My Hidden Lusts as a Wife

I am the perfect wife on paper.

Photo by Ilya Pavlov on Unsplash

I don’t even know what to call this

Fuck. I can’t believe I’m actually typing this out but I have to get it out of my head or I’m gonna lose it. I’ve been married twelve years. Twelve. I’m the wife who makes Mark’s favorite pasta on Wednesdays, who sits through parent-teacher conferences, who remembers to buy the right kind of juice boxes. I kiss him goodbye every morning and tell the kids I love them a million times a day. On the outside I look exactly like I’m supposed to.

But inside? God. There’s been this… thing. This ugly hungry thing that started years ago in the shower. I’d be washing my hair and suddenly I’m imagining some guy I don’t even know grabbing me, pinning my hands, talking filthy, fucking me like I’m not somebody’s wife and somebody’s mom. I’d come so hard I’d have to sit down on the shower floor after, feeling sick and guilty and still throbbing. I kept telling myself it was harmless. Just thoughts. Everybody has thoughts, right? But it got louder. I started reading those stories online about wives who actually did it. I’d be sitting at the kitchen table pretending to scroll recipes while the kids did homework and my thighs would be squeezed together so tight it hurt.

So one night I got a little drunk and I made that stupid profile. CuriousWife34. No face pic, just words. I wrote everything I was ashamed of. How I wanted to be called a slut. How the thought of cheating made me wetter than anything Mark had done in years. How I kept fantasizing about coming home with another man’s cum still leaking out of me and sitting at the dinner table like nothing happened. I almost deleted it right after I posted. Almost.

Ryan messaged back fast. Forty. Divorced. He didn’t act shocked. He just kept pushing. What are you wearing right now. Are you touching yourself while you type this. Describe exactly how you’d suck my cock if I told you to. And I did. Every filthy word. Every time I hit send I stared at my wedding ring and felt like the worst person on earth. But I kept typing.

Yesterday he said meet me. Grand Hotel. Room 412. 11 a.m. Dress, no panties. I sat there with my coffee going cold and the kids’ drawings all over the table and I typed no like five times and deleted it every time. Then I typed yes and sent it before I could chicken out again.

I almost didn’t go. I cried in the car twice. Pulled over once and just sat there shaking. No panties, dress riding up, I could feel how wet I already was and it made me feel disgusting and alive at the same time. Mark texted “hope your day off is relaxing babe ❤️” and I almost threw my phone out the window.

But I went up anyway.

When he opened the door he just looked at me like he already knew everything. Grabbed my wrist, pulled me inside, shut the door hard. Next thing I know his mouth is on mine and he’s biting my lip and yanking my hair back and his hand is under my dress finding me soaked. Two fingers shoved inside me right there against the wall. I made this sound I’ve never made in my life. He kept moving them slow and deep and whispering shit in my ear about married pussy and how guilty I smelled. I was already shaking.

He made me say I was his. Made me suck his fingers clean. Made me get on the bed, pull my dress up, spread my legs like some porn girl while he watched. Told me to touch myself. I did. I was so close so fast it was embarrassing. Then he said stop and I actually whimpered like a fucking puppy.

When he finally got naked I couldn’t stop staring. Thicker than Mark. He climbed over me and pushed his cock into my mouth and just started using it. I was drooling and gagging and my eyes were watering but I didn’t want him to stop. Then he flipped me over, rubbed that thick head up and down my pussy until I was pushing back begging without words.

He made me say it out loud. Made me beg. When I finally broke and said “fuck me, please just fuck this married pussy” he slammed in so hard I screamed into the pillow. It hurt. It felt so fucking good I thought I was gonna black out. He fucked me like he hated me and loved it at the same time. Hair pulling, skin slapping, bed creaking. He kept saying shit about how Mark doesn’t fuck me like this and every word made me wetter. I came so hard I soaked the sheets and made these ugly loud sounds I’ve never made before. He flipped me again, folded me in half, hand on my throat, eyes locked on mine and told me to say I was a cheating slut. I said it. I said it over and over while I came again and actually squirted everywhere like some girl in a video. I’ve never done that in my life.

When he finally came he pushed in so deep I felt every single pulse. Hot and thick and so much it was already leaking out while he was still inside me. We just lay there after, breathing hard, and reality started crashing in.

I cheated. I let a stranger fuck me raw and fill me up and call me every filthy name I secretly wanted. I did it while my husband was at work texting me heart emojis. I feel sick. I feel disgusting. I feel more alive than I have in years. I don’t know which feeling is bigger right now.

Ryan asked if I was okay. Touched my cheek all gentle like he hadn’t just wrecked me. I said I didn’t know who I was anymore. He said I’d stopped lying to myself. I didn’t answer because half of me wanted to run home and scrub my skin off in the shower and the other half wanted to climb back on his cock and do it all again.

I cleaned up as best I could. Walked out of there with his cum still dripping down my thighs. Sat in my car for like fifteen minutes just staring at my ring and crying a little. I have to go home now. Make dinner. Kiss my husband. Act normal. Smile at my kids.

But I’m not the same. I don’t know if I can pretend forever. I don’t know if I even want to.

I just know the hunger isn’t hidden anymore.

And I’m scared how much I like it.