r/literotica

Read these awhile back but could not find again, hoping one of you might know:

1. Couple swap amongst friends, I recall the setting was winter at a cabin/lodge in front of a fireplace (apologies for the vague description)

2. An apocalypse, I think zombie, two couples are surviving and they grow closer. Through some flirtation throughout the story they agree to swap partners.

If any of you have any leads let me know. Or if you have any recs you’d think I like, I’m all ears, thanks!

Hey everyone,

I’m looking for stories where a wife who appears completely loyal to her husband is actually cheating. The husband finds out (or strongly suspects) but is essentially helpless to stop it. He continues acting normal around her, pretends to believe every excuse she gives, and plays the role of the oblivious husband while knowing the truth.
Ideally the story is told mostly (or entirely) from the husband’s point of view so we get his internal conflict, humiliation, resignation, and the emotional side of living with the knowledge while keeping up the façade.

Any recommendations from Literotica (or other free sites) that match this dynamic would be greatly appreciated. Titles, author names, or series are all welcome.

Thanks in advance!

Scenario 1: One of the participants is cheating on their spouse. The other members of the group are actively encouraging them to do so.

Scenario 2: All participants are cheating on their respective spouse. They all act as each other's alibis if questions are ever asked, like they are all attending a work conference, for example.

I am interested in stories in which the group sex has been going on for a long time, and one of the spouses begins to suspect that something is going on. Thanks.

I remember this old story where a neighbor or roomate stud like character intentionally moves his bed to the wall adjacent to his neighbors/roomates after they complain he was making too much noise when having sex with other girls.

He is trying to seduce the neighbor/roomate.

Their might be some cheating elements as well.

Does anyone know the name of this. I definitely remember him repositioning his bed, just to have louder sex.

This is a true story.

I had been out behind the house working in my vegetable garden and tending to some other outside chores. As I came back around front to take a break and cool off, I noticed my 18yo daughter's boyfriend's car parked behind hers. I didnt think much of it since they were always together that summer. I went into the house and got a cold drink only to realize my daughter and her man are nowhere to be seen. Thinking they went for a walk, i kicked back in front of the fan and relaxed awhile. While I sat there I kept hearing little noises and then heard a loud moan from inside the house. Getting up, I quietly crept around the house trying to figure out what it was I had heard. When I got to my daughter's room, i noticed the door was partially open and her boyfriend was on top of her fucking the hell out of her missionary. She was moaning pretty good since he was speeding up and really slamming it home. I had seen my daughter in conservative bathing suits before but hadn't seen her in anything less. I have to say she had a bangin body. She's short n stacked. Less than 5ft tall with double Ds and from what I could make out a shaved pussy. They had left the light on so I could see she was on her back and he had pushed her legs back to her ears so he could pounding straight down into her.

She must have been really into it cause she had cream running down her ass. She always hinted to her mom that he was well endowed and im not sure on the length but it was definitely much thicker than her wrist and was stretching her pretty good or her pussy was very tight cause her lips had a hell of a grip on it.

I watched them go at it for a while while trying not to whip out my dick for a wank right there.

This went on for a few more minutes when I saw him slam down in as deep as he could go and then start pumping her full of cum. He fell off of her and she got up and crouched in front of him with her ass pointed my way and started licking their combined juices off of him. She was positioned in a way I got a clear view of her bright pink freshly fucked pussy with cum drooling out of it. She switched to a short bj to get him hard again then mounted him cowgirl and started riding him for all he was worth. His cum was still coming out of her with every thrust.

At one point he grabbed her ass and pulled her cheeks apart so far that her pussy lips pulled apart too and he really started slamming his cock up into her.

I'm glad he was being so wild because at one point he slipped out and I got a good look at her gaped open pussy still leaking cum. At that point she turned around and leaned back on top of him and I got a full view of her pussy lips stretched around his girth. She started moaning loud saying she was cumming and was playing with her clit while he hammered up into her. He didnt last much longer before I saw him clench up and shoot another load into her. She pulled off of him and started scooping his cum out with her fingers and licking them off. At this point I backed off so as not to get caught by her and went back to the living room to wait.

When they eventually came out I told them "if ur gonna have sex, don't do it in the house. And if ur gonna sneak some then you'd better make sure no one is home first". They said they didnt know I was home and I pointed out my truck out front. She ran to the bathroom embarrassed and he looked over at me and asked "did you enjoy the show?" When I acted confused he said "I saw you in the doorway watching us. I didnt tell her. How much had you seen?" I told him "just before the the first creampie when you had her legs up by her ears.". He kinda chuckled and said "that wasn't the first one, that was the second. I told her I was gonna make sure she was leaking my cum for the rest of the day." Then he added "thats why I spread her open to give you a good view and why I told her to ride me reverse and lay back.". I asked "why would you want her dad to see her like that?" And he replied "because she said no to daddy daughter role play with me so I thought I'd get it vicariously through you. Even if she was unaware of it and frankly that was hot as hell."

At that point she came out of the bathroom and drug him out the door. When I was sure they were gone I went and had a much needed wank and went back out to the garden. Later that night I fucked my wife while imagining it was our daughter i was fucking and cumming into and that was the first time I made gave her a bed soaking squirt. We went for so long she had to tell me enough and she couldn't walk very well the next day . The next day her little shit of a boyfriend sent me a text with a cpl pics he took while he was fucking her and of the aftermath.

I'm seeing most of the requests here is either cuck-centric requests and it's the same with new stories in literotica

It's common themes of erotizing your alleged *inferiority* or how some other people please your partner better

It's seem more and more men in masses is consuming such thing.

What is happening?

We couldn’t hold the position for long—neither of us wanted to finish like this. She lifted off me, breathless, and turned to face me properly, crawling back up my body with her hair falling around us both. For a moment she just looked at me, the teasing finally spent, replaced by something more direct.

“You’ve made me wait all night,” she whispered. “I’m done waiting.”

She straddled me, and I felt her settle her weight over me—not taking me in yet, just there, sliding herself against the length of me, slick and hot, letting us both feel exactly how close we were. Even that had my breath catching, my hands gripping her hips.
She reached down and lined us up. Then, watching my face the whole time, she lowered herself onto me—slow, inch by inch, her mouth falling open at the stretch of it.

