Ryan lay in the dark bedroom, phone screen glowing faintly in his hand. The video of Sophia was paused on the last frame — her legs spread wide, fingers buried deep inside her creamy pussy, lips parted in a silent plea for cock. He had watched it four times already. Each time his hand moved faster, each time he came harder. But the moment the orgasm faded, the guilt slammed back in like a freight train.
*What the actual fuck is wrong with me?*
He stared at Ava sleeping beside him. Her chest rose and fell peacefully, one arm draped across her stomach, long black hair fanned out on the pillow. She looked so innocent. So *his*. The woman who had left her wild past behind, moved across the country, and built this quiet middle-class life with him. The woman who cooked his favorite meals, laughed at his lame jokes, and told him every night that he was enough.
And he had betrayed her in the worst way possible.
Not just by fucking Sophia.
By *trading* her.
He had taken naked photos of his own sleeping wife — her heavy breasts, her puffy pussy still slightly leaking from earlier — and sent them to another man like some kind of filthy currency. In exchange for a video of Marcus's wife begging to be fucked. The shame burned so hot in his chest that he felt physically sick.
*Marcus trusted me. He called me "bro." We grilled steaks together. Talked about life. And I repaid him by fucking his wife and now swapping nudes of mine.*
Ryan's stomach twisted. He remembered Marcus's easy laugh, the way he had clapped him on the shoulder earlier like they were real friends. And now Ryan had cum inside Sophia's pussy while Marcus was literally next door. The guilt was suffocating.
He thought about Ava again. How she had moaned his name that morning when he fucked her like a beast. How impressed she had looked. How she had kissed him afterward and whispered, "You were incredible." She had no idea it wasn't because of her. It was because he had been picturing Sophia the entire time — Sophia's tits bouncing, Sophia's moans, Sophia begging.
*She deserves better than this. She changed everything for me. And I'm sitting here jerking off to another woman while she sleeps right next to me.*
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He hated himself. Truly hated himself. He was supposed to be the good husband. The steady one. The guy who provided the middle-class life she had wanted. Instead he was becoming the kind of man he used to look down on — the weak, horny cuck who traded his wife's body for dirty videos.
He opened the chat again. The photos he had sent of Ava were still there. Her peaceful sleeping face. Her perfect breasts. Her pussy. He stared at them and felt another wave of disgust roll through him.
*She trusted me with her body. And marry me. And I'm sending pictures of her naked body to another man like she's some kind of porn star.*
His cock twitched again despite the self-loathing. The contradiction made him feel even sicker. Guilt and arousal twisted together so tightly he couldn't tell them apart anymore.
He tried to delete the entire chat with Marcus. His thumb hovered over the button for almost a full minute. But he couldn't do it. The video of Sophia begging was still fresh in his mind. The way she had said "I need a big cock" without naming anyone… it felt like she was talking directly to him.
*Just one more time,* he told himself. *I'll watch it once more and then delete everything. I swear.*
He pressed play.
The guilt only grew stronger as he stroked himself again. Every moan Sophia made in the video felt like a knife in his chest. Every time he came, he hated himself more. He came three times that night — each orgasm more intense, each one followed by deeper self-loathing.
By 3 a.m. he was exhausted, drained, and disgusted with the man staring back at him in the dark reflection of the phone screen.
*Marcus is probably laughing at me right now. He knows exactly what kind of weak, pathetic husband I am.*
Ryan finally set the phone down and rolled over, facing away from Ava. He listened to her soft breathing and felt tears burn in his eyes.
*She deserves so much better than me.*
But even as the guilt threatened to crush him, a small, dark part of his mind whispered:
*Maybe… just maybe… I'll do it again tomorrow.*
He closed his eyes, hating himself more than ever.
**To be continued…**
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