Katie stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, methodically applying mascara to her already long lashes. The woman looking back at her is objectively beautiful—her blonde hair falling past her shoulders in soft waves, striking blue eyes that people often comment on, and a slender figure maintained through disciplined yoga sessions. Yet beneath the polished surface, a hollow feeling gnaws at her insides, growing more insistent with each passing month of her increasingly barren marriage.

Twenty-five years old and already feeling trapped. This isn't how she imagined her life would be when she walked down the aisle with Martin three years ago. She'd been raised to be the perfect wife—her parents had made sure of that, drilling into her the importance of appearances, of propriety, of knowing one's place in a traditional marriage. And she'd excelled at it, curating their home into a magazine-worthy space, preparing meals that would make her mother proud, maintaining her figure and appearance despite the growing emptiness inside.

Katie sets down her mascara wand and sighs, her fingers tracing the contours of her collarbone. When was the last time Martin had touched her there? Six weeks? Two months? The thought makes her chest tighten. It hadn't always been this way. The first year of marriage had been filled with passion, with Martin's hands constantly seeking her skin, his mouth hungry against hers. But something had shifted, gradually at first and then with alarming speed. His promotion at the construction management firm meant longer hours, more stress, less energy for anything beyond collapsing into bed beside her, already half-asleep.

"I'm just busy," he keeps telling her when she tries to bring it up. "It's temporary. The Henderson project is killing me right now."

But it isn't temporary. One project bleeds into another, and Martin retreats further into his work while Katie's body aches with a need she's been taught never to discuss openly. She's tried everything—lingerie that made her blush to purchase, candles, wine, even the subtle suggestions her mother would disapprove of—but nothing penetrates the wall Martin has built between them.

She steps back from the mirror, smoothing her sweater over her hips. It's a modest cut, like most of her wardrobe, but she knows it accentuates her figure in ways that used to make Martin look at her with heat in his eyes. Now he barely glances up from his phone when she enters a room.

"Katie?" Martin's voice echoes up the stairs. "You up there?"

She composes her features into the pleasant expression she's perfected—the good wife, never complaining, always accommodating. "Yes, just finishing up."

When she descends the stairs, Martin is standing in the living room, checking something on his phone. He looks up briefly, offering a distracted smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"I was thinking," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Why don't we host Thanksgiving this year? Have the gang over. Chuck and Carol, maybe Allison, and Tyrus is in town too."

Katie feels a small spark of hope ignite in her chest. A gathering. People, conversation, life filling their too-quiet house. "That sounds nice," she says carefully, not wanting to appear too eager. "It's been ages since we've entertained."

"Great." Martin nods, already pulling his phone out again. "I'll text everyone. Can you handle the food and stuff?"

And just like that, the spark dims. Of course, she'll handle "the food and stuff"—the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning, the decorating. Martin will buy some beer and consider his contribution complete.

Still, she thinks as she moves toward the kitchen to take inventory of what they'll need, maybe this is an opportunity. Maybe with others around, Martin will see her through their eyes. Remember what first attracted him to her. Maybe they'll brush hands while passing dishes, exchange knowing glances across a table filled with friends, and later, when everyone has gone...

Katie opens the refrigerator, mentally cataloging ingredients, but her mind wanders to the name Martin mentioned. Tyrus. She's never met him, but she's heard the stories from Martin's college days. Tyrus Montgomery—"T-Money" to his friends—the charismatic marketing major who could charm anyone, especially women. The one who always had the best stories, the wildest adventures, who seemed to navigate the world with an ease Martin both admired and envied.

"Tyrus confirmed," Martin calls from the living room, his voice carrying a note of pleasure Katie rarely hears anymore. "Says he's looking forward to meeting you finally."

"Great," she replies automatically, though something flutters in her stomach at the thought. Perhaps it's just the excitement of meeting someone new, someone who exists in her imagination only through Martin's stories.

Over the next few days, Katie throws herself into preparations. She scrubs the house until every surface gleams, plans an elaborate menu that will showcase her domestic skills, and even purchases a new dress—still modest but more flattering than her usual attire. She tells herself it's for Martin's benefit, that she wants him to be proud when he shows her off to his friends.

The night before Thanksgiving, she lies awake beside Martin's sleeping form, listening to his even breathing. How long has it been since they made love? Two months and seventeen days, if she's honest with herself—and she keeps track, though she'd die before admitting it to anyone. Two months and seventeen days since he touched her with any real desire, since she felt wanted rather than merely accommodated.

Katie rolls onto her side, away from her husband's back, and curls into herself. Tomorrow will be different, she promises herself. With friends around, over food and wine, and in conversation, maybe Martin will remember what they once had. Maybe he'll look at her the way he used to, and the ache that's become her constant companion will finally be soothed.

But as sleep finally claims her, a different thought flickers through her mind—a curiosity about the mysterious Tyrus and what it might feel like to be truly seen again, even if only through the appreciative eyes of a stranger.

The doorbell chimes at exactly three o'clock. Katie smooths her new dress—a deep burgundy that hugs her curves just enough to be flattering without crossing into inappropriate—and takes a steadying breath before opening the door. Carol stands there with her boyfriend Chuck, a bottle of wine in one hand and a practiced smile that softens when she sees Katie.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Carol steps forward to embrace Katie, her curly auburn hair tickling Katie's cheek. "You look amazing. Is that dress new?"

