Sarah adjusted the strap of her tank top for the third time, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of the shower running in the master bathroom. Her husband, Mark, had come home exhausted from another long shift and immediately disappeared under the hot water. She should have felt relieved. Instead, tension coiled low in her belly.
Their houseguest was the problem.
Cris had been crashing on their couch for nearly a week now—Mark’s old friend from college who’d hit a rough patch after his breakup and job loss. Tall, tattooed, with that lazy smirk that never quite left his face, Cris filled every room he entered. Sarah told herself she was annoyed by the intrusion. The way he lounged around in gray sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. The way his eyes lingered on her when Mark wasn’t looking.
She stepped into the hallway, towel in hand, intending to drop it off for Mark. The guest bathroom door was cracked open. Steam curled out. Cris stood at the sink, shirtless, brushing his teeth. Water droplets traced the lines of ink across his chest and down his abs. He caught her gaze in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.
“Need something, Sarah?” His voice was low, amused.
She swallowed. “Just… Mark’s showering. Thought you might want the other bathroom.”
He turned slowly, leaning against the counter. The sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Appreciate it. But I’m good.” His eyes dropped to the thin fabric of her tank top, then lower to her tiny cotton shorts. “You look tense. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than she meant. She turned to leave, but his hand brushed her wrist—light, almost accidental.
“You sure? You’ve been wound tight since I got here. Mark notice?”
Her breath hitched. Mark was still in the shower, singing off-key under the spray. The sound was distant, muffled. Safe.
Cris stepped closer. The heat from his body rolled over her. “He’s a lucky guy, you know. Coming home to this every night.” His fingers traced the edge of her shorts, barely touching skin. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t leave you waiting around like this.”
Sarah’s heart hammered. This was wrong. Stupid. Dangerous. But the ache between her legs had been building for days—every glance, every teasing comment, every time she’d caught him adjusting himself while watching her bend over in the kitchen.
Instead, she reached up and kissed him.
It was messy at first—hungry, desperate. Cris groaned into her mouth, hands sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her flush against him. She felt him harden instantly against her stomach, thick and insistent. His tongue swept in, claiming her, while one hand slipped under her tank top to cup her breast, thumb circling her nipple until it peaked.
“Fuck, Sarah,” he muttered against her lips. “Been wanting this since day one.”
She tugged at his sweatpants. They dropped easily. His cock sprang free—heavy, veined, already leaking at the tip. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly, marveling at the heat and girth. Cris hissed, hips bucking into her grip.
He spun her around, pressing her against the sink counter. The mirror showed everything: her flushed cheeks, his dark eyes burning with lust. He yanked her shorts down, kicking them aside. No panties underneath. His fingers found her immediately, sliding through her slick folds.
“So wet already,” he growled. “You’ve been thinking about this too.”
Two thick fingers pushed inside her without warning. Sarah moaned, gripping the counter. He curled them, stroking that perfect spot while his thumb worked her clit in tight circles. The wet sounds were obscene, louder than the shower still running down the hall.
Mark’s voice carried faintly. “Babe? You out there?”
Sarah froze. Cris didn’t stop. He leaned in, biting her earlobe. “Answer him,” he whispered, fingers pumping faster.
“Y-yeah,” she called back, voice shaky. “Just… getting towels.”
“Good. I’ll be out soon.”
Cris chuckled darkly, adding a third finger. Sarah bit her lip hard to keep from crying out. Her thighs trembled. He pulled his fingers free just as she was about to tip over the edge, replacing them with the thick head of his cock. He rubbed it up and down her slit, teasing.
“Tell me you want it,” he breathed.
“I want it. Please, Cris.”
He thrust in deep in one smooth stroke. Sarah’s mouth fell open in a silent cry. He was bigger than Mark—stretching her perfectly, filling her completely. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her hard against the counter, one hand over her mouth to muffle her moans, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
The mirror reflected every thrust: her tits bouncing under the tank top, his powerful body driving into her from behind, tattoos flexing. The slap of skin on skin mixed with the shower noise.
“Such a tight little pussy,” he grunted. “Taking me so good while your husband’s right down the hall.”
Sarah came suddenly, violently—clenching around him, vision whiting out. Cris kept pounding through it, chasing his own release.
He pulled out at the last second, spinning her to her knees. “Open.”
She did. Hot ropes of cum painted her tongue, her lips, her cheeks. She swallowed what she could, the rest dripping down her chin. Cris watched with dark satisfaction, thumb smearing his spend across her lower lip.
They cleaned up quickly. Sarah wiped her face, pulled her shorts back on with shaky legs. Cris kissed her once more—slow, possessive—before she slipped out.
Mark emerged from the shower minutes later, towel around his waist. “Hey, you okay? You look flushed.”
“Just hot in here,” she lied, forcing a smile. Cris sat on the couch in the living room, scrolling his phone like nothing happened. He glanced up, eyes meeting hers with a secret smirk.
The rest of the evening dragged. They ordered pizza, watched a movie. Mark fell asleep halfway through on the recliner, snoring softly. Sarah pretended to watch, but her mind replayed every second in the bathroom. Her body still hummed.
Around midnight, Mark mumbled something about heading to bed. He kissed her forehead and shuffled upstairs. Cris waited until the bedroom door clicked shut.
This time there was no pretense. He pulled her onto the wide sectional couch, stripping her naked in seconds. His mouth was everywhere—sucking marks into her neck, licking down her stomach, burying between her thighs. Sarah gripped his hair as he devoured her, tongue fucking her pussy while two fingers worked her ass. She came twice before he even entered her again.
He took her missionary first, legs over his shoulders, folding her in half. Deep, punishing strokes that hit her cervix with every thrust. She clawed at his back, whispering filthy things she’d never said to her husband.
“Harder. Fuck me like you own me.”
Cris obliged, slamming into her so hard the couch creaked. The wet smack of his balls against her ass filled the living room. He leaned down to suck her nipples raw, biting just enough to make her gasp.
Then he flipped her onto all fours. Doggy style on the couch, face pressed into the cushions. He spanked her ass red while pounding her from behind. One hand fisted her long dark hair, pulling her back like reins.
“You’re mine tonight,” he growled. “Say it.”
“I’m yours. Fuck—your cock feels so good.”
He reached around to rub her clit. She came again, squirting slightly onto the couch. Cris laughed low. “Dirty girl. Mark have any idea how nasty his wife is?”
He pulled out and sat back on the couch, stroking his glistening cock. “Ride me.”
Sarah straddled him, sinking down slowly, savoring every inch. She rode him hard, tits bouncing in his face. He sucked and bit them while gripping her ass, guiding her movements. The position let him go impossibly deeper. She ground her clit against his pelvis with every roll of her hips.
Hours seemed to pass like this. They moved from couch to floor. Cris took her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. Then bent over the coffee table, pounding her relentlessly. Sweat slicked their bodies. The room smelled of sex—musky, sweet, filthy.
Near dawn, he had her on her back again, legs spread wide. Slow, deep strokes now, almost tender. His eyes locked on hers.
“Gonna cum inside you,” he warned.
Sarah nodded frantically. “Do it. Fill me up.”
He buried himself to the hilt and groaned, pulsing hot and thick inside her. Rope after rope flooded her pussy. She came one final time around him, milking every drop.
They stayed joined for long minutes, breathing hard. Cris kissed her softly—different from the earlier hunger.
“Been wanting to do that since I got here,” he murmured.
Sarah traced a tattoo on his chest. “Mark can’t know.”
“Secret’s safe with me.” He pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak from her swollen pussy. The sight made him twitch again. “Though if he keeps leaving you alone like this…”
She smiled despite herself.
They cleaned up as best they could before Mark woke. Cris returned to the couch like the perfect guest. Sarah slipped into bed beside her sleeping husband, body sore, pussy still throbbing with another man’s load.
As she drifted off, she wondered how long they could keep this up.
The next morning, Mark left for work early. Cris was already in the kitchen making coffee when Sarah came downstairs wearing nothing but one of Mark’s oversized shirts.
He grinned that dangerous smirk.
Sarah didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees right there on the kitchen tile.
