Elena moved through the house like a ghost in heat.
Every glance at Alex was a spark on dry tinder.
Every brush of their fingers when passing the salt was a silent *I need you*.
She wore sundresses now—light cotton, nothing underneath. The fabric clung to the heavy sway of her tits, the hard peaks of her nipples visible with every breath. When she bent to load the dishwasher, the hem rode up, flashing the plump curve of her ass and the glistening seam of her pussy. Alex's eyes tracked her like a starving man at a feast.
Mark noticed nothing. He left at 7:15 a.m., returned at 6:47 p.m., kissed her cheek, and collapsed in front of the TV with a beer. His tiny cock stayed dormant, his two-second stamina a non-issue. Elena's body, meanwhile, was a live wire. She woke each morning with her thighs slick, her pussy swollen and aching, the sheets beneath her hips soaked from dreams of Alex's thick cock splitting her open.
They stole moments like thieves.
**Tuesday** – Mark's car barely turned the corner before Elena was on her knees in the foyer. Alex had her dress rucked up to her waist, her massive tits spilling out as he fed her his cock in long, slow thrusts. She gagged softly, drool running down her chin onto her chest, her throat working to take more of him. When he came, she swallowed every drop, then licked him clean, her tongue swirling around the fat head until he was hard again. He bent her over the entry table, spread her cheeks, and slid home in one slick push. Her pussy fluttered around him, still stretched from the night before, still dripping his cum. He fucked her hard and fast—ten minutes of wet, slapping skin—until she came with a muffled scream into her own forearm. He pulled out at the last second, painting her ass and lower back with thick ropes. She stayed there, trembling, until the garage door rumbled—Mark forgotten something. Alex wiped her clean with his T-shirt, kissed her once, and vanished upstairs.
**Wednesday** – Lunchtime. Mark at a client meeting. Elena texted Alex from the grocery store parking lot: *Back seat. Now.*
He was there in five minutes. She climbed in, dress already hiked up, pussy bare and glistening in the sunlight. He reclined the seat, pulled her on top. She rode him reverse—ass bouncing, tits jiggling in the rearview mirror. The car rocked gently. Her juices soaked his balls, dripped onto the leather. When she came, she squirted—a hot gush that splashed his abdomen. He followed, filling her so full it leaked out around his cock as she kept grinding. They stayed locked together until the windows fogged, her forehead pressed to his, whispering *I love you* like a prayer.
**Thursday** – The riskiest yet.
Mark napped on the couch after dinner, snoring through a baseball game. Elena wore a thin robe, nothing beneath. She slipped into the laundry room where Alex waited, jeans around his thighs, cock jutting up thick and angry. She bent over the washer, robe parting to reveal her dripping cunt. He entered her in one thrust—no warm-up, no words. Just the wet sound of her pussy taking him, the soft thud of her tits against the machine as he fucked her in short, brutal strokes. She bit her lip until it bled to stay quiet. When he reached around to rub her clit, she came instantly—pussy clamping, milking him. He pulled out and came on her ass, watching it drip down her thighs. She turned, dropped to her knees, and licked him clean while Mark snored ten feet away.
By Friday, the pretense was threadbare.
Mark announced a last-minute golf trip with clients—overnight, leaving at dawn Saturday. The moment his taillights disappeared, the dam broke.
They didn't make it past the living room.
Elena pushed Alex onto the couch, straddled him, and sank down in one fluid motion. No barriers. No rush. Just the slow, obscene stretch of her pussy swallowing his cock inch by inch until she was seated fully, her ass flush against his thighs. She stayed still, savoring the pulse of him inside her, the way her walls fluttered around his girth.
"Mom," he groaned, hands spanning her waist. "You're so fucking wet."
"Always," she breathed, rolling her hips. "I wake up leaking for you. I fall asleep with your cum inside me."
She rode him slow—agonizing circles, lifting until just the head remained, then sinking back down. Her tits bounced heavily, nipples grazing his chest. He latched onto one, sucking hard, teeth scraping. She moaned, loud and unashamed, the sound echoing through the empty house.
Hours blurred.
They moved to the floor—her on her back, legs over his shoulders, pussy folded open as he drove into her with long, deep strokes. Her juices squirted with every thrust, soaking his abs, the rug. She came twice—screaming, back arching, toes curling.
Then the kitchen counter—her ass perched on the edge, legs spread wide, his cock pistoning as she clutched his shoulders. He pulled out to eat her, tongue lapping her clit, fingers curling inside her until she gushed into his mouth. He drank her down, then flipped her around, bent her over, and took her from behind—hands gripping her hips, watching her ass ripple with every slap of skin.
Midnight found them in the shower—water cascading over her curves, his cock sliding between her tits as she knelt. She sucked him deep, throat opening, nose buried in his pubes. When he came, she let it splash her face, her tongue darting out to catch every drop.
They didn't sleep.
At 3 a.m., Elena rode him on the marital bed—Mark's side still indented from his body. She ground down hard, clit mashed against his pelvis, pussy creaming around his cock. "This is *our* bed now," she hissed, nails raking his chest. "I want your scent on these sheets. I want to smell you when he fucks me with that pathetic little prick."
Alex growled, flipped her, and pounded her into the mattress—headboard banging, springs squealing. She came so hard she saw stars, pussy spasming, squirting again. He followed, flooding her womb, holding deep as he emptied.
Sunday morning, Mark returned to a spotless house, a smiling wife, and a son who couldn't meet his eyes.
Elena kissed Mark hello, her pussy still swollen, still dripping Alex's cum down her thighs beneath her modest skirt. She smiled, serene.
The escalation had only begun.
They'd started stealing hours.
Soon, they'd steal days.
And Mark—poor, oblivious Mark—would remain none the wiser.