I woke up with a jolt, gasping lightly, my breath caught somewhere between confusion and dread. It was pitch black. My room... this was my room, but something was wrong. I blinked rapidly, eyes struggling to adjust. Why was it so dark? Not a single sliver of moonlight came through the windows. I turned instinctively to my right, expecting the comforting warmth of my wife's body.
The bed was empty.
My chest tightened. Where was she? Maybe she went to get water… or to the bathroom? But even then, the silence felt unnatural. The kind of quiet that screamed. My eyes scanned the bed again, desperate for any sign. That's when I noticed it, something cold resting by my thigh.
A flashlight.
I didn't remember putting it there. Still, I grabbed it, flicked the switch, and a narrow beam of white light cut through the darkness. I aimed it towards the usual spot on the wall where the light switch was. But… nothing.
No board.
Frowning, I moved the light to the other side. Nothing again. I swept the flashlight across the room. Walls. Just walls. No paintings, no switches, nothing... just the bed and four cold, empty barriers around me. I slowly stood up, flashlight shaking in my hand. My breath was getting heavier. Something about this wasn't right. Was I still dreaming?
I gulped.
The beam hit the bedroom door, wide open. I hadn't noticed it before. Beyond it lay more darkness, except for one thing, a faint red glow. A painted arrow pointing down the hall, glowing faintly like blood under blacklight. I didn't move.
But my legs did.
I felt them shift on their own, dragging me forward step by step, as if I were on puppet strings. I tried to stop myself, to push back, but I couldn't. It was as though an invisible leash was wrapped around my neck, pulling me toward something I wasn't ready to face.
I passed through the threshold.
Another red mark. Down the hall. Then another. And another. I kept walking. My mouth was dry, and my body cold, except for the uncomfortable heat building between my legs again. It was happening like before… I didn't want it to, but something about the weight in my shorts made me feel sick.
That's when I saw it.
A large screen flickering in the hallway. A movie was playing. My legs stopped moving. As if ordered to pay attention.
I turned my gaze toward the screen.
The woman on it… I recognized her. She was the same one from yesterday's film, the one who had slowly fallen into the arms, and then onto the cock... of another man. A once-loving wife, corrupted slowly by teasing, touches, and secrets.
Only now, she wasn't teasing anymore.
Her eyes were glazed, her lips slightly opened as she bounced shamelessly on top of a thick, veiny cock. Her ass clapped loudly against the man's thighs, back arched, breasts swinging with each thrust. Her moans were feral, broken, hungry.
"Yes! Harder! Break me, fuck—break my married pussy!"
My cock throbbed painfully.
I blinked and looked down. I was hard again. My dick strained against my shorts, pulsing with heat and shame. My throat clenched. Why? Why did those words make me twitch?
"Ahhh! Yes! This cock… it's nothing like my husband's! You're splitting me in half!" she howled.
Throb.
I wanted to look away.
"My husband's so boring. I was made for this... made to be a dirty little toy!"
Throb. Throb.
I bit my lip. My face burned with shame. My heart was breaking while my cock refused to listen.
"Use me like you own me… make me forget that loser even exists!"
I clenched my fists, angry at myself. Why was I hard? Why did hearing this turn my body into a traitor? This woman… she wasn't even mine. But she reminded me of her—my wife. That same voice, that same soft moan I used to hear whisper sweet things to me. Now those lips were screaming filth.
The moans faded into the distance. My legs started walking again. Out the door. Deeper into the dark.
My forehead broke into a cold sweat. The grip around my throat, that invisible leash, tugged again, and I found myself heading toward the old man's house, not inside, but to the side of the house, my steps eerily quiet.
And then I saw something I couldn't comprehend.
It was me.
I was already there.
Crouched beneath the curtains, peeking inside. Same clothes, same posture. Just like yesterday. My mind reeled—how was this possible? I wasn't just reliving the moment, I was watching myself live it. Watching my own actions like some cursed spectator.
The other me whispered something I couldn't catch, then quietly moved toward the back of the house. I knew what he was about to do. I had done it. I remembered.
The other me moved around the back of the house, the same exact way I had yesterday. Without meaning to, my legs followed him, like I had no control over them. I saw him crouching again near the bathroom window, his face tense, eyes focused—just like mine had been.
