as the man kept pounding up into her, their bodies slapping together, the noise echoing in the cheap, messy room.

He couldn't look away.

His own hand matched her rhythm, pumping his cock harder, jaw clenched, heart thudding in his chest. His anger and shame blurred with arousal he hated how his body responded, how watching her unravel for someone else was exactly what he craved now.

The video cut to a final angle:

The man pulling out, his cock glistening with her, jerking himself over her stomach.

She held her tits together, smiling through her exhaustion, and let him cum across her chest thick, messy spurts painting her skin.

She looked right at the camera and whispered,

"Cum for me, baby. I want you to see me like this. I want you to cum now just for me. Please..."

His body tensed, the words burning straight through his chest.

He stroked himself frantically, eyes locked on the screen as the last mess hit her neck, as she smeared it across her skin and licked it from her fingers, eyes shining.

He gasped, shuddered, and came hard against the shower tile, his orgasm tearing through him so fierce he had to grab the soap dish to keep from buckling.

He didn't breathe until it was over.

Didn't move for a long time.

Felt emptied. Cleansed.

Like something had been exorcised but not healed.

He rinsed off, trembling, the water suddenly too hot.

Looked at his reflection in the foggy glass and whispered,

"What the fuck is wrong with me?"

But even as the shame washed over him, he knew

He'd be searching for that feeling again.

Afterward, he stepped out.

Wiped steam from the mirror.

Stared at his reflection.

Still hard.

Still flushed.

Still shaking.

How the fuck did I get here?

Not just jerking off to porn.

Jerking off to this kind of porn.

Obsession porn.

Stefan porn.

He wasn't angry anymore.

He was just... hollow.

Curious.

Scared.

What's wrong with me?

He knew she loved him.

She showed it in all the little ways.

The way she curled up beside him. The way she laughed at his bad jokes.

The way she never made him feel small.

So why did he crave feeling small?

His phone buzzed.

A message.

Mara ????: Hey babe. Wanna go out for dinner tonight? I'm finishing early.

He stared at it.

Smiled.

Not a fake one.

Not a broken one.

Just... soft.

Because whatever this spiral was...

Whatever he'd become in private...

There was still one thing he knew with absolute clarity.

I love you.

He typed back:

Him: Yes baby. Want me to pick you up after work and we go to that place you like?

Her reply came back in seconds.

Mara ????: Yes

He placed the phone down on the sink.

Looked into the mirror again.

Eyes rimmed red.

Hair still wet.

A thousand things unsaid.

And then he whispered to himself:

"It'll work out. It has to."

He grabbed a towel.

And walked out.