Greg had planned it for months—quiet conversations with Ethan over late-night beers at the office, shared glances, the careful admission of his deepest fantasy. Ethan—thirty-eight, charming, easy confidence, the kind of man who turned heads without trying—had listened without judgment, then agreed with a slow smile. Lauren, thirty-five, stunning in that effortless way—long auburn hair, full curves, green eyes that still made Greg’s chest tighten after twelve years of marriage—knew nothing until the night arrived.
Greg told her he had a late meeting. Instead he drove to a nearby hotel, laptop open on the desk, the hidden camera feed already streaming from their bedroom. He’d installed it weeks earlier—small lens tucked into the bookshelf opposite the bed—testing angles until the view was perfect: every inch of their king mattress, the soft lamp glow, Lauren’s side of the closet where she kept her silk robes.
Lauren answered the door in a simple black dress—Ethan on the porch with a bottle of wine and flowers. Greg watched her smile, surprised but pleased, invite him in. Small talk in the kitchen—work, the weather, compliments that lingered. Then Ethan set the wine down, stepped close, and kissed her. Lauren hesitated only a heartbeat—then melted into it, hands sliding up his chest. Greg’s cock twitched in his pants; he unzipped slowly, stroking himself lightly as he watched.
They moved to the bedroom. Ethan undressed her reverently—zipper down, dress pooling at her feet, bra unclasped, panties slid off. He worshipped her body with hands and mouth—kissing down her throat, sucking her nipples until they stood hard and aching, trailing lower to kneel between her thighs. Lauren lay back on their marital bed, legs spread wide, and Ethan buried his face in her. He ate her slowly—long laps along her folds, tongue circling her clit with expert precision, fingers sliding inside to curl against her g-spot. Lauren’s moans filled the speakers; her hips rolled, hands fisting the sheets Greg had changed that morning.
She came the first time quickly—back arching, a sharp cry as her thighs clamped around his head. Ethan didn’t stop. He licked her through it, then built her up again—sucking her clit harder, fingers thrusting deeper—until she shattered a second time, louder, wetter, flooding his mouth. Greg stroked faster, breathing ragged, eyes glued to the screen as Lauren gasped Ethan’s name—“Ethan… oh god, Ethan…”—then looked straight toward the camera (or so it felt) and whispered, “He’s so good, Greg… his tongue… fuck…”
Ethan rose, shed his clothes—cock thick, hard, noticeably bigger than Greg’s—and climbed over her. He entered her slowly—inch by inch—letting her feel every stretch. Lauren moaned long and low—“He’s so much bigger, baby… filling me so deep…”—her words aimed at the hidden feed. Ethan fucked her with controlled, deep strokes—pulling almost all the way out, then sliding home again—hitting places that made her eyes roll back. She wrapped her legs around him, nails raking his back, begging for more.
She came again—hard, convulsing, walls pulsing around him—then again, a chain of orgasms that left her trembling, voice wrecked. “Breed me,” she gasped finally, hips lifting to meet every thrust. “Please… fill me… give it to me…” Ethan groaned low, pace faltering—then buried deep, hips grinding as he came—thick, hot pulses flooding her, spilling out around his cock as she milked him dry.
Greg watched it all—his wife’s flushed face, the way her body arched, the moment Ethan’s release claimed her—and came hard in his hand, thick ropes spilling over his fingers while Ethan stayed buried inside her, kissing her neck, whispering praise. Lauren looked toward the camera one last time—eyes glassy, lips swollen—and smiled softly. “Come home soon, baby,” she murmured. “I’m full of him.”
Greg closed the laptop, wiped his hand, and drove home—heart pounding, cock still half-hard, the image of his wife marked and sated burned into his mind. When he walked through the door later, Lauren waited in the same bed—sheets still rumpled, a faint sheen of sweat and cum on her thighs—arms open. Ethan had left minutes earlier.
She pulled Greg down, kissed him deeply—letting him taste Ethan on her lips—and guided his hand between her legs. “Feel how much he gave me,” she whispered. Greg groaned, already hardening again, fingers sliding through the slick mess Ethan had left behind.
The night was far from over.
