Chapter 1: A Regular Tuesday Morning

A hell of an early hour woke me up—6:45 or so, I’m not sure which. My mind had convinced me the alarm was even earlier, but looking at my phone, it had in fact been 6:45. I moaned loudly, blindly searching for the snooze button on my phone with a heavy arm, completely out of it.

Man, why does that button exist sometimes? God, I love it so much.

I felt my wife, Judy, roll over on her side of the bed. Auburn red hair tumbled from under the covers onto the pillowcase, haloing her medium frame in the dim sunlight. She blinked lazily, stretching her green eyes open, her thumb gently rubbing her left eye open, yawning and giving me a small smile in return.

She is pudgy like a real mom—curves I like to run my hands along when I pick her up off the floor, tiny breasts that fit perfectly in my palms, a belly with stretch marks, and chubby little ass cheeks that jiggle when she tiptoes around the house.

No matter how many years of playful jabs I’ve given her about shaving her bush down there, it seems that piece of her is forever etched in stone.

I’d say she was around 5’5” and no more than 135, though I’m usually completely off when I guess, my love for her completely defying science.

“Good morning, David,” she mumbled, whispering softly in her sleep-drunken voice. She leaned over me, kissing the side of my cheek with her warm lips, pulling me close to her in an embrace.

I entwined my arm around her waist, my hand settling low on the soft cotton of her nightgown, brushing against her butt in that teasing way that always felt so natural. She blushed in that shy way I’ve come to adore—a pink flush to her cheeks that always makes her feel so good—gently pushing my hand away with a chuckle that made my heart do flip-flops in my chest.

“Not this morning, Dave. The girls will be awake any minute; let me get breakfast started before they wake up.”

She’s so naïve in a way that I’ve come to love about her, blushing when some R-rated comedy goes for a cheap joke on TV. Though she works as a nurse at a local urgent care center, the grime of the world rarely touches her at home.

Our tiny kitchen slowly came alive, the soft creaking of floorboards underfoot as we made our way down the stairs. I clumsily handled the coffeepot, dribbling grounds onto the counter in my half-asleep stupor, while Judy moved like a ghost, silently cracking eggs and toasting bread with ease, the sweet smell permeating the kitchen like a wakeup call no alarm clock could rival.

Lily and Emma—our girls—rushed in soon after, 8 and 10, still in their nightgowns, bright chatter of summer reading lists and soccer fields tumbling from their mouths.

“Mom, can you help me with my math homework later?” Lily pleaded, barely chewing as she spoke, a yolk stain on her chin.

Judy smiled and ruffled her hair, a gentle hand rubbing down her back.

“I’ll be working from the office tonight—Daddy will start it with you and I’ll do it when I get home,” she said, returning to her eggs as she spoke.

Her shift sometimes started at 2 PM and ended at 11 PM, making for a long stretch in the office but allowing us mornings and her to pick up the girls before I came home from work to do bedtime rituals.

A fun system—I had gotten quite good at doing bath, book, and bed duty with the girls as Judy came home and showered before joining us on the couch to unwind at night.

We dropped them off at school after an hour or two of breakfast and morning bedhead banter and sat on our kitchen stools drinking our second cup of coffee while the smell of fresh baked pancakes and sausage still permeated our quiet kitchen.

The counter was a mess, their breakfasts spilled across the table with remnants of milk splattered everywhere. It didn’t bother us much.

“How’s work been?” I asked, reclining on the stool with my feet on the ground as Judy wiped the counter with a paper towel.

“You know, crazy as always. Lots of colds and flus, a few stitches yesterday—had a guy I talked through it, really didn’t like getting his thigh sewn up.”

“Nothing serious?”

“Nah, just the typical. It was an early day, so we’ll be winding down any second.”

We talked about bills and that faucet that had been dripping for months and I still hadn’t gotten around to fixing, but it's on my list, the never-ending battle of our finances, and what we’d make for dinner tomorrow: chicken pot pie, perhaps.

