STARVED

I still can't believe I'm doing this.

My hands shake slightly as I pull the tight white tank top over my head. It's thin—way too thin. My nipples harden from nerves and the cool air of the AC, pressing visibly against the fabric. I glance at myself in the bedroom mirror, feeling a rush of shame mixed with near regret. What kind of woman have I become? Married for eight years, and suddenly I'm baking cookies like some desperate housewife just to get the neighbor's attention.

But every time I close my eyes, I see it again.

That night three weeks ago. I had stepped out to take the trash out. Their living room curtains weren’t fully closed. Jason had his wife, Chloe, pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He was fucking her so hard the picture frame above them rattled. His hips slammed forward with powerful strokes, muscles flexing in his back with each thrust. Chloe’s head was thrown back, mouth open in loud, broken moans — “Oh God, Jason... right there... don’t stop…” — her nails digging into his shoulders as her whole body shook. He growled something filthy against her neck and drove deeper, like he couldn’t get deep enough. The sound of skin slapping skin carried through the open window. When she came, her cry was raw and loud, legs trembling as he kept pounding through it, until he buried himself deep inside and groaned, filling her.

I stood there in the dark, my thighs squeezed together, aching so badly I could barely breathe. That night, I touched myself in the bathroom for the first time in years — fingers moving frantically under my nightgown, biting my lip to stay quiet while I imagined it was me against that wall. Me moaning his name instead of hers.

And now here I am.

I slide on a pair of cotton shorts that I never wore without a dress over them. They barely cover the bottom of my ass, and I head downstairs. The chocolate chip cookies are still warm on the plate. My heart pounds as I walk across the lawn to their house. This is it, I'm doing it.

Jason opens the door in a black tank top and gym shorts, sweat glistening on his skin, obviously from working outside. His eyes drop immediately to my chest—my hard nipples poking through the white fabric.

“Aria,” he says, voice low and warm. “Smells good.”

“I… I made too many again,” I say, holding the plate out. My voice sounds too breathy, even to me. “Thought you and Chloe might like them.”

He takes the plate, fingers brushing mine. I feel it straight between my legs.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, still looking at my breasts a second longer than he should. “You’ve been real generous lately.”

I smile shyly and leave before I do something stupid.

A few days later, I’m in another short again, standing at the fence while he mows the lawn. The engine is loud, but I still call out, “You always make it look so easy!”

He cuts the mower and walks over, wiping sweat from his forehead. His eyes flick down my legs, lingering on the soft skin where my shorts ride up.

“Hot day for shorts,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

I feel my face heat up. “They’re comfortable,” I mumble, pretending to pull them down. I shift my weight so my thighs rub together. In my head, I keep seeing Chloe’s face when she came—that pure pleasure I’ve never felt. God, what is wrong with me? I’m a married woman. This is insane.

By Tuesday afternoon, I’ve had enough. I’m doing this.

Daniel’s at a church meeting until evening. I notice Chloe has gone out, and from the way she’s all dolled up, it’s obvious she’ll stay out for a long time. I wait until I see Jason pulling into his driveway.

I change into a short, flowy summer dress with a deep neckline that shows way too much cleavage, skipping the bra. Every step I take makes my boobs sway. I feel so slutty, guilty, and so turned on I can barely think straight.

I knock on his door.

When he opens it, his gaze drops straight to my chest, then slowly back up to my face.

“Aria,” he says carefully. “Everything okay?”

“My kitchen sink has this terrible drip,” I say, biting my lip. “Daniel’s not home, and I don’t know who else to ask. Could you… maybe take a look? It won’t take long.”

He hesitates only a second, then nods. “Sure. Let me grab my tools.”

We walk back to my house. Inside the kitchen, I bend over the sink more than necessary, letting the deep neckline fall open so he can see almost everything.

Jason sets his toolbox down but doesn’t open it right away. He stands behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat from his body.

“The pipe,” I whisper, voice shaking. “It just keeps… leaking.”

His hand touches my lower back lightly. “Aria.”

I turn around slowly, heart racing. He’s so close. Looking so strong, a contrast to Daniel.

“I saw you,” I confess in a rush, cheeks burning. “A few weeks ago. Through the window. You were fucking Chloe against the wall. She was moaning so loud… her legs around you… and you were so deep inside her.” My voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Every night I touch myself in the bathroom remembering how she sounded. Wishing it was me. Wishing you were doing that to me instead.”

Jason’s breathing has changed. His eyes are dark.

“I know I shouldn’t,” I whisper, tears of shame pricking my eyes even as wetness gathers between my thighs. “I’m married. This is wrong. But I’m so tired of feeling nothing. Daniel doesn’t touch me. I’m starved and lonely.” I laugh bitterly. “I’m losing my mind, Jason. Please, touch me.”

He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Then his big hand cups my face.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice rough.

I nod, even though my stomach is twisting with guilt.

He kisses me then—hard and hungrily, nothing like the dry pecks I’m used to. His hands slide down my body, squeezing my ass through the dress before pushing the straps off my shoulders. The dress pools at my feet, leaving me naked except for a tiny pair of white panties already soaked through.

Jason groans at the sight. He lifts me onto the kitchen counter, his mouth immediately latching onto one of my breasts. His tongue swirls around my nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out. Feeling so sensitive, he moves to the other, sucking greedily, one hand kneading the soft flesh while the other slips between my legs, pushing my panties aside.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters against my skin.

I’m already moaning too loud. Embarrassingly loud.

He pulls my soaked panties down my legs and stuffs them into my mouth, muffling my sounds.

“Shh,” he whispers, eyes gleaming. “Can’t have the neighbors hearing what a needy little slut you are for me.”

Then he frees his dick. It looks so thick and heavy, veins standing out. Obviously much bigger than Daniel’s. He lines up and pushes inside me in one slow thrust, stretching me open so wide I see stars.

I scream into the panties, arching my back.

Jason fucks me right there on the counter. He moves steadily, hitting places I didn’t know existed. His mouth returns to my breasts, sucking and licking while he pounds into me. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of my dripping pussy fills the kitchen.

I come hard, shaking, my walls clenching around him like I never want to let go. He keeps going, sucking harder on my nipple until I’m whimpering into the fabric in my mouth.

When he finally comes, he buries himself deep and groans low, pulsing inside me, filling me with hot spurts.

We stay locked together, panting.

He gently pulls the panties from my mouth and kisses me softly this time.

“Next time,” he murmurs against my lips, “we do this slower… but you’re still gonna need something to bite down on.”

I can only nod, my thighs trembling, his cum already starting to leak out of me.

What have I done? Why do I want more?

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