Before Katie can answer, Chuck envelops her in a bear hug that lifts her slightly off the ground. "Mrs. Johnson! Looking hot as always." He winks as he sets her down, and Katie feels a blush creeping up her neck despite herself.

Martin appears behind her, clapping Chuck on the shoulder and taking the wine. "Come in, come in. Drinks are in the living room."

Katie leads Carol into the kitchen while the men head straight for the beer. Carol immediately starts analyzing everything, her sharp green eyes missing nothing. "So, how are things with you and Martin?" she asks, lowering her voice. "Any progress on the bedroom front?"

Katie winces. She'd confided in Carol about her marital frustrations during a moment of weakness after too many glasses of wine. "Not really," she admits, busying herself with an appetizer tray. "But maybe today will change things."

The doorbell rings again—Allison this time, bearing a homemade pie and sympathy in her hazel eyes. Katie wonders how much Carol has shared with her. The three women fall into comfortable conversation, and Katie feels herself relaxing slightly. This is what she needed—friends, warmth, human connection beyond the stilted exchanges she and Martin have been reduced to.

Then the doorbell rings a third time.

"I'll get it," Martin calls from the living room, and Katie feels an inexplicable tightening in her stomach.

She hears the door open, male voices exchanging greetings, and then Martin leads someone into the living room. "Everyone, this is Tyrus. Tyrus, you know Chuck from college. That's Carol, his girlfriend, and Allison over there. And this—" Martin's hand settles briefly on the small of Katie's back, the first time he's touched her all day "—is my wife, Katie."

Katie turns and feels the breath catch in her throat. Tyrus Montgomery is nothing like she imagined. He stands at least six feet two, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his dark brown skin gleaming under the living room lights. His short beard is immaculately groomed, framing a smile of perfect white teeth that seems aimed directly at her core.

"Katie," he says, and his voice is deep, resonant, with a musicality that makes her name sound like something precious. "Martin's told me so much about you, but he failed to mention how beautiful you are."

Their hands touch as she accepts his greeting, and Katie swears she feels a current run from his fingertips straight up her arm. His eyes hold hers a beat too long, and in their depths, she sees something knowing, something that makes her flush deeper than Chuck's teasing comment had.

"Drink?" Martin asks, already moving toward the kitchen, oblivious to the charged moment.

"Whatever you're having," Tyrus replies, but his eyes don't leave Katie's face.

She breaks the connection first, turning abruptly toward the appetizer tray. "I should get these out before they get cold."

In the kitchen, Katie presses her palms against the cool countertop, trying to steady her suddenly racing heart. What is wrong with her? One smile from a handsome man and she's acting like a teenager. She's a married woman, for God's sake. Married to Martin. Good, reliable Martin, who may be emotionally distant but has never given her reason to doubt his fidelity.

When she returns to the living room, drinks are flowing, and Chuck is dominating the conversation with an elaborate story about a client from hell. Katie sets down the tray and finds a seat beside Martin on the couch. Tyrus is seated across from them in an armchair, but she feels his gaze on her constantly, tracking her movements and noting her reactions. When she laughs at Chuck's punchline, Tyrus doesn't join the general laughter—he just watches her, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Katie did all the cooking," Martin announces during a lull in the conversation. "She's amazing in the kitchen. Among other rooms." He winks broadly at the group, and Katie feels a stab of humiliation. When was the last time they'd been "amazing" in any room together?

"I'm sure she is," Tyrus says, his voice pitched low so that only Katie seems to catch the double meaning. Their eyes meet again, and this time, Katie doesn't look away so quickly. Something rebellious flares inside her.

Carol claps her hands. "Let's eat! I've been smelling that turkey all afternoon, and I'm starving."

They move to the dining room where Katie has outdone herself—the table is a showcase of traditional dishes executed perfectly, from the golden-brown turkey to the homemade cranberry sauce. Martin takes his place at the head of the table, carving knife in hand. Katie sits to his right, and somehow, Tyrus ends up directly across from her. As Martin begins carving, Tyrus raises his wineglass in a silent toast to Katie. She lifts hers in response, taking a larger sip than she intended.

The meal progresses with flowing wine and conversation. Chuck tells more stories, Carol interjects with witty commentary, Allison offers thoughtful questions, and Martin drinks steadily, his contributions becoming less frequent and less coherent. Katie finds herself engaging more with Tyrus, drawn to his charisma, his attentiveness, the way he seems to hang on her every word when she speaks.

Under the table, their knees brush—an accident the first time, but the second time, Tyrus doesn't move away, and neither does Katie. The pressure of his knee against hers becomes a focal point, a secret connection that makes her breath catch when he shifts, increasing the contact.

"Remember that time in sophomore year," Chuck says, turning to Tyrus, "when you had those two girls from the sorority fighting over you? What was her name—the blonde one who showed up at our dorm in lingerie?"

"Chelsea," Tyrus supplies, his eyes never leaving Katie's face. "But ancient history isn't very interesting, is it?"

But Katie finds it is interesting. As Chuck launches into the story anyway, she imagines Tyrus in college—younger but still confident, women drawn to him like moths to flame. She wonders what it would feel like to be desired like that, to have a man look at her with naked hunger instead of distracted obligation.

"I should start clearing," Katie says abruptly, standing and reaching for the nearest empty plates.