It was all small talk, no real discussions about how we felt about each other, the usual nitpicky subjects of home life. But it was us, it was the life we built together, as cliché and worn as an old pair of jeans.

It wasn’t until much later, our girls in bed with stories and far too many hugs and kisses, that we made it to the couch, barefoot and forlorn, ready for a repeat of some NCIS episode we’d seen a million times.

Judy nestled against me, head on my shoulder, and sighing with warmth as my hand explored her thigh, finding purchase in the cotton and making its way lower. She adjusted against me and I pulled back, sighing with exhaustion, the smell of her sweat against my chest from hours of running around after the girls making me feel home.

My hand moved back to her thigh, thumb circling lazily, before she pushed me away.

“Not tonight, Dave. I’m wiped.”

Sex was infrequent with Judy—handjobs were more convenient than anything at this point—those short hands working with almost robotic efficiency, movements quick, movements cold and harsh, rubbing me off while I was lost in some movie or album we were listening to.

Anal? Forget about it. She’s tiny there, a shy girl, and the idea of her bending over for me or taking it from behind made her blush and choke out a “not for us” with cheeks the color of her hair.

She was a good woman, and I accepted that, knowing the score with her.

Pulling my shirt over my head, I crawled into bed, tucking her into her side of the bed before lifting her into my arms and placing her over my shoulder, our legs dangling off the edge, kissing her over the collar of her nightgown.

“Love you, Red,” I whispered, planting a kiss on her forehead as I tucked us in.

“Love you too,” she whispered back, her breath finally escaping her lips as I reached over to flip the light switch, our naked bodies casting long shadows against the dark bedroom walls.

Chapter 2: Fantasy in the Dark

A few nights later, the house was deathly silent after Lily and Emma had crashed after a long day at the pool, their laughter still ringing in my ears in this small stretch of silence.

Judy climbed into bed next to me, her nightgown clinging to her curves like a baby’s blanket, the cotton so thin it let her body peek through like the glow of a supernova.

I was rock hard in my boxers already, thoughts drifting to a long-held fantasy that had been circulating around in my head for a while now—Judy being fucked by some other guy, her typically shy demeanor crumbling in the arms of a stranger.

I’d alluded to it before, once or twice, but she wasn’t having any of it, leaving me to wait patiently. Tonight it felt like the right time as her hand lay on my thigh, rubbing absentmindedly in the low light of our bedroom.

“Judy,” I sighed, pulling her close until her breath ghosted over my neck, her cheek against my shoulder. I rubbed my thumb over the little mound of flesh of her breast through her nightgown, circling slowly until she shook in my hands, a soft moan slipping from her lips.

Her green eyes widened in shock, that same blush crawling up her cheeks.

“Dave… the kids will hear us,” she warned, her voice shaky but not pulling away.

“They’re asleep, baby, trust me,” I cooed, kissing her neck gently.

“Let me touch you for a minute.”

She sighed, her conservative roots showing in her eyes before she slid her small hand into my boxers. A long pause hung in the air before she asked, “Like this?” Her fingers curled around me, stroking slow and gentle, her touch warm against my skin.

“Yeah,” I groaned, my hips jerking involuntarily. “Slower… tease me a bit.”

She blushed, her hair covering her face, thumbing slowly around the tip, working up precum already slicking the head of my cock.

“It’s the fantasy again, isn’t it?” I said, breath hot and short. “You with a guy. A big black guy. Thicker than me and bigger. More muscle. You letting him do things I wouldn’t even try.”

Her hand stuttered, then continued, teasing me closer to the edge and pulling back before I could finish.

“Dave… please… this isn’t a real thing, is it?” she teased back, timidity in her voice betraying her natural innocence.

“What would he do to you?” I asked, voice low and ragged.

“He’d kiss me, hard,” she panted, my hips bucking slightly against her palm. “Lap me all over, make me wet and needy in places I never let you touch. Things I’d blush to even think of.”

