45. Wife's POV

NOTE: This fictional story features only adult characters (18+) and portrays consensual interactions throughout.



*At Old man’s house

My stomach fluttered anxiously, as we stepped inside. I tried not to look flushed, tried to keep my smile normal. The old man welcomed us with that same rough voice, and a polite smile which felt quite forced.

We were on the sofa, our normal chatter filling the room. But I noticed something different—his eyes didn’t crawl over me like before. He wasn’t staring at my tits or letting his gaze hover on my legs. He seemed quite mindful of his behavior, though I knew very well he was only doing it so my husband would lower his guard around him.

With every passing minute, I told myself maybe I was wrong, maybe nothing strange was going to happen this time. Relief slowly wrapped around me, but it was weak because my mind was still little tense, knowing very well it was too early to be relieved around him.

And along with that tension, a thought crept into the quiet corners of my mind, daring me to imagine the impossible. What could he really do to me here, with my husband right beside me? He isn’t bold enough for that… or is he? I bit my lip, forcing my eyes away, but my pulse quickened just thinking about it.

To be honest, a small part of me was irritated...

No. I can't call it a small part anymore. A big part of me was burning with frustration that he wasn’t being shameless, wasn’t giving me that look, wasn’t letting me feel his desire, wasn’t teasing me, wasn't trying anything while my husband sat there. Deep down, I wanted to know. I wanted to see just how far he would dare to go. I imagined him reaching for me right in front of my husband, daring to touch me, and my cunt throbbed at the very thought.

Bet you can’t.

I challenged him silently, letting the idea rest inside my mind. What would happen if he tried something? Would I resist, or would I give in, cheat on my husband with this old man in the smallest, dirtiest way possible? My imagination twisted with curiosity and want, my body reacting even as my mind scolded me.

I shifted slightly, leaning back, letting my thighs rub together in a way that made me push for more. My husband chatted quietly beside me, completely unaware, and the thought of him oblivious made the fire inside me burn hotter. I moved my hands slowly over my thighs in a seductive manner, imagining his hungry eyes on me, putting on a sneaky secret show for him.

I probably looked like a desperate whore, dying for some old, yucky dick and honestly... I couldn't care less at that point. I kept my eyes locked on him, teasing myself and him like a slutty bitch. His eyes caught mine for a brief second, but he didn’t give anything away.

My fingers curled subtly inside my skirt, pulling back just an inch, and I kept looking at him with those horny eyes, letting my body speak the filthy message I couldn’t say aloud. My eyes flicked downward, tracing the memory of his cock, remembering how it had felt, how dirty it had been pressed against me, how it had touched my lips, rubbed over my wet pussy.

I was damn horny at this point, my pussy was throbbing for him. Every nerve on fire, desperate for more even as my mind tried stop me from wandering there.

Every second I teased, every subtle motion, was a challenge, a silent invitation. My body screamed for him even as my mind whispered shameful warnings.

I wanted to feel the heat of being caught, the rush of shame mixing with lust. Each glance he cast—even a polite one was enough to make my pulse up, made me ache to know what would happen if he actually tried. I was caught between wanting to stop and wanting him to take me right there, feeling like the dirtiest, most exposed whore, and loving every second of it.

The old man frowned slightly when the conversation drifted toward familied, then said, “I want to show you some pictures about my family, they are upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He turned toward my husband, who instinctively reached to help when he stood up. “Don’t worry,” the old man said. “I’ll manage. You two go on ahead. I’ll follow behind.”

F-Follow behind?

My body instinctively reacted, knowing exactly what he meant. My husband, as always, moved to guide me forward, pressing a hand gently on my back to nudge me infront of him, but I purposely lingered, letting my body lag behind him.

I could feel the old man inching closer with every step, and my body responding to his closeness immediately. A wet trail began to leak down my thighs, soaking the fabric of my skirt, and I shivered, biting my lip to hold back a moan. His hand gently hovered over my ass, the slightest pressure, just enough to remind me of everything, of the games we had played before.

I moved carefully and innocently, but every step of my hips was covered with need. My ass acknowledged his touch by making my breath shudder. My stomach fluttered, my pulse racing as he started taking advantage of this moment, while my sweet husband was just a step ahead, completely unsuspecting.

The thrill of being so exposed, so close to him without a word was out of this world. My eyes moved toward him, daring, full of lust, and I silently begged him to take control while I keep up my innocent act for my husband. The filthy heat inside me was unbearable, every step a test of my self-control, and I loved how raw it felt.

Just as we started walking up the stairs, I felt a tight hold at the strip of my panties over my skirt from behind. The old man’s fingers were tightly curled under my panty strip, pulling me back and stopping me from moving. My heart hammered in my chest, a mix of shame, fear and arousal.

“Why the haste?” he whispered slowly, making my legs tremble as I dug my fingers into the handrail of the stairs.

“Come on, you’re lagging behind,” my husband called, oblivious.

My chest pounded at his voice. I looked blankly at him, giving a small, careful smile. “Yeah… it’s just my heels. They’re hurting a little. I’ll be right there.”

The pressure teased and thrilled me at the same time. His grip stayed firm on the strip of my panties, using it for his support, and it was unbearably embarrassing. With his other hand, he delivered a light punch to my ass, silently ordering me to move forward. And I moved... slowly, trembling, praying that I didn't leave the wet trails leaking from my pussy.

Every step I took felt like a test, his presence behind me like a leash I had willingly let him hold. His hand hovered, guided, and sometimes nudged me, and I obeyed without a word. I bent a little lower when he tapped my ass, adjusted my pace when he whispered, and I couldn't help but obey him like a pet.

A blush burned my cheeks, shame curling inside me, but beneath that humiliation, heat spread through my core. I was nothing more than a thing under his command, moving exactly how he wanted, anticipating each touch, each subtle push. My body betrayed me with every step, pressing back subtly when his hand touched me, leaking, trembling, aching to feel more.

I hated myself a little for enjoying it, for letting him manipulate me like this, but a bigger part of me loved it. Loved how I had no choice but to obey, loved the thrill of being watched, of being handled while my husband remained unaware. My cunt pulsed with desire, my mind whispering dirty confirmations—I am his, I am his to tease, and God, it feels so dirty and perfect.

I bit my lip, hiding a moan as I let him guide me forward. Every obedient movement, every small submission, made my pulse spike and my shame mix with lust, proving just how completely he had me. And I would have followed every command he gave, silently, like the dirtiest, most desperate little whore, craving every ounce of his attention.

I felt him adjust his grip on my panty strip for better support, whispering quietly, “Sorry about that, I almost fell.” I couldn’t help but imagine how pathetic I must be looking from behind. I forced my moans down, keeping them hidden, even as my core throbbed and my pulse raced, caught between arousal and the fear of being discovered.