Cristina's Mistakes
Copyright© 2026 by Paul Darkblue
Chapter 1
“No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man,
To be the sad man,
Behind blue eyes.”
Behind Blue Eyes – The Who
The car crash
My name is Marco Rossi. I’m 45 years old, and a software engineer and project manager for a large software company. That week had been rough. I had spent three days at a client’s office near Milano, where I was leading a mission-critical software migration project.
I was driving home on a Thursday night in mid-March on the A4 highway from Milano to my hometown in the North-East of Italy, where I live with my family. I was still about an hour from home, and if traffic didn’t change, I’d be there by 8 PM, just in time for a family dinner with my wife, Cristina, who had just turned 43, and my soon-to-be 14-year-old daughter, Emma.
Cristina may not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but in my eyes, she is and always has been the best. Plus, she has great charm and a killer smile. 5’4” tall, thin but well-formed body with B cup breasts and a cute and round ass on toned legs. When she walks naked, I love the gap between her thighs, which reveals my favourite part of her body: her slit, with those gorgeous lips and pink hole that I’m never tired of playing with. Dark hair and brown eyes, fully natural heart-shaped lips, she actually looks younger than her real age; you could give her no more than mid-thirties.
She is a teacher at our local primary school, and she loves working with children, who absolutely adore her. I’ve often seen tears on those little angels’ faces at the end of the school year when they have to say goodbye to “teacher Cristina.”
About my daughter, Emma, I can say she has always been a daddy’s girl. Yet, since she entered puberty and headed into her teen years, Cristina has been doing a great job with her, guiding her through the changes happening in her body and mind. I knew the coming years would be difficult, but we had a strong family bond, and I was confident we would get through them without much trouble.
Whenever I made it home on time, we always had our family dinner together. When there were no important issues to discuss, we simply shared stories about our day and traded a few jokes. Most of the time, it was Emma who couldn’t stop talking, going on and on about her school days, friends, teachers, ballet class, and homework.
After dinner, we usually watched a TV show together until it was time to head to bed.
Once in bed, almost every night when I was home, my wife and I enjoyed a good, refreshing dose of sex. Sometimes it was gentle lovemaking, and sometimes it was a bit wilder.
Most people feel and say that after a few years, sex with your life partner can get a bit boring and that passion fades as time passes.
For Cristina and me, things had been completely different up to that point. We had been married for 15 years, and it honestly felt like our sex life was getting better day after day.
Neither of us is shy when it comes to sex. We love to experiment with various positions, the kind you can easily find in porn movies. We know each other deeply; I know exactly how to touch her, how to kiss her, when to be a bit rougher, and when she wants cuddles and romance. Likewise, she knows every inch of my body, what I like, and the words and touches that drive me crazy. In my experience, sex is the moment when Cristina and I, through the depth of our mutual love, melt into one single entity made of our souls and bodies.
That night, I was expecting at least a great blowjob, just to start, as Cristina is a master at sucking my dick, and she loves swallowing my cum. I’d reciprocate eagerly eating her out, which I know always drives her to fulfilling orgasms.
I had been teasing her with a couple of messages during work breaks:
Me: “Hello, wife. How is your day going? What about practicing for our oral exams tonight?”
Cristina: “Yes, husband. I feel like I’m a bit out of practice. Just thinking about it makes me feel a bit damp down there, must be the weather.”
Me: “I will have to check closely and take care of that. I don’t think you should risk ruining the silky fabric of your underwear; better not to wear any tonight.”
Cristina: “Why, thank you. You are so considerate of my outfit. I will take your advice. See you tonight.”
All of that was sent with a ton of emojis, you know, flaming hearts, sunglasses, eggplants, tacos, tongues, sweat droplets, and all that stuff.
I know it might sound a bit silly and immature, but it was just another way for us to stay connected throughout the day.
With those little games, I was also trying to bring her amazing smile back to life, as it seemed to have been fading over the previous few weeks. I asked her a couple of times if everything was okay, but she always told me not to worry about it; it was just work stuff.
