Caught my wife watching porn

I got home a little early from work, the sun still high. I saw my wife’s car sitting in the driveway, which was unusual for a Tuesday afternoon. The house was quiet when I walked inside, a heavy, expectant silence hanging in the air. She wasn’t in the living room or puttering around in the kitchen, so I made my way upstairs, the old wood creaking softly under my weight.

I crossed the landing, about to call out her name, when I heard it. A low, guttural moan, unmistakably hers, slithered from under our bedroom door. It was a sound I knew well, but this one was different—rawer, more desperate. It stopped me dead in my tracks.

My heart started hammering against my ribs as I crept closer. The door was slightly ajar, maybe an inch, offering a forbidden slice of the scene inside. I leaned in, my eye drawn to the flickering light of the television. On the screen, a massive, veiny cock was ruthlessly slamming into a woman’s asshole, the sounds wet and brutal.

I shifted my gaze from the screen to the bed, and the air left my lungs. There she was. My wife. Sprawled naked on the rumpled sheets, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. A sleek black plug was nestled firmly between her ass cheeks, and her hand was a blur, driving a large, pink dildo in and out of her pussy with a frantic, hungry rhythm. Her other hand was pinching and pulling at her nipples, twisting them into hard, red peaks.

I froze on the spot, a statue voyeur, watching her through the crack in the door. My cock, as if with a mind of its own, began to swell and harden painfully against my zipper, trapped and demanding. I had to see more. I adjusted my stance, careful to stay hidden in the shadow of the hallway, my eyes devouring every detail of her secret symphony.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I fumbled with my belt, undone my jeans, and freed my throbbing cock. I started stroking myself in time with her thrusts, watching her fuck herself senseless. The sight of her, so lost in her own filthy pleasure, the sounds of the porn and her moans filling the room—it was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known. I felt the tight, hot coil in my gut, and with a choked grunt, I came hard into my own hand, my cum striping the floorboards.

Spent and shaky, I left her to her pleasure, tucking myself away and sneaking back downstairs like a ghost. I cleaned myself up in the half-bath, the scent of my own release still clinging to me, a secret testament to what I’d witnessed.

About fifteen or twenty minutes later, she came downstairs, wrapped in her fluffy white bathrobe, her face a mask of innocent calm. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft. “Where have you been?” I asked, the question feeling heavy and loaded on my tongue, knowing full well the delicious, depraved truth. “I was just having a little nap,” she replied, a faint, satisfied smile playing on her lips. It still makes me rock hard, knowing I caught a glimpse of the naughty, hungry girl she hides from the world.