Nothing I’d imagined came close. The heat of her, the tight wet grip as she took me in, the way her whole body shuddered when she’d taken all of me—it wiped every coherent thought out of my head. So this was what it was like. This overwhelming, drowning fullness of being inside her. I understood, in that moment, everything I’d been missing.
“Oh—” she breathed, going still, adjusting to me. “God, you feel—”
She didn’t finish. She just started to move—slow rolls of her hips at first, taking her time, both hands braced on my chest. Every motion sent a fresh wave through me, and I gripped her, meeting her, learning her rhythm as fast as I could.

She leaned down, her lips finding mine, and kissed me deep while she moved—then broke away to drag her mouth along my jaw, my throat, her tongue tracing hot lines against my skin. She murmured filthy things against my ear the whole time, low and constant, the way she’d learned undid me completely.

Her pace picked up. What had started slow turned urgent, both of us chasing it now, her breath ragged against my neck, my hands guiding her hips down harder onto me. She had to press her face into my shoulder to muffle the sounds she was making, the roommate down the hall the only thing keeping either of us quiet.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped against my skin. “Please—right there, don’t stop—”
I fought to hold on. I didn’t want this to end—not now, not when I’d waited a lifetime to feel anything close to it—so I gritted through it, gripping her hips, focusing on anything that would keep me from going over too soon.

She got there first.

I felt it build in her before it hit—the rhythm going ragged, her whole body winding tighter, her breath catching higher and higher. Then it broke. She came hard, shaking on top of me, her eyes rolling back, whatever she’d been saying dissolving into something wordless and broken against my shoulder. She clamped a hand over her own mouth, but the sounds still escaped, muffled and desperate.

And I felt it—all of it. The way she clenched down around me as she came, gripping and pulsing, squeezing me so tight I had to bite back a groan of my own. Her walls fluttered and pressed against me in waves, dragging me right to the edge with her, and it took everything I had not to follow her straight over.
She rode it out on top of me, trembling, incoherent, her thighs shaking against mine, until she finally collapsed forward onto my chest—boneless, breathing hard, still twitching with aftershocks.

“Oh my god,” she managed into my neck, her voice completely wrecked. “Oh my god.”
I held her there, still hard inside her, both of us slick and gasping, the lamplight warm on her red hair.
“Your turn,” she whispered, lifting her head with a dazed, wicked little smile. “And I want to feel all of it.”
She expected me to flip her over and finish—I could see her bracing for it, that dazed anticipation on her face.

I did the opposite.

Still buried in the afterglow, I eased her off me and moved down her body instead, pressing kisses down her stomach as I went, ignoring the confused, breathless little sound she made.
“Wait—you didn’t—” she started.
“You first,” I said against her hip. “Again.”

I settled between her thighs and went to work with a single-minded determination—mouth and fingers together, giving her no time to come down from the first one. She was still swollen and sensitive from coming, every touch magnified, and I felt her jolt hard the moment my tongue found her.

“Oh—fuck, I can’t, I just—” But she could. I kept at it, relentless, learning what made her hips buck and chasing it, two fingers curling inside her while my tongue worked her clit in steady circles. Her hands flew to my hair, gripping, not sure whether to pull me closer or push me back from how intense it was.

My fingers were starting to cramp—the strain of the angle, the relentless pace, a dull ache building in my hand. But she was screaming into a pillow not to stop, and there was no force on earth that would’ve made me pull away now.

So I didn’t stop. I pushed through the burn in my hand, fingers still working inside her, curling to that spot that made her hips leave the bed. My tongue flicked fast against her clit—no more slow circles now, just relentless, exactly what she needed. And I brought my free hand up to her right breast, catching her nipple between my fingers and rolling it, giving it that same firm pressure that had made her cry out earlier.

The three sensations at once undid her completely. She arched off the bed, the pillow barely containing the sound she made, her whole body seizing.
I felt her break—harder than the first time, if that was even possible. She clamped down around my fingers, pulsing, her thighs snapping shut around my head as the wave crashed through her. She was shaking uncontrollably now, one hand fisted in my hair, the other clawing at the sheets, every muscle in her locked tight and trembling.

I worked her through all of it, gentling only slightly, until the aftershocks left her twitching and gasping and finally pushing weakly at my forehead—too sensitive, too much, unable to take another second.
She threw the pillow aside, chest heaving, face flushed and wrecked, staring up at the ceiling like she’d forgotten her own name.

“You,” she panted, when she could finally speak, “are going to kill me.”
The truth I hadn’t said out loud: all that going down on her, all that drawing it out—part of it was for her, but part of it was me stalling. Because I was a virgin, and I’d never once made it this far. Every delay was me holding the finish line at arm’s length, not quite ready to cross a threshold I’d never crossed.
But watching her come apart twice, hearing what I’d done to her—something in me finally stopped hesitating. I was ready. I wanted it now, with none of the fear left.

I flipped her over onto her stomach, and she went willingly, boneless and eager, lifting her hips for me. I settled over her, prone against her back, and sank into her again—the angle deeper this time, her still-trembling body gripping me impossibly tight.

And then I let go of everything.

I drove into her with everything the whole night had built up in me—all the teasing, all the waiting, all the restraint I’d carried across an entire world—again and again while she buried her face in the mattress and moaned. She was still oversensitive from coming twice, and it tipped her fast, her back arching, her hands clawing the sheets as I pushed her up and over one more time, into some place past coherent thought.

I felt her go there—felt her clench and shudder beneath me, tipping into that eternal bliss—and that was it for me. There was no holding back anymore, and I didn’t want to.
When I came, it hit with a force that whited out everything. My whole body seized, the release rolling through me so hard I actually saw stars burst behind my eyes—every nerve I had firing at once, a lifetime of never collapsing into this single overwhelming moment. I collapsed onto her back, buried deep, both of us shaking, gasping, wrecked.

For a long moment neither of us could speak. My heart was hammering against her spine. Hers was racing just as hard beneath me.
“So,” she finally breathed, a dazed laugh in it. “That was worth the wait.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.

Been on lit for a while now so I've definitely read my own share but still looking for more since these seem a bit more than the other theme lol.

