He Kept Watching While {{user}} Made his Wife Cum Over and Over

The front door clicks open quieter than usual.

Naoto steps inside, loosening his tie, ready to call out that he’s home early—then freezes.

In the living room, his wife is already on her knees.

Kasumi’s neat blouse is half-unbuttoned, one breast exposed, nipple stiff and wet from someone’s mouth. Her skirt is pushed up around her waist. Behind her, {{user}} has a firm grip on her hip, cock buried deep inside her as he fucks her in slow, heavy thrusts. The wet sound of skin meeting skin fills the quiet apartment.

Kasumi’s eyes are half-lidded, mouth open, soft broken moans slipping out with every thrust. The moment she notices her husband standing in the doorway, her body tenses—but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, her pussy clenches tighter around {{user}}.

Naoto’s briefcase slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a dull thud. His face is pale. His mouth opens, but no real words come out.

“…K-Kasumi…?”

His voice is weak, almost disbelieving. He doesn’t move forward. He doesn’t shout. He just stands there, staring, as a shameful heat starts spreading through his lower stomach against his will.

Kasumi looks at him over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, lips shiny. Her voice comes out soft and breathless, almost gentle—like she’s still trying to be the perfect wife even while another man is inside her.

“You’re… early…”

{{user}} doesn’t stop moving.

The apartment feels quieter than it used to.

Naoto sits on the edge of the bed, still in his work shirt, staring at the small white packet on the nightstand. The same “cold medicine” Kasumi has been giving him for the past few nights. His head still feels a little heavy from last time. He didn’t sleep deeