Your breathing became more rapid. Your muscles tensed. You groaned as your balls contracted, forcing a meager drip of watery cum out of the end of your below-average member. Falling over in a heap, you lay beside your wife with a broad, satisfied grin on your face. Already snoring, she rolled her eyes in disappointment - a regular occurrence at this point in your tedious marriage.
With so little of your sperm to wipe away, she merely scooped it out with a single finger and scornfully smeared it on your parted lips. You didn’t rouse as she took that same finger and placed it onto her peeping clit. Round and round, wetting more of her fingers with leaking pussy juices, she teased herself until she was forced to bite back erotic moans and pleasured squeals. It wasn’t you that flashed through her racing mind; it was the man of her dreams - Mr Allen to you and all of his other subordinates.
“Fuck me, Jerome!” she screamed, body shaking with desire for tall, dark, and handsome Mr Allen. You woke up startled for a moment, and your wife hissed with panic. She sighed in relief and contentment as you rolled over, licking your lips and falling back to sleep.
Although it was her world of sexual fantasy, she could never bring herself to think of you in such a way. Compared to Jerome Allen, you were no man at all. Without anywhere to turn, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and began her journey down the rabbit hole that would change your marriage forever. Article after article, they all shared the same message - unfaithful thoughts were common amongst women whose husbands did not satisfy them emotionally, spiritually, and physically. For her own happiness and sanity, she had to cheat on you.
*
“Honey, you look stunning today,” you said, admiring the woman whose sexuality you took for granted. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
You hurried down the stairs and climbed into your modest suburban vehicle, unexciting and with good mileage. Your wife glanced over herself one more time, inspecting the contours of her face framed perfectly by straight, blonde hair that fell neatly beyond her shoulders. Adjusting her blouse, she allowed another button to fall away, exposing just a little more of her rounded breasts. Hugging her shapely waist, a flowing dress fell below her knees, hiding perfectly the lingerie set and suspended stockings that accentuated her lower body beneath. Below the knee, tight to her calf, leather boots of burnished black shone to the almond toe. The zips hissed to a close and she smiled, modest red lipstick tracing the curvature of her receptive mouth. Today, she would break your wedding vows.
The drive to work was one of awkward silence, perforated only by stilted conversation. Perhaps it was that time of the month you thought as she sniped at you again - your hair was wrong, your tie wasn’t done up properly, when were you going to get that promotion… Her complaints chipped away until you were thoroughly miserable and deflated when the familiar entrance to “Allen & Allen Industries” stood resolute before your hunched-over form.
Your wife hardly wished you well before she disappeared on her way up to Mr Allen’s office. Trudging over to your section, a mountain of paperwork threatened to topple and crush you beneath the weight of a thousand T23 and A-104 forms. It would have been a mercy in comparison to the certain doom and degradation that would begin today with the simplest of accidents.
“I’m so sorry, Mr Allen,” your wife groveled, secretary to the most powerful man in the company, beside his brother who was overseeing expansion in the Far East. She stared in horror at the spilled coffee splashed all over his Gucci loafers. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
His hard face, masculinity personified, softened slightly to reveal a perfect set of pearly teeth. Arms, bulging with trained biceps and triceps, gently raised her to her feet. She was blushing with embarrassment and could not meet his gaze. Beside his towering 6’ 3” frame, she felt secure and safe. In the exertion, his cologne, intertwined with his pheromones, had wafted over her; she was consumed by his aura and could hardly stand it any longer.
“Let’s discuss this in my office,” he said calmly in his deep voice. He sensed her embarrassment and wanted to resolve the matter privately. Leading her inside, he motioned to the chair beside his veritable throne.
“Please allow me to clean them for you,” she begged submissively, fearing for her very job.
“I would never have such a beautiful woman down at my feet,” he replied, forcing her alabaster cheeks to flush red. She glanced up into his green eyes, emerald oases between his defined brow and cheekbones. “A woman like you belongs by the side of a strong man. You should be the queen to a king.”