Chapter 3

Lillian woke the next morning, her body stiff and sore, the memory of Tyler’s rough hands and cock a bruise on her mind. She shuffled into the kitchen, her satin robe tied tight, craving coffee to dull the edge. Tyler was already there, sprawled at the island, spooning cereal into his mouth, milk dripping down his chin. He glanced up, hazel eyes glinting, and chuckled. “Walking funny today, Lil?” he said, his voice a smug drawl.

She froze, her ass still tender from his smacks, and snarled, “Fuck you, you little creep.” Her tone was sharp, but her legs wobbled, betraying her.

He grinned, crunching another bite. “Getting fucked didn’t fix that mood, huh? Thought it’d chill you out.”

She glared, snatching the coffee pot, her hands trembling as she poured. “You’re a delusional asshole,” she snapped, “thinking your dick’s some miracle cure.” The dark liquid steamed in her mug, but she felt it—her pussy heating up, a traitor pulse at his words. She gripped the cup, storming out of the kitchen before he could see the flush creeping up her neck, his low chuckle chasing her retreat.

For the next few days, Lillian threw herself into a frenzy of distraction. She pounded the treadmill at the gym, sweat soaking her sports bra, trying to outrun the image of Tyler’s smirk. Yoga stretched her sore muscles, her breaths deep and deliberate, but his taunts—”You want it”—slipped into every pose. Salon trips polished her—red hair gleaming, nails sharp—but the mirror reflected a woman haunted, not cleansed. She needed him gone from her head, his cock out of her system, but her body hummed, restless and unsatisfied.

Midweek, she met her friend Claire for coffee at a chic café, the clink of cups a fragile shield. Claire, all blonde highlights and knowing smiles, sipped her latte and asked, “So, how’s the sex life holding up with Richard gone so much?” Lillian’s face went red, her mug halfway to her lips. Claire leaned in, undeterred. “Best thing I ever did was start cheating on Mark—guilt’s nothing compared to a good fuck. Totally worth it.”

Lillian sputtered, coffee sloshing, her mind flashing to Tyler’s hands pinning her, his cock driving her wild. “I—uh—what?” she stammered, her flush deepening.

Claire’s eyes narrowed, curious. “What’s up with you? You’re all flustered.”

Lillian fumbled, deflecting clumsily. “Nothing, just—tired, you know, workouts.”

Claire smirked, a knowing glint in her gaze. “Oh, come on, Lil—I’m glad you’re getting some. It’s fine if you don’t wanna spill.” She winked, sipping her latte, leaving Lillian to choke on her coffee, her pussy tingling with the secret she couldn’t voice, her friend’s words a mirror she didn’t dare face.

The next day, Lillian paced the living room, her nerves jangling like loose change. Richard’s car rolled up the drive, and she smoothed her hair—unstyled, just a messy bun—her face bare of makeup, her workout leggings and loose tee a far cry from the slinky dresses she’d worn to seduce him before. No dolling up this time; she was too on edge, terrified that her tryst with Tyler would blaze across her features like a neon sign. The front door swung open, and Richard stepped in, silver hair mussed, suitcase in hand. He smiled, tired but warm, and pulled her into a hug. “Missed you, hon,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper as he added, “I’ll be up for some action later.” Her stomach twisted, fresh guilt blooming as she forced a tight smile, nodding mutely.

Dinner was a minefield. The three of them sat at the polished dining table—Richard at the head, carving into his steak, Lillian pushing her salad around, Tyler slouched across from her, shoveling mashed potatoes like he owned the world. Richard chewed, then glanced between them. “Hope you two got along while I was gone,” he said, his tone hopeful, oblivious.

Lillian’s fork froze mid-bite, a chunk of lettuce catching in her throat. She coughed, choking it down, as Tyler’s smirk slid into place. “Oh, we got along great, Dad,” he said, his voice smooth as oil, eyes glinting at her.

Richard beamed, oblivious, cutting another bite. “So happy you’ve finally found common ground.” Behind his back, Tyler’s grin turned shit-eating, all teeth and triumph. Lillian shot him a dirty look, her glare sharp enough to slice, but he just winked, unfazed.

That evening, Richard nudged her toward the bedroom, his hand on her lower back, eager despite the jet lag. Lillian fumbled, awkward and stiff, guilt gnawing at her as she climbed into bed. She couldn’t meet his eyes, her hands clumsy as she tugged off her shirt, her mind replaying Tyler’s cock pounding her over the counter. Richard didn’t notice, shedding his pajamas with a grunt, climbing atop her. He pushed inside, his thrusts quick and shallow, a good fifteen seconds of effort before he shuddered, weak little spurts of cum dribbling out. He rolled off, panting, “Love you, hon,” and was snoring within moments, leaving her staring at the ceiling, awash in a storm of emotions.

Guilt clawed at her chest—what she’d done with Tyler, that smug little shit, staining her marriage. Disgust curled her lip—Richard’s limp-dicked performance, over before it started, a pathetic shadow of the raw fucking she’d craved. Annoyance flared too, his snores grating, his inadequacy a fresh wound. She lay there, her pussy barely-touched and aching, torn between shame and a dark, simmering want she couldn’t shake.

That Saturday afternoon, Richard sprawled on the living room sofa, the football game blaring from the TV, cheers and whistles filling the air. Lillian puttered in the guest bathroom nearby, wiping down the sink, her hands busy with a rag to keep her mind off the churn of guilt and want that hadn’t left her since Richard’s limp performance. The maid cleaned thoroughly once a week, but Lillian had convinced herself there was a stain on the counter that needed extra attention.

The door creaked, and she stiffened as Tyler slipped in, his presence a sudden heat at her back. Before she could turn, his hands were on her—sliding up her hips, squeezing her ass through her leggings, drawing a muffled gasp from her throat. Her pussy trembled, a traitor rush of need flooding her as he manhandled her, his fingers digging in. She shoved at his chest, her voice a hissed snarl. “Get off me, you little shit!”

But he pressed closer, his grin sharp, his breath hot against her ear. “I’ll fuck you, Lil, if you suck me hard first.” Her pulse spiked, rage and lust tangling as she glared at him, but her knees buckled, sinking her to the tile. Her pussy moistened fast, a shameful drip as she yanked his shorts down, his cock springing free. She gripped it, her lips parting, and started sucking, bobbing her head with furious intent.

He grinned down at her, smug as ever. “Dad’s got no clue what a slut you are,” he taunted, his voice low. She glared daggers up at him, her eyes burning, but kept going, his cock thickening in her mouth, the taste of him stoking her fury.

She pulled back after a minute, panting, ready to stand and demand he fuck her, but he stopped her, his hand on her head. “Keep going, Lil—I’m enjoying this blowjob too much.” Her glare sharpened, seething hate in her stare, but she leaned in again, sucking harder, her lips sliding further down his shaft. Her cheeks hollowed, her tongue working him, her pussy clenching with every bob, humiliation fueling her rhythm. Minutes dragged, her jaw aching, her face flushed with anger and need.