It all started with a leak. The most banal, even mockingly everyday. In the kitchen, right under the sink, a pipe clogged and leaked, and no matter how hard I tried to tighten the loose nut, the water just started dripping more often. Inga, my wife, could only smile condescendingly at my engineering efforts.
—Pavlik, stop it,” she finally said, standing in the kitchen doorway and watching my torment. “You can’t do anything with your hands.” Not in the house, not in bed. I’ll call a professional.
She said the last words with a special, slippery intonation. Inga generally liked to emphasize my male inadequacy. She was thirty—three, a striking blonde with a curvy but toned figure – the result of endless fitness and salons. I, a stooped, bespectacled man with eternally wet palms and premature ejaculation, have long since come to terms with the role of her lap dog.
The next morning, the doorbell rang. I opened it.
A man stood in the doorway. He was not a plumber in my understanding — not a drunken man with a toolbox, but a real man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with biceps that hugged the sleeves of a plain gray T-shirt tightly. Her blond hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail, and she had a light stubble on her strong—willed face. He smelled vaguely masculine, bestial. His name, as he put it shortly, was Bogdan.
Inga, as soon as she saw him, seemed to pull herself together. She went out into the hallway, straightening a short silk robe that did not hide anything, but only emphasized the steep curves of her hips and high breasts without a bra.Wife and plumber: cheating in front of her husband (Erotic stories of cheating) photos
—Come in, Bogdan,— she cooed, and I noticed a predatory gleam in her eyes. “It’s a disaster in the kitchen.
I trailed after them, feeling like a third wheel. Bogdan squatted down in front of the sink, and his powerful back stretched the fabric of his T-shirt so that it seemed to crack at the seams. Inga stood nearby, deliberately close, and, bending down, “studied” the problem. At the same time, the collar of her robe opened treacherously, revealing the deep cleavage of her breasts. Bogdan squinted, and a knowing smile played on his lips.
“It’s not about the nut,” he boomed, getting up. — The pipe needs to be changed. But it won’t be long.
“Would you like some coffee?” Inga suggested, touching his forearm with her fingers.
He looked at her point—blank, without a trace of embarrassment.
While I was making coffee, there was already that spark between them that didn’t need words. Bogdan was sitting at our kitchen table with his feet wide apart in his work boots, and Inga was sitting across from him, straightening her hair and laughing at his rude jokes. They didn’t notice me. I was just a function serving coffee by the vending machine.
“It’s cozy here,— Bogdan said, looking around the kitchen. — It’s just boring, I guess. My husband, I see, is not particularly hardworking.
—Oh, and don’t tell me, Bogdan,” Inga picked up with a mocking sigh. — Neither to drive a nail, nor to satisfy a woman. It’s just a hassle. You know, sometimes you just want the real, rough stuff… repairs. To get sparks out of your eyes.
I stood frozen with the coffee pot in my hand. Blood rushed to my face, and in my groin, on the contrary, against my will, a heaviness began to pour.
“Repairs are a good thing,” Bogdan chuckled, sipping his coffee. — I like to work with my hands. And I’m fine with the instrument.
He looked at Inga, and in his gaze there was no longer a desire to fix the pipe, but something completely different. Inga, without taking her eyes off, slowly licked her upper lip. Then she turned to me.
— Pavlik, go to the room for now. Watch TV. Bogdan and I are here… Let’s get to work.
This was said in such a tone that there was no need to object. I went out, but I didn’t go into the room. Instead, I froze in the hallway, where there was a small gap in the kitchen door. My heart was pounding in my throat.
Bogdan wasted no time. He got up, walked up to Inge from behind, and simply put his huge, overworked hands on her shoulders. She froze, and then threw her head back, resting the back of her head against his powerful chest. He bent down and kissed her neck. Roughly, greedily, sucking on the skin. Inga moaned softly, her hand darted back and found his groin. A lump appeared through the thick fabric of his work pants, the size of which plunged me into horror and awe.
“This is it.”.. A tool,” she breathed.
Instead of answering, Bogdan abruptly turned her around and sat her on the edge of the kitchen table, right between the cups. He pulled off her silk robe, and it fell in a weightless puddle at her feet. Inga was left in only tiny white panties, which were already soaked through in the most intimate place. Bogdan didn’t take them off — he just pushed the strip of cloth aside and plunged his thick fingers into her vagina. Inga gasped, grabbed his shoulders and moved her hips, impaling herself on his arm.