Her teasing drove me wild, pulling me to the brink again and again before denying me.

“And… and he would eventually be inside me?” she asked, her voice barely audible, cheeks burning red. “His big… dick in me?”

“Yes,” I moaned. “Fucking you hard, raw, coming inside you until you scream his name.”

She brought me to the edge three times, finally finishing me with frantic strokes until I came hot in streaks over her hand and the sheets.

Panting, I collapsed, chest heaving.

“Damn that was… intense,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “But Dave, it’s a fantasy only. It will NEVER happen. I love only you. Promise me you’ll keep it in your head?”

“I promise,” I murmured, though part of me knew she wouldn’t.

Chapter 3: Back to the Routine

The next few days slid back into their expected pattern, that sexual night a secret flavor sachet folded into the white flour of our normality.

Morning came with all its usual attendant cacophony, Judy braiding Lily’s hair with her slender fingers while I emptied cereal boxes, the kitchen awash with giggles, the scrape of spoons against plastic bowls, the heady fragrance of brewed coffee.

“Remember your lunch, girls,” she would say, kissing their foreheads. “Don’t forget your lunches!”

Her voice was a low murmur at the heart of that kitchen storm, the hum of a world righted. The counter had milk rings on it, crumbs from breakfast in its corners, and we ignored it. It was too late in the day to care.

Afternoon brought her walk to the urgent care clinic, her blue scrubs uniforming her as she opened and closed the front door. The place buzzed with its persistent normal, a steady current of children with colds, elderly patients with blood pressure checks, and a high school boy needing a sports physical.

Her demure smile soothed everyone from teenagers to their parents to the elderly.

“Everything looks good here, doctor says he’ll get you in,” she’d say in that practiced, sweet tone. I knew she was eager to come home and collapse.

Evening was my time with the girls: battling over math homework, simple meals of tacos or stir-fry perfuming the house, and endless running commentary from school and sports.

Judy’s footsteps on the porch at 11:30 were as familiar as anything. She would limp into bed, her eyes warm and tender.

“Busy day?” I asked one night as she pressed herself against me.

“Busy like always. Kids, colds, that old man complaining about everything. Sprained ankle. A kid with a nosebleed. Nothing really exciting. Just the usual.”

The sameness wrapped us in its comforting mantle, though her smiles grew more weary.

One evening, after the girls were in bed, my hand slipped to her thigh on the couch. I whispered of my fantasy, beckoning her back to that memory.

“Dave,” she whispered firmly, cheeks reddening. “Remember? It was just a fantasy. Remember?”

Another handjob ensued, terse and mechanical. I came on her thigh, cold climax, as she lay panting.

The next day passed without event, life blurring in predictable constancy. I glanced at her, secretly hoping she thought of that night as often as I did.

Chapter 4: The New PA

Judy arrived at the urgent care center just before her 2 PM shift, her scrubs slightly rumpled from the short commute.

The small clinic was an island of normality: five exam rooms, adjustable tables, retractable stirrups for infrequent gyno exams. From sniffles to stitches, sports physicals, even the odd cardiac arrest, the building buzzed with its steady rhythm.

The waiting room bustled: a child with a scraped knee, an elderly man wheezing into a handkerchief, a high school athlete bouncing a football nervously. The air smelled of disinfectant and perspiration.

She began her routine: vitals, replacing table covers, preparing rooms with practiced ease.

Dr. Ramirez pulled her aside.

“Judy, we’ve got a new Physician Assistant starting today. Marcus Johnson. Show him the ropes? Brand new out of PA school, sharp guy.”

Minutes later, Judy met Marcus. Her first impression: he filled space.

He towered over her, broad-shouldered, his dark skin smooth, his smile lighting the building. He bent slightly to shake her hand. His grip was large, warm, and it flared something in her chest and belly.

“I’m Marcus,” he said with an easy grin.