He muttered something, voice too low to hear, maybe confused, frustrated… I couldn't tell. Then, he turned and walked past me. Not around me and... through me. Like I wasn't even there. Or maybe… I really wasn't. Maybe I was just an observer now. Maybe I was only supposed to watch.
I swallowed hard, thinking that maybe this was the end of the dream. Maybe now I'd wake up. I closed my eyes tightly, wanting to be in bed next to her again. I counted slowly in my head. One. Two. Three.
But nothing changed.
When I opened my eyes, I was still standing in the same place. Silence. It was just me again—alone.
My legs began to move on their own once more, this time pulling me to the same bathroom window. The same impossible, shadowy place I had been before. The window was misted and dark, and just like before, I couldn't make out anything clearly. Only vague, shifting shapes. I squinted, tilted my head, closed one eye and tried to focus.
I couldn't see a damn thing.
Frustrated, my hand trembled as it reached for the flashlight still clenched in my grip. I raised it sharply, pointing the beam right at the window—and everything changed.
Suddenly, the shapes became clearer.
Too clear.
The old man was crouched. But not to pick something up.
His position, his posture… It was unmistakable.
In front of him was a woman, bent over the sink or some kind of ledge, her body positioned low, her arms braced. Her hair spilled down her back, her legs trembling slightly under her.
My breath caught in my throat.
Was that… was that my wife?
I couldn't see the faces, but the silhouette was horrifyingly familiar. Her figure. Her shape. The curve of her waist, the slope of her back—I knew that body.
I knew it like the back of my hand.
My shorts tightened painfully. I couldn't move. I didn't want to believe it.
Suddenly, the old man leaned in. I saw his thick shaft appear in silhouette, swelling with power. He pushed it against her from behind—and then slowly began to slide it in.
"Unngh..." her voice whimpered faintly from the wall—barely a moan, almost like a suppressed cry. Her knees buckled slightly, her silhouette quivering with the slow intrusion. My cock throbbed, stiff and aching inside my shorts, twitching at the sound.
"You feel that?" I heard his low, mocking voice. "That's what you were waiting for, isn't it? Knew you were a slut the moment I saw you."
"No..." I whispered, but no sound came out.
He started moving. Slowly at first—just enough to make her body rock forward and back, then faster, harder. His hands dug into her hips, pulling her back onto his cock with wet slaps echoing faintly through the window. My hand hung useless at my side, but my cock… it pulsed on its own. I wasn't even touching it, but it twitched and leaked, rubbing against the inside of my shorts with every pounding thrust I watched.
The old man grunted, rough and brutal. "Look at you. Married... and here you are getting stuffed full of another man's cock like it's the only thing you've ever needed."
"Ahh... nnnh... fuck... yes," she gasped, her voice full of desperate arousal. "Don't stop—f-fuck me... harder... yes, yes..."
I bit down on my lip, feeling something drip down my thigh. My cock twitched violently. It was moving... all on its own. I could feel the friction. My body was betraying me.
"Say it," the old man growled, grabbing her hair and puller her head back. "Say what you want."
"Fill me... nngh... fill me with that disgusting semen... ahhh, yes... breed me like a filthy bitch...!"
I buckled. My hips twitched forward—my cock rubbing against my shorts, then again, grinding into nothing, ike my own body was thrusting. I couldn't stop it. I wasn't doing it. My hands were shaking, but I wasn't moving—yet I was fucking the air like an animal.
"Look at your useless husband," the old man groaned, slamming his cock harder. "Probably watching while leaking like a damn virgin. He can't even stop his dick from throbbing."
"Ahhh... ahhh... yes...!" her cries were louder now, every slap of their bodies making me wince and throb harder. "So full... I'm so full...!"
I couldn't hold it.
My whole body jerked.
Cum shot out inside my shorts in thick, hot bursts—pulse after pulse—without a single touch. My cock was leaking uncontrollably, humping the air while the moans of my wife and the brutal groans of the old man filled my ears.
Their bodies moved faster, frenzied. And then—
"Fucking take it...!" he growled.
"Cumming...! Hnnnnghh!" she cried, her voice shaking.
My vision blurred.
And all three of us came together. The room spun. My knees gave out. Darkness swallowed everything again.