Broken Vows - A Cuckold Story 01

BROKEN VOWS - A CUCKOLD STORY (Introduction) Part 1 Nick

Chapter 1: Noises

The bang yanked me out of my fitful sleep so hard my shoulder hit the headboard and the impact traveled down my arm. For a second I was not sure where I was. The room didn't make sense; it was too dark. The air felt still and slightly cool against my bare chest. The bed was empty beside me. My hand went for my phone and struck empty wood--the nightstand was on the wrong side. Then it registered I was in the downstairs guest room and everything flooded back to me in a cold hard wave.

I found my phone on the floor. The screen lit the dark; my eyes burned and were red and blurry. 3:48 a. m. My mouth tasted stale. This was the fourth time I had been woken up, and considering how hard and long it had taken me to fall asleep each time, it all added up to almost no sleep.

I had actually passed out around 10:30 p. m. mostly from the booze. I had ended up in the spare bedroom, confused, depressed, and yet strangely excited over what I had witnessed. I had so many conflicting emotions rushing through me when I had closed the door and laid down on the bed I had thought sleep would never come, but it had almost immediately.

The first time I was woken by the noise was just before midnight. It had been a single hard crack that I'd half-convinced myself was just the house, until the other noises had followed and I couldn't explain them away. The second time was around one-thirty, and it had lasted longer. My stomach tightened; fear and apprehension sat heavy in my chest, and each louder noise raised my concern. The third time I'd been woken I was already half-hard and listened until the rhythm slowed. Every time the same sequence: a sharp impact, then the steady, heavy thump of the headboard against the shared wall with the master bedroom upstairs, then her voice.

It started again. Thump. Thump. Thump. Not random. The frame upstairs protesting with every stroke. I lay still and felt the vibration travel through the mattress into my back. Then the sound changed and a low moan rolled through the drywall, muffled but clear enough that I could hear the catch in her breath. Almost careful at first, just like the times before. I knew it would not stay careful. I hadn't expected the walls to carry sound this clearly, but the increasing moans continued to reach me and then I heard her voice.

"Oh my God. It feels... it feels -- so good. Please-- please -- don't stop--oh my God--I'm going to cum--"

Sarah.

My stomach dropped and I felt queasy. That was my wife, the woman I loved with every fiber of my being, the mother of my children, my life partner, my soulmate. The same voice that had told me she would love me forever on our wedding day. The same voice that had mostly stayed quiet even when she came--tight little gasps against my shoulder or my mouth. She was not quiet now.

"Wha... What are you doing to me -- Oh my God I can't stop -- I can't --I'm going to cum again--"

The words stretched and cracked. Behind them the steady slap of the headboard kept time and, under that, the wetter, softer sound of skin meeting skin. I recognized the pitch of her orgasm. I'd given her plenty over the past 12 years but never like this. Never that loud. Never with her begging and sounding like she was being driven through it and still wanting more. The vibration in the wall matched the rhythm. I could feel it in my palm when I pressed my hand flat against the drywall.

I sat up. The sheet was twisted and damp where I'd been sweating. My cock was already rigid, aching, a small wet spot already forming on the front of my boxers. I hated how fast it happened. For a second--the millionth time that night--I thought about going upstairs and putting a stop to it. Opening the door and saying her name. Ending it and taking her back. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet hit cold floor. I stood with my hand on the doorknob, heart hammering hard enough that I felt it in my throat, and listened to her moan again. Longer this time, louder. The kind of sound that meant she was still cumming or cumming again. She was still being fucked and the more I could sense her pleasure, the more the thought of stopping it started to feel selfish and distant.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The house was dark except for the thin strip of light under the master bedroom door at the top of the stairs. The kids were not here; they were staying with "Auntie Roxie" tonight. It was supposed to be a night for Sarah and me to reconnect. How had things turned so sideways? I climbed the stairs slowly. One hand on the banister. Bare feet silent on the carpet. Every step made the sounds clearer. The wet slap grew sharper. The creak of the bed frame grew louder. Her voice climbed higher, less controlled, breaking on the edges. By the time I reached the middle of the stairs, my cock was throbbing so hard the head rubbed against the cotton of my boxers with every step. The closer I got, the louder she became, and the more the idea of walking in and ending it slipped away. I wasn't thinking about stopping anything. I was thinking about how good she sounded. How wrecked. How the wet sounds kept getting wetter.

