“Come on honey, just a quickie?” You whispered into his ear, pushing your perky breasts up against his long-sleeved business shirt. Your fingers snaked up his torso’s front, trailing from his waist to the buttons which you were beginning to undo. “He’s been on a 12 hour flight, he can wait another half hour for me to arrive.”

Your husband took hold of your wrists momentarily. In that second, you thought that perhaps you’d get laid for the first time in god knows how long, only for him to push your hands away. “Babe I’d love to, but today’s staff meeting was just absolutely stressful and I really just want to relax for a couple hours. Maybe before we go to bed? And besides, we shouldn’t be keeping him waiting.”

You sighed, then snapped, “Fine. Before bed tonight. I’ll be back in an hour and a half, see you then.” Fetching your keys from the familiar ceramic bowl, you slammed the front door on your way out, but you knew he wouldn’t notice with his head burrowed inside the refrigerator holding all his beer bottles.

How did it go so wrong? You wondered, suddenly exhausted, your eyes almost on the verge of tears as you flipped on the headlights. We promised each other we wouldn’t be ‘that married couple’, and yet… here we are. Everyone always said the flame of carnal desire burned out eventually in a marriage, but for it to happen at 32? We should’ve been devouring each other until 35, at the very least, ideally until our forties.

Miraculously you didn’t crash your vehicle on the drive there. Idly, you picked up the poster roll with the name ‘Christian Koeller’ painted over it and rested it on your shoulder, dragging your feet toward waiting section for the incoming arrivals. This foreign exchange student was your husband’s idea. Because of his work at a prestigious university and his desire to achieve a permanent spot in its staff, he figured that if he participated in this housing program, which the dean heavily approved of, it would increase his chances of locking down a professor job for the next decade. So over the past half year he eventually broke down your resistance, culminating in this very moment.

There was a tap on your shoulder followed by a German accent. “Mrs. Esmerelda?” You turned around, almost dropping your jaw at the young man standing before you.

Tall, clearly athletic, lean, wavy dirty blonde hair, a dazzling smile, blue eyes, a defined jaw, just the perfect amount of stubble. Like someone took a Prince Charming out of the fairy tales, roughed him up a little bit and dropped him right on the linoleum right in front of you. “Uh yeah, that’s me.” You stammered, examining me from head to toe before staring at the sign in your trembling hands. “And you must be uh Christian Koeller?”

“Yes, that’s right. I heard I’d be living with a married couple, with no kids, but I didn’t imagine you to be so young. And still so pretty.” I smiled, scratching my hair slightly. “Is your husband with you?”

“Oh.” You frowned, realizing he was probably passed out in front of the television this very moment. “No, he’s had a long day, but my car’s outside, so let’s take you back to my home, okay?”

The two of us chatted on the drive home, about each other’s backgrounds, your marriage, my education until we arrived at your doorstep. You showed me the guest bedroom, leaving me to get settled as you retreated to your own bedroom, already knowing you were going to be disappointed. And sure enough you were, your husband being fast asleep. But then again, you would’ve been foolish to actually expect otherwise.

An aggravating two weeks followed, predictably sexless, but you hadn’t predicted the immense sexual tension. Perhaps you were imagining it. But you didn’t dare confide in your husband, or did you not want to? After all, you couldn’t remember the last time since a handsome young 20-something glanced at your curves so appreciatively? Once, while you were changing I passed by your door and you panicked, shutting it immediately upon noticing my presence. But something warm, lustful flickered inside of you, and the next time you were changing, your door was flung wide open. This time, when I passed by, you didn’t hide or shrink away, but continued boldly. However you didn’t throw a lustful stare in return. After all, you were faithful to your husband no? But the attention was enjoyable nevertheless.

You spent more time on your appearance, buying new lingerie, skimpier outfits that revealed more skin. After all, the west coast was warm even in the fall. “You’re looking great today, when’d you go shopping?” I complimented one afternoon after returning from class. “Gosh, you look better than most of my classmates.” You blushed at that, brushing your hair back, biting your lip. But the temptation was rising. As I was growing more comfortable living in your house, I’d walk out of the bathroom in only my boxers after my showers. The outline of my cock through my undergarments, without a doubt larger than your husbands almost made your mouth water. You’d sneak glances whenever possible, barely avoiding detection, imaging how it felt to hold it in your-

Wait a second. I can’t be thinking like that. You panicked, shutting those thoughts off. And yet…

And then the final straw was a girl’s pleasured moans emanating through the wall separating our bedrooms. Most likely I’d brought back another student in the dead of the night. Your husband, who wore earplugs regularly to bed, couldn’t hear the sound but your loins moistened at the gasps and squeaking mattress. Within moments, your fingers had crept down to that region, teasing you further until reason and logic fell apart to a sexual hunger.

You needed a cock. And at this point, you weren’t even sure it had to be your husband’s anymore.

My seventh prompt. Kinks and DPP Profile.