I’m 41, a restless MILF with a husband who thinks I’m still his good girl. Today, I lied about “shopping” and met a guy from a hookup app at a grimy motel, the kind with thin walls and a buzzing vacancy sign. He was all muscle, smug, and hung a thick white cock that made my mouth water. We barely spoke. He shoved me against the headboard, yanked my skirt up, and fucked me raw, his thrusts deep and relentless. I clawed the sheets, cumming so hard my legs shook, whispering “harder” like a slut. I left with his scent on me, panties soaked, plotting my next cheat.
At home, my husband was all lovey-dovey. He spread my thighs on our couch, his tongue diving into my still-wet pussy, groaning, “God, you taste so fucking good.” I smirked, legs trembling, knowing he was savoring the evidence of my betrayal. I’m addicted to this thrill, craving more strangers to wreck me behind his back.
