The Stranger Who Took Me While My Boyfriend Waited Outside

We were just out shopping. A normal day. My boyfriend had his usual patience: holding my bags, scrolling through his phone, waiting just outside the fitting rooms. He didn’t know I was about to betray him — not with words, but with skin.

It started with a dress. Tight, black, a little too short. I wanted to feel sexy, just for fun. But the way the fitting room attendant looked at me — tall, broad shoulders, eyes that undressed me before I stepped into the stall — lit something reckless inside me.

As I pulled the curtain closed, he hovered nearby. His voice was low, rough. “I saw the way you looked at me.” I froze. My heart thudded in my chest. I could’ve laughed it off, acted offended, called for someone. But I didn’t.

Instead, I reached out and pulled him in.

The curtain clicked shut. My dress was already halfway down my body, and the air between us burned electric. He pressed me to the wall without hesitation, his mouth finding mine with hungry precision, his hands bold and unrelenting — gripping my ass, tugging at my panties.

I should’ve stopped it. I didn’t.

His cock was already hard, and there was no time for teasing. He unzipped, pushed inside me in one breathless thrust. I gasped — more from the shock than the size — and bit my knuckle to stifle the moan.

My boyfriend was just feet away. A few thin inches of curtain were the only barrier between devotion and destruction.

The stranger fucked me like he owned me — fast, rough, urgent. My back hit the mirror, hips pressed into cold glass, his hand muffling every ragged sound I made. Every thrust sent another ripple of pleasure and fear through me.

I could hear the world outside: a child whining, someone coughing, the occasional rustle of shopping bags — normal, innocent life continuing while I lost myself in lust.

And God, it made me wetter.

He reached under me, fingers finding that sensitive spot that sent my legs trembling. I came hard, silently, my body shaking against his. My juices dripped down my thighs, slick and shameless.

A few final thrusts and he pulled out, stroking himself, staring me dead in the eye. He came all over the mirror — a hot, messy finish to a filthy secret — then tucked himself back in and vanished, like he’d never been there.

I fixed my hair, wiped the mirror, and stepped out with my heart still pounding. My boyfriend smiled up at me from his phone, completely unaware.

I leaned in, kissed him sweetly, and said, “Let’s go.”