At the top landing I stopped. The master bedroom door was shut and a thin strip of light showed under it. I put my ear to the wood. The vibration of the headboard slamming traveled straight into my cheek and down my jaw. Inside, I could hear his voice --low, steady and talking to her while he was fucking her.

"That's it, my little slut. Take it, take it all. You love this cock, don't you? You dirty little girl, you're soaking my dick again."

I had never used language like that with Sarah. Not once. I would have thought the words would disgust her or at the very least upset her enough to end whatever was happening. Instead, her moans climbed higher. A whimper broke into a shaky, almost angry cry. She sounded even more excited. The wet sounds got louder, slicker, the unmistakable noise of a cock moving in and out of a very wet pussy. She was dripping. She was loving every filthy word. I could hear the rhythm change when he slowed, then drove in hard again.

"This is what you needed, isn't it? A man to take control?"

She did not argue with him; she only whimpered, and her moans were louder, the sounds of their sex wetter, more urgent.

"That's right, you needy little slut, push back on my cock. Fuck yourself on me and get yours."

A sharp slap cracked through the door. Skin on skin. Then another, harder. The sound was clean and loud. "Yeah, push that ass back. Take every fucking inch. You like getting fucked like this, don't you?"

I knew from how the impacts of his hands landed on her ass and the way the bed frame protested that he was taking her from behind. She almost never let me do that. She said it felt too exposed. Once or twice a year if I'd been patient and she'd had wine, and even then she kept her face turned away. But for this man she was not only allowing it; she was pushing back and taking the slaps while she moaned for more. The headboard slammed in a steady, punishing pace. I could hear the wet slap of his hips against her ass with every stroke.

I shoved my hand into my boxers and wrapped it around myself. The skin was already slick with precum. I stroked slow at first, matching the rhythm coming through the door, feeling the vibration in the wood against my forehead. Then I sped up when her voice climbed again. "Harder--please--oh my god--please--don't stop--I'm gonna cum--" She was talking now. Begging. Her voice cracked. She came hard, the sound half sob, half laugh, long and shaky, and I came with her, messy and fast over my fist and the front of my boxers, forehead pressed hard to the door so I wouldn't make a sound of my own. My legs shook. The aftershock left me dizzy. I could still hear the wet sounds continuing on the other side of the door.

Guilt hit me on the way down, hard and cold. I was a failed husband. I was not man enough to open the door and end it. Standing outside my own bedroom with my softening cock in my hand and cum cooling on my fingers while another man laid claim to my wife and she begged him not to stop. I stayed there, ear still against the wood, listening to the rhythm slow but not stop. Her whimpers turned soft and broken. I heard a sob. I wiped my hand on my boxers, stood until my breathing evened, then turned and went back downstairs. I shut the guest-room door, got into the cold bed, and stared at the ceiling. The thumping continued, slower now, still going. My cock was sore and already half-hard again. The smell of my own cum was sharp in the dark. I couldn't sleep.

How the hell did we get here?

Chapter 2: Iowa State

I met Sarah my sophomore year at Iowa State. She was a freshman, still raw from a breakup with her previous boyfriend James. Everybody who knew her had heard some version--he'd had cheated on her, she'd caught him in the act, it had been ugly. She sat alone a lot. She was blonde, small, pretty in a way that didn't announce itself until you actually looked. I noticed her in the dining hall one night because she was sitting by herself with a tray she barely touched and a paperback open. I said something stupid and self-deprecating about the book. She laughed--a real laugh--and that was the first time I thought maybe I had a shot with someone who looked like her.

I was average. Five-nine, brown hair, brown eyes, the kind of face that disappeared in a crowd. My two older brothers had both cleared six feet early. Peter was bigger and already heading toward becoming the family cautionary tale. He was on his third marriage with kids from each wife. Alex was the golden child, the magical real estate investor in Florida and the one my dad told everyone about. I was the one who stayed home, helped with the yard, got decent grades, and tried not to take up too much space. Meeting Sarah felt like proof that maybe I'd been wrong about how much space I was allowed to take.

We started talking. We got coffee and walked across campus together to our classes. She told me about James in pieces. He had been intense, demanding and she admitted he had been good in bed but was not loving. I didn't push. I'd only been with two girls before her. What I had was patience and the fact that I liked listening. By the time she told me she was falling for me, I'd already decided I was going to marry her if she'd let me.

