29. That was... my wife [Part 1]

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




He was lying there on the bed, chest heaving as if he had just climbed a mountain. And the one who deserved to rest like that had just walked out of the room.

What I had just witnessed left me speechless. I turned, forcing my gaze elsewhere. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t catch him like that—not like this.

I edged out of the room, scarf still blindfolding my eyes, every sound around me sharper than ever.

Footsteps shuffled. Faint giggles, the tap of hands on the floor. Teases, whispers, the faint brush of someone passing too close. For five minutes that felt like hours, I crept through the space, trying, failing, to find anyone. Every noise, a footstep, a rustle, a soft squeak, tested my patience. Every time I reached a corner, silence. Every time I thought I had a shadow in sight, it dissolved into nothing.

Finally, my patience snapped. I raised a hand. “I give up,” I muttered, voice hoarse, more for myself than anyone else.

Lina’s laugh floated to me, light, teasing. “Sure,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. “I was getting hungry anyway. Let’s eat.”

Eat, after just being fed? I chuckled silently, sarcasm cutting through the tension inside me. My eyes followed Lina and her husband as they moved, laughed, and sat at the table like nothing had happened. I still couldn’t believe it. He had fucked Lina’s mouth like some animal, pounding her without mercy. Her throat must be raw, sore, probably burning.

I sighed. Why should I even care how Lina must be feeling now? It’s none of my business.

And just like that, the obscene, unbearable tension, eased, folded into the everyday. We all gathered around the table, plates in front of us, forks clinking, casual chatter filling the space.

We sat around the table, the women on one side, the men on the other. My wife was next to Lina, both facing us across the narrow stretch of wood. On our side it was me in the middle, Lina’s husband on one end, and Ray on the other. It almost felt like teams lined up against each other, the two wives together, the three of us men opposite them. I ate mechanically, every bite a battle to keep my mind from wandering back to the room I had left.

Dinner carried on, Lina doing most of the talking, her voice filling every gap. I barely listened, still stuck on what I had witnessed.
Then she turned her eyes toward my wife. “Hmm… are you okay? You’re so quiet. And you’re not eating much.”

My wife gave a half smile and lowered her fork. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little throat pain, that’s all.”

I almost choked. For a second, the absurdity of it hit me so hard I wanted to laugh out loud. Really? A sore throat? She? I bit down on my tongue and forced a straight face, but inside, irony burned like acid.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Somebody else just got their throat used like a dumping ground, pounded until I thought she might gag her lungs out. And she was eating fine, lively, not missing a beat at the table. Yet here was my wife, picking at her plate, claiming her throat hurt.

I leaned back slightly, letting the irony wash over me, laughing inside my own head. What a joke. Life really knew how to play with me. The one who should be sore was talking more than anyone else, and the one who was struggling was my sweet and lovely wife.

I nodded, slightly concerned, even reached for her hand on the table, but my thoughts mocked me viciously. She assured me it was just from the cold.

After a few minutes, Lina’s husband started rambling again, going on with his useless stories while Lina cheered him on, laughing at every word like it was gold. I barely listened, my eyes on the food in front of me, when I suddenly felt something brush against my toe. Probably just a mistake, I thought at first. But then it happened again—this time slower, deliberate. A soft, crawling movement, a leg sliding over my foot. Careful and sensually.

It was my right foot. Lina was seated on my left. That left no doubt. It was my wife.

I glanced at her. Her head was bowed slightly, eyes down at her plate as if she hadn’t moved at all. But her leg kept sliding, inch by inch, teasing, tracing my foot in a way that was anything but innocent. Somebody’s feeling naughty, I thought, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth.

I shifted in my chair, pushing my leg further out, making it easier for her. Testing her. Seeing what she would do. She didn’t hesitate. Her leg followed, brushing higher, crossing over mine until I could feel the warmth pressing up, slow, playful, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

I matched her act, pretending clueless, stabbing at my food like nothing was happening under the table. But my pulse betrayed me, thumping harder with every stroke. Then her leg finally landed right where she wanted—over my cock.

Fuck.

The word echoed in my head as I froze for a moment, my cock already stiffening, twitching under the thin press of her foot. She stayed there, bold, testing me, as I chewed slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. A low chuckle slipped inside me, amused, surprised, almost proud of her daring move.

Her toes pressed again, harder this time, right against my cock. I could feel myself stiffening, straining, my cock swelling under her teasing pressure. Every bite I took, I felt her foot pushing, pressing, then easing off, a rhythm that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Then her foot shifted. Her toes slid higher, little careful, and then her toes turned into a scissor, like pinching fingers, brushing over my cock. She paused there, as if testing, like she was checking the shape through the fabric. My breath caught, heat rushing down my cock.

She didn’t grab it, not fully. Just a slow trace, dragging along my length, like she wanted to feel the outline. My cock twitched hard against her touch, begging for more.

I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the pressure. A jolt ran through me, obvious enough that anyone watching would’ve seen it.

Her foot went quiet, hesitation slipping in.

I looked up at her, quiet, no words. Our eyes met across the table. She gave me a small, awkward smile, lips twitching like she was caught doing something she shouldn't.

And then, just like that, she pulled her leg back. Gone. As if nothing had happened at all.

I kept eating like nothing had changed, but my cock was still rock hard. I made sure to let her see it in my eyes—that I’d felt everything, and that I appreciated her boldness more than she could imagine.

She glanced down quickly, nervous, slightly guilty, maybe embarassed, ike she hadn’t expected to end up doing what she just did. I brushed it off. To me, it was simple. She wanted to tease me. And she did.

Dinner was done, plates cleared, and I thought finally—it was time to go. My head was already racing ahead, picturing the night I was supposed to have. The promised dinner I really wanted. The one waiting for me at home, behind closed doors. My cock was pulsing after all that teasing under the table, aching to finally be inside her. I was so fucking horny I could barely sit still.

But no. The night didn’t end there.

Just as I was about to suggest we head home, Lina’s husband stood up with a wide grin and went rummaging through his cabinet. He came back with bottles in his hands—wine, real branded stuff, the kind you don’t see every day. I knew I should’ve said no, but I couldn’t. Not to that. My throat burned with the memory of her foot, my cock still straining, and all I could think was maybe a drink or two would calm me down before I finally had her.

We sat, the men together, the wives slipping into a separate room. Glasses filled, one after another. We laughed, we toasted, we drank. I couldn’t tell when one glass ended and the next began. At some point, the room started spinning, voices blurring into noise.

I don’t even remember closing my eyes. Just the weight of the wine dragging me somewhere far away.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick

After what felt like an eternity. My eyes cracked open, heavy as stone. Everything was blurred, doubled, spinning out of control. My stomach twisted hard, sharp pain gnawing inside me as if it wanted to tear itself out. Groaning, I pushed myself off the couch, stumbling forward on weak legs. My stomach was hurting from all that drink and food. I quickly made my way to the toilet.

My body was spinning like I was caught in a storm. Two doors. No, four. My vision was splitting everything into doubles. I rubbed my eyes, but it didn’t help. The toilet felt different. Someone was already there, standing completely quiet in the corner. I squinted hard, trying to place a face, but all I saw were shapes, outlines.

“Is this the toilet?” I muttered, voice slurred, thick on my tongue.