The dream held William Kaine in its sultry, hentai-inspired embrace, his cuckold fetish a smoldering ember that flared with every memory of the previous night.
Sunlight poured through the guest room window of Joe Norris's villa, the familiar space a second home for William of countless university nights spent with his buddy Joe. The glare was harsh, yet Rajiv's head felt surprisingly clear, the high-quality whisky sparing him the usual hangover. But clarity brought no peace—his dream was a torrent of vivid images, each more searing than the last.
He saw it again: Joe, muscular and commanding, riding atop Samantha, his beloved wife. The man's buttocks thrusting with frantic precision, the loud clap! clap! clap! echoing in William's ears. Samantha's flushed face, her ecstatic moans, her stunning sexy body yielding to Joe's relentless passion—it was both unreal and achingly real, a weird fetish-fueled fantasy that had shattered their agreement and ignited William's deepest desires.
"Oh, you awake?" Samantha's melodic voice broke through, soft and familiar, pulling him from his reverie. Her stunning face appeared at the door, framed by golden hair that caught the morning light. She moved with effortless grace, a vision in a Hermès white belted tunic dress, the fabric smooth as freshly fallen snow. The dress cinched at her slender waist with a leather belt, accentuating the lush curve of her hips, flowing in soft folds to just above her knees. The lace hem whispered against her skin, a delicate contrast to the plunging neckline that teased her deep cleavage, a looming temptation of smooth, warm flesh beneath the pristine white.
As she approached, her scent enveloped him—a crisp, intoxicating blend of lilies, fresh and heady, clinging to her like a lover's secret. She sat on the edge of the bed, her delicate hands reaching to rub his temples, a tender ritual she performed whenever he drank too much. The thin fabric of her dress revealed the contours of her round thighs, delicate knees, and shapely calves. Her snow-white feet, petite and perfect, bore faint veins that emerged cutely, her delicate chubby toes like a string of pearls, emanating a faint, alluring fragrance. William was intoxicated, his wife's tenderness a balm as always. But the sudden realization of last night's betrayal sent a torment on his gut.
"Sammy hey…" William murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes tracing her curves. The dress hugged her body, the lace hem teasing her skin, her full breasts straining against the neckline. The memory of Joe's hands on those breasts, kneading them roughly, flashed in his mind, followed by Samantha's wanton cries—
—"Fuck me! ♡ I'm your fucktoy! ♡"—
—and her calling Joe "daddy," "darling," "husband." Worst of all, her use of "Baka," their private nickname, for another man. The loop of memory amplified the pain, yet his body stirred, his cuckold fetish reigniting at the thought of her surrender.
"You okay, love?" Samantha asked, her blue eyes soft with concern, though a faint flush lingered on her cheeks, maybe a ghost of last night's passion. Her fingers massaged his head gently, but Rajiv's gaze lingered on her lips, still rosy, but swollen.
Was it from Joe's ravenous kisses? William wanted to ask.
What happened after I left? Did you mean to call him Baka? Or… was everything just my dream? But the words caught in his throat, drowned by the pull of his so called male pride.
Samantha's gentle fingers massaged William's temples, a tender ritual, but her beautiful blue eyes held a flicker of guilt.
"Did you see it all last night?" Samantha's voice was a whisper, soft as an ant's tread, her face blooming with shy crimson. "Will you... hate me…?"
William's head buzzed, the truth crashing over him—not a dream, but reality, raw and undeniable.
"No," he said quickly, cutting her off, his voice thick with emotion. "No, don't be silly, honey. You know my weird fetish. I'm worried you'll be angry at me! Haa, I've wanted to see you fucking with another man for so long, but not some random guy—this time, Joe was the perfect chance." His words spilled out, sincere.
Samantha burst into shy laughter, a goddess radiant with charm. "Hmph, pervert!" she teased, playfully swatting his arm, her full breasts swaying with the motion, their lush curves straining against the dress.
William's gaze lingered, captivated. She was more alluring than ever, her sensuality heightened by the night's passion, a sexy goddess brought to life. William believed that women nourished by such swap sex experiences glowed with an unmatched femininity, and Samantha was proof, her beauty amplified by Joe's touch.
"My dear wife, I love you so much," William said, his voice raw with sincerity. "I'm not obsessed with those pretty ladies on the site—only you, your soul, your body. But I want our sex life to be thrilling, to push boundaries. Beauty fades fast, Sammy. In your prime, experience more men, different passions—it'll make you even more captivating, more feminine. Only by exploring can a woman's charm deepen."
He paused, his hand resting on her thigh, feeling the warmth through the thin fabric. "I trust our love, our loyalty. When we're old, when I can't get it up, when we're wrinkled and gray, we'll still love and support each other. But now, you're so beautiful, so vibrant—why not embrace more, gain more sexual experience?"
Samantha snuggled into his arms, her lily scent enveloping him, her body soft against his. "Darling, I love you too," she murmured, her voice soft, "Yeah… just… last night was crazy, intense, exciting." Her cheeks flushed deeper, her eyes glinting with a mix of guilt and exhilaration.
"If there were more handsome men, you'd be even crazier," William teased, his voice a mischievous purr, his hand resting on her round thigh, feeling the heat through the thin fabric. "Picture the gilded halls of the French court in medieval, Sammy, where love is a delicate dance of etiquette. A noble man, no matter how burning with sex desire, must request an audience with his wife as if she were a queen. A love note slipped into her gloved hand at supper, a murmured, 'Shall I attend you tonight, madame?'—that's the civilized way. And if he finds her chambers occupied—perhaps by a duc with razor-sharp wit or a young officer whose uniform clings just a bit too well—what then? A gentleman doesn't rage or duel. He bows, ever so slightly, and withdraws, his silence a testament to grace, not weakness."
William's eyes glinted, his words a seductive metaphor. "A sought-after beautiful married lady is no disgrace—she's celebrated. Her boudoir, a stage for whispered confessions and knowing smiles, hosts a parade of male admirers, each adding to her prestige. In France, romance is an art, not a mere dalliance—a theater where possession is passé, but charm is divine. Paris reigns as the capital of love, not only for pure loves, but for exquisite and erotic ones." His voice dropped, intimate and daring. "You, Sammy, could be that queen, your allure drawing every gaze, your passion a masterpiece."
"I hope you enjoy it next time," William said, his voice sincere, his fingers tracing the lace hem of her dress. "Let it make you even more radiant."
Samantha's eyes sparkled with mischief, her flush deepening as she leaned closer, her breath a soft tease against his ear. "Then I'll be a popular sovereign queen, sought after by countless handsome men! Hmph! Don't regret it, Baka." Her voice was a playful challenge, her shy laughter a melody that shifted from guilt to daring in an instant, her unpredictable nature a hallmark of her charm. Her breasts swayed with her laugh, their lush curves a hentai-inspired vision that set William's pulse ablaze.
Women were a mystery, their emotions a kaleidoscope—tears one moment, laughter the next, each shift a brushstroke in their allure. William pulled her closer, her lily scent enveloping him, her body soft against his. "I'll always adore and love you, my queen," he murmured, his lips brushing her neck, tasting the warmth of her skin.