One of my favorite authors on lit is Tomlitilia (go read now) and most of his stories execute this theme very well but here are some other examples:

So Is It True What They Say - Cocteleo

Sometimes Two Just Isn't Enough (series) - tales_of_passion

Neighborly Developments - Blah_Halb

Three Feet of Cock - MatthewVett

My Wife Becca - Bridgekicker

Beer Thursday - Barkirk

The Boarder - Barkirk

Chicago (Series) - AJPages

Sand Diego (Series) - AJPages

The Bad Tenant - Eddie Wilder

Borrowing His Friend's Wife (series) - The Big Bopper

Multiple stories by Yellowjacket66 and Eoins1

Ride The Southwest Sexliner (new) - NotWise The main characters in this aren't really a couple but instead very close FWBs but it does have the similar vibes nonetheless.

New Neighbor - Lusterday This is actually a cheating story rather than a wife-sharing one but the voyeurism is so damn good and there's not really any demeaning factors in here. Any similar stories to this as well where the wife really wants to try something (someone) out?

Prev part : Part 1

The lock turned, and she pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh—roommate,” she whispered, easing the door open. “She’s probably asleep.”

Inside, it was pitch dark. She took my hand and led me forward, and I followed blind, completely lost in the geography of her apartment. I could make out the vague shapes of furniture and nothing else.
Then she stopped—suddenly, without warning—and I walked straight into her from behind.
There was no hiding it. For the second time in our short history, my body announced itself against her before I could do anything about it.
A giggle escaped her, quickly smothered by her own hand. “That again,” she whispered over her shoulder, delighted, barely keeping it quiet.
“It has a mind of its own around you,” I whispered back. “I take no responsibility.”
“Clearly.” She leaned back into me, deliberately this time, and I heard her breath catch as she settled against me in the dark. My hands found her hips on instinct.

I kept close as she led me through the dark—closer than I needed to, my hips staying flush against her from behind, because it felt good and she’d made it clear she didn’t mind. Every step became a slow, deliberate drag of my body against hers, and I felt her breath change with it. She pressed back into me just as much, one hand reaching behind to keep me there.
“You’re not making this easy,” she whispered, and I could hear the smile in it.
“You started it. Stopping in the middle of the room like that.”
“Mm. My mistake.” She rolled her hips back against me, unhurried, and it was my turn to bite back a sound. “Terrible, terrible mistake.”
I dropped my mouth to the curve of her neck, one hand splaying across her stomach to pull her in tighter, and she let her head fall back against my shoulder. Then she found my hand again and tugged, more urgent this time.
“Okay—bedroom. Now. Before I forget my roommate exists.”
The door clicked shut behind us.

She flicked on a lamp—the room bloomed into soft light. It was tiny and cozy, barely enough space for the bed and a little sofa crammed against one wall, everything close and warm.

And then she turned around and became an absolute menace.
“So,” she said, all innocence, drifting toward the far side of the room. “Can I get you a drink? Water? I think I have wine somewhere.”
I stared at her. “A drink.”
“Or—” she gestured at the little sofa, biting back a grin, “—you’re welcome to crash there. If you’re tired. Long night, early class and all.”

After the hallway. After all that. “You’re evil,” I said.
“I have no idea what you mean.” She leaned back against her dresser, arms crossed loose, thoroughly enjoying herself. The lamplight caught her red hair and the curve of her smile.

“You dragged me through your apartment in the dark,” I said, stepping toward her, “nearly gave us both away giggling, and now you want to know if I’d like a water.”

“I’m a good host.” She didn’t move, but her eyes tracked me closer, and the tease was fraying at the edges—her breath giving her away. “It’d be rude not to offer.”

I closed the last of the distance and put my hands on the dresser on either side of her, caging her in without touching, close enough to feel the warmth coming off her. “Offer declined,” I murmured.

Her composure finally cracked into something hungrier. “Thank god,” she breathed, and reached for my shirt.

She yanked me in and the tease evaporated—all that held-back pressure breaking at once, like a valve finally opened. We crashed together into a kiss that had none of the patience of the hallway. Her hands were everywhere, dragging my shirt up, and I broke away just long enough to pull it over my head.

Then it was frantic. She pulled her own shirt off in one motion, and I got my first real look at her in the lamplight—black bra, the swell of her breasts rising with each fast breath—before she was on me again, mouth hot against mine, hands splayed across my bare chest.

I didn’t know where to touch first. That was the honest truth of it. My hands moved over her like they couldn’t decide—her waist, the curve of her hips, up her back—greedy and overwhelmed, trying to take in all of her at once.

“Slow down,” she laughed against my mouth, breathless, though she was the one who’d started the storm. She wasn’t slowing down either.
She got my belt open, worked at the button of my jeans, but they stayed on—half-undone, forgotten the second her hands slid back up to my shoulders and pulled me down with her toward the bed. She landed under me in just the black bra and matching panties, hair fanned out, chest heaving, looking up at me like she’d been waiting all night for exactly this.
“You’re staring again,” she whispered.
“Can you blame me?”
Something shifted in me then—something that shoved all the conditioning and the careful politeness clean out of the way. Pure instinct. I pushed her back onto the bed, eyes locked on hers, and she read it instantly. Her breath caught; she knew exactly what had come over me, and she wanted it.

I slid my hand under her bra and went straight for her nipple, rolling it, giving it a firm pinch. Her eyes squeezed shut and a sound tore out of her—that knife’s edge between pain and pleasure—her back arching up off the sheets.

I dragged my mouth down her neck, biting, sucking at the soft skin there while she gasped and gripped my shoulders. Then lower, to the sensitive skin beneath her arm, dragging my tongue across it—somewhere she clearly didn’t expect, because she shivered hard and let out a broken little laugh that dissolved into a moan.

And I deliberately, pointedly, did not go near her crotch. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the way her hips kept lifting, searching for contact I refused to give. Every time she tried to guide me lower I’d move somewhere else—her ribs, the underside of her breast, the dip of her waist.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” she managed, her voice wrecked.
“Doing what?” I murmured against her skin, giving her back exactly what she’d done to me with the couch.

“Bastard.” But she was grinning through it, breathless, her whole body strung tight and desperate.

