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.”
She could hardly speak as her heart raced, forcing her breath to needy panting. Her body ached for him, and she knew that he wanted to ravish her right there on the mahogany desk where million-dollar deals were made. Then, she remembered you. “Please allow my husband to clean up the mess?”
He thought over her suggestion for a moment, struggling to even remember your name. Some lowly peon in the lower sections, he hadn’t bothered to interact with you in many years. Mr Allen raised the phone to his ear and summoned you into his presence.
“Yes, Mr Allen! Right away, Mr Allen!” you had said, utterly respectful to your boss. Practically running, you raced to the elevator and ascended to the top floor. Sweat trickling down your neck, you knocked upon the door that separated the veritable ruler of the company and the peasants who thanked him for their very jobs. A grunt of approval permitted you entry. As you practically bowed to your superior, you noticed your wife sat beside him. “My love?”
“There was a small accident,” Mr Allen said before your wife could even open your mouth. “A problem solver? Isn’t that what your resume said? There’s a little problem I need you to solve down there.”
His extended finger, containing more testosterone than your entire body, pointed down at his stained shoes. With another finger point, he drew your attention and commanded you over to the sleek cabinet that stood against the far wall of the office. You opened it and found a shoe-shine kit within. He snapped his fingers and you returned to his desk. Staring into your eyes, forcing you to avert your gaze in a failed test of manliness, he gave you silent instructions. Kneeling onto the spotless carpet, you placed the box at his feet, where he placed the first loafer.
Your wife looked in absolute awe at Mr Allen. Without even a single word, he had stripped you entirely of your dignity and reduced you to an insect before him. She had never even dared to dream that such a man as he existed. He caught her longing stare and smiled - her husband was at his feet, polishing his shoes, and she wanted nothing more than to satisfy his every craving for her body. “Keep your eyes on my loafers, and don’t you dare raise them!”
“Yes, Sir!” you replied, snapping into an even greater display of submission.
Buffing and cleaning the leather, you were so focused on his footwear that you barely registered the sound of his pants unzipping. Should you have looked up, a penis large enough to block out the sun would have bulged above you. However, that was not for your benefit but your wife’s. Over the sound of your frenzied shining, you could not hear your wife lower her eager mouth onto the tip of that gargantuan dick. Sucking and slurping, she took as many inches as her throat could handle - she barely even grazed the midsection. Eyes rolling back into her head, she allowed the experience of worshiping a superior man to overwhelm her.
Barely skipping a beat, Mr Allen offered his other loafer to your busy hands. Back and forth, his cock and his shoes were shined by a couple whose lives he had decided to control. Grasping your wife’s perfect hair, snow-like in his dark hands, he forced her deep enough to choke as he unloaded a gallon of thick, creamy sperm into her willing body. She giggled and gasped as he allowed her to return for air, a long string of cum falling from her lips and landing on her boot.
“I think your wife’s shoes need some attention too,” Mr Allen said, withdrawing his foot as he zipped his pants closed again. “Show her the respect she deserves from her husband.”
“The brush will spoil the leather. It needs something softer. Like a tongue?” she added. Your wife giggled again, overcome by an extreme horniness and excitement. She hadn’t felt this way since college, when she was experimenting with the football team. “Don’t worry, honey, it’s only cream.”
Hesitant, you stared at the white goo trickling down the shaft of her boot to the toe. This was so humiliating, and the pressure from the two of them looking down at you made you shudder with anxiety. You opened your mouth, feeling them watch your every move intently. Leaning closer, you inhaled the aroma of the leather, erotic and sensual. Closer still, your tongue touched the very lowest part of the “cream”. Gliding up her boot, you lapped the entire mess up and swallowed.
“Get back to work!” Mr Allen snapped. “You’ve had enough time away from your desk already - skip lunch and have all those reports finished by the end of the day.”
“Yes, Mr Allen!” you replied, scrambling to your feet and rushing from the room. You heard your wife and Mr Allen laughing together as soon as you closed the door. “That cream must have been off…”
