Cheating Bliss in the Marital Bed

One afternoon, I discovered my wife, Sarah, had left her email open on her laptop. Buried in her inbox was a provocative story from our tenant, Nathan, detailing their secret encounters. The emails they exchanged were dripping with desire, and now I’m sharing Nathan’s account, a vivid recounting of my wife’s hidden escapades.

“Mrs. Sarah, I’m writing this to immortalize the moments we shared in your home, where I rented a room. These memories belong to us, and I want you to hold them close forever.

One stormy night, I stumbled in late, a little drunk, with a friend. Our heated argument echoed through the house, and you, Sarah, marched upstairs in a fury, scolding us both. My friend slunk out, and you retreated downstairs, only to return to my room, your voice sharp with frustration. You perched on the edge of my bed as I sprawled there, still in my clothes. Your silky nightdress clung to your curves, and as you leaned forward, berating me, the fabric gaped, revealing the soft swell of your breasts. My body stirred, arousal coiling tight. When you finished your lecture and stood to leave, your foot caught on the rug, and you tumbled onto me, your hand landing squarely on the bulge straining against my jeans.

Your fingers lingered, tracing the outline through the denim, and you whispered, ‘ – It’s so hard, isn’t it? – ’ I unzipped my jeans, freeing my throbbing cock, and you wrapped your hand around it, your touch electric. ‘ – God, what a beautiful cock,’ you murmured, ‘ – thick, pulsing, so much bigger than my husband’s – ’ Your hand glided along my length, slow at first, then faster, your grip firm, teasing the sensitive tip with your thumb. My breath hitched as you worked me, my hips twitching upward.

You didn’t stop there. Your eyes locked on mine, you leaned down, your lips parting to take me into your warm, wet mouth. The sensation was overwhelming — your tongue swirled around the head, then slid down the shaft, your lips stretching to accommodate my girth. You sucked with a hunger I’d never felt, your head bobbing rhythmically, one hand cupping my balls, gently massaging. ‘ – I’ve never sucked my husband like this,’ you gasped between licks, ‘ – your cock tastes so fucking good, you bastard – ’ Your words, filthy and raw, pushed me to the edge. My cock pulsed, and I came hard, thick spurts filling your mouth. You didn’t pull away — you swallowed, your tongue flicking over the tip to lap up every drop, a smear of cum glistening on your cheek as you smiled. ‘ – So delicious,’ you purred, ‘ – I’ve never tasted my husband’s like this – ’

My cock stayed rock-hard, and you weren’t done. ‘ – I’ve only ever had my husband’s,’ you said, voice low, ‘ – but I’m not letting this cock go to waste – ’ You stood, peeling off your nightdress, revealing you wore no panties. Your pussy was a vision, neatly trimmed, already glistening. You tugged my jeans off completely, climbed onto me, and guided my cock to your entrance. The heat of your tight, slick pussy enveloped me as you sank down, inch by inch, a moan escaping your lips. You began to ride me, your hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm, then picking up speed, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. Your hands braced on my chest, nails digging in, as you ground against me, taking me deeper until I hit the core of you. ‘ – Fuck, what a perfect cock,’ you cried, ‘ – it fills me like nothing else – ’ Your movements grew frantic, your pussy clenching around me as you chased your release, your moans filling the room.

You came hard, your body shuddering, but you kept riding, your juices coating my cock. I gripped your hips, thrusting up to meet you, and soon I erupted, pumping my cum deep inside you. You collapsed briefly, then slid off, slipping your nightdress back on. You disappeared into the upstairs bathroom, then crept downstairs to your husband’s bed, leaving me reeling while he slept, oblivious to his wife’s passion upstairs.

The following Sunday, you invited me for a lavish breakfast. I suspected it was a gesture of gratitude for the pleasure I’d given you, and you later admitted as much with a sly smile.

The next Tuesday, I got home early, around four. You were in the living room, lounging on the couch, mid-phone call, gesturing for silence. When you hung up, our lips crashed together, urgent and hungry. We tore at each other’s clothes, and I dropped to my knees, parting your thighs. Your pussy was already wet, and I dove in, my tongue tracing your folds, circling your clit with slow, deliberate flicks. You moaned, your hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. ‘ – You lick me so fucking good,’ you panted, ‘ – keep going, make me cum. My husband’s never eaten me like this – ’ I sucked your clit harder, slipping two fingers inside your tight heat, curling them to hit your sweet spot. Your hips bucked, and you came, your cries echoing as your thighs trembled around my head.

We started fucking right there on the couch, but you pulled me up, whispering, ‘ – My bed’s better – ’ We stumbled to your bedroom, the one you shared with your husband, and fell onto the mattress. We explored every position — me on top, driving into you with deep, steady thrusts; you face-down, your ass raised, my hands gripping your hips as I pounded you; then on your side, your leg hooked over mine for a slower, intimate fuck.