I entered the room just as she came. I saw his body on top of Fiona and he was arching his hips into her like he wanted every inch of his dick to be buried in her or like he wanted to make sure when he ejaculated his semen would be deposited into her deepest and there was no chance she could escape being impregnated by him. And I saw her legs wide apart feet anchored on the bed, opened not because his body was within them but because she wanted to open her vagina to him. Her upturned pelvis to meet his hooked thrust into her showed that and her desire was blatant because she was strong and urgent in her push up to him as though she wanted to seal every gap between them where he joined her but not really that he joined her, it was not like you glued 2 pieces of flat wood together, but where he took what she gave to him – the depth and secret of her womanhood which up till then was pledged for only her husband. And I saw his muscled arms, forearms buried into her back, holding her like she was his possession, a grip that she couldn’t escape from even if she tried too late to stop. His strength was of course too great for her but it wasn’t her in her mind to stop him at all, for I saw her arms embraced around his shoulder, her biceps flattened against his deltoids, flattened as only if you pressed your arms really really hard to hold onto something or someone, as though you didn’t want to let him go or if you wanted him to carry you up and off and the sinews of her forearms was taut and tight because her fingers were dug into his shoulders, urgently pulling him willing him to take her. And her breasts, so perfectly formed, now lay squashed against his chest, only that it wasn’t so much he who was pressing down on her breasts as she pressing herself up against him. And I saw the look she gave me, seeing but not seeing, vacant, half closed, smouldering, vulnerable, the look you’d give someone when you’ve been possessed by him and there’s no wall between him and your love and heart and soul, the look of absolute surrender and intimate tenderness and love, except that Fiona was not giving this last gift of herself to me but to the man who was at that moment driving her to orgasm. Fiona was looking at me but every emotion that look conveyed was for the other person. And I came upon them just when she orgasm, maybe a half second before her walls broke down and gushed away; she gave out a moan, not soft not loud like in pretense but genuinely felt, which sounded like a mixture of an “aaaahh” and ending with an “oooooh” which tells a man that he had succeeded in conquering her and then she uttered the unmistakable words, soft and distinct “ohhhh shit” not because she had been discovered, but those familiar words I’ve heard before signalling her point of no return, like it was bad for her to have come. And the unltimate pain of seeing her body in the familiar throes of orgasm, the sudden tense stillness of her body mouth opened silently lasting for about 3 seconds and then sure as the sun rises the sudden urgent quick embrace of her arms round him and she buried her face in his neck breathing in him deeply as the convulsions started as her whole thighs and hamstrings rippled and trembled as if on a life of their own and her abdomen wracking up in serpent like waves against his hard abs and I stood there for long seconds watching my wife coming in the arms of another man. I left, quietly, knowing later, maybe after he turned her around to take her some more, that eventually he would stop and they would end, and he would pull his dick out of her and it would pull along a trail of her juice and his cum too.
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