“Look how it’s flowing,” he said hoarsely. — Haven’t seen the guy for a long time?
—Never the real one,— she moaned, and at that moment her gaze darted to the crack in the door. She knew I was watching. She knew and continued to play her role. — Pavlik — he doesn’t count. It’s not a man, it’s true… a houseplant.
These words slashed me backhand, but at the same time my cock was already standing like a stake, resting against my fly. I unbuttoned my pants and started masturbating, unable to tear myself away from the sight.
Meanwhile, Bogdan unbuckled his belt. His pants fell down, and I saw what Inga called a “tool.” It wasn’t a dick, but some kind of plowing tool. Long, thick, with lumpy veins, it stood almost horizontally, with a dark red head like an overripe plum, from which a viscous drop of grease was already hanging.
Inga leaned towards him and took him in her mouth. She moaned with pleasure, as if she had been given a delicious treat. She licked him, moaning, swallowed him deep, down to the roots, choking and drooling, which flowed down the trunk onto his heavy balls. Bogdan stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at her with an expression of well-fed superiority.
—That’s enough,— he finally commanded. “Turn around.”
He pulled her off the table, turned her around, and pressed down hard on her lower back. Inga obediently bent over, rested her elbows on the table and stuck out her full, rounded ass. Bogdan pulled off her already useless panties, leaving them hanging on one ankle, and spread her buttocks. Her vagina was pink, open and ready. He put his machine against the entrance and in one powerful, sharp movement entered the entire length.
Inga screamed. It wasn’t a cry of pain, it was a cry of triumph. Her body rocked forward, her breasts swayed, and she braced her palms against the wall above the table to keep her balance. Bogdan took her by the hips and began to work. Powerfully, methodically, ruthlessly. The sound of wet, slapping blows bukvoeb. The run filled the kitchen, mixing with the clink of dishes in the cupboard. Each of his thrusts was like a battering ram. Inga was moaning out loud, screaming, shouting obscenities that I had never heard from her.
I was standing in the hallway, furiously jerking off. I wanted to go in, look up close, see every detail of this animal act.
And I went in. Quietly, sideways, like a beaten dog, I slipped into the kitchen and stood by the refrigerator. They noticed me, but they didn’t stop. On the contrary, her husband’s presence clearly turned them both on even more.
“Look, Pavlik,” Inga moaned, turning her flushed face to me, “look how a real male is fixing your wife!” Do you feel the difference? Do you know where his dick is now? In my stomach! And your worm has never gone further than the entrance!
Bogdan just grunted and picked up the pace. Now he was thrusting his cock into her with a kind of animal fury. Then he bent down, grabbed her hair, wrapped it around his fist, and pulled her back, making her arch even more. From these movements, his cock sank at some new, even deeper angle.
“I want to cum on your face,” he growled. “Get on your knees.”
He pulled out of her, and she immediately slid to the floor, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue, completely not caring that her husband was standing a meter away and seeing it all. Bogdan made several sharp movements with his hand, and a thick, white stream burst out of his penis. The first portion hit her in the forehead, the second — right on her tongue, the third — on her chin, from where it dripped in viscous drops onto her bare chest. Inga caught it in her mouth, licked her lips, and looked up at her “master” with sincere, almost religious adoration.
Then she turned to me. Her face, stained with someone else’s sperm, was beaming.
“Why are you standing there?” “What is it?” she asked hoarsely. — See, there’s a small leak here. Go and clean up after the master. Lick me.
And I went. My legs carried me to her on their own. I knelt down next to this huge, sweaty man, and pressed my lips to my wife’s face, licking the salty, tart mucus from her cheeks, lips, and chin.
“A good husband,— Bohdan boomed approvingly, pulling on his trousers. — Understanding. You know, Inga, I don’t just change pipes. I have a broad profile. I can look in at the end of the week, there’s a boner, I see, it’s very weak. The whole house needs to be sorted.
—I will,” Inga purred, while I licked the leftovers from her collarbones. — Come back on Saturday. And you know what… Grab a bigger wrench. And you can take a partner, there’s a lot of work to do here. My husband alone,” she nodded at me, “can’t handle it anyway.
I shuddered, imagining what awaited me on Saturday, and pressed my tongue harder into her hot, man-smelling skin. I was scared. And I loved it so much.