"I'll help," Tyrus offers, rising smoothly.

In the kitchen, Katie sets the plates in the sink, acutely aware of Tyrus behind her, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from his body. When she turns, he's there, just inches away, his eyes dark and intent.

"Your husband is a lucky man," he says quietly, "though I don't think he realizes how lucky."

Katie's mouth goes dry. "I should get the desserts ready."

"Of course." Tyrus steps back, but his gaze remains intense. "I just wanted you to know that someone notices you, Katie. Really sees you."

The words hit her like a physical blow, cracking something open inside her chest. How long has it been since she felt truly seen? She busies herself with cutting pie slices, her hands trembling slightly.

Back in the dining room, Martin's speech has become noticeably slurred. He raises his glass in Katie's direction as she sets down the dessert. "To my beautiful wife and her delicious cooking," he says, the words running together. He drains his glass and immediately refills it.

After dessert, the group migrates to the living room for football. Martin collapses onto the couch, his eyelids already drooping. Katie sits beside him, and Tyrus takes the spot on her other side. As the game progresses, Martin's head begins to nod, eventually coming to rest against the arm of the couch as soft snores escape him.

"I think that's our cue," Carol says, standing and pulling Chuck up with her. "Katie, dinner was amazing. Thank you."

"I should go too," Allison adds, gathering her purse. "Early shift tomorrow."

Katie walks them to the door, accepting hugs and compliments on the meal. When she returns to the living room, Tyrus is still there, watching her with those intense eyes.

"You should probably head out too," she says, though the words lack conviction.

Tyrus glances at Martin's unconscious form. "And leave you to clean up all by yourself? That hardly seems fair when you did all the cooking." He stands, moving toward her. "Let me help. It's the least I can do after such an incredible meal."

Katie knows she should insist, should usher him out the door, and wake Martin. Instead, she hears herself say, "Thank you. That would be nice."

As they begin clearing the table together, Katie is hyperaware of every movement, every time their hands brush, every moment their eyes meet. Her body thrums with an awareness she hasn't felt in years, and beneath it all runs a current of guilt that somehow makes the sensations even more intense.

They finish loading the dishwasher in silence, the only sounds the soft clink of dishes and the distant drone of the football game still playing in the living room. Katie's fingers tremble as she closes the dishwasher door, her mind racing between what she knows she should do—wake Martin, thank Tyrus for his help, and send him on his way—and what her body is screaming for her to do. She hasn't felt this alive, this seen, in longer than she can remember.

"We should probably check on Martin," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "He might be uncomfortable on the couch."

Tyrus nods, following her back to the living room. Martin hasn't moved; his head is still tilted awkwardly against the couch arm, and his mouth is slightly open as soft snores escape him. Katie stands there, staring at her husband, wondering when the sight of him began to inspire more obligation than desire.

"He's out cold," Tyrus observes, standing so close behind her that she can feel his breath on her neck. "Must be exhausted from all that... hosting."

Katie turns to face him, ready to defend Martin, but the words die in her throat. Tyrus is looking at her with such intensity, such focused desire, that it steals her breath away. No one has looked at her like that in years—like she's the only woman in the world, like he'd cross oceans just to touch her.

"I should wake him," she whispers, but she doesn't move.

"Should you?" Tyrus asks, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face. The touch is electric, sending a shiver down her spine. "Or should you take something for yourself for once?"

Before she can answer, he leans forward and captures her lips with his. The kiss is gentle at first, questioning, but there's a hunger behind it that makes Katie's knees weaken. She puts her hands against his chest, intending to push him away—she's married, for God's sake, her husband is right there—but instead, her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

"Wait," she manages to gasp when they break apart, but it sounds unconvincing even to her own ears. "We can't. I'm married. Martin is—"

"Neglecting you," Tyrus finishes, his hands now on her waist, drawing her closer. "I've watched him all night, Katie. He barely looks at you. Doesn't touch you. Doesn't appreciate what he has." His lips brush against her ear. "But I see you. I've been seeing you all night. And I want you."

Katie's resistance crumbles with his words. How long has it been since anyone wanted her? Since anyone saw past the perfect wife facade to the woman beneath, with needs and desires of her own?

When Tyrus kisses her again, she melts into him, her mouth opening beneath his, inviting him deeper. His tongue slides against hers, and she moans softly, forgetting for a moment where they are, who might hear. His hands roam her body now, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, igniting sparks of pleasure everywhere he touches.

"This is wrong," she whispers against his mouth, even as her body betrays her, pressing closer, seeking more.

"Does it feel wrong?" Tyrus asks, his hand sliding up to cup her breast through her dress. When his thumb brushes over her nipple, already hard and aching, Katie gasps. "Because your body is telling me something different."

He's right. Despite the alarm bells ringing in her mind, her body is responding with an eagerness that shocks her. Between her thighs, she's already embarrassingly wet, her pulse pounding in places that have been dormant for too long.

"Let's sit down," Tyrus suggests, guiding her back toward the couch—the same couch where Martin is passed out. Katie hesitates, but Tyrus doesn't allow her time to reconsider. He sits her down just inches from her unconscious husband and kneels before her, his hands on her knees.

"Tyrus," she protests weakly, glancing at Martin. "Not here. He could wake up."

"But he won't," Tyrus says with absolute confidence. "And isn't that part of the thrill? Knowing he's right there, oblivious, while you finally get what you deserve?"

