Fucking around while her husband sleeps

That evening everything was as usual. The living room was filled with warm yellow light, soft music played in the background, and glasses clinked against each other. We were celebrating ten years of friendship with Mads — a man who had known us long before we became a family. He was the best man at our wedding, the godfather of our son, and someone you could call at any hour.

My husband, Jonas, was in high spirits. He joked a lot, drank a lot, and kept gesturing as he spoke. Mads was the opposite — calm, reserved, allowing himself only an occasional faint, almost sad smile. Over the past year, after his divorce, he had started coming over more often, as if searching for the warmth he had lost.

I sat in an armchair, sipping dry wine, watching them from the side. Jonas, already flushed, kept slapping Mads on the shoulder, while Mads simply nodded along to his endless stories.

At one point, I caught his gaze.

He wasn’t looking at me like a friend’s wife. He was looking at me differently — attentively, deeply, as if taking me in.

I lowered my eyes, pretending to adjust the strap of my dress, but my heart had already skipped a beat.

Around midnight, Jonas could barely speak. He downed another shot, muttered something about lying down, and collapsed onto the couch. A minute later, his deep snoring filled the room.

Mads and I were alone.

— Quite a night, he said quietly, nodding toward Jonas. — Want me to help with the dishes?

— It’s fine, I said, standing up, feeling a slight dizziness from the wine. — Sit.

But he followed me into the kitchen anyway.

I stood by the sink, rinsing glasses, while he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. The silence was heavy. You could hear the running water and my husband’s breathing from the other room.

— Your dress looks good on you, he said softly. — That color suits you.

I froze without turning.

— Thanks.

My voice was lower, rougher.

I felt him come closer before I heard his steps. His scent, mixed with alcohol, surrounded me.

His hands settled on my waist.

My body reacted instantly.

— What are you doing… I whispered, gripping the edge of the sink.

— What I’ve been thinking about all evening.

His voice was low, right by my ear.

I should have turned and stopped him.

I didn’t.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, exposing my neck. His lips touched my skin immediately — quick, wet kisses, impatient. His hands slid down over my hips, further down my thighs, lifting my dress.

— Quiet…

He turned me to face him.

There was nothing familiar left in his eyes. Only desire.

— Get down.

I sank to my knees on the cold tiles.

He slowly unbuckled his belt, then the button of his jeans. The zipper slid down, and his hard, tense cock came out.

I licked my lips.

He took it in his hand and brought it closer to my face.

— Open.

I opened my mouth and took him in slowly. My tongue moved over the head, feeling the tension, the pulse.

— Deeper.

I took him further, slowly, as his hand moved to the back of my head. He pressed me down slightly. I relaxed my throat and took him deeper.

The motions repeated — in, out, in again.

Saliva slid down, over him, over my lips, my chin. Everything was wet, slick. The sounds were muted, wet, rhythmic.

Each deeper movement pulled something tighter inside me.

My panties were already soaked.

— Look at me.

I lifted my eyes without stopping. His face was tense, focused. My husband was sleeping just a few meters away.

It only made it stronger.

He pulled out abruptly.

— Enough. I want you.

He pulled me up and pressed me against the cold window. The glass against my back was icy.

He pulled my dress down. My breasts were exposed.

He grabbed them hard, squeezing my nipples until I moaned.

He bent down and took one into his mouth while his hand was already moving between my legs.

He pushed my panties aside and touched my wet pussy.

— You’re so wet…

His fingers slid through it, spreading it, then slowly pushing one finger inside. Then another. The movements were slow, deep, controlled.

My body opened.

— Please… fuck me.

He pulled his fingers out and pressed his cock against the entrance.

— Look at me.

I looked straight into his eyes.

He pushed inside me in one hard thrust, all the way in.

My body tightened around him.

The fullness was intense.

— You’re so tight…

He started moving — out, back in, deeper, harder. The rhythm built, repeating, each thrust heavier than the last.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer.

The cold glass behind me and the heat inside me collided with every movement.

— Quiet…

But he didn’t slow down.

He fucked me hard, rhythmically, without stopping. The sound of wet bodies colliding filled the kitchen.

His hand slid down again. His thumb found my clit and began circling — slow at first, then harder.

— Now…

The pressure built.

My body tensed —

and broke.

The orgasm hit in waves. I clenched around him, shaking, losing control.

He lasted a few more thrusts, deep and hard, then came inside me in warm, pulsing bursts.

We stopped.

Only breathing.

From the living room, the snoring continued.

He slowly pulled out.

I immediately felt warmth sliding down my thigh.

We looked at each other.

— Sorry…

— Don’t.

I pulled my panties back up. He fastened his pants.

We returned to the living room as if nothing had happened.

Jonas was still asleep.

At the door, Mads stopped, took my hand, and kissed it.

— Good night.

— Good night.

The door closed.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

Later, in bed, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the warm, sticky sensation slowly running down my leg.

I didn’t think about what would happen tomorrow.