“I’m Judy. Welcome. Let me show you around.” Her voice was a little breathless, her cheeks tinged pink.

She led him through closets, labs, X-ray, break room, exam rooms.

“These tables have a pedal,” she demonstrated, raising one. “And stirrups if you need them for… well, exams.”

Marcus nodded, eyes lingering a second too long.

“Got it. Seems simple. You work here long?”

“Five years,” she said, biting her lip. “Love it. Love working with people.”

That afternoon they treated patients together. Marcus listened intently, stitched confidently, brushed hands with hers as he reached for tools. She jerked back, mumbling “Sorry,” cheeks flushed.

“Teamwork, right?” he grinned.

As they closed the clinic, Judy chatted with him outside.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

“Looking forward to it.”

At home, she brushed off my question about work.

“Same old. Busy day. New PA started. He seems nice.”

She kissed me lightly and turned away in bed, her face hidden.

Chapter 5: Teasing Begins

Over the next few shifts, Marcus became part of the rhythm. A solid worker, quick to adapt, but with a playful smirk Judy caught too often.

“Judy, you’re a lifesaver,” he’d say during flu outbreaks. “How do you do it? The kids, your husband, this job. Superwoman stuff.”

She laughed it off. “Practice,” she said, fiddling with glove boxes, avoiding his eyes.

But the teasing built.

One slow moment, Judy preparing an exam room, Marcus lounged against the table, pants stretching over his thighs.

“You remind me of a nurse in a movie—damsel in distress, embarrassed, but secretly the hero. Hot as hell.”

Judy flushed, Velcro cuff crackling in her fingers.

“Marcus, that’s… flattering, I guess. But, you know. Me,” she stammered.

He stepped closer, shoulder brushing hers.

“Cute when you blush. Like a ripe apple. Bet your hubby loves that.”

His cologne mingled with her nerves, her heart racing.

“Dave? He’s… sweet,” she whispered.

“Are you?” Marcus teased, eyes lingering. “Nurses have needs too. Long hours. Stress. What do you do to feel… alive?”

Flustered, she deflected: “What about you? Dating anyone?”

Marcus grinned. “Oh, a few. Last one was a teacher—smart, fiery in bed. Hiking, gym, dancing at clubs, all-night stamina. Women tell me I make them feel special. Attentive. They always come back.”

His words painted images Judy couldn’t block.

“That sounds… adventurous,” she said, shaky. “Dave and I are more low-key. Movies, dinners.”

“Sweet,” he said. “But variety’s the spice. Jazz clubs, slow-dancing close. Beach walks, deep talks. Women love a guy who listens—and delivers.”

He flexed his arm. “Built like this, I can lift ‘em up. Comes in handy.”

Her pulse quickened.

“I… I should finish up,” she stammered.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he grinned. “Think about it.”

That night, after dinner with the girls, Judy squeezed my knee under the table. Later, in bed, she rolled me onto my back, stroking me through my boxers.

“David,” she whispered. “You’ve been on my mind tonight.”

“Yeah? What about?” I asked.

“That fantasy of yours. What if… it wasn’t just some talk? What if a black guy really flirted with me at work? Would that turn you on?”

Her strokes grew firmer.

“God, yes,” I moaned. “Tell me more.”

“What if he touched me… made me blush? Bigger than you imagine? Packing me hard, in places you can’t?”

I panted. “He’d kiss your neck, suck your tits till your nipples are bullets. Then tongue your bush, lap your clit till you writhe. Fingers deep, g-spot, making you hotter than ever. Then he’d fuck you. Long strokes, dark cock pounding, slapping your ass. You’d taste him too, sucking his dick, riding him till you both cum. He’d finish inside you, hot and thick.”

Her hand worked frantically, hips grinding until she came hard, guiding me into her soaked pussy.

“What if he came inside me?” she gasped, riding me.

I exploded with her, muscles clenching, both of us collapsing in heat.

“Just teasing, Dave,” she whispered after, eyes glowing. “Fantasy only.”