The wrongness of it sends an unexpected jolt of arousal straight to her core. Katie bites her lip, torn between her proper upbringing and the primal need pulsing through her body. When Tyrus's hands begin to slide up her thighs, pushing her dress higher, she should stop him—knows she should stop him—but instead, she finds herself parting her legs slightly, allowing him access.

"Such a good girl on the outside," Tyrus murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, coming tantalizingly close to where she's aching for him but never quite touching. "But I bet there's a bad girl inside, isn't there, Katie? One who's been trapped for a very long time."

His words unlock something in her, some hidden part she's kept buried beneath layers of propriety and expectation. Her hips shift restlessly, seeking his touch, and when his fingers finally, finally brush against the damp fabric of her panties, Katie has to clamp her hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

"So wet already," Tyrus observes, his voice dropping lower. "Is this for me, Katie? Or is it because your husband is right here while you're letting another man touch you?"

"Please," she whispers, not sure if she's begging him to stop or continue. Her eyes flick to Martin—still dead to the world, completely unaware that his college friend is about to finger his wife just inches away.

Tyrus pushes her panties aside, and then his fingers are there, sliding through her slickness, finding her clit with unerring precision. Katie's head falls back, a gasp escaping her as pleasure lances through her body. It's been so long—so long since anyone touched her like this, with skill and intention rather than perfunctory obligation.

"Look at how responsive you are," Tyrus murmurs, working his fingers in slow, deliberate circles. "I bet he doesn't make you feel like this, does he?"

Katie shakes her head, unable to speak as sensation builds inside her. Her hips begin to move of their own accord, grinding against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. She should be ashamed—she is ashamed—but the shame only seems to heighten every sensation, turning her arousal into something dark and forbidden and irresistible.

Tyrus slips one finger inside her, then another, curling them to hit a spot that makes her see stars. His thumb continues its relentless assault on her clit, and Katie feels herself approaching the edge faster than she ever has before. Her thighs begin to tremble, her breathing coming in short, desperate pants.

"That's it," Tyrus encourages, his voice a seductive rumble. "Let go, Katie. Come for me right here, with your husband sleeping beside you. Show me what he's been missing."

The wrongness of it all—this forbidden thing she was never supposed to crave—pushes her over the edge. Katie's orgasm crashes through her with unexpected violence, her inner walls contracting around his fingers, her body jerking with the force of it. She bites down on her knuckles to keep from crying out, tears springing to her eyes as pleasure unlike anything she's felt in years courses through her.

The aftershocks of her orgasm still ripple through Katie's body as she struggles to gather her composure. What has she done? What is she doing? Her panties are still pushed to the side, her dress hiked up around her waist, and Tyrus is looking at her with a hunger that both terrifies and excites her. She should stop this now—stand up, straighten her clothes, wake Martin. But her body hums with a satisfaction she hasn't felt in years, and beneath it, an insistent desire for more.

"We should stop," she whispers, her eyes darting to Martin's sleeping form. "This is wrong. I'm married."

Tyrus rises from his kneeling position, towering over her. "Is that really what you want, Katie? To go back to being the neglected wife?" His hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing over her lower lip. "Or do you want to feel alive for once?"

The question hangs in the air between them. Katie's mind races with objections—her marriage vows, her conservative upbringing, the betrayal of allowing this to continue. But her body answers for her, leaning into his touch, her lips parting beneath the pressure of his thumb.

"Come here," Tyrus says softly, taking her hands and guiding her to stand. With gentle pressure on her shoulders, he directs her to kneel before him as he takes her place on the couch, mere feet from where Martin continues to sleep.

Katie's heart pounds in her chest as she looks up at Tyrus from her position between his knees. This is happening. She's actually kneeling before another man while her husband sleeps nearby. The wrongness of it sends another shock of illicit pleasure through her body.

Tyrus unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and frees himself. Katie's eyes widen involuntarily. He's significantly larger than Martin—longer, thicker—and already fully erect. A small gasp escapes her lips before she can stop it.

"Like what you see?" Tyrus asks, his voice tinged with knowing amusement. "Different from what you're used to, I bet."

Katie's cheeks burn with embarrassment, but she can't deny the truth of his words. She's only ever been with Martin, and while she's never had complaints before, the comparison now is... stark.

"You don't have to do this," Tyrus says, contradicting his actions as his hand gently guides her head closer. "But I think you want to."

He's right. Despite every moral objection screaming in her mind, Katie feels an overwhelming urge to taste him, to please him, to show him that she's more than just the perfect conservative wife. With a final glance at Martin—still oblivious, still snoring softly—she leans forward and takes Tyrus into her mouth.

The weight and heat of him on her tongue is foreign yet exciting. Katie has never particularly enjoyed this act with Martin, treating it more as an obligation than a pleasure. But with Tyrus, she finds herself eager, curious, wanting to explore this new territory.

"That's it," Tyrus encourages, his fingers threading through her hair. "Take your time. Get to know me."

She starts slowly, uncertain, but Tyrus is patient, guiding her with gentle pressure and soft words of encouragement. When she takes him deeper, his breath catches, and the sound of his pleasure emboldens her. She begins to experiment, varying her speed and pressure, learning what makes his muscles tense and his breath quicken.

