She came through the door just after dark, the air shifting the second she stepped inside. The soft rustle of a dry cleaner’s bag broke the silence. Draped over her arm was that dress — the one from the theater, the one from the park. The one I couldn’t stop seeing in my head. Fresh pack of cigarettes in her other hand, purse forgotten at her feet.

Without a word, she moved through the house, bare-legged beneath a loose tee, hips swaying just enough to make me stare. She slid open the patio door and stepped outside into the night.

I followed. I couldn’t help it.

She lit up with a slow, practiced flick of the lighter, the flame catching in her eyes for a second before smoke curled around her face. Moonlight highlighted the soft sheen of her skin. She didn’t look at me right away. When she did, it was like she could see straight through me — like she knew I’d been hard since the second she walked in.

“Tomorrow,” she said, voice low, smoke drifting from her lips, “I’m going to the park. I’m going to wear this dress. And I’m going to let him have me — right where you can watch.”

My throat went dry. My cock throbbed, straining against my jeans.

Then she tilted her head, took another slow drag, and asked, almost lazily:
“Have you been watching porn?”

The question hit me like ice down my spine. I hesitated.
“I... maybe,” I admitted, my voice small.

She smirked, exhaling smoke toward the sky.
“Thinking about me? Or just desperate for anything that’ll let you forget you’re not enough anymore?”

The words burned more than the smoke ever could. My cock throbbed harder, humiliated and turned on in equal measure.

She stepped closer, eyes on me like she owned me.
“Take it out,” she said. “Show me how much that useless little thing needs me.”

I unzipped, fingers trembling, freeing myself to the cool night air. My cock stood stiff, aching, begging for what I knew I wouldn’t get.

“Jerk off for me,” she whispered. “Slow. I want to see how weak you are for me. How badly you need it.”

I wrapped my hand around myself, the heat of her gaze setting me on fire. I stroked, slow at first, feeling the weight of her eyes, the sting of her words. Every movement of my fist reminded me I wasn’t what she wanted tonight.

“Faster now,” she said, voice thick with control. “Imagine me — not for you. For him. Imagine me gasping while he stretches me open. Imagine me moaning for more while you stand there, useless, stroking yourself like the desperate little thing you are.”

My breath came ragged, my hips twitching as I fought to hold back. The ember of her cigarette glowed in the dark, lighting up the smirk that told me she was enjoying every second of my torment.

“Don’t come,” she warned, her voice sharp. “If you do, you’ll regret it. Tomorrow, when you see him inside me, I want you so fucking desperate you can barely breathe.”

She crushed the cigarette under her heel, started to turn, then paused.
“Pick it up.”

I bent down, cock still out, still throbbing, and picked up the spent butt, my shame clenched between my fingers. She watched, satisfied, then disappeared inside, leaving me on the patio, humiliated and denied.

By the time I tucked myself back in and followed, she was in the bedroom. The soft glow of the lamp cast shadows over her as she peeled off her tee, let it fall. No bra. Just skin. Just curves. Just her — perfect and powerful.

She slid her panties down slow, stepping out of them like she was shedding the last bit of mercy. The faint scent of her arousal filled the room, sweet and sharp, making my head swim.

“Turn out the light,” she said.

I did. The dark felt thick with tension, heavy with everything I wanted and couldn’t have.

“On your knees.”

I obeyed. My mouth watered, my cock pulsed, my heart pounded.
“Show me how good you are at worshipping your wife,” she whispered. “Since that’s the only way you’re getting near my pussy tonight.”

I buried my face between her thighs, tongue tracing her softness, savoring her taste. Sweet, slick, everything I craved. I gave her everything — slow circles, soft sucks, the kind of worship that made her moan, made her grip the sheets, made her tremble when she came.

And I knew why she wanted it.
She wanted my mouth on her so she could use me — take her pleasure while I got none.
She wanted to feel my tongue while she thought about him — about the cock she hadn’t taken yet, the one she was saving herself for.
She wanted the build-up, the tension, the proof that I was there to serve. That I’d satisfy her, ready her, and still be left aching in the dark.

“Slower,” she murmured, fingers in my hair, guiding me just how she liked. Her thighs tensed, breath hitched, and then she broke apart against my mouth, gasping my name like it meant something — but I knew better.

When it was over, she pushed me back, satisfied, done.
“Good boy,” she said, curling onto her side. “Now go to sleep.”

She didn’t want to fuck me — not tonight.
I knew why.
She was thinking about him. The last man from the park. The one who came up to her in the dark, thick cock in his hand, ready for her — but she hadn’t let him have it. Not yet.
She’d felt him. Touched him. Knew what he was packing. And now she was saving herself for that.
She wanted me to know it. Wanted me to lie there, hard and aching, knowing I wasn’t what she was craving. That tomorrow, she’d finally give that stranger what he deserved — and make me watch.

And I lay there in the dark, cock throbbing, her taste still on my lips, knowing tomorrow would break me all over again.