We were at a friend of a friends house party, but I wasn’t drinking. My husband was somewhere mingling and drinking, leaving me on my own. I didn’t mind after, I had my eyes on someone else. He was a stranger. Tall, with a sharp jawline, the kind of eyes that made my stomach tighten. We’d exchanged glances all night, and I was weighing up when to make my move.
When the crowd thinned, I found myself alone with him. I didn’t say a word—I didn’t need to. I gave him one slow look, one tilt of my head toward the bedroom, and he followed.
I turned to face him, stepping back until my legs hit the bed. A silent command in my gaze told him to sit. He obeyed. His breathing was low, his hands resting on his thighs restlessly. I stood in front of him and slid the straps of my dress down my shoulders, letting silk fall to my feet. Not a word was spoken. Just the sound of his breath intensifying, his jaw clenched as I touched myself, slow, teasing, knowing he was watching.
He copied me. Unzipping. Stroking his long growing cock. The tension was at boiling point. The unspoken rule: no touching—just watching, just wanting.
I dropped to my knees slowly and crawled towards him, sitting on the bed, closer and closer until I was between his legs. He understood. No touching.
Gripping his cock, he dragged it over my lips, my cheeks, tracing his warm and wet head across my skin. I opened my mouth, tongue flicking out, licking him, tasting him, teasing him, letting him use me. He was close. I moaned more and rubbed myself harder as I looked up at him, telling him I wanted him. His breath turned ragged, his muscles tightened, and then hot, thick release painted my face, his cum dripping from my chin.
I licked my lips. Smiled. Delicious.
No words were exchanged as I cleaned myself up, slipping my dress back on like nothing had happened. I found my husband, still chatting, completely oblivious. I kissed his cheek and whispered that it was time to go.
And then I drove him home, his wife’s face still marked with another man’s cum.