LOGINJanette's Point Of View Another Story Of My Marriage.... I still couldn't believe it. Just two weeks ago, I was Jane Harris, single and figuring out life in this big city. Now, I was Jane Whitaker, Mrs. to Mark Whitaker, the guy I'd dated for three years and finally said yes to in that rainy park. Our wedding was small, just family and a few close friends in a cozy chapel downtown. It felt right, like the start of something solid. But as we settled into our new apartment on the edge of town, with its creaky floors and view of the river, I started noticing little things. Like how Mark's eyes sometimes lingered on his phone a bit too long, or how he'd come home late from work smelling like coffee and something else I couldn't place. I pushed it away, though. We were newlyweds. This was normal, right? Adjusting. The first real hint of weirdness came on a Tuesday morning. Mark had an early meeting at his office job—he was some mid-level manager at a tech firm—and I was off to my part-
I was lost in the haze of pure bliss, my body rocking on the hood of the car as Andrew's thick cock drove into me over and over. Each thrust hit deep, stretching my pussy in ways that made my toes curl and my breath catch. God, he was so much better than Mark—needier, hungrier, like he couldn't get enough of me. His hips slammed forward with this raw urgency, his grunts filling the garage, mixing with the wet slaps of our skin. Mark had never fucked me like this, never made me feel so wanted, so utterly filled. Andrew's shaft dragged along my walls, hitting spots that sent sparks shooting up my spine, and I clenched around him, milking him for more. My eyes were squeezed shut, the world narrowing to the heat building between my legs. Sweat slicked my skin, my tits bounced with every pound. Then, soft hands cupped them—firm, knowing fingers kneading the heavy flesh, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked hard. I moaned louder, arching into the touch. It had to be Andrew, multita
I pulled up to Janette's house right on time, the morning sun already beating down like it had a grudge. My toolkit clanged in the truck bed as I grabbed it, slinging it over my shoulder. This job was supposed to be quick—finishing up the wiring in the garage after yesterday's tease. But from the moment I rang the bell, I knew it wouldn't be straightforward. Janette answered, her sundress clinging to every curve like it was painted on. Those tits of hers—full, heavy, spilling out the low neckline so much I could see the dark edges of her areolas peeking. She smiled, all innocent eyes and plump lips, but her body screamed fuck me."Morning, Andrew," she purred, stepping aside to let me in. "Mark's home today, but he said I should keep an eye on you. You know, learn a thing or two about all that... hard work you do." Her voice dipped on 'hard work,' her gaze flicking down to my crotch like she was imagining the bulge already forming. Dirty innocent talk—hmm, she was really good at it. S
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the king-sized bed. Mark had come home from his disastrous day at work, grumbling about his team the whole evening, but now, as we slipped under the cool sheets, his mood had shifted. I was still so mad at him from the previous night and how this morning he interrupted a very heated sex I would've had With Andrew. What a show spoiler. And now, he was looking at me like a predator...a stupid predator at that. I could feel it in the way he scooted closer, his hand sliding possessively over my hip. We'd barely spoken during dinner—my mind had been elsewhere, replaying the garage scene like a forbidden movie on loop. Andrew. Those rippling abs glistening with sweat, his strong hands gripping the ladder, the way he'd caught my towel before it could fall completely, his fingers brushing my nipple in that accidental-yet-not touch. God, just thinking about it made my core clench, a fresh wave of h
The call came in early that morning, some guy named Mark panicking about a burnt wire and a busted changeover switch in his garage. I grabbed my toolkit, hopped in the van, and headed over to the address in the suburbs. Nice neighborhood—big houses, manicured lawns. When Mark opened the door, he looked harried, like he'd been up all night dealing with whatever electrical nightmare had sparked. 'Andrew, right? Thank God you're here. It's in the garage. I can't mess with it myself; last thing I need is the whole place going up in flames.'I nodded. "No problem, Mr...?" "Call me Mark," I followed him through the house to the attached garage. The air smelled like charred plastic and ozone, the kind of scent that lingers after a short circuit. The panel was mounted high on the wall, wires spilling out like guts from a fresh kill. Mark hovered for a minute, explaining how it happened—something about a power surge during the storm last night. Then his phone buzzed. 'Shit, work's calling. I
I sat at my desk in the back row of Ms. Elara Voss's empty classroom, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds like golden bars trapping me here. The clock on the wall ticked past 5 PM, and the school halls outside had gone quiet, echoing with the ghosts of slammed lockers and laughter from earlier. Ms. Voss was strict—everyone knew that. Her sharp green eyes could pin you in place during lectures on literature, her voice cutting through bullshit like a knife. But me? Riley Thorne, the brilliant but rebellious one, as she called me in parent-teacher conferences I never attended. I skipped classes, mouthed off, but aced every test. She kept me after for 'tutoring,' but we both knew it was more than that. Those lingering glances across the room, the way her fingers brushed mine when handing back papers—accidental, sure, but they lit something inside me I couldn't ignore. She paced in front of the chalkboard, her pencil skirt hugging her hips, blouse tucked neatly but strai







