Photo by Jessica Felicio on Unsplash

I Fucked My Husband’s Boss on Our Anniversary And Let Him Record Every Filthy Second

He showed up while my husband was gone, and by the time he left I was leaking his cum down my thigh and already replaying the video on my phone. I still can’t stop watching it.

I never planned to cheat on our anniversary. That’s the part that still makes my stomach flip when I think about it. We’d been married four years.

The sex had turned into this polite, efficient thing we did on Sunday mornings before coffee got cold. I loved him, believe me, I still do but I was starving. And Victor… Victor had been looking at me like he knew exactly what I needed for months.

The day started normal. I put on the black dress I’d bought for our anniversary dinner, the one that barely covered my ass and made my tits look obscene. No bra and just a tiny black thong.

I even set the table with candles and the good plates. Then around four I texted my husband that a migraine was coming on and I’d rather stay home. He bought it, kissed my forehead, told me to rest, said he’d grab a drink with the guys and be back late. The second the door clicked shut behind him I was already wet.

I texted Victor. Just one line, “Headache. Husband’s out. You free?” He replied in under a minute.

When he knocked I was still in the dress and heels, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. I opened the door and he stepped inside like he already owned the place. No small talk and his mouth was on mine before I could even close the door all the way, one big hand sliding straight up under my dress and finding the thong already soaked through.

“Jesus, Sabrina,” he muttered against my lips. “You’ve been like this all day?”

I didn’t answer. I just grabbed his tie and pulled him toward the bedroom, our bedroom. The one with the wedding photo on the dresser and the bed where my husband and I usually did it quick and quiet. Victor stopped at the doorway, looked at the bed, then at me.

“You sure?”

I reached for his belt. “Film it.”

He didn’t ask twice. He set his phone up on the nightstand, leaned it against a book so the camera caught the whole bed, and hit record. The little red light blinked on and my stomach dropped in the hottest way.

He undressed me slow, like he wanted to savor every inch. Pulled the dress over my head, let it drop. My nipples were already tight. He bent and sucked one into his mouth while his fingers hooked into the thong and dragged it down my legs.

I stepped out of it and kicked the heels off. Then I pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him still in his shirt and slacks.

I ground down on the hard line of his cock through the fabric, letting him feel how wet I was. “You’re going to ruin me tonight,” I told him. “And you’re going to film every second so I can watch it later while I touch myself.”

He groaned and flipped us. Suddenly I was on my back in the middle of our king bed, legs spread wide, and Victor was shoving his shirt off. He was thicker than my husband. Not porn-star huge, just… substantial. The kind of cock that makes you feel full in your chest when it’s inside you.

He dropped between my thighs and licked me like he had all night. No rushing, long, slow drags of his tongue from my entrance up to my clit, then sucking gently while two fingers curled inside me and found that spot that makes my toes curl.

I came the first time with my hands in his hair and my back arching off the mattress, moaning loud enough that the neighbors probably heard. He didn’t stop. He kept licking through it, gentler now, until I was shaking and trying to push his head away because it was too much.

Then he crawled up my body, kissed me with my taste still on his tongue, and rubbed the head of his cock up and down my slit. I reached down and lined him up.

“Slow,” I whispered. “I want to feel every inch.”

He pushed in. God…that first stretch. My husband is fine, but Victor’s cock spread me wider, hit deeper. I felt it in my belly. He bottomed out and stayed there, letting me adjust, breathing hard against my neck.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said. “Does he even fuck you anymore?”

“Not like this,” I gasped.

He started moving. Long, deep strokes at first. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. The bed creaked that same creak my husband and I hear on lazy mornings but this time it was rhythmic and filthy. Skin slapping and wet sounds every time he pulled out and pushed back in.

My moans getting higher.

He reached over without missing a stroke and adjusted the phone so it caught my face better. I turned my head and looked straight into the lens.

“My husband has no idea how much better you fuck me,” I said, voice already wrecked.

Victor groaned and fucked me harder. One hand under my ass, tilting my hips so he dragged against that spot inside me with every thrust. I came again, sudden and sharp clenching around him so tight he had to grit his teeth and slow down.

He pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, and hauled my hips up. Doggy. This is my favorite.

He pushed back in and the angle was obscene. I could feel him in my guts. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back so I had to look at the phone again.

“Say it louder,” he ordered.

I looked right into the camera, tits swinging, ass rippling every time his hips smacked against me. “My husband has no idea how much better you fuck me. Your cock feels so fucking good. I’m gonna think about this every time he touches me.”

He spanked me hard enough to sting and I came again, face buried in the pillow, screaming. He didn’t stop. He just kept pounding through it, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to rub my clit in tight circles until I was shaking and babbling.

We didn’t stay in bed. At some point I pushed him onto his back and climbed on. Sank down slow, taking him all the way, then rode him with my hands on his chest and my head thrown back.

He sat up and sucked my nipples while I ground my clit against him. Sweat was dripping between my tits. His hands were everywhere, gripping my ass, guiding me up and down, then holding me still so he could thrust up into me from below. The wet slap of my pussy taking him was loud in the quiet room.

Eventually my legs gave out. We stumbled to the living room still half-naked. I bent over the back of our couch, the same couch where my husband watches games and Victor stepped up behind me.

He slid back inside in one smooth thrust, and I moaned like a whore. One of my knees up on the cushion, the other foot on the floor, back arched deep. He reached around and rubbed my clit while he fucked me, and I came so hard I almost collapsed. He held me up and kept going until I was oversensitive and whimpering.

Then he pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me clean off the ground. My back hit the wall beside the front door, the wall with the coat rack and the little table where we drop keys. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.

He held me there with his hands under my thighs and pushed back inside. Gravity did half the work. Every thrust went so deep I saw white. My arms around his neck, his mouth on mine, both of us sweating and breathing like we’d run miles. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me. He was close.

“Cum in me,” I whispered against his mouth. “I want to feel it when I kiss him later.”

He groaned like I’d punched him and buried himself as deep as he could go. I felt every throb, every hot spurt. It overflowed immediately, dripping down around his cock and onto the floor. He stayed inside me while we caught our breath, forehead against mine, both of us shaking.

When he finally pulled out I felt empty in the best and worst way. Cum ran down my thigh in a warm line. He set me on my feet gently, kissed me once more and turned off the recording.

He left ten minutes later. I didn’t shower. I wiped the worst of it with a warm cloth, put on one of my husband’s old t-shirts, and sat on the couch with my phone. I watched the video twice. The third time I touched myself to it, slow circles on my clit while I watched myself get railed in our bed, heard myself say those words to the camera. I came quietly, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make noise.

My husband texted around eleven. “You feeling better?” I typed back with one hand still between my legs. “Much better now…miss you.”

He came home an hour later. I let him kiss me. I let him pull me into bed. I even let him fuck me, gentle, sweet, missionary, lights off. The whole time I was thinking about the video on my phone. About how Victor had held me against that wall and filled me until it leaked. About how I’d looked into the camera and told the truth.

I don’t know what that makes me. I just know that when my husband fell asleep I opened the video again under the covers, volume low, and came one more time with my fingers inside myself and Victor’s voice in my ear telling me how tight I was.

I’m already wet thinking about doing it again. Maybe next time I’ll wear the dress he likes. Maybe I’ll let him fuck me in my husband’s office chair or maybe I’ll keep the video and send him little clips when he’s at work.

Either way, I’m not done, not even close.

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