Cheating Wife

Scarlett Florentino’s the kind of woman who likes living two steps ahead of her husband. Today she’s got on the red lace set he just bought for Valentine’s—tiny bra that barely cups her tits, string thong that rides her ass crack like dental floss, the whole crotch made of see-through mesh so her bare pussy shows through. It’s supposed to turn him on when he gets home; instead she’s doing the honors for her afternoon lover while hubby’s still clocking in. She opens the front door, strikes a pose against the frame—nipples already poking through the lace—and when he grabs her waist she laughs, low and dirty. He shoves two fingers straight into that flimsy mesh, finds her soaked, and she’s moaning before he even closes the door behind them. She drops to her knees in the entryway, tugs his cock out, and works it with her mouth until spit runs down her chin and soaks the brand-new lingerie top. Then she stands, spins around, pulls the thong aside, and bends over the kitchen counter so he can ram into her from behind while the marble edge digs into her hips. Every thrust makes her new bra slip lower until her tits spill out, bouncing with each slap of skin. She looks back, eyes glassy, and tells him to go harder, because she wants his load dripping out of her before her husband even pulls into the driveway.