But I knew it was more.

Chapter 6: Comparisons and Touches

Marcus’s advances escalated, bolder but careful not to cross HR lines.

One late shift, the clinic empty, they cleaned exam room 4 together. Judy bent over the stirrups; Marcus sorted supplies above her.

“So, Judy,” he said, casual but pointed. “Tell me about Dave. Big guy? Athletic like me?”

She froze, cloth in hand. “He’s… average. 5’9”. A little gut. But kind. Reliable. That’s all that matters.”

“Average, huh?” Marcus smirked. “Kind’s great. But I’m 6’3”. Gym every morning. Cardio, weights. Gets me pumped for… other things.”

Her face flushed as his hand brushed her hip.

“Marcus, I’m married. Happily,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered.

“Are you?” he whispered low.

He leaned closer. “Nurses have needs too. Stress, long shifts. Sometimes you need to let loose.”

Judy busied herself with the table, mind reeling. To deflect, she asked: “And you? Dating anyone?”

He smiled. “Oh, a few. Last one was a teacher—smart, geeky, fiery. Hiking at sunset. Gym dates. Club dancing, bass thumping through you. Keeps things fresh. Women tell me I listen, make them feel special. And I’ve got stamina—I can go all night.”

His words carved images in her mind that she couldn’t shake.

“That sounds… adventurous,” she murmured. “Dave and I are more low-key. Movies. Cooking.”

“Sweet,” Marcus said, eyes lingering on her. “But variety’s the spice. Jazz bars, slow-dancing pressed close. Beach walks, late confessions. Women love a guy who listens—and delivers.” He flexed subtly. “Built like this, I can lift ‘em, make ‘em feel weightless.”

Her pulse fluttered. She stammered, “I… I should finish up,” and left quickly.

“Think about it,” he called softly.

That night, over dinner, I brushed Judy’s knee under the table. She jolted, storm in her eyes. Later, on the couch, she curled close, warm, her scent heavy.

In bed, she stroked me harder than usual, frantic, her mind elsewhere.

“Dave,” she whispered, lips hot on my neck. “You okay tonight? You’re pushing harder.”

“Yeah… just go with it,” I gasped, watching her grind, distant eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Chapter 7: The Seduction Builds

Tension built over the next week at work, the slow burn of a seemingly small fire gnawing away at Judy’s reserved nature with each shift spent at the clinic with Marcus. He continued a process of slow, measured seduction that he’d clearly perfected.

The temptation was there for her to reach out, to react, to fight against the voice in her head telling her this was wrong. But she didn’t.

It began with “accidental” touches: his hand on her lower back as he steered her through a crowded waiting room, the heat of his palm searing her through thin scrubs. She flushed, stammering a “Thanks” as she pulled away.

During breaks—between a sneezing teenager and another with a cut finger—Marcus teased her with quips and invitations. His tone made it clear, and her blush betrayed that she recognized it too.

One day in the break room, Judy bent to pick up a box of gloves. Marcus sprawled on the couch opposite her, propped on one elbow, eyes sizing her up.

“This place could use a spark of life, Judy. Shake up the routine. Imagine what we could do on a couch like this—me taking you, slow and deep, till you lose yourself.”

He grinned, eyes twinkling.

Judy flushed scarlet, her hands trembling on the box.

“Marcus, stop,” she whispered, eyes darting to the doorway. Her nipples tightened under her top, betraying her.

Another time, in the supply closet, she whispered the closest she’d come to admitting her fantasy.

“I’ve never really been adventurous, you know? We’re married, settled.”

Marcus leaned close, musky cologne heavy in the small room.

“Bet I could change that. Slow, gentle, wake you up. I’m bigger than him, Judy—eight inches, thick. You’d feel so full, stretched in the best way.”

Her pulse pounded. She fled, sneakers squeaking as his smirk followed her.

Each encounter chipped away at her reticence. Her protests softened, her blush deepened, her eyes lingered too long on his chest.