The first time we had sex was in my dorm room on a Tuesday night. Her roommate was gone. Mine was at the library. We'd been kissing on my narrow bed for twenty minutes, her small hands under my shirt, my hand on the inside of her thigh. She was nervous. I was nervous. Just the desk lamp on. She pulled off her sweater and her bra. She had small, perfect breasts that featured pale pink nipples which were already tight. I kissed down her neck, took one nipple in my mouth, and felt her arch. She made a soft sound, and her fingers slid into my hair.

I got her jeans and panties off and discovered she was already wet. I could see it, feel it when I ran two fingers through her. She gasped when I pushed one finger inside and a second. She was tight and hot. Her movements and noises were soft and urgent. I went down on her because I wanted to see what she looked like when she came and because I wanted her to feel good. I licked her slowly at first, tasting her, then faster when her hips started moving. She came with her hips bucking off the bed and her thighs shaking around my head; a quiet, broken little cry escaped her lips as her fingers held on tightly in my hair. I stayed there until she pushed at my shoulder, forcing me to stop because she had become too oversensitive.

When I pushed inside her, she was still pulsing. She made a sound like she'd been holding her breath for a year. I went slow. She was tight enough that I had to stop and breathe. Her legs wrapped around my waist. We stayed in missionary, lights low, her hands on my back, nails light against my skin. I lasted longer than I thought I would. She didn't come from my cock that night--she told me later she almost never did--but she held me afterward, sweaty and smiling, and said, "That was really good. I liked that a lot" and I believed her. We did it again an hour later, her on top this time, riding slow, and she came from my fingers while I was inside her. I remember thinking I could do this forever. She seemed to enjoy it just as much. We were careful, a little awkward but completely into each other.

After that we fucked constantly. Every chance we got. Her dorm when her roommate was gone or mine. The back seat of my car in the parking lot behind the ag building. She was almost always ready, wet before I even touched her. She liked it when I went down on her, and I soon had found all her special spots and could make her cum with my mouth quickly or slowly if I was in a playful mood and wanted to tease her. She kept the positions simple--missionary, her on top, occasionally from behind if we were both a little drunk--but she was sexual. Hungry, even. She just wasn't wild or crazy in bed. She did not want to experiment with toys, and there was no dirty talk beyond the occasional "right there." Blowjobs from Sarah were rare. She would do it if she'd been drinking, usually after a party, and she never wanted me to finish in her mouth. I didn't mind. I liked going down on her more than I liked getting head anyway. I figured the rest would come. She was young. We both were. Once she got more comfortable, once she trusted me completely, she'd open up. That's what I told myself. She never really did.

Chapter 3: Marriage and Nicole

We dated for a year and a half before I asked her to marry me. I did it on the back porch of her parents' house the summer after I graduated. She cried and immediately said yes. We got married the following June. I was twenty-two. She was twenty. Her parents liked me. Mine liked her more than they'd liked any of the girls my brothers brought around. My mom especially. She pulled me aside at the rehearsal dinner and told me Sarah was good for me. The kind of woman who would stay by my side, and I would never have to worry. She was the strongly loyal type. Both families were happy. It felt right.

Both our families were church-going, even though Sarah and I weren't active. If there was any issue between our families, it was over who would perform the ceremony. I relented, and we used Sarah's family's church. The marriage ceremony itself was a simple affair. We both stood at the altar and took turns professing our love for each other; our vows were short but to the point. She promised she would love me forever and stated that no man could ever have gained her love as I had and that she was looking forward to a long life together, just us and hopefully a family soon. A good crowd showed up; both our families came, and so did all our friends. Even the golden child, Alex, showed up with a hot blonde on his arm and spent the entire reception talking about his latest deal with my father, who stood nearby beaming like he had won the lottery.

The honeymoon was a long weekend in Chicago because that was what we could afford. We fucked a lot, and barely left the hotel room. She still kept the lights mostly off, and we moved through the same positions, but that did not bother either of us. We were in love, we were married, and we had our entire lives in front of us. She still came easiest from my mouth. Penetration was hit or miss. Sometimes she got there, but most of the time she didn't. On the times she did cum with me inside her, it was magical. I could tell how much more she enjoyed it, how powerful it was for her, and I, in turn, felt strong and virile when I could give that to her. I made sure she always had an orgasm with my mouth, even if it was after regular sex. She was hesitant at first and did not like the idea of me going down on her after I had already fucked her and cum, but I did not care; for me, the most important thing was to give her pleasure, and it did not matter how I did it. When I probed and tried to find out why she had such a hard time cumming with me inside her, she told me it wasn't me. She said some women just didn't come that way. I believed her but still felt like I was missing something.

