My wife caught me

My wife caught me. Thank fucking goodness she didn’t leave and was actually… accepting. So, my now-wife—fiancé at the time—walked in on me in the living room. And I wasn’t just jerking off. I was absolutely lost in it. I was bouncing on this huge, realistic dildo we had, the one with the suction cup that was stuck to the glass coffee table. I had a vibrator buzzing away on my balls, and on the TV, this trans porn was blasting, the sounds echoing through the whole apartment.

I was in my own world, moaning, sweating, my eyes glued to the screen. I had no idea she was home early. Little did I know, she had been standing in the doorway for who knows how long, just watching me. Taking in the whole filthy scene. When she finally spoke up, just saying my name, my stomach dropped straight to my fucking balls. I leaped up like I’d been electrocuted, the dildo still shoved deep in my ass, my cock and balls slick with lube, the vibrator still humming on the floor. I scrambled for the remote, my heart hammering, and just froze.

She was so calm it was terrifying. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice steady. “Finish yourself off. Then come talk to me.” I couldn’t gather any words. I was just standing there, exposed, waiting for her to leave so I could pull the damn thing out and turn off the vibrator. She finally turned and walked into our bedroom. I cleaned up in a panic—I did not finish—and jumped straight into the shower, scrubbing my skin raw like it was some kind of ritual cleanse, a desperate restart.

Finally, I got out and went to the room, my stomach in knots. She was just sitting on the bed, and she had a bowl packed for me. She just looked at me and said, “Tell me what’s going on.” I tried to stammer out excuse after excuse, my face burning with shame, but none of them stuck. I finally broke down and confessed everything. That I’d grown this intense kink for TS girls, and that I loved the feeling of being filled up while I fucked.

I thought she took it well. She was quiet, but she listened. But the next day, I came home from work and the vibe was different. She usually runs out to my truck with a drink, all excited to greet me. This time, the house was quiet. I walked in and there she was. And she was wearing this leather harness with the biggest, most intimidating dildo we owned—I guess she went out and bought a new one—strapped to her hips. It was huge, glistening with lube.

I went in for a kiss, thinking maybe she was shy and needed some encouragement. She. Was. Not. She kissed me hard, all tongue and teeth, then pushed me to my knees and sucked me off until I was rock hard and begging. Then she turned me around, bent me over the same damn couch she’d found me on, and without a word, she fucked my ass. I mean, she really fucked me. She pounded into me while stroking my cock, and I was legit screaming, my eyes rolling back in my head. She was loud too, grunting with every thrust. Once we were both exhausted and my ass was thoroughly used, we switched and she rode me until we came together. And the only thing she said after, with this wicked grin, was, “I’ve always wanted to peg you. I was just too scared to ask.”