Hey, I’m [33 F], been married 6 years, no kids, and I’m pretty sure my husband’s screwing around ‘cause I can’t get pregnant. Our marriage is a total shitshow, and I’ve been bugging his assistant, J, this fit 31-year-old guy, about where my husband’s at. I’ve had a bad feeling for weeks—him coming home late, dumb excuses—and it’s been eating me up. One night, I was plastered on vodka, falling apart, and I called J, all shaky, “Where’s he at?” “I don’t know, ma’am,” he said, real polite but tense. “Just come over, please,” I said, and he showed up, looking kinda nervous.
We tripped over to my husband’s little home office, stuff flying everywhere. I shoved everything off his desk—papers, pens, all that crap hitting the floor—and bent over it, skirt up, no underwear. “Please,” I said, voice all cracked, and J paused, then said real low, “If you’re sure.” He slid in, hard and deep, desk wobbling every time he thrust. “I shouldn’t,” he mumbled, hands gentle on my hips, but damn, he fucked me so much better than my husband—bigger, stronger, making me feel alive. I was moaning, all messed up, “Fill me up—give me a kid,” and he went faster, the sound of us all wet and loud. I came hard, shaking, dripping on him, and he let out this “Oh shit,” pumping me full—warm cum shooting deep, leaking out as he stayed in there, giving me what I asked for. @#dirty talk @#rough love @#intimate stranger @#submission @#forbidden fruit @#wife swap