Nicole was born ten months after the wedding. The pregnancy was rough. Hyperemesis with hospital stays. Sarah's face was gray, and she was exhausted for months. After that, she told me she couldn't go through it again, and we both decided one child would have to be enough. I didn't want a vasectomy yet, just in case she changed her mind, so I put it off, and she stayed on the pill until we switched to an IUD when Nicole was two. When Nicole arrived, both families were over the moon. My mom cried. Sarah's parents drove up the same day. We were exhausted, and happy in that particular way new parents are. The house felt fuller. Life felt fuller.

When Nicole was old enough for daycare, things started to feel normal again. Sarah went back to school part-time, finished her interior-design degree, and landed a job at a firm in Des Moines. She was good at it. Clients liked her. She was on track for a promotion. Our sex life improved. Not every night, but more often, and with more ease. Date nights came back. We remembered how to want each other without the constant weight of a newborn between us.

Chapter 4: A Good Night

About six months after Nicole's birthday, we had one of those nights that made me think we were still solid. Nicole was at her grandparents'. We'd had wine with dinner. Sarah came out of the bathroom in just a T-shirt and panties and climbed into bed next to me. I kissed her, and she kissed back harder than she had in weeks. I got her shirt off. Her breasts were fuller than they'd been before Nicole, still perfect, still sensitive. I spent a long time on them, sucking her nipples until she was squirming and wet, then moved down.

She was soaked. I licked her slowly at first, tasting her, then faster, two fingers inside her, curling the way she liked. She came the first time with her hand over her mouth, hips rolling against my face, thighs shaking. I didn't stop. I kept licking, lighter at first while she came down, then the same steady pressure until she came again, harder, a long shaky moan she couldn't quite hold in, one hand fisted in the sheet. When I finally moved up, she pulled me on top of her and guided me inside. She was so wet I slid in easily. We stayed missionary. I went slow, then harder when she asked, her legs around my waist. She didn't come from my cock--but she held me tight afterward, sweaty and smiling, and said, "I love you. That was really good." I felt happy. Joyful, even. Like we still had it. Like the distance that had started creeping in after Nicole wasn't permanent. We fell asleep tangled up, her head on my chest, and I remember thinking this was what I'd signed up for.

Three months later the IUD failed.

Chapter 5: Michael

We found out Sarah was pregnant on a Tuesday night after Nicole was already in bed. Sarah cried, and I sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at the stick, thinking if I stared hard enough it would change. I told her we should talk about options, and I used the word "abortion." She flinched like I'd hit her.

"You want me to get rid of it?" she said. Her voice was small.

"I want us to talk about whether we can handle another one right now," I said. "Nicole's six. You're finally back at work and doing well. I'm finally not drowning. Another kid means all of that goes on hold again. The timing is rough."

She didn't answer for a long time. When she did, she said, "I can't. I just... I can't."

We kept the baby. The pregnancy went better than the first one. No hospital stays; Sarah was tired but not destroyed. When Michael was born, we were both happy we'd kept him. The guilt I carried over that bathroom conversation never fully left, but looking at him made the decision feel right. I got the vasectomy three months later. Sarah was hurt by what I'd said, but she told me later she'd mostly moved past it. Most days I believed her.

Michael's arrival still changed things. Sarah's postpartum depression was bad. She stepped back from the firm, took a part-time job that felt like a demotion and made her a glorified receptionist, and she struggled with her body in a way she hadn't after Nicole. I started working later. Sex became rare. Once a month, then less. When it happened, it was quiet and careful. Mostly me going down on her. She stopped initiating. I stopped asking. We still loved each other and our kids. We just stopped knowing how to reach each other in bed.

A year after Michael, she started going to the gym. Slowly the weight came off. Her body looked like hers again--slim, athletic, the small breasts I'd always liked sitting high and tight. She started wearing clothes that actually fit. She started reaching for me more. The constant easy hunger from the beginning never fully came back. She was still vanilla. Still shy about her body even after she'd gotten it back. I loved her. I was proud of her. I also spent nights wondering if this was just what marriage looked like after two kids and a decade, or if I'd failed at the one thing I was supposed to be good at.

Chapter 6: The Offer

The job in San Francisco showed up in my inbox on a Thursday. Senior software engineer. Base salary almost triple what I was making currently. Equity. Relocation package. I read the offer three times before I forwarded it to Sarah with the subject line "Holy shit, look at this."

