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Yeah, I cheat on my husband. It’s not something I ever thought I’d do, but here we are. He just can't satisfy me, not in the way I need. His touch is timid, his passion is weak. I crave something raw and demanding. So I find it elsewhere. Sometimes with one man, sometimes with two at once. They know how to use me, how to make me feel alive. They fuck me like I'm a piece of meat, and god, I love it. But I'm not stupid about it. Every single time, they wear condoms. No one's getting me pregnant except you, darling husband, if I ever let you near me again without protection. It's funny, really. You're at home probably thinking about what to make for dinner, and I'm still feeling the stretch from last night, trying to remember which bruise came from which man. This is my secret life. And I have no intention of stopping. And sometimes, when they're done and they pull the condom off, I think about taking it from them. Just keeping it. I imagine pouring that warm, thick load into your morning coffee while you’re reading the paper. Or stirring it into your oatmeal when you’re not looking. The thought of you swallowing their cum without even knowing… it makes me so wet. It would be the ultimate humiliation for you, and the ultimate power for me. But I don’t do it. It stays a fantasy, for now.