Cheating Under the Spell of His Big Cock

He shoved me onto the wider couch, and my legs fell open, an invitation. He hooked a finger under my thong, tugged it aside, and buried his face between my thighs. His tongue lashed at me – long, hungry strokes over my clit, dipping inside, slurping at the wetness I couldn’t hide. I wasn’t shaved bare – a soft patch lingered from weeks of neglect with Ethan – but Ryan devoured me like it was his last meal. I thrashed, nails raking the leather, gasps turning to cries as he sucked harder, relentless.

He crawled up, kissing a trail – navel, sternum, collarbone – until his mouth crashed into mine again, tasting of me. He pinned my wrists, fumbled in his jeans, and pulled out a condom. A Viagra pill tumbled out too, bouncing on the floor. I smirked but said nothing – this was going all night. Naked, trembling, I begged, “Fuck me, Ryan, now.” He sheathed himself, nudged the tip in – thick, stretching – then I grabbed his hips and yanked him deep. A scream tore from me as he filled me, every inch a shockwave. He thrust hard, hips slamming, a rhythm that rattled the couch. I clawed his back, yelling, “Harder!” as he bit my neck, licked my jaw, sucked my tits between thrusts.

We fucked for hours – sweat-slick, animalistic. I rode him next, thighs burning as I bounced, his hands cupping my breasts, pinching until I whimpered. The condom vanished somewhere – I didn’t care – and the bare friction sent me spiraling, climaxing once, then again, my walls gripping him as he groaned. He flipped me, jerking himself over my face, but I shoved him down, climbed on reverse, ass in his view, and sank onto him. His cock throbbed, then erupted – hot spurts flooding me, spilling down my thighs as I shook, a third orgasm ripping through. I collapsed beside him, kissed him deep, and panted, “Ryan, you’re unreal. I needed that.”

At 7 a.m., he shook me awake – Ethan was banging on the door. Panic hit; my phone showed missed calls. I reeked of sex, scrambling into my dress as Ryan sprayed cologne everywhere. I texted Ethan that I’d crashed here, and Ryan let him in. I faked grogginess on the couch – Ryan had swapped the cum-stained cushions. Ethan kissed me, clueless, and we sipped coffee, spinning a tale of me dozing off. Later, as Ethan hit the bathroom, Ryan handed me my thong – it’d been under a pillow. “Keep it,” I whispered, “for next time.”

We left, Ethan none the wiser. Ryan and I still text – this wasn’t our first slip, and I doubt it’ll be our last. Another story for another day.

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