We talked about it for two weeks. Most of those talks happened at the kitchen table after the kids were down, or in the car on the way to her parents' house.

"I don't know anyone there," she said one night, stirring pasta she wasn't going to eat. "Except your uncle. And from what you've told me, Richard's... a lot."

"He's fine," I said. "He offered the guest rooms until we find a place. It's temporary."

"Temporary how long?" She looked at me over the rim of her wine glass. "You're going to be working insane hours. I'll be home with a three-year-old and a nine-year-old, no friends, no job, and no one to call when I need five minutes. Iowa is boring, Nick, but I know how to be bored here. I know where the grocery store is. I know which neighbor will take Nicole if Michael spikes a fever. Out there I'll just be... alone."

"You'll make friends," I said, and even I could hear how thin it sounded. "There are other moms. Playgrounds. We'll join a gym. We'll figure it out."

She was quiet for a minute. "You really want this."

"I want us to have options," I said. "I want to stop worrying every time the property-tax bill shows up. I want Nicole to be able to do whatever sport or instrument she decides she likes without us checking the bank account first. And yeah, I want to walk into a room full of people who actually know what the hell they're doing and feel like I belong there. I've been the smartest guy in the room in Iowa for a long time. I'm tired of it."

Sarah smiled, small and tired. "You were never the smartest guy in the room. You were just the one who stayed late."

"Same difference when everybody else goes home at five."

She reached across the table and took my hand. Her fingers were cold. "If we do this and it sucks, we can come back, right? We don't sell the house until we're sure."

"We don't have to sell the house at all if you don't want to," I said. "We can rent it. Keep the door open."

She nodded, but I could see she didn't fully believe me. Neither did I. Once we left, the door would start closing whether we wanted it to or not.

The night I accepted the offer we sat on the back porch after the kids were asleep. The Iowa sky was huge and dark and full of stars. Sarah leaned her head on my shoulder.

"Tell me it's going to be okay," she said.

"It's going to be okay," I said. "We'll make it okay."

She didn't answer. She just stayed there, warm against my side, while I stared at the dark yard and tried to picture what our life would become. I thought the hard part would be the move. The packing. The new schools. Finding a house. I thought if we could just get there and get settled, the rest would sort itself out.

Chapter 7: Morning

I woke to sunlight cutting across the guest-room floor. For a second I didn't remember falling asleep. I only remembered lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, replaying every sound that had come through the wall--the steady slam of the headboard, her moans climbing higher, the wet slap of skin, the final long, ear-piercing scream of pleasure that had finally ended it. Somewhere after that, the noise had stopped, and I must have gone under.

I reached for my phone. 7:23 a. m. Still early. I lay still and listened. Nothing. No thumping. No voice. The quiet felt almost normal. For a moment I let myself think maybe it had been a bad dream. Exhaustion and guilt playing tricks. Then I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. My boxers were stiff in the front. When I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, I saw a man who looked like he hadn't slept. Face drawn, pale under the eyes, jaw tight. I pissed and felt the dried evidence crusted across the crotch of my boxers--proof I had jacked off more than once to the sounds of my wife getting fucked by another man. The shame hit so hard my stomach turned. I almost retched into the sink.

Why had I let it happen? The better question, if I was being honest, was why I had encouraged it. Sarah had resisted at first. I had pushed. And the reason I had pushed, the reason that still sat like a stone in my gut, was that I had cheated on her first.

I looked down at the stained boxers and wished I had a clean pair. The thought of Sarah seeing them, or worse, of him seeing them, made my face burn. I decided coffee could wait until I changed, but the kitchen was the only place I kept spare clothes in the dryer from yesterday. I told myself they would still be asleep after the night they'd had. I opened the guest-room door and stepped into the hallway.

Halfway to the kitchen, I heard it. Wet, rhythmic sounds. Soft moaning. An occasional low groan. I slowed. My bare feet made almost no noise on the tile. I reached the doorway and stopped. I had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling over.

My wife, my beautiful, innocent, and shy wife, Sarah, was on her knees on the kitchen floor, back to me, long blonde hair swaying with the motion of her head. She was naked from the waist up. Her small breasts moved slightly every time she leaned forward. She had the man's cock in her mouth and was bobbing steadily, lips stretched around him, one hand braced on his thigh. The other hand was between her own legs. I could see the shine on her fingers.