"Look at you," Tyrus murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down her spine. "Martin's perfect little wife on her knees for another man. If he woke up right now, what would he see? His beautiful, conservative wife is sucking another man's cock while he sleeps."

Katie should be horrified by his words, but instead, they send a fresh wave of arousal through her. The taboo nature of what she's doing—the complete betrayal of her marriage and everything she thought she stood for—only seems to heighten her excitement. She moans softly around him, her own hips shifting restlessly as her arousal builds again.

"You love this, don't you?" Tyrus continues, his hand guiding her movements, setting a faster pace. "Love being bad for once. Love feeling my big, hard cock in your pretty little mouth while your husband sleeps right there."

Each filthy word sends another jolt of forbidden pleasure through Katie's body. She's never experienced anything like this—the dirty talk, the explicit acknowledgment of what they're doing, the deliberate desecration of her marriage. It's wrong on every level, yet she can't get enough.

Tyrus's breathing grows more ragged, his grip in her hair tightening. "I'm close," he warns, giving her a chance to pull away.

But Katie doesn't want to. Some reckless, rebellious part of her wants to complete this act, to cross this final line of betrayal.

When Tyrus climaxes, Katie takes all of him, swallowing reflexively as he pulses in her mouth. The taste is unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and the sound of his pleasure—a deep, satisfied groan—fills her with an unexpected sense of pride. She did this. She, Katie Johnson, perfect wife and paragon of virtue, just made another man come with her mouth while her husband slept feet away.

As she sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Katie feels a dizzying mix of shame and exhilaration. What kind of woman has she become in the span of one evening? And why does her body still crave more, even after crossing a line she never thought she would?

Tyrus looks down at her, his eyes dark with renewed desire despite his recent release. "Come here," he says, patting the couch beside him—beside Martin. When she hesitates, he adds, "Don't worry. He won't wake up. And even if he did... wouldn't that be interesting?"

The thought sends a forbidden thrill through Katie as she rises and sits beside Tyrus, her thighs pressing together to alleviate the ache between them. Before she can say anything, Tyrus is kissing her again, his tongue exploring her mouth without hesitation, tasting himself on her lips. The kiss is possessive, claiming, and Katie surrenders to it, melting against him.

"Now it's my turn again," Tyrus whispers against her mouth. He slides off the couch, positioning himself between her legs just as before. But this time, instead of just pushing her panties aside, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down her legs entirely, leaving her exposed from the waist down, her dress bunched around her hips.

"Tyrus," she protests weakly, glancing at Martin. "What if—"

"Shh." Tyrus silences her with a finger to her lips. "Let me taste you properly."

Before Katie can object further, Tyrus lowers his head between her thighs. The first sweep of his tongue against her sensitive flesh makes her gasp, her head falling back against the couch. Martin has always treated oral sex as a brief, obligatory prelude, but Tyrus approaches it with enthusiasm and skill, his tongue exploring every fold, every sensitive spot, as if mapping her for future reference.

"Oh my God," Katie breathes, her hands finding their way to his head, her fingers tangling in his short hair. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building faster than she thought possible after her earlier orgasm.

His tongue is relentless, expert—finding nerve endings she didn't know existed. When he sucks her clit between his lips, stars explode behind her eyelids.

Her hips buck violently against his face, her thighs clamping around his head as she grinds herself against his mouth, desperate for more, more, more—as if she could somehow climb inside the pleasure he's creating.

Martin shifts in his sleep beside her, mumbling something unintelligible. Katie freezes for a moment, terrified, but then Tyrus's tongue finds her clit again, circling it with deliberate pressure, and her fear transforms into something else entirely—a perverse excitement at the risk of discovery.

"He could wake up any second," Tyrus murmurs against her most intimate flesh, the vibration of his words adding to the sensation.

"See his wife getting eaten out by his college buddy." His tongue delves deeper, and Katie bites her lip to stifle a moan. "Would you stop me if he did? Or would you be too far gone by then?"

The question hangs unanswered as pleasure builds inside her, a tightening coil ready to snap. Katie's thighs begin to tremble, her breathing becoming erratic. She's close—so close—and Tyrus seems to sense it, his efforts becoming more focused, more intense.

"Fuck," she sighs as she comes apart against his mouth, her body convulsing with waves of pleasure more intense than anything she's experienced in years—perhaps ever. Her hands tighten in Tyrus's hair, holding him against her as she rides out her orgasm, her hips bucking against his face in a rhythm her body remembers despite her husband’s neglect.

Only when the tremors finally subside, Tyrus keeps going. He keeps licking and licking, driving her crazy until he then adds a couple of fingers inside her, pumping them in a steady rhythm that has her gasping all over again.

The dual sensation—his tongue circling her oversensitive clit while his fingers stroke her from within—is almost too much to bear. Katie's hands fly to her mouth, stifling the sounds threatening to escape as another orgasm starts building impossibly fast. She can feel it approaching like a tidal wave, stronger than the first two combined.

"Oh God," she gasps, trying to squirm away. "What are you doing to me?"

But Tyrus doesn't answer, as his tongue and fingers work their magic over her while his other hand is stroking his dick back to hardness.

"Please," Katie whimpers, her head thrashing from side to side as pleasure builds impossibly again. "It's too much—"

But her body contradicts her words as her hips buck wildly, her swollen pussy lips smearing her wetness across his hungry mouth, her clit throbbing desperately against his tongue as she chases the building pressure deep in her core.

