Why should I feel excited, aroused, at discovering you with another woman? Not just a glimpse in the park, holding hands. Or shopping with her, when you claim not to like going when i ask? But coming home early, hearing both of you in the bedroom.
Glimpsing you through the barely open door, thinking I should just tip-toe out again but then mesmerised by the wild rock of your bare hips as you dive and plunge between her thighs. Drive another orgasm from her parted lips. I presume it's another. From the mess of sheets and glisten of sweat on both of your naked writing bodies, you've been at it for some time. How long after I left for work did she arrive? Does it matter now?
As I glance at my watch, I'm aware my other hand has subconsciously slipped from touching my neck in giddy shock to my breast. Felt the hardening of my nipples through blouse. Reasoned you would think it's another hour before I should be there, as my fingers slid down my belly, my skirt, to lift the hem and find curious wet want between my thighs.
Why am I so excited?
Because regardless of who, I'm seeing you in action. So breath-takingly vivid and raw on the bed. With her. It's like my own personal porn movie, and you are definitely the star.
And I want a slice of that action.
For now it's just letting my nails slip inside my panties. Tickle my clit. Just a bit. Don't want to get too carried away. Ease the sensations from within to the surface. Biting my lip to stifle the moans I want to make.
He grunts his climax loudly. She screams her pleasure. I could cry out and neither probably wouldn't even notice...
A finger inside, my hand stretching my underwear out. Then two. Three.
He hasn't stopped. Wants her to have multiples. Her symphony of low satisfied moans after the act rise slowly to self-conscious cries with each thrust of his cock deep in her again.
Slicing her. As my fingers slice myself.
I watch for three-quarters of that hour. Rubbing and caressing my cunt to liquid bliss without actually coming. They finally stopped, the silence screaming in my ears as I slip my heels off and tip-toe out again.
Wait outside, down the road. Just out of sight but watching, waiting. Aware of the tingle and ache inside. Until she leaves, glancing around to make sure no-one sees. I do. And I know. Know how she is full of you.
Now it's my turn.
I wait as long as my arousal will let me. The sound of falling water tells me you're in the shower, washing the smell of her from you, the scent of your own climaxes too. I don't mind. I like you clean, and if you're still as wet as I am, so much the better.
When you drip into the bedroom, towel wrapped round your waist, I'm sitting there on the bed.
He looks ashamed, "Sorry, I didn't have time to make it... "
"That doesn't matter." I reply, standing. Walking over to him. Kissing him fully, taking in the fresh new cleanness of him. Not caring his wet body is soaking my work clothes. They'll be crumpled enough, discarded in a few moments when I get him to tear them from me, wildly. Letting his towel fall and reveal he is still very much up for it.
"You're very amourous tonight." He observes, "Something wrong?"
Yes, but I don't answer. I have needs too, and I want you to take care of them. As I let him throw me on the bed, undress me with terrible passion. Slice into me, cut me into pieces of climax with your cock as you did her, my only thought is you're going to do even better this time.
You may think you have all the action. But my slice, my cut, will be so much bigger now I know what else you are capable of.
Just you see.