The man saw me. He didn't look surprised; why should he? We had arranged this together, hadn't we? He had become my closest friend here in California. He had been the one I had turned to when I complained about my marriage going stale and he had offered to help. He and his wife had taken Sarah under their wing at a time when Sarah had been at her lowest point to try help bring out the spark that had been missing in our marriage.

He smiled--warm, friendly--and placed both hands on the back of Sarah's head. The pressure kept her moving but also kept her from turning. She didn't know I was there.

"That feels great, Sarah," he said, voice low and easy. "You're getting really good at this. You're going to be a great cocksucker soon."

Sarah moaned around him. I knew that sound. It wasn't pleasure. It was the small, embarrassed noise she made when something humiliated her. Her neck and the side of her cheek flushed bright red the way they always did when she was ashamed. She didn't stop. If anything, her head moved a little faster, taking him a bit deeper. The wet sounds got louder.

My chest tightened. This wasn't the first time. The way he spoke, the way she responded, the fact that she was already on her knees in the kitchen at seven in the morning--none of it was new to her. It had been more than two years since she had gone down on me. She had always said blowjobs felt dirty. She would do it rarely, after wine, and never like this. Never on her knees. Never with that steady, practiced rhythm. She had never gotten on her knees for me. The knowledge landed like a fist.

"Use your tongue more," the man said, and when she responded, he groaned.

"I'm going to push into your throat. When it hits the back, try to swallow so it doesn't hurt as much."

Sarah pulled off for a second. A string of spit connected her lower lip to the head of his cock. Her face was flushed, eyes watery. "Be quiet," she whispered. "I don't want to wake Nick. He can't see me like this; it would kill him." Then she leaned forward and took him back in, pushing her mouth down on his cock.

I stood frozen in the doorway. Shame burned through me, hot and sick. She was worried about me seeing her, but she was still doing it. Still on her knees in our kitchen, sucking another man's cock with more enthusiasm than she had ever shown me. My own cock was harder than I could remember it being, straining against the stained boxers, throbbing in time with the wet sounds she made. I hated myself for it. I hated that watching her blush and gag and keep going made me ache.

The man looked straight at me while he spoke to her. "Ok Sarah, now swallow," and pushed her head down. She gagged immediately. Loud, wet, choking sounds filled the kitchen. Her arms came up, hands slapping at his thighs, trying to push back. He held her there for a few seconds, then pulled her off. She coughed hard, spit and saliva spilling from her mouth in long strands that dripped from her chin onto the floor between her knees. Her eyes were watering. Her face was bright red.

"You did great," he said, stroking her hair. "Almost there."

Sarah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, took a shaky breath, and leaned in again. She picked up the pace, bobbing faster, one hand working what she couldn't fit. The man kept his eyes on me.

"Okay, Sarah," he said, still looking at me. "When I cum I want you to swallow it all. Just like last time."

She moaned again--that same small, humiliated sound--and her neck and cheeks flushed darker. She didn't stop. Her head kept moving. Her free hand stayed between her legs.

"Here it comes," he said. "Good girl. Swallow it all for me."

His hips jerked. Sarah made a choked noise. I watched her throat work as she tried to swallow. Some of it escaped the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin. She kept her lips sealed around him, gagging softly, eyes squeezed shut, doing her best to take what he gave her. When he finally let her pull back, she coughed once, swallowed again, and stayed on her knees, breathing hard, spit and cum shining on her lips and chin.

I couldn't stay. I was ruined; this was the same woman who had never let a drop of my cum touch her mouth, and now she was swallowing it like it was the most important thing she had ever done. If she turned and saw me, I didn't know what I would say. I stepped back from the doorway, quiet, and retreated down the hall to the guest room. I closed the door and leaned against it. My cock was painfully hard. I shoved my boxers down, wrapped my hand around myself, and started stroking. I pictured her on her knees, the way her hair had moved, the wet sounds, the flush on her neck, the way she had kept going even while she gagged. I thought about the screams from last night, the way she had begged, the way she had sounded when she came. I came fast, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't make noise, spilling over my fist again.

Afterward I stood there, breathing hard, staring at the closed door. The guilt was still there--sharp, familiar, tied to what I had done months ago and what I had just watched. But under it was the same heat that had kept me outside the bedroom door all night. I didn't know what happened next. I only knew I couldn't walk back out there and pretend I hadn't seen any of it, and I couldn't bring myself to stop wanting to see more.