“Oh god! Oh god! "Oh god, I'm going to come all over your face," she whimpers, her pussy clenching around his fingers. Just as her wetness floods against his palm and her thighs begin to quiver uncontrollably, Tyrus suddenly pulls back, leaving her cunt empty and pulsing, teetering on the precipice of release.

Katie makes a sound of protest, her eyes flying open to find him rising above her, positioning himself between her spread legs. She feels the blunt head of his hot cock pressing against her entrance, and reality crashes back in.

"Wait," she gasps. "We can't—It’s too far— I'm married—"

"Yes, you are," Tyrus agrees, his voice thick with desire. "And your husband is right there while another man is about to fuck you." He pushes forward slightly, just enough for her to feel the stretch of her body accommodating his size.

Oh God… she groans as her pussy widens to accept his width. She's never felt this full, this stretched, and even with just the head of him pressing inside her, it's almost overwhelming.

"We shouldn't," she says again, but her body is already yielding, her hips tilting to take him deeper.

"That's it," he whispers against her ear. "I can feel you wanting to take all of me inside you."

Tyrus pushes forward another inch, and Katie gasps at the unfamiliar fullness. He's so much bigger than Martin, spreading her in ways she's never experienced before.

"Look at me," he orders. "Tell me to stop, Katie. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me how wrong this is to be fucking next to your husband.”

But she can't. God help her, she can't form the words, can't deny the need pulsing through her body.

When Tyrus pushes forward again, entering her fully in one smooth thrust, Katie nearly cries out from the sensation of fullness, of being stretched and filled more completely than she's ever experienced.

"Jesus, you're so fucking tight," Tyrus groans, holding still to let her adjust. "When's the last time he properly fucked you, Katie? Because your pussy is gripping me like it's been starved."

The crude language, so different from anything in her experience, it sends another jolt of forbidden excitement through her.

Katie's nails dig into Tyrus's shoulders as he begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one a calculated invasion into her forbidden depths. Her legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper, her body betraying every principle she thought defined her.

"You like this, don't you?" Tyrus whispers, his mouth close to her ear. "You like being my married bitch while your husband sleeps beside us." His pace increases, each thrust hitting spots inside her that Martin never reached.

"Say it, Katie. Say you're my married bitch."

"I'm your married bitch," she gasps, the words shocking her even as they leave her mouth. Who is this woman taking over her body, saying these things, wanting these things? "Oh god, Tyrus, don't stop."

His thrusts become harder, deeper, and Katie feels another orgasm building rapidly. She's never come from penetration alone with Martin, always needing additional stimulation, but Tyrus's size and angle are hitting something inside her that's sending her spiraling toward the edge faster than she thought possible.

“Look at your husband while I fuck you,” he croaks. “Show him what you really look like when you get thoroughly fucked!”

Katie's gaze darts to Martin's sleeping form, her breath catching in her throat. Her husband's mouth hangs slightly open, his chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of drunken sleep, completely unaware of the betrayal unfolding mere inches away.

"I can't," Katie gasps, her head falling back against the couch cushion as her body betrays her. "Oh god, I can't..."

But she can. She is. Her hips rise to meet each of his thrusts, her inner walls clenching around him in a velvet vise. The wrongness of it—being fucked by her husband's friend while Martin sleeps beside them—only heightens every sensation. Shame and arousal twist together inside her until she can no longer distinguish between them, both fueling the fire consuming her.

"Look at him," Tyrus commands again, his voice rougher now as he drives into her. "Look at your husband while I make you come."

Katie forces her eyes open, turning her head to where Martin lies.

That’s it, Katie, keep watching him while I make you come on my big black cock," Tyrus growls, his words filthy and intoxicating in her ear. “I’m going to make you squirt all over me, Katie."

"What? I don't—" Katie starts to protest that she's never done that, never even come close, but then Tyrus shifts his angle slightly and thrusts harder, hitting something that makes her entire body seize with pleasure.

"Oh my God!" she gasps, her back arching off the couch. "Oh my God, I'm— I’m— Fffuck!"

The orgasm that rips through her is unlike anything she's ever experienced—more intense, more all-consuming than she thought possible. And just as Tyrus predicted, she feels a sudden gush of fluid between them, soaking the couch beneath her. The sensation is so overwhelming, so unexpected, that Katie can only cling to Tyrus, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her.

"That's it," Tyrus encourages, not slowing his pace. "Let go completely. Show me what he's never seen."

And she does, surrendering fully to the moment, to the pleasure, to the forbidden connection between them. In this moment, Katie doesn't care about her marriage or her principles or what kind of woman this makes her. All that matters is the ecstasy coursing through her body, the feeling of being truly alive for the first time in years.

And as Tyrus continues thrusting into her oversensitized body, driving her toward yet another peak, Katie knows with absolute certainty that this night is going to change everything—and she doesn't want it to stop.

Katie's body is still trembling from her unprecedented orgasm, her mind struggling to process the sensation of squirting for the first time in her life.

But Tyrus gives her no time to recover. With a strength that makes her gasp, he slips out of her and lifts her into his arms.

"Where are you taking me?" she asks.

“To your bedroom,” he says, his voice thick with desire. "I want to fuck you properly, in your marital bed."

The request—no, the demand—should shock her, should be the line she refuses to cross.