As stated above, im looking for these kinds of stories, not any that are too edgy, as i feel like sometimes I find one and it gets diminished because it focuses too much on the grunge, tbh im looking for some that may be borderline wholesome. But, if you have any that are dark still, albeit not hopefully too edgy im very much still interested. Thanks!

She caught on fast. Her hand slid down between us and pressed flat against the front of my jeans, against the strain I’d long given up hiding. She palmed me through the denim, slow and deliberate, and my whole rhythm stuttered.

“Feels like someone’s struggling,” she murmured, watching my face for the reaction—and getting it.
But it was the other thing that undid me. She leaned up to my ear, and the sweet, kind-eyed girl from the Tinder photo said something filthy—low and specific and shameless—right against my skin.

It hit like a live wire. I’d been raised to be polite, to keep everything decent and inside the lines, and hearing her talk like that was the exact opposite of everything I’d been conditioned into. That was the thrill of it—forbidden in a way that went bone-deep. Every dirty word out of her mouth felt like knocking down a wall I’d been told never to touch.
She saw it land. Felt me press harder against her hand. “Oh,” she breathed, delighted. “That’s what does it.”

“Keep talking,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it. “And you might get what you want.”
She gave me exactly what I’d asked for. Her mouth stayed at my ear and she talked—low, filthy, unhurried—telling me in blunt detail exactly what she wanted, no euphemisms, nothing polite about it. Each word peeled another layer off what was left of my restraint, her hand working me through the denim the whole time.

My hand finally moved lower, and I felt how ready she was through the black cotton—soaked through, hot against my fingers. I pushed the fabric aside and touched her bare for the first time—slick and hot against my fingertips. But I didn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet.

One finger, and only along the outside—tracing slow through how wet she was, parting her just enough to feel her, never pushing in. Teasing and drifting away again, spreading the wetness up toward her clit and back down, keeping it maddeningly light.
Her hips jerked up, chasing. I pulled back just enough to keep her wanting.

“You’re killing me,” she hissed, her hand flying up to cover her own mouth to stay quiet.
“Say please,” I murmured against her neck, dragging that single fingertip in another slow, feather-light circle.

She said a great deal more than please—filthy, breathless, demanding—all of it muffled behind her palm. She grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand harder against her, done with being teased, telling me exactly what she wanted. She wasn’t asking anymore.
“Inside. Now,” was the only part clean enough to be just those two words.

But I didn’t give it to her. My finger stayed outside—circling, pressing just at the entrance and then retreating, never once slipping in no matter how she rolled her hips.

She realized I wasn’t going to break. So she changed tactics.

“Fine,” she panted, shoving my hand away. “If you’re going to be like that—”
She sat up, pushed me back, and went straight for my jeans. She’d had enough of feeling me through the denim all night. Her fingers made quick work of the half-open button and the zipper, and she dragged the fabric down.

Whatever she’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. Seven and a half inches, thick, after an entire night of being teased through denim—and the little smug plan she’d walked in with visibly reorganized itself.

“Well,” she said, dragging the word out. “That’s—not what I had you pegged for.”
“Disappointed?”
“The opposite of disappointed.” She wrapped her hand around the base, and now it was my turn to lose the thread. “You’ve been hiding this all night? Making me wait?”
“Turnabout,” I managed.
“Mm. No more turnabout.” She stroked again, firmer, all her earlier teasing repaid with interest.

She didn’t take me in right away. She teased—her tongue flicking just at the tip, light and merciless, tracing circles and then pulling back the second I strained toward her mouth. Everything I’d done to her, paid back exactly.

“Not so fun, is it,” she murmured, and did it again.
Then she decided she wanted more than to torture me. She shifted, swung a leg over, and repositioned herself above me—lowering herself until all that heat I’d been teasing all night was finally within reach of my mouth. She took me back between her lips at the same time.

Both of us finally getting what we’d been denied, at exactly the same moment.
The scent of her hit me—warm and heady and utterly intoxicating. Night jasmine, I thought stupidly, the kind that only opens after midnight, releasing everything it’s been holding back all day in the space of a single dark hour. That’s what she was. Pure ecstasy, right there against my mouth.

I never imagined it would be like this. Coming from where I came from—all that careful distance, all those years of never—I’d pictured my first time, if I pictured it at all, as something fumbling and quiet and apologetic. Not this. That it was her. That it was like this. Something in my chest turned over even as everything below it caught fire.

I pulled her hips down and gave in completely—tasting her, drinking in that midnight-jasmine heat while she gasped and rocked against my mouth. Whatever walls I’d carried across the world with me, they were gone.

She broke off from what she was doing to me, pressed her forehead against my thigh, and breathed my name into the dark. Just that—ragged, disbelieving, half-moan and half-question. It undid me more than anything her hands or her mouth had managed.

“Say it again,” I murmured against her, and dragged my tongue slow and deliberate right where it made her shudder.

She did. My name again, breaking apart in the middle this time as her hips rolled down against my mouth. Then she took me back in, deeper than before, and whatever answer I might have given dissolved into the two of us moving together—no teasing left, no restraint, just her name and mine passing back and forth in the dark like the only two words either of us knew.

The night jasmine had opened all the way now. And there was still so much of the night left.

I'm trying to post the 13th chapter of Across Eternity Book 7, and the admins refuse to publish it. Apparently, since grammarly suggested I rewrite certain sentences, that makes it a story written with AI. It's been months, and both my readers and I are suffering. Literotica has steadily gotten worse over the years, but this is unbearable.

Coming from a deeply conservative corner of Asia, my experience with intimacy had been almost theoretical—more imagined than lived. So when a student exchange program landed me on the opposite end of the earth in my mid-twenties, everything felt electric with possibility. I was a fish out of water in the best way: alone in a sprawling city, scraping rent together from an internship, my evenings swallowed by classes and my days wide open.

It was the early 2010s, when Tinder was still a novelty and swiping felt like a small act of daring. One slow afternoon, half-watching Netflix, I found her—Sara. A redhead with a soft, open face, kind eyes, and a smile that had something of Drew Barrymore’s warmth. The conversation caught fire immediately. We traded numbers, then agreed to meet at a bar near the financial district.

I arrived early, claimed a good seat, and waited with my pulse ticking faster than I wanted to admit.
Then Sara walked in.