I was starting to relax on the road. Driving has never been a chore for me; on the contrary, it helps me clear my head. I was listening to one of my favourite rock playlists, occasionally singing out loud since I was alone in my company car. I kept my speed right around the limit, 130 km/h on Italian highways, while thinking about the night ahead at home.
I was close to Sirmione, one of the Lago di Garda A4 exits, when I caught the flashing hazard lights of cars braking for a sudden traffic jam. The moment my foot touched the brake pedal, a massive crash broke from behind. The driver of the truck right behind me had been reading a text message instead of watching the road, completely missing my brake lights. My car was violently launched forward. I tried to keep it straight, tried to counter-steer, but the momentum was too high. I slammed into the concrete guardrail, and the car took off, rolling through the air. The airbag exploded in my face, and then everything went black.
Surviving
Ten days later, I woke up in a hospital bed. Bright white lights hit my eyes when I tried to look around. The rhythmic buzz of medical equipment was the only thing breaking the silence. I couldn’t move my head, and I felt something foreign and uncomfortable down my throat. At the side of my bed, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cristina. She was lying on a small couch, covered with a grey blanket, lightly snoring.
As if she could sense me, she suddenly woke up. She opened her eyes, looked in my direction, and tears immediately started flowing down her cheeks. At the same time, she smiled despite her worried look, and quickly spoke up while grabbing my hand:
“Oh my God, Marco, are you awake? Can you hear me? Don’t try to speak, just squeeze my hand if you can hear me, because you still have a breathing tube down your throat.”
I squeezed her hand, and she went on: “Yes! You can hear me! I’m so happy ... this is wonderful! You almost died in a car crash. You were in the ICU for a week, then the doctors moved you to this room but kept you in a medically induced coma, and you still need the tube to breathe. It took more than two hours to cut you out of your car, but the most important thing is that you are here with me now, thank God.”
The next day, the doctors removed my breathing tube, but I was covered in bandages and casts. They told me I was badly injured: I had suffered a severe concussion, had several broken ribs, and both my left arm and left leg were broken. My left leg had a compound fracture, and the surgeons had to put in a lot of hardware to hold my bones together.
Well, it wasn’t great news, but I was just happy to be alive.
Emma was in the room with Cristina, and there were plenty of smiles. My throat was still raw, and I couldn’t really talk yet; whenever I tried, I only managed unintelligible sounds. Not that Emma needed me to speak. She covered me in sweet kisses, then filled me in on her recent days at school and home. She just couldn’t stop talking. She joked about sticking magnets to my metal pins and couldn’t wait to sign my cast. She pulled some markers out of her school backpack and drew flowers and hearts on my casted arm, signing her name right below them. Long after that cast was removed, I kept that little piece of plaster as a reminder of my daughter’s sweetness.
Day by day, I started feeling like myself again. The pain was always there, but luckily, painkillers helped keep it manageable. After a few days, I could eat and speak almost normally. Cristina took a leave of absence from work to take care of me. Sometimes she came over to the hospital with Emma; other times, our friends would pick Emma up from school and watch her until Cristina got home.
Healing and Rehab
Two months later, I was finally home. A second surgery had removed most of the temporary hardware from my leg, leaving internal steel plates in place until the bones could heal completely. My left arm was doing much better; the doctors had removed the cast, and I just needed a sling to keep it immobilized. My ribs still hurt whenever I took a deep breath or laughed out loud, but they were getting better day by day. As for my left leg, I still needed a removable brace to help with healing.
Down the road, I would need one final surgery to remove those last internal plates. Fortunately, my head was completely fine, no permanent damage from the concussion. Though I was going to keep quite a collection of scars on my body.
Then I started rehab. If I thought the pain was bad during my hospital days, the physical therapy exercises were even worse. When I came home after my sessions at the rehab clinic, I felt completely broken and could barely move.
The only bright spot was my physiotherapist, Cinzia. She was a cute brunette, probably in her early thirties, with a slim, athletic body and all the right curves. She always wore yoga pants that highlighted her toned ass and legs, and a tight t-shirt with the clinic logo shaping an eye-catching rack. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, though that might have just been a professional choice since she worked with a lot of massage oils and ointments. I knew one thing for sure: if I weren’t happily married, I definitely would have tried my luck with her.
Anyway, she must have had a bit of a sadistic streak. Every time I tried to tell her how much the exercises hurt, she would just smile and say, “Come on, Marco, don’t give up, you’re doing great,” and keep pushing me without mercy.
Things at home were going well, too.
Being home on medical leave meant I could spend a lot of time with Emma, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Cristina was more caring and affectionate than ever. In fact, during her first few days back at work, she used to text me almost every hour, asking if I was okay, if I needed anything, what I wanted for dinner, and so on. Laughing, I finally had to convince her that I wasn’t on my deathbed anymore and that she could ease up on the messages.
Our financial situation was looking up as well.
I was receiving my full salary, and all of my medical expenses, including physical therapy and rehab, were covered by INAIL (the Italian National Insurance Agency for Workplace Injuries). Because the accident happened on my commute home from a work assignment, it was classified as an”in itinere” (a Latin term meaning ‘on the journey’) workplace injury, which entitled me to full public insurance coverage.
On top of that, I was entitled to a settlement from the truck driver’s insurance company for the physical injuries I sustained. Plus, my employment contract included company-paid private insurance, which provided additional compensation for physical damage.
The total compensation was shaping up to be around 80K euros. Okay, being badly injured and risking my own life was not the ideal way to make money, but out of all the bad, something good was coming.
Three months since the crash
Three months after the car crash, I was feeling much better. I still couldn’t completely straighten my leg, but I didn’t need the brace anymore, and the rehab was working. I was looking forward to my next X-ray, when the doctors would finally set the date for my last surgery. I took long walks, starting out with a cane, but later on, I didn’t really need it. Thanks to all the exercises and walks, I felt like my body was in a shape it hadn’t been in for a long time.
My company’s manager asked if I could help out with a few projects from home, even though I was still on medical leave. That was no big deal, as long as I could keep up with my rehab exercises and get enough rest. Actually, I was getting a bit bored, especially in the mornings when I was home alone, so lending a hand to my colleagues was a welcome distraction.
There was just one thing that was bothering me. During one of our evenings at home, while we were watching a TV show together, I caught Cristina staring into space with a lost look, as if something were deeply worrying her. I tried to ask if something was wrong, but she brushed it off, telling me she was just thinking about a minor work problem and that it was nothing to worry about. Then, she went right back to her usual mood.
The same thing happened a few days later. When I asked Cristina a simple question, she didn’t reply at all, as if she hadn’t even heard my words, completely lost in who knows what thoughts. Well, this just wasn’t like her. I asked her again what was wrong and whether that work problem was still bothering her, but she repeated that I had nothing to worry about. The strange part was that she wouldn’t look me in the eye; she looked everywhere else in the room, but never at my face.
A few nights after those unusual moments, we finally had full sex for the first time since the crash. Cristina had given me a few handjobs over the previous weeks, but nothing more, mostly due to my healing ribs and leg. I had returned the favour, fingering her to orgasm, but I didn’t count that as sex.
When we got into bed, I was reading the news on my tablet, wearing nothing but my pyjama pants, as usual. Cristina came out of the bathroom completely naked. Giving me a mischievous smile, she said, “Hey, big boy, do you remember our exams scheduled the night you had the incident? How do you feel about giving them a try tonight? Are your bones healed enough to sustain the weight of a horny damsel?”
Without even waiting for my answer, she stripped off my pyjama. My cock was already hard just from looking at her, and a moment later, her lips were on it.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, winking.
Her tongue slid up and down my cock, then she started licking and sucking my balls while slowly stroking my shaft with her other hand. In a moment, I was rock hard. Her mouth took in the head of my cock, and inch after inch, I was deep in her throat. I couldn’t resist for long; within minutes, I came deep in her throat, and Cristina eagerly swallowed down to the last drop.
“Well, husband, what do you think? Have I passed my exam?”
“Yes, wife, but now we need to find a way to get me to pass my exam, too. You know I can barely move my leg from this position.”
“I think I have an idea about that,” she said, straddling me with her legs spread wide.
She pressed her pussy right against my mouth. “Your leg won’t allow you to move a lot, but your tongue wasn’t injured. You can still use that, can’t you?”