The days blurred after that. I was more efficient at work than ever. Sharp, attentive and respected by colleagues.
And yet, under the surface, I was split in two.
By day, I was the dependable woman who organized meetings, managed deadlines, and charmed clients.
At home, I was the loving wife who packed lunchboxes, kissed scraped knees, and laughed at dinner with my loving and the sweetest husband and kids.
But somewhere in between, in locked doors, behind tinted glass, or in the shadow of closed blinds, I became someone else entirely.
And that someone was beginning to crave the escape. The guilt was still there. Always, but the glow people kept noticing, it was real. I felt alive. Like my body was rediscovering itself after years of sleep.
I hadn’t expected that.
And I hadn’t expected how much harder it would get to pretend I wasn’t enjoying it.
The office was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the shuffle of papers. I stayed behind, alone with my thoughts and the soft glow of my desk lamp casting long shadows. Jack was near, and I could feel his presence like a magnetic pull.
My heart hammered in my chest, but this time, it wasn’t fear or hesitation. It was a raw, aching desire, one I’d kept bottled up for too long.
I rose slowly and walked toward him, each step measured, deliberate. The moment I spoke his name, my voice was soft, trembling with a secret courage.
He turned to me, eyes wide with surprise and something deeper.
Without thinking further, I reached out and touched his arm. The warmth of his skin sent sparks through me, a thrill mixed with guilt, tightening my belly.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against his in a featherlight kiss. His breath hitched, and then his lips parted to mine, deeper and demanding. My body melted into his, every nerve alive, every inch craving more.
His hands slid down my back, pulling me closer, the rough fabric of his shirt pressing into my bare skin beneath my blouse.
I gasped softly as his lips trailed down my neck, then over the swell of my breasts, teasing the sensitive skin with gentle bites and kisses.
My hands tangled in his hair, holding him as tightly as I could, silently begging him not to stop.
When his mouth found my nipples, I shivered. The sharp, delicious sting breaking through the fog of guilt clouding my mind.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sensation, the way my body arched instinctively toward his touch, betraying my conflicted heart.
He cupped me, squeezing with a mix of tenderness and hunger. I welcomed it, every squeeze a reminder I was choosing this, even if shame whispered otherwise.
Then his fingers moved under my skirt, brushing my bare skin, slipping under my panties.
I parted my legs just a little, inviting him closer. His touch was featherlight, then firmer, exploring me with growing confidence.
Every stroke made my breath hitch, every caress igniting fires deep inside. When he finally pushed his dick inside me, slow and steady, a sharp gasp escaped my lips, which was part surprise, part overwhelming pleasure.
My body adjusted, welcoming the fullness, and the warmth of his hard dick. I was enjoying the feeling of his huge dick in my pussy, and how the warmth of his dick was slowly making its way to my belly.
We moved together, each thrust a wordless conversation, a complicated dance between lust and regret.
I bit my lip, holding back a moan, but my hands tangled in his shirt betrayed me, clutching tightly as waves of sensation rolled through me.
He held my face and looked into my tears filled eyes, coming close to my face that our lips almost touched and whispered, “You made our clients happy. Now I found the best way to use your help.”
That reminded me of what I was turning into.
His pace quickened, driving deeper and I gave in, letting my hips move with his, matching the urgent tempo. With my legs around his waist, I started moving my hips as well.
Despite the guilt twisting in my chest, I found myself smiling in those moments. A small, secret smile only my body knew the truth of.
Then he released his cum deep inside me, as I could feel the wetness and warmth purging inside me.
When we finally collapsed together, breathless and slick with sweat. The room spinning gently around us. I felt a strange peace settle.
I had chosen this. I was not a victim. But the weight of what it meant still pressed down, soft and heavy — like a shadow behind the glow of desire.
___________________________________
After that evening, the tension between us grew, charged with something unspoken but undeniable. I could feel it every time we were alone as his gaze lingering, his touches a little bolder.
At work, my body began to change. My skin glowed with a new warmth, my curves seemed sharper, and even my walk held a quiet confidence.
Colleagues noticed. Compliments came more often, for both on my appearance and how radiant I seemed.
Even my husband remarked on it, his pride and love shining through, unaware of the secret fueling this transformation.
One afternoon, Jack approached me with a proposal about a site visit for the project, at a secluded location far from the city.
The clients who’d come before were involved again, and this trip was crucial. I hesitated, but somewhere deep inside, a part of me was ready.
This time, I wasn’t just following along. I was choosing.
I accepted Jack’s offer with a mixture of nervous excitement and a quiet resolve. When I got home that evening, I told my husband I’d be away for a couple of weeks on a work trip.
His eyes lingered on me longer than usual, filled with a warmth and desire I hadn’t seen in a while.
“I don’t think I’ve ever found you more beautiful,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m really going to miss you.”
His words sent a ripple through me, awakening a familiar hunger. The distance between us vanished as he pulled me close, his hands tracing every curve of my body like a lover rediscovering a masterpiece.
Our kisses deepened, hands exploring urgently, as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments before my departure.
But beneath the surface of our passion, my body was still raw and sore from Jack’s touch just hours before.
Every subtle shift, every brush of skin against skin sent sharp reminders to places I hadn’t expected.
