The clock read 2:17 AM. I heard the soft click of the front door and knew it was her. Sarah. My fitness girl, my wife.
She walked in, shoulders slumped, the faint scent of another man’s cologne clinging to her dress. I didn't say a word, just watched as the weight of her guilt settled upon her. Tears welled in her eyes.
"I… I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with shame. "I messed up."
Before I could react, she was on her knees, fumbling with my belt. Her eyes pleaded for understanding, for absolution. It was unexpected, raw, desperate. A real blowjob was about to begin.
Her lips, usually so quick with a smile, trembled as they closed around me. It wasn't gentle or teasing. This was a sloppy, desperate attempt to erase her mistake, to show me she still desired me.
Her hands gripped my thighs, nails digging in slightly as she took me deeper. A genuine deepthroat. I could feel the heat of her mouth, the frantic movements, the sheer panic in her actions. The huge cock demanded attention.
The POV was intense. I looked down and saw her eyes watering as she worked. A kriss kiss formed around my shaft. I reached down and tangled my fingers in her hair, guiding her, a mix of anger and arousal coursing through me.
She started to ride me in cowgirl position, her body a shaking mess. Every thrust was filled with passion and the want to feel loved once more. I flipped her over into doggystyle and grabbed her big pussy lips spreading them apart. The pleasure was unmatched, a real sex.
This wasn't just about sex; it was about forgiveness, about the desperate attempt to bridge the gap she had created. Whether it would be enough, I didn't know. But in that moment, lost in the heat of her mouth and the rawness of her confession, I let myself believe it could be.
