Chapter 9: The Guilt Peak

Friday night again. The second weekend at her house. I parked two blocks away like always, heart already slamming against my ribs as I slipped through the back alley. The suburban lights glowed soft and ordinary—kids’ bikes on lawns, porch swings creaking in the breeze—but my cock was already thick in my jeans just thinking about her marital bed waiting for me.

She opened the back door before I could knock. Silk robe loose, auburn hair down, glasses perched on her nose like always. Nothing underneath. Her 36DD breasts pressed against the thin fabric, nipples already tight, the soft curve of her belly catching the kitchen light. The wedding ring glinted as she pulled me inside and locked the door.

“God, I missed you,” she breathed, voice husky. Her hands were on me instantly, shoving my shirt up, nails scraping my chest. Vanilla perfume mixed with the faint scent of the house—dinner remnants, laundry detergent, family life. Kids’ soccer trophies lined the shelf above the fridge. Husband’s side of the bed upstairs still held his pillow from last night.

We didn’t make it past the stairs. She dragged me up, robe slipping open, and pushed me onto the king bed the second we hit the master bedroom. Sheets smelled like her—lavender and us from last time. I was on top in seconds, cock sliding into her soaked pussy bare. Slow missionary, the way she loved it when we had time. Her legs locked around my waist, heels digging into my ass. Glasses fogged. Her heavy breasts bounced with every deep thrust, soft belly warm under my palm.

“Fill your professor again, Alex,” she whispered, eyes locked on mine. “I need it. Need you.” Her pussy clenched around me, wet and greedy, still faintly slick from the quickie we’d stolen in her office yesterday. The wedding ring dug into my back as she gripped me tighter. I was so close, hips rolling slow and deep, chasing that perfect heat.