I caught my husband’s eyes flickering down to me, a silent question hidden behind his steady gaze. Yet he didn’t say a word.
Instead, he adjusted his touch, careful and tender, as if sensing my vulnerability without needing to speak.
Afterwards, as we lay tangled in the quiet warmth of the bed, he broke the silence with a sly grin. “Looks like you’ve been clocking in some serious overtime,” he teased softly.
I flushed, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over me with guilt, desire and excitement. His playful joke held a deeper truth I wasn’t ready to voice, but couldn’t deny either.
And in that moment, I realized how much this secret life was already changing me along with my body, mind, and heart.
___________________________________
The next morning, it dawned crisp and clear. I woke early, the remnants of last night’s passion still humming through my veins, a mixture of tenderness and ache beneath my skin.
My husband was still asleep beside me, peaceful and unaware of the storm swirling inside me.
After a quick shower, I dressed carefully, choosing a sleek but comfortable outfit, a fitted blouse and pencil skirt ready to step back into the dual lives I was juggling.
He kissed me softly on the forehead before I left, his eyes lingering with warmth and a hint of longing. “Be safe,” he murmured.
The ride to the private airstrip was a blur, my mind caught between anticipation and nerves. The sleek jet waited for me, gleaming under the morning sun.
It was my first time experiencing a Private Jet, and out of excitement, the first thing I did was to video call my husband and kids and show them.
I was talking to them while entering the plane. A beautiful Stewardess was waiting there, with a drink in her hand, ready to welcome me.
My kids were excited to see that and they even said Hi to the girl. Out of love and humour, my husband told her to take care of me.
As I stepped inside, the plush leather seats and polished wood paneling overwhelmed me with luxury and promise.
There I saw Jack was sitting and waiting for me. And as soon as I entered, he greeted me with a passionate kiss on my lips.
I looked at the flight attendant, who literally just saw me talking to my husband, even had a small conversation with him, now watching me making out with Jack as soon as I entered.
I told Jack about it, about another person being there. He assured me it's safe. The flight attendant had signed an NDA and is regular for him.
I was relieved to hear that. Then we started making out on the seat. As soon as the flight took off, so did our clothes. And I was riding him.
Every touch, every movement was electric. I felt myself surrender, not out of weakness, but choice and embracing the moment fully, aware of the guilt that prickled at the edges but refusing to let it stop me.
When it was over, Jack’s breath was warm against my ear as he said, “For the next fifteen days, you’re mine.”
I joined the party and whispered, “And you don't even dare to cum anywhere except filling me.”
___________________________________
We were flying into a new chapter—one that promised to change everything.
The flight was smooth, but my thoughts weren’t. I sat beside Jack, trying to pretend this was just another business trip.
But as the wheels touched down and we stepped out into a city far from home, something inside me shifted. The weight of distance, of secrecy, of choice, it was all becoming real.
At the hotel, Jack handed the concierge a single reservation number. I blinked. “Just one room?”
He turned to me with that familiar, teasing smirk. “Of course. You’re my wife now, remember?”
My breath caught not in shock, but in strange delight. The words didn’t sting like they should have. They curled around me like a silk ribbon. Something warm bloomed in my chest and lower.
The suite was luxurious: tall windows with city views, velvet chairs, and a king-sized bed that seemed to stretch forever. I stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand, looking at the single bed that waited for both of us.
Jack walked up behind me, brushed a hand along the small of my back. “Relax,” he murmured. “We’ll be good to each other.”
And we were.
That night, after a long dinner and a debrief of the next day’s work, I slipped out of the bathroom in a silk nightdress and nothing too daring, but just enough to make him stop mid-sentence. I saw it in his eyes: hunger, admiration, pride.
He didn’t rush.
He undressed me slowly, fingertips grazing over skin like he was unwrapping something sacred. And I let go of the last thread of hesitation.
I kissed him first.
We made love like it was a promise, unspoken but understood. No guilt this time, just heat, softness, and that intoxicating thrill of being wanted.
When we finished, he pulled me close against his chest. I rested my head on his shoulder, the air around us still humming with the scent of sex and sweat.
“You’re glowing,” he whispered into my hair.
And he was right. I felt it. My skin, my body, even my heartbeat. It all felt alive in a way I hadn’t known before. I teased, “Looks like consuming the magic juice daily after work, is doing the magic.”
Mornings were professional. I wore my crisp blouses and skirts. We met clients, reviewed the project, and toured the sites. I was focused, sharp, composed.
Nights were different. At night, I belonged to him.
Every evening, once the door closed behind us, I shed my role and stepped into something more primal.
Sometimes I initiated, tracing my fingers along his thigh under the dinner table, giving him a knowing look in the elevator.
Other times, he would pull me close mid-conversation, kissing me as if he couldn’t wait until bed.
There was guilt, always there, a shadow in the corner of my mind. But it was quieter now. Drowned out by the sensation of being truly, deeply desired.
I still texted my husband. Sent selfies. Told him I missed him.
And I meant it.
But at night, wrapped in Jack’s arms, I wondered if I was becoming someone else entirely. Or maybe just uncovering the part of me that had always been there, waiting.