The couch is one thing, but their bedroom? The intimate space she shares with Martin? That's sacred ground.

Katie opens her mouth to protest, but the words catch in her throat as her body betrays her with a fresh rush of wetness.

Why can’t I stop myself? she thinks, even as her arms tighten around Tyrus's neck. Her wedding ring catches the hallway light as he carries her up the stairs, each step bringing her closer to a line she never imagined crossing. Her stomach twists with shame even as her pulse quickens with anticipation.

Katie's mind races with conflicting emotions—guilt warring with desire, shame tangling with excitement. They pass framed wedding photos in the hallway, smiling faces of her and Martin on their happiest day, and Katie feels a twinge of something like grief.

Not for what she's losing, but for what she's already lost—the connection, the passion, the feeling of being truly desired that's been absent for so long.

The bedroom door is ajar, and Tyrus pushes it open with his foot. The king-sized bed is neatly made, Katie's decorative pillows arranged just so, the duvet smooth and inviting. It's the picture of marital propriety, of conservative values and traditional roles.

And she's about to defile it completely.

When Tyrus lays her on the bed—on Martin's side—Katie has one final moment of hesitation. "We shouldn't," she says weakly, even as her body betrays her, legs parting in invitation. "Not here."

"Especially here," Tyrus counters, positioning himself between her thighs. He's still fully clothed except for his open pants, while Katie's dress is bunched around her waist, her panties discarded somewhere downstairs. The power imbalance sends another forbidden thrill through her. "This is where he's failed to satisfy you, isn't it? Where you lie awake, aching for something he doesn't give you?"

He's right, and they both know it. How many nights has she lain in this very spot, Martin snoring beside her, her body humming with unfulfilled need? How many times has she touched herself in the shower, imagining someone—anyone—wanting her the way Tyrus clearly does?

Tyrus enters her in one smooth thrust, filling her completely, stretching her in ways that border on pain but quickly transform into the most exquisite pleasure. Katie gasps, her back arching off the mattress, hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Look at you," Tyrus murmurs, his hips establishing a steady rhythm that has Katie seeing stars. "The perfect wife taking another man's cock in her marriage bed. Does it feel good, Katie? Better than what you're used to?"

"Yes," she admits, the word torn from her throat against her will. "God, yes."

Tyrus's thrusts deepen, each one deliberate and precise, hitting spots inside her that Martin has never reached. His hands pin her wrists above her head, holding her in place as he drives into her. Katie's legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper, her body greedily accepting everything he gives her.

"Your cunt is strangling my cock," Tyrus growls, his pace increasing. "So fucking tight. So fucking wet for me. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be fucked like this."

His crude words should offend her, but instead, they send shockwaves of pleasure through her body. Katie has never been spoken to like this, never been treated like this—like she's not a delicate flower to be handled with care but a woman with deep, primal needs.

"I'm going to come inside you," Tyrus announces, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful. "Going to fill this married pussy with my cum. Right where your husband should be."

A moment of panic cuts through Katie's pleasure-hazed mind. "Wait—" she starts, but it's too late. Tyrus drives into her one final time, his entire body tensing as he releases inside her. The sensation of his pulsing cock, of his hot seed flooding her most intimate place, triggers another orgasm that catches Katie by surprise. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around him, milking him of every drop.

"Oh my God," she gasps when she can form words again. "You’re! You’re coming inside me!" The realization should horrify her—she's not on birth control, has never needed it with Martin's infrequent attention—but instead, she feels a perverse satisfaction.

Something primal and possessive that takes pleasure in being marked this way, claimed in the most basic, animal sense.

"Yes, I am," Tyrus groans, his body tense above hers. "Filling you with what your husband should have been giving you all along."

His weight presses Katie into the mattress, their bodies slick with sweat, her inner walls still pulsing with aftershocks.

Tyrus doesn't withdraw. Instead, he remains seated deeply inside her, his cock still semi-hard, making small, circular movements with his hips that send aftershocks of pleasure through her oversensitized body.

"You're so tight," he murmurs, leaning down to capture one of her nipples through the fabric of her dress. "So perfect. And I'm not done with you yet."

Katie feels him hardening again inside her, an impossibility with Martin, who needs considerable recovery time on the rare occasions they're intimate.

"Again?" she whispers, both alarmed and excited. "Already?"

"I've been wanting to fuck you all night," Tyrus admits, his movements becoming more deliberate as he returns to full hardness. "Watching you move in that dress, seeing how your husband ignores you. Knowing I could give you what you need."

He pulls back slightly, then thrusts forward again, making Katie gasp. "And I'm going to keep giving it to you until you can't remember anyone else."

This time, Tyrus is less gentle. He positions her legs over his shoulders, opening her completely to his invasion. The new angle allows him to penetrate her even deeper, and Katie cries out at the sensation of him hitting her cervix.

"Oh God, you're tearing me apart," she gasps, her hands clutching at the bedspread—the same bedspread she shares with Martin. "You're so deep."

"But you don't want me to stop, do you?" Tyrus challenges, his fingers digging into her thighs as he holds her open for his relentless thrusts. "Tell me the truth, Katie. Tell me how much you love this big black cock splitting you open on your marriage bed."

"I love it," she admits, the confession burning her lips even as it liberates something inside her. "I love your cock. Please don't stop."