She wasn’t trying to turn heads, but mine turned anyway. Everything about her seemed drawn by a careful hand—the curve of her hips, the way an unassuming t-shirt still hinted at a figure it couldn’t quite contain. And her lips. When she spotted me and smiled, they became the only thing in the room, growing more distracting with every degree that smile widened.

The moment she reached me, I think I stood up too fast—jumped, or half-stumbled, I honestly can’t remember. There was a lightness in my head, that same swimming rush you get from the first drag of a cigarette after going too long without one.
“Hey there, Sara. Nice to finally meet you,” I managed, pulling her into a hug.

And God, she smelled perfect—something warm and clean and faintly sweet, the kind of scent that makes you forget the sentence you were halfway through. I wished I could’ve held on a beat longer than was proper. But I didn’t. I was no creep, and whatever the years of conditioning back home had failed to teach me, they’d drilled restraint into my bones. Polite. Courteous. Firmly inside the lines of decent. Even if something else entirely was making its case from behind my zipper.

I pulled back before the hug could overstay its welcome, and she settled into the seat across from me with an easy grace that made the whole nervous performance of my arrival feel a little foolish. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, looked at me, and smiled again—slower this time.
“So,” she said. “You made it.”
“Barely,” I laughed. “Ask me again after I figure out how the bus system works.”
The waiter came, and she ordered a gin—something with cucumber and a botanical name I didn’t catch—while I went for a whiskey old fashioned. She raised an eyebrow at that, approving.
“A man who knows what he wants,” she teased.
If only she knew how little of that was true right now.
She told me about her work—she was a designer, the kind who talked about typography and negative space like they were living things. When she described a project, her hands moved, her eyes lit, and I found myself listening less to the words and more to the way her mouth shaped them.
“And you,” she said, tilting her head. “You just packed up and moved to the literal other side of the planet. That’s brave.”

Brave. Inside, I was quietly losing my mind—every day a small negotiation with panic, every unfamiliar street a reminder of how far I’d flung myself from everything I knew. But I gave her a modest shrug, the kind that lets someone keep believing a flattering thing about you.
“Something like that,” I said.
By the time the second round arrived, the space between us had shrunk. Her gin was doing its work; my old fashioned was doing mine. She leaned in when she laughed now, her fingertips grazing my forearm when she wanted to make a point—which, conveniently, became more often.
“You keep looking at my mouth,” she said suddenly, not accusing. Amused. A little pleased.
I could’ve deflected. Years of conditioning told me to. Instead the whiskey answered for me. “Can you blame me? You’ve got a very distracting way of talking.”
Her smile turned into something slower, warmer—the kind that isn’t really a smile anymore. “Distracting good, or distracting bad?”
“Dangerous,” I said. “Definitely dangerous.”

She held my gaze a beat too long, then took a sip of her gin, watching me over the rim of the glass.
There was a war going on inside me—the pull of the tension against the loud, familiar voice asking what do I do next that won’t scare her off? The two forces ground against each other, and somewhere in the middle of it, I realized my hand had come to rest on her thigh. I hadn’t decided to do it. It had simply happened, the way your body sometimes moves ahead of your permission.

She didn’t flinch. If anything, she went still in a way that felt like the opposite of pulling away—and the tension in the air went taut as a wire.
Neither of us wanted the night to end, but the adult excuses crept in the way they always do. She had meetings. I had a class at an ungodly hour. So we settled the tab, half-reluctant, and stepped out into the cool of her city.

She walked me to the train station—so you don’t get lost, she said, which was kind, and also, I suspected, an excuse of her own. Our shoulders kept brushing. The walk felt slower than it needed to be.
At the entrance, I turned to her, and there it was: that magnetic pull toward her mouth, so strong I nearly gave in. I wanted to kiss her. Every nerve I had was arguing for it. Instead—coward that my conditioning had made me—I went for a hug.
And that’s when it betrayed me. Because as I pulled her in, I felt the unmistakable, mortifying press of exactly how much this evening had affected me. Right against her. There was no hiding it.
She went very still against my chest. Then I felt it—the small, low vibration of her laughing, just slightly.
“Get home safe,” she murmured into my ear, not letting go quite yet. “Text me when you’re back.”

The train ride home was useless. I replayed the hug on a loop—the press of her, the low hum of her laugh against my chest, text me when you’re back—mortified and elated in equal measure.
She beat me to it. Her message was waiting before I’d even climbed my stairs: that was fun. we should do it again soon.

Soon turned out to be Halloween. She named a bar in her neighborhood, and I got there early. By eight the place was packed—costumes, noise, the loose electricity of a night where everyone’s a little bolder than usual. She found me, and she’d caught that boldness too: closer than last time, touchier, her hand finding my knee like it belonged there.
We took a booth tucked into the back, half-shadowed, and the drinks kept coming. Her fingers traced idle lines on my thigh while she talked, and mine drifted to hers, and the conversation kept flowing even as neither of us was really listening anymore. At some point she leaned in, lips just brushing my ear.
“I can’t stop thinking about that hug,” she murmured. “Very memorable.”
“You’re never letting that go, are you.”
“Never.” She pulled back just enough to look at me, and there was a question in it. “My place is a five-minute walk from here.”
I didn’t need conditioning to answer that one.
The night had already made its decision for us. I flagged the waiter, paid the tab—fumbling the card a little because my hands weren’t entirely steady—and we spilled out into the Halloween night, the noise of the bar fading behind us.
Her neighborhood was quiet, the streets thinning of costumed stragglers. She slid her hand into mine, and that small contact felt louder than anything that had happened inside.
“This way,” she said, tugging me toward a side street.
I pulled her in before we’d gone half a block—couldn’t help it. Backed her gently against the brick of a shopfront, out of the streetlight, and finally kissed her the way I’d wanted to since the train station. She melted into it, her mouth soft and eager, a small sound catching in her throat.
“Took you long enough,” she breathed against my lips.
“I’ve been thinking about this since our first hug.”
“I noticed.” She grinned. “Hard not to.”
I kissed the line of her jaw, her neck, and let my hand slide up from her waist. My palm found the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt, and she drew in a sharp breath, arching just slightly into the touch. I could feel how little was underneath—the warmth of her, the way she responded when my thumb brushed across her.
“God,” she whispered, her head tipping back against the brick.
I kept my touch slow, unhurried, teasing more than anything, savoring the way each pass made her breath stutter. Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping, pulling me closer.
“How far?” I murmured against her throat.
“Two minutes.” Her voice had gone unsteady. “Less if you keep doing that, because I’m going to drag you the rest of the way.”