He pushed further: a finger grazing her thigh while they charted.

“You deserve to be explored, Judy. Every inch of you.”

She shivered, muttering, “I have work to do,” but the satisfaction in her blush was obvious.

At home, the tension boiled over. Over dinner she grew clipped, distracted, food untouched.

“Work okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” she said, hair hiding her eyes.

That night, with the girls asleep, I coaxed her close. “Remember when you told me about your fantasy… about that black guy?”

“Dave, no,” she lied weakly. “I only love you.”

“Be honest. The temptation is there.”

“I… I don’t know,” she panted, straddling me, half-heartedly stroking me.

“Talk to me,” I urged.

She grew desperate, aggressive, circling my cockhead before plunging into my boxers and gripping me with sudden intensity. She rode me, eyes unfocused, her attention elsewhere.

“Tell me more,” I moaned.

“Please, keep going,” she begged.

I whispered Marcus into being: tall, dark, strong hands.

“His cock?” she rasped, lips crashing into mine in a desperate kiss.

We climaxed together, caught off guard by the abandon. Judy squirted over my hand as I spilled into her.

Afterward, she whispered, an excited panting: “Just… a fantasy, Dave.”

But her eyes told me otherwise.

Chapter 8: Breaking Point

It was late. The clinic was empty. Judy stayed to clean exam room 3, but Marcus cornered her, pinning her against the table.

“Judy, you’re one difficult little thing,” he growled, his tone feral. “Shy and conservative. But the sweeter the catch, the better the conquest. You’d be a lot of fun to fuck loose.”

Judy froze, terror and desire warring inside her. This is wrong. I’m married. But his eyes consumed her.

He towered over her, hand possessive on her forearm.

“Dave doesn’t want you this way, but I do. Let me fuck you, Judy.”

Her body betrayed her: nipples hard, breath shallow.

He stripped her deliberately—scrub top, bra straps falling, pants yanked down. Her plain white cotton panties were damp, bush thick, lips swollen with arousal.

He placed her in the stirrups, open and vulnerable. The table creaked under her.

He teased her thighs, then her slit, nails scraping lightly. She gasped, shuddering.

His mouth found her breasts, then her pussy. Tongue and fingers drove her into shaking orgasms, over and over.

When he stood, she gaped at the sight of his cock—dark, veiny, huge.

“Dave wasn’t big, huh? Well, now you have me.”

He pressed it into her palm, heavy, throbbing. She leaned forward, mouth wrapping around him clumsily, gagging, drooling. Marcus groaned, guiding her head, fucking her mouth. She gagged, choked, swallowed his salty pre-cum, until he erupted, painting her face, hair, chest.

Shame and ecstasy tangled in her chest.

Oh no… what have I done? But it feels so good.

Chapter 9: Aftermath and Lingering Questions

Judy didn’t leave until 3 AM. Her legs were jelly, Marcus’s cum still leaking as she drove home.

Guilt and lust battled in her mind. I love David. But Marcus… he stretched me. It felt too good.

At home, she showered hot, scrubbing, but the memory lingered.

She moved mechanically through morning routines—braiding Lily’s hair, packing Emma’s lunch—but Marcus’s cum still trickled from her, dampening her panties.

“What was I thinking?” she muttered to herself, flushed.

Later, I brushed her knee at the table. She jolted, eyes stormy.

That night she dragged me into the bedroom, straddling me with desperation.

“I’ve been thinking about your fantasy,” she said, voice raw, guiding me inside her sore body. “Tell me again. What would he do?”

I described his body, his cock. She rode me violently, lost in memory.

She came hard, crying out, while I followed, still blissfully unaware.

Afterward she whispered, “Just… your fantasy, right?”

But her heart thundered with the lie.

Unanswered questions remained: Would she confess? Would Marcus tempt her again? Would I unknowingly consent to her betrayal?

The future lay uncertain, our story unfinished.