Tyrus's pace becomes punishing, each thrust driving the air from Katie's lungs. The headboard slams rhythmically against the wall, a sound that would mortify Katie under normal circumstances. But nothing about this is normal, and the noise only adds to the forbidden nature of their coupling, the absolute wrongness that somehow heightens every sensation.

"Your husband has no idea what a slut you are, does he?" Tyrus grunts, sweat beading on his forehead as he pounds into her. "No idea that his perfect, conservative wife is begging for another man's cock. Begging to be filled with another man's cum."

The degrading words should anger her, but instead, they push Katie closer to another climax. She's never experienced anything like this—the intensity, the taboo, the complete surrender to pleasure without concern for propriety or expectation.

"I'm going to come inside you again," Tyrus announces, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Going to flood this married cunt a second time."

"Wait, please," Katie protests, a last vestige of her proper upbringing asserting itself. "You shouldn't—"

But even as the words leave her mouth, her body betrays her. Her inner walls clench around him, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts, her entire being craving the forbidden culmination. And when Tyrus drives into her one final time, unleashing a second flood of warmth inside her, Katie's own orgasm crashes through her with devastating force.

Her pussy spasms around his thick shaft, milking every last drop of hot cum as she screams, "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" Her legs lock around his waist, forcing his throbbing cock deeper into her soaked cunt. Her back arches as another orgasm rips through her, her nipples hardening to painful points as his balls empty completely inside her unprotected womb. Her body surrenders completely as she feels his seed flooding her deepest parts.

As they both come down from their shared high, Tyrus collapses beside her on the bed, his arm thrown possessively across her waist. Katie stares at the ceiling, her chest heaving, her mind struggling to process what just happened—what she allowed to happen, what she actively participated in.

"I can't believe I let you come inside me," she whispers, more to herself than to him. "Twice." But there's no real regret in her voice, only wonder.

"You loved it," Tyrus observes, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her stomach. "Admit it, Katie. You loved feeling me release inside you."

She should deny it, should start the process of rebuilding her shattered self-image as the perfect wife. Instead, she turns to look at him, something new and reckless glinting in her eyes. "I did," she confesses. "God help me, I loved every second of it."

They lie in silence for a few minutes, the reality of what they've done settling over them. Katie can feel the evidence of their encounter between her thighs, sticky and warm, marking her as thoroughly as any brand. Her body aches in places she didn't know could ache, testament to Tyrus's size and vigor.

"We should check on Martin," Tyrus eventually says, sitting up and adjusting his clothes. "And I should probably head out."

The mention of her husband's name sends a jolt of guilt through Katie, but it's duller now, more distant, as if the woman who took vows with Martin is someone else entirely. She nods, rising from the bed on shaky legs and attempting to straighten her rumpled dress.

In the bathroom, she quickly cleans herself, wincing at the tenderness between her legs. When she looks in the mirror, she barely recognizes the woman staring back—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair disheveled, eyes bright with something that looks suspiciously like satisfaction. Is this who she truly is beneath the carefully constructed facade? A woman capable of betraying her marriage vows in the most intimate way possible, and enjoying every moment of it?

They descend the stairs together, finding Martin still passed out on the couch, though his position has shifted slightly. Katie feels a momentary pang of guilt at the sight of him—so trusting, so oblivious to the way his world has just been turned upside down.

Tyrus helps her clear the remaining evidence of their Thanksgiving gathering, their movements efficient but charged with new intimacy. Every brush of his hand against hers sends electric currents through Katie's body, reminding her of what they shared, what she's now capable of.

"I'll text you," Tyrus says as he prepares to leave, his voice low and intimate. "This is just the beginning, Katie. I plan on fucking you as often as I can."

The suggestion should horrify her—continuing an affair, actively choosing to betray Martin again and again. Instead, she feels a flutter of anticipation in her stomach, a quickening of her pulse at the prospect.

Before she can respond, Tyrus pulls her into one last kiss, deep and possessive, a promise of things to come. When they break apart, he whispers against her lips, "This will be our little secret. No more sexless nights for you, my little slut!"

After he's gone, Katie returns to the living room, sitting in a chair opposite the couch where Martin is finally beginning to stir. She watches her husband—the man she vowed to love and cherish—with new eyes. She should be overwhelmed with remorse, should be planning how to beg forgiveness or bury the evidence of her betrayal. Instead, she finds herself wondering when Tyrus will text, when she'll feel that forbidden pleasure again.

Martin groans, his eyes fluttering open. "What time is it?" he mumbles, looking disoriented. "Did everyone leave?"

"Yes," Katie replies, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "They all left a while ago."

"Sorry, I passed out," Martin says, struggling to sit up. "Too much wine, I guess. Did I miss anything important?"

Katie's lips curve into a small, secret smile. "Nothing important," she lies, rising to help him to his feet. "Let's get you to bed."

As she guides her groggy husband up the stairs—the same stairs Tyrus carried her up earlier—toward the bed still warm from her infidelity, Katie knows that nothing will ever be the same again. Her body bears the physical evidence of her encounter with Tyrus, and her mind harbors the knowledge that she's capable of desires and pleasures she never imagined.

For better or worse, the perfect, conservative Katie Johnson has been shattered, and in her place stands a woman Katie barely recognizes—one who has tasted forbidden fruit and found it sweeter than anything her marriage has offered in years.

And God help her, Tyrus was right. She was now his little slut.