We made it—barely—in a tangle of stolen kisses and slowing footsteps, her pressed against my side, both of us hardly holding it together by the time she got her key into the door.

Next part : Part 2

Been tempted to make a series with these characters but have been hesitant to do so. So, what do you think would you like to read more about them ?

I read this story a long time ago. It's main fetish was gentle femdom. The story was on a man that was a secretary for a successful woman. He thought she hated him but she didn't And they went to this dinner together and after that she told him she didn't hate him. And it had a second part.

Please please help me that story was so good and I loved it. If anyone know this story or where to find it please help me.

Thank you so much. I will appreciate any clue

Can you recommend stories where girl is innocent/naive and was tricked into sex

About me:

Let’s get the context out of the way first, so you know exactly who is writing this.

I go by leftleaninglonglegs. I’m in my early thirties, but I easily pass for 24. I’m tall and lean, with naturally sharp posture that somehow makes my skinniness work in my favour. My hands are heavily veined, and I carry myself with a certain intensity.

I work in a creative field, and I’m just a little bit famous. I guess you could say I’m a “type”, the kind of guy who gets a lot of female attention without really trying.

Moving to Mumbai completely transformed me. It brought back the confidence I’d lost, and the city completely changed my style. But beneath the polished creative exterior, I’m pretty fucked up.

My childhood was toxic, abusive, and deeply problematic. Because of that baggage, I battle with a heavy drinking problem, a short temper, and I don't back down from a physical fight.

I’m currently in a relationship, but my girlfriend has absolutely no idea about the double life I lead.

I don’t like to call myself a “bull”, but I’ve had my fair share of wild, secret experiences. Normal, vanilla intimacy doesn't do it for me anymore. Because my head is so messed up, I need a psychological edge to get excited.

It has to be taboo. It has to involve cheating, married women, risk, and crossing lines you're not supposed to cross.

The Beginning:

That brings me to the incident.

A while ago, I was invited to a high society party in South Bombay. It was crawling with ultra rich elites, and for some reason, everyone was treating me like a star.

I was on fire that night, sharp witted and argumentative. At one point, I got into a massive debate with an older uncle who was loudly bragging about being a proud, devout Hindu.

He clearly didn't realise I come from a traditional Pandit family.

I called him out on his bluff right there in front of everyone and challenged him to recite the Hanuman Chalisa. He completely froze, lost his entire aura of superiority in seconds, and literally fled the party in embarrassment.

The crowd loved it.

Among the guests was a couple I’d known vaguely for a long time. They were obscenely wealthy and had been casually interacting with me on Instagram for a while.

Let’s call the husband Bhaskar and the wife Meher.

We gravitated toward each other, and our initial bond sparked over food. Both of them were genuinely fascinated by how deeply I understood Indian spices and culinary history.

But as the conversation went on, I noticed Meher becoming intensely focused on me.

Suddenly, Bhaskar’s phone rang. He stepped away to take the call, leaving Meher and me completely alone.

She didn't waste any time.

“So, leftleaninglonglegs, you get a lot of action, right? You must be sleeping around constantly.”

I didn’t blink.

“Honestly? No,” I replied. “First, I don't just sleep with anyone. Second, I’m the type who prefers the thrill of falling in love, and I’m actually in the middle of processing that right now.”

She looked genuinely shocked, a small smirk playing on her lips.

“Alright,” she joked, leaning closer. “It’s my responsibility now to fix that.”

I laughed, matching her playful energy.

“I am *not* fucking you, Meher.”

We both laughed, but the tension in the air instantly shifted.

She held my gaze.

“I just mean I’ll make sure you get your action. You’re young. You should be enjoying yourself.”

“I’m not as young as you think,” I pointed out. “I’m thirty. And, like I said, I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the restriction.

“Oh, perfect,” she teased. “Now we can both cheat and share the equal guilt.”

“Well,” I said, a dangerous edge creeping into my voice, “that *could* happen.”

She didn't hesitate.

“I'll just ask Bhaskar to watch. I think he’d actually enjoy it.”

Before I could process that bombshell, one of her high society friends interrupted us.

Meher seamlessly switched gears, playing it completely cool and suddenly acting like a wingwoman, trying to set me up with her friend.

But the damage was already done.

Let me describe Meher.

She’s 37, has one kid, runs her own successful business, and drives an insanely expensive luxury car. She’s tall, stunningly rich, and breathtakingly hot. She honestly looks like she belongs in Spain.

Her features are so perfect I'm convinced she's had some elite work done, because people don't naturally look that flawless.

I’m a massive ass guy, and her figure is unreal. Curvy, thick in all the right places, and absolutely mesmerizing.

Up until that conversation, she was just an acquaintance.

But the moment she mentioned the taboo, the cheating, the husband watching, the sheer risk of it, something flipped in my brain.

I don't see a beautiful woman and just want to sleep with her. I need the thrill of the forbidden.

Now, I don't see Meher as just a friend.

I see her as prey.

That night, I did what I always do. I drank heavily to quiet my mind.

I ended up dancing with the friend Meher had introduced me to, and I went back to her place. We slept together, but even while I was with her, I couldn't claw Meher out of my head.

The conversation from the party was on a loop in my brain.

Look, I do a lot of wild things, but I’m not entirely numb. The guilt of this double life is a slow poison, and I can feel it adding up day by day.

Meeting the Husband:

The very next afternoon, Bhaskar called me.

He asked if we could meet up, claiming he needed some help managing his company’s social media. I told him point blank that I knew next to nothing about social media algorithms, but he insisted. He said he’d pay me handsomely for my time.

Hey, it's Mumbai. You don't turn down easy money.

We met at an old street bar in Bandra. To my surprise, Bhaskar was an incredibly chill guy.

As we started talking, I realised we had almost exactly the same taste in music. We both loved old British rock bands and the soulful classics of Mohammed Rafi.

He was easy to talk to, and I honestly thought, *Damn, this guy could actually be a great drinking buddy.*

But by the time we were three pegs down, the vibe shifted completely.

Bhaskar leaned across the table, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Meher likes you a lot, you know.”

I immediately put up my guard. I played the purest, most innocent version of myself and gave him a polite, flattered, “Awww.”

Bhaskar burst out laughing.

“Come on, man. Don't ‘aww’ me. You want to fuck my wife. I know it.”

Now, let's be clear. I don't fear fights. If a guy pulls a knife or throws a punch at me, I know how to handle myself.

But this?

This was just weird.

If he had suddenly swung at me, I probably wouldn't even have fought back out of pure confusion.

I opened my mouth to say something, to deny it, but he cut me off.

“Do you mind if I watch?”

I froze for a split second, taking a sip of my drink to hide my shock.

“I'll think about it,” I replied, keeping my voice steady.

“Look,” Bhaskar explained, leaning in closer. “I don't want you to just show up at my house and straight up fuck my wife. I want it to be a game. We've been in this lifestyle for a very long time, but honestly, all we ever find are brainless gym bros. They have zero intellect. They have absolutely no skill when it comes to actually igniting a woman's mind or building real tension.”

A dark smile crept onto my face.

The taboo was officially locked in, and my messed up brain loved it.

“Okay,” I said. “I have a plan. But we have to play this perfectly.”

I looked at him and laid it out.

“I'm going to seduce and impress her right in front of you, but you cannot tell her that I agreed to this. I want her to think this is 100% organic.

“When you go home tonight, tell her that you brought up the topic of the cuckold lifestyle to me, and tell her that I heavily criticised it. Tell her I said I would never, ever touch another man's wife.

“That way, the next time she sees me, she'll think I'm totally off limits. She won't have a clue that I'm actually going to flirt with her and humiliate you right in front of her eyes.”

Bhaskar’s eyes lit up.

He absolutely loved the plan.

The trap was set.

The House Party:

The following weekend, they hosted a small get together at their lavish house.

The moment I walked through the door, I didn't play it safe. I stepped right up to Meher, pulled her into a warm, lingering hug, and whispered a compliment about how breathtakingly beautiful she looked.

As the drinks flowed, the creative, performative side of me took over. I’m a decent bathroom singer, so at one point, I grabbed everyone's attention and sang a classic, sultry track directly to her.

Then I pulled her into a slow dance in front of everyone.

For the rest of the evening, I made sure she was glued to my side. Every time we sat down, I casually rested my hand on the small of her bare back, letting my fingers brush against her skin.

She didn't pull away.

Instead, she started casually touching my arm and leaning into me.

The chemistry was so loud that one of the guests laughed and joked, “Damn, you guys look so good together.”

Bhaskar, playing his role perfectly, chimed in with a grin.

“Honestly, they look like they just got married.”

The room erupted into laughter.

Under the cover of the noise, I leaned in close to Meher's ear, my breath hot against her neck.

I looked her straight in the eyes and whispered, “Honey, let's go inside. Your new husband wants to fuck you.”

Meher’s eyes lit up, but a flicker of confusion crossed her face.

She tried to deflect the intensity with a nervous laugh.

“Right now?” she replied, her voice a teasing whisper. “Why don't you just do it here in front of everyone?”

I didn't smile. I kept my gaze locked onto hers.

“I could,” I said, leaning in just close enough for her to feel the weight of my words. “But I don't want them to see you naked. You're my property.”

The playful smirk instantly vanished from her face.

Bhaskar had tipped me off earlier about her hidden psychology. She didn't just want a physical encounter. She craved psychological degradation. She wanted the kind of raw, deeply personal words that cross boundaries while she was being taken.

And because I perfectly embodied the exact type of chaotic, dangerous guy that parents warn their daughters to stay far away from, her desire to be ruined by me was hitting a breaking point.

A little later, I walked away from the crowd and went into the kitchen to mix myself another drink. The mixers were kept in the refrigerator.

Within seconds, I heard the soft click of her heels behind me.

Meher had followed me in.

“Do you need any help here?” she asked, her voice dropping lower, trying to regain her footing.

I turned around slowly and looked down at her.

“Yes,” I said, my tone completely detached. “I want to spit. I'm looking for a slut.”

Without a second's hesitation, her mouth parted.

I spit directly inside her mouth.

Instantly, she leaned into me, closing her eyes and trying to pull me into a deep, desperate kiss.

But I didn't give her the satisfaction.

I placed a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her back, breaking her momentum.

A cruel chuckle escaped my lips as I mocked her right to her face.

“Awww... did Meher think I was actually going to kiss her? Does Meher really think I’m just going to fuck her?”

The darkest part of being psychologically messed up is knowing exactly how these toxic, demeaning games work to completely shatter someone's composure.

Standing inches from her, I could practically feel her heartbeat racing through her chest.

I could bet everything I owned that her panties were already completely soaked.

Instead of backing down or getting angry, she looked up at me, her breathing shallow.

“Can you please spit again?” she whispered.

I didn't answer.

I reached out, took the luxury glass right out of her hand, and spit directly into her drink.

Without saying another word, I turned my back on her, walked out of the kitchen, and rejoined the guests in the living room as if nothing had happened.

A moment later, Meher walked back into the hall.

She held that exact glass in her hand, sat down right where everyone could see her, and calmly took slow, deliberate sips of her drink while keeping her eyes locked entirely on me.

The beginning of the end:

It was 2 a.m. when people slowly started leaving the party. I watched the last guest walk out and pretended that I was about to leave as well.

The last guest offered me a ride. His driver was waiting outside, but I refused.

“You don’t have to do that,” I told him.

He left, and suddenly there were only three of us sitting in the hall: Meher, Bhaskar, and me.

Meher still believed the story I had allowed her to believe. Bhaskar, meanwhile, had no idea what was actually happening. Meher thought I was fighting some kind of moral battle, that I was desperately trying to control myself because, in my mind, sleeping with a married woman was somehow forbidden.

Bhaskar stood up.

“Excuse me, guys. I’m going to get some sleep. Brijesh, you can sit here, have a few more drinks, and leave whenever you want.”

He disappeared into the bedroom.

There were two sofas facing each other, with a small table between them. Meher sat on one. I sat opposite her.

I looked at her and ordered 

“Remove your gown.”

She didn’t hesitate.

She slowly slipped the gown off, like she has learned the perfect way to open her gown that can make anyone fuck her.

Her body was pale, almost white against the dim yellow light of the room. Let me make one thing clear: I have never had a particular preference for fair skin. I like brown women. But I’m describing what I saw, not what I prefer.

Her breasts were large and perfectly shaped. There was something distinctly maternal about them, you could tell she was a mother just by looking at her body.

Her thighs were thick, but her ass was the real spectacle. I had never seen anything so perfectly round, so full, so unapologetically there.

I had once told Bhaskar that I wanted to fuck Meher’s ass.

“She’s not into anal,” he had said. “We tried. She didn’t like it.”

That sentence had lodged itself somewhere in my head.

From that moment, a part of me became obsessed with the idea of proving him wrong. I wanted to possess the one thing she had refused to give anyone. I wanted to turn the rejection itself into a victory.

And that was the direction my mind had slowly started moving in.

Meher sat opposite me in lingerie. I could see that she was aroused. She kept shifting in her seat, unable to sit still. She tried moving closer.

“Back off,” I said.

She tried touching me.

I pushed her hand away.

She finally slid down onto the floor while I remained on the sofa.

I opened my pants and began masturbating while looking at her.

Her eyes immediately dropped to me.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You have veins.”

I don’t know what people imagine when they talk about having a big dick. I’ve always been insecure about mine, despite it being more than six inches. But over time, I’ve realised that size isn’t the only thing that matters. If something looks clean and well-kept, it can change the entire impression.

I’ve seen women completely lose interest when a penis looks unhygienic or unpleasant, regardless of its size.

Meher was staring at me with an almost desperate hunger.

She removed her underwear and began touching herself. I saw a thick transparent jelly like thing gushing out from her vagina. 

“Move your hands.”

She stopped.

There was anger in her eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

She looked like a spoiled child who had just been denied something she desperately wanted.

“Please,” she said. “Fuck me.”

She turned around and got onto all fours, presenting herself to me.

“You want this, right?” she said. “Come take it.”

The way she said take it, I think last time my mother called me with so much love.

I told her to grind herself against the edge of the sofa.

She immediately obeyed.

Her movements became frantic. Her body moved with the rhythm of someone who had completely surrendered control. She made sounds that made it increasingly difficult for me to maintain the distance I had been trying to create.

“Please,” she begged. “Please fuck me.”

Then, almost desperately:

“Please don’t cum.”

That did it.

I lost control and came onto the floor.

Before I could even process what had happened, she rushed toward it like a wild animal and started licking the floor.

I grabbed her gown, cleaned myself, dressed, and walked out while she shouted behind me like a child who had just been denied the thing she wanted most.

I went downstairs and opened Uber.

A few moments later, she came running after me, now wearing a satin silk robe. I could tell she wasn't wearing anything underneath.

“Want a cigarette?” she asked.

We lit them and stood outside.

“You can sleep here, you know,” she said.

I looked at her.

“I’ll sleep here. Then we definitely won’t be sleeping.”

She smiled.

“That’s completely fine.”

My Uber was two minutes away. I smoked quickly because I hate smoking inside someone else’s car.

She looked at me.

“Can you at least do something? A slap? A kiss, maybe just let me lick your dick? Can I smell you?”

She was acting like sex fanatic 

The road was empty.

I moved closer, pulled part of her robe away from her left breast, and kissed it before biting down hard.

She gasped. It was so hard that she had teary eyes. I shouldn't be proud of this but I love it! My control over someone that she will not complain about anything.

I looked at my phone.

“You have two minutes to orgasm.”

There was something deeply humiliating and intoxicating about the situation. She locked her eyes on mine, bit her lip, and began touching herself.

I helped her by pinching her other nipple.

She said my name.

And then something strange happened.

I started abusing her in Hindi.

“Tujhe lagta tha na ki tujhe chhodne ke liye log pagal honge? Tere jaise ameer baap ki beti ko main apne lund ke neeche rakhta hoon. Isiliye thook diya tere chuth pe. Kal batana apne ameer baap aur ameer pati ko ki tumhari amanat ko chhua tak nahi. Main hi usse chudne ke liye pagal hoon. Uske pair pakad rahi thi”

She looked at me.

“Mujhe apni randi bana lo,” she whispered. “Please. Main ye deserve karti hoon.”

“Banegi meri randi?” i said

She nodded.

“Hilayegi apna gand mere lund pe?”

She didn't answer.

“Apne chuth ke paani se nahayegi mere lund ko?”

She closed her eyes.

And then she came.

The orgasm seemed to completely overwhelm her. Her legs gave out and she sank onto the road.

My Uber arrived.

I looked at her one last time and got into the car.

As I sat in the back seat, watching the house disappear behind me, I kept thinking about what had just happened, and, more importantly, what was about to happen.

But one thing had changed in my mind.

Whenever I did things like this, I had a convenient explanation for myself.

My toxic childhood.

The molestation.

Growing up poor.

The anger.

The humiliation.

I had spent years telling myself that all of it had shaped me into this person.

But that night, sitting alone in the back of an Uber, another question finally appeared.

What had happened to Meher?

Why was she like this?

What had made her want this?

What had happened in her life that had brought her to that road, at two in the morning, begging a man to treat her like something she supposedly hated being?

I didn't have an answer.

And what happened after that night will sound unbelievable.

You can believe me or you can call me a liar. Either way, it doesn't change the point.

It's a big country.

And if you've ever studied probability, you know that just because something happened to me doesn't mean it happened only to me.

Maybe it happened to someone else.

Maybe it's happening to someone right now.

Or maybe, somewhere in this country, it's about to happen to someone else.

Please suggest me some stories where a loyal wife (that’s what hubb thinks) cheats on him and he finds out and couldn’t do much. The story shall be from the hubb POV mostly and how he feels. He just acts normal with his wife while acting ignorant of the adultery. He acts as if he believes all the bullshit reasons she gives thinking he doesn’t know.
Please suggest some stories from literotica or any other sites.. thanks in advance