My Wife's Boss Begs for My Secret Creampie

I still remember the exact night Rachel came home flushed and tipsy from another late “strategy session” with Victor. She kicked off her heels, poured herself a glass of wine, and looked at me with that guilty little smile she gets when she’s about to confess something filthy.

“Victor overheard you,” she said, biting her lip. “Last month at the company barbecue. You were bragging to the guys about how you give me these… secret, thick creampies. How I beg for them even when I’m supposed to be on birth control. How I keep your load inside me all day at work like a dirty little secret.”

My stomach dropped. Then tightened with something far darker.

Rachel kept talking, voice low. “He laughed it off in front of everyone, but later in the car he admitted he can’t stop thinking about it. He said his wife hasn’t let him finish inside her in eight years. He kept asking me questions, Mark. Really specific ones. About how much you cum. About how it feels when you pump me full while I’m still wearing my office clothes.”

She thought it was funny. Mortifying, but funny.

I didn’t.

Victor Hale was forty-five, tall, silver at the temples, the kind of arrogant, handsome bastard who wore three-thousand-dollar suits and treated everyone beneath him like furniture. For months he’d been keeping my wife at the office until nine, ten, sometimes midnight. And now I knew he was lying awake at night obsessing over my cum.

The first text came three days later.

Victor: Mark, this is Victor Hale. Need to discuss the Q3 projections Rachel’s been handling. Can we speak privately?

I almost laughed. Then the messages changed.

Victor: I can’t stop thinking about what you said. About filling her. About how she craves it. I haven’t slept.

Victor: Tell me what it feels like when you breed her. Be specific. I need to know.

Victor: Please.

By the second week the tone had shifted from desperate curiosity to outright begging. He sent me pictures of his wife asleep beside him, her back turned, and captions that made my cock throb against my zipper: She won’t even let me touch her anymore. I keep imagining your load dripping out of someone while they pretend nothing happened.

Rachel left for a four-day business trip to Chicago on a Thursday. Victor showed up at our house that same night at 8:17 p.m.

I opened the door and there he was—impeccable charcoal suit, silk tie loosened, eyes wild. The second he saw me he sank to his knees right there on our welcome mat.

“Mark… please.” His voice cracked. “I can’t do this anymore. I heard every word you said that day. I’ve jerked off to it for months. I need it. I need you to fuck me the way you fuck her. Bend me over your bed and pump me full. I want your secret creampie. I’ll do anything.”

The power rush hit me so hard I got lightheaded.

I grabbed him by the tie and dragged him inside. The door had barely clicked shut before I shoved him against the wall and kissed him brutally. He moaned into my mouth like he’d been waiting years for it. His hands fumbled at my belt, desperate, shaking.

“Bedroom,” I growled. “Our marital bed. If you want my load, you’re taking it where I breed my wife.”

Victor’s knees nearly buckled at the words.

I marched him upstairs, stripping him as we went. Expensive jacket, tie, shirt—discarded on the stairs like trash. By the time we reached the bedroom he was down to black designer boxer-briefs, his cock straining obscenely against the fabric, a wet spot already forming.

I pushed him onto the bed face-first, right where Rachel sleeps. He arched his back immediately, pushing his ass up like a whore in heat.

“Tell me what you want,” I demanded, yanking his briefs down. His ass was smooth, muscular, clenched with anticipation.

“I want your cock,” he panted. “I want you to use me. I want you to cheat on Rachel by breeding her boss. Please, Mark. Fill me with the same thick cum you give your wife. Make me leak you all the way home to mine.”

I spat on his hole, worked two fingers in roughly. He cried out, pushing back, fucking himself on my hand.

“Beg better.”