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I’m sprawled across the bed, my legs spread wide, my pussy glistening with anticipation. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a reminder of the man who’s not here. My husband, the cuck, is at work, oblivious to the fact that I’m about to be filled by another man. I can feel the heat of his body as he enters the room, his eyes locked on mine, a hunger in his gaze that matches my own. He’s not my husband, but he’s here to fulfill a fantasy, to make me his, if only for a moment. I can feel the weight of his body on mine, the pressure of his cock as it slides inside me, filling me completely. I’m his, completely and utterly, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The room is filled with the sounds of our pleasure, the scent of sex heavy in the air. I can feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tight in my belly, and I know that I’m about to explode. I’m his slut, his whore, and I’m going to give him everything he wants and more. The world outside doesn’t matter, only this moment, this pleasure, this connection. I’m his, and he’s mine, and nothing else matters.
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