Used and Humiliated

“I would never cheat on my husband.”

That had always been my moral compass, the line I swore I'd never cross.

That was until the day I discovered my so-called husband had married me to hide his sexuality.

Two years of being called Mrs. Clarke, yet my pussy had never once acclaimed that title.

Two years of sleeping beside a man who couldn't even fake desire for me.

His father, Richard Clarke noticed everything or more like he knew our situation.

Lately, he had been looking at me differently.

It was not with pity but with something else dangerous…hunger.

It was the kind of look that stripped away clothing without a single touch. The kind that saw straight through the perfect wife facade I had been putting up for two years to the woman beneath.

He saw the neglected, aching and starving woman who wanted nothing but to be desired and wanted how a husband waved their wife.

I have noticed Richard's gaze lingering on the curve of my hips and the swell of my mounts.

He makes me feel seen even without being touched.

During those stolen moments when our eyes met across the dinner table, he didn't look away or pretend he wasn't staring.

He just held my stare with an intensity that made heat pool low in my belly and my thighs press together involuntarily.

He knew exactly what I'd been missing and God help me, I wanted him to give it to me.

The truth had shattered my world three weeks ago. Marcus left his phone on the kitchen counter.

It was a careless move for a man with so much to hide.

The screen lit up with a notification, a message.

"Can't wait to see you tonight,” followed by love emojis.

My stomach dropped and against my better judgement, I swiped the screen.

Then watched as my marriage shattered with every swipe.

Photos of Marcus in another man's arms, kissing him with a raw passion I'd never seen directed at me.

That's when it hit me: I was nothing more than a prop in a fucked up lavender marriage.

Although our marriage was arranged, I'd given Marcus an out before we committed ourselves.

I had asked him if he loved someone else, if he wanted to cancel the wedding.

Marcus had looked me dead in the eye and lied that he was okay with it, that it would take him time to love me.

Back then, I believed him because I needed to. My family's business was drowning in debt and this marriage would save it.

I had never been sentimental about love anyway, not after growing up watching my parents tear each other apart in their own toxic union.

Discovering Marcus's betrayal stung in ways I hadn't expected.

I felt used and humiliated.

I realised how foolish I was to ever think that our arrangement could become something real.

I realised that I had wasted two years of my life on a man who could barely stand to touch me.

Yesterday’s weekend brunch changed something. I caught Richard staring at me from across the table.

His dark eyes had traveled down my body lingering on my breasts.

When I met his gaze, he didn't flinch or pretend to be looking elsewhere.

He just... watched me, more like consumed me with his eyes.

The intensity of his stare across the table had stolen my breath.

I had sat there beside my gay husband, arousal dampening my panties while his father eye-fucked me across the table.

After I left the Clark ancestral home, I couldn't stop thinking about Richard's hands. Those large,thick fingers that looked like they knew exactly how to touch a woman and make her beg. I imagined them on my skin, sliding between my thighs, stretching me open and filling the emptiness Marcus had left behind.

When Richard had stood from the table, adjusting himself as he excused himself to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of his cock through his slacks.

Now I was home alone, door locked and my dirty mind consumed with thoughts of my father-in-law.

My hands trembled as I peeled off my clothes, letting them fall carelessly on the bathroom floor.

My breasts felt heavy, nipples already hard.

My sleek core throbbed, aching and I hadn't even touched myself.

I stepped into the shower and let the hot water cascade over my skin.

I gasped, every damn nerve ending in my body feeling alive.

As the steam filled the bathroom, I closed my eyes and thought of him…

Richard.

My hand drifted down my stomach, trembling. When my fingers brushed my clit, I gasped, my other hand flying to the tile wall for support.

"Oh God…" the moan slipped past my lips, breathless.

My hips jerked forward, seeking more.

As I circled my clit slowly, I imagined his hands. Those thick fingers wrapped around me and inside me.

My fingers moved faster,a soft moan tearing past my lips.

My hips moved on their own, grinding and chasing something I'd been denied for too long.

Water streamed over my breasts and I pinched my nipple hard, crying out at the sharp pleasure mixed with pain.

"Richard..." I called, my head thrown back in ecstacy.

I slid one finger insíde my wet sleek hole, my walls clenching around it greedily.

I added another one, stretching my walls and imagining Richard's cock inside me.

Would it be thicker? Would he be gentle? Or would he take what he wanted? Use me like his greedy slut

I pumped deeper, curling my fingers to find that spot.

"Yes—oh fuck, yes…"

My thumb found my clit as I heard Richard’s imaginary voice whispering into my ears.

“Show me how badly you need it."

My breath came in gasps, the wet sounds of my fingers moving in and out filling the shower.

"Please... please..."

I pleaded as I imagined Richard behind me, his body caging mine against the wall and that thick cock sliding inch by inch.

I pumped my fingers hard and fast, my thumb pressing firm circles on my clit.

My moans turned to whimpers, then sharp cries.

"Richard! Oh God, Richard!"

The orgasm crashed through me violently as my pussy clenched around my fingers.

My legs gave out and I slid down the shower wall, crying out with each contraction.

I kept going, drawing the orgasm out and riding every last tremor until I was gasping and whimpering.

I withdrew slowly and brought my fingers to my lips, tasting myself.

Water streamed down my flushed skin, my pussy still throbbing and his name still echoing in the steam.

Then…

"Isadora?" Richard's voice called from outside my bathroom.