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“You're wet.”
“No I'm not, Keisuke.”
“Then what's this?”
You were wet - so fucking wet. Your folds glistened as Baji ran a hand through them, your fluids dripping down the insides of your thighs and down onto his wrist… but if Baji asked you weren’t wet. The fluids coming from your body were simply a misunderstanding. They were not because of him and they were not for him. Your body belonged to someone else. You weren’t for Baji… no matter how much you wanted to be.
“Do you get this wet for him or is this just for me?”
You're shaking your head as he speaks, silently begging him to stop as he swipes two fingers over your entrance, but you both know you don’t really want him to stop. If you did you’d do a hell of a lot more than shake your head. In fact, if you really didn’t want him to do this, you wouldn't have invited him over for dinner in the first place. After all, you both knew damn well it wasn’t just dinner you wanted when you called him out of the blue, practically begging him to come to your home.
“Stop shaking your head. You know it's true. You want my fingers inside ya’ so bad. You’re needy like that, aren’t ya, slut?”
“No, Keisuke! I don-”
You wanted to argue, to tell Baji that you weren’t needy and that you didn’t want him, that you belonged to your husband and you would wait however long you needed to for him to come home… but you couldn’t. Baji’s fingers were inside of you before you could even manage to get one sentence out and suddenly your tune was changing.
“Ahh, not so talkative now, huh? What? You still want me to stop? You still want me to go home?”
You wanted to say ‘yes’, to send him on his way before the guilt and regret of your actions could set in, but the way his fingers were shifting inside of you, stretching your hole in a way you had been craving for the weeks your husband had been gone, had you doing just the opposite.
“N-No, Kei. Stay. P-Please stay.”
“Only if you answer my question.”
You were dripping, legs shivering and shaking as the tip of his middle finger hit and rubbed that spot deep inside of you that you could never seem to reach on your own. Your mind was going blank, your body going numb. The last thing on your mind were Baji’s stupid questions and queries. His teasing was of no concern to you… at least, it wasn’t - not until you were suddenly empty.
“God, such a needy bitch, aren’t you? Don’t whimper like that. Just answer the question.”
Baji was quick to lift you from your seat, throwing your plate onto the floor, out of the way as he shoved your chest down onto the table, leaving your ass up in the air for Baji to fondle with one hand as he unzipped his pants with the other.
“You aren’t getting this until you answer, and I know just how bad you want it.” Baji said, releasing his cock from the confines of his pants and laying it on the curve of your ass, smacking it against your skin, showing you just how hard he had gotten for you as he asked once again, “So, do you get this fucking wet for him or just for me, baby?”Baji didn’t have to ask for a third time. This time you answered and you answered honestly, because the moment Baji’s hard cock lined up at your entrance between your wet folds, the moment you felt the weight of his tip pushing against you, stretching your entrance to adapt to his girth you stopped caring what your husband would think, you stopped thinking about what he would say if he saw you now… you stopped thinking at all. All that was on your mind was just how truly right Baji was. You were needy and lonely and wet and you did want somebody to fuck you… not just somebody. You wanted Baji to fuck you.
“Just for you, Baji. Only for you. Please.”
“Please what, pretty? What do you want from me?”
You barley got the words ‘fuck me’ out of your lips before the entirty of Baji’s length was deep inside of you, shifting and stiring up your insides as it carved out a path to your cervix. You felt full - fuller than you ever had. Baji could tell by the way your hands grasped tightly at the table cloth. He could tell by just how still you were standing, like you were afraid it would hurt to move.
“Damn, does he ever even fuck you? You’re- Damn, you’re the tightest I’ve ever had.”
And he means it when he says it. Good god, Baji can barely move his cock. Pulling an inch out and pushing it back in is a challenge, but one he is more than willing to accept, because you feel so damn good, and warm, and wet. Baji can audibly hear the sounds your body is making as he makes his way in and out of you, loosening you up bit by bit, inch by inch.
“That's it. That's better, baby. Loosen up for me. Let me make you cum.”
You should have been sad, full of regret and shame. You should have hated yourself. You should have been begging Baji to leave. You should have been calling your husband and begging for his forgiveness. Instead all you could do was beg for Baji’s cock, eye watering and tears dripping down onto the dinner you had cooked for another man.
“K-Keep going… Please! I-I’m gonna cum!”
God, you couldn’t help it. Baji was so much longer than your husband, hitting all the spots deep inside of you that you didn’t even know needed to be touched. He pounded into you harder and faster than your husband ever had or ever could, too, causing you to moan and whine loud enough for all the neighbors to hear - neighbors that knew your husband wasn’t home, who knew it couldn’t be the man you had married making you feel so good, but you didn’t care. Baji was all you cared about right now.
“I’m close. You gonna let me cum inside ya’? Gonna let me knock you up before your damn fucking husband ever could?”
You should have said ‘no’. You should have shoved him off of you, but instead you pulled him closer, rotating your body to face Baji and letting your lips hit his as his orgasm hit him like a truck. And you didn’t regret it - not when you begged him to cum inside of you in between sloppy kisses, not when you felt his load erupt inside of you, not when you tightened around him, milking him for every drop of cum he had - not even when he pulled out and you watched as his cum dripped from your hole onto the cold hard-wood floor.
“God damn… I hope your husband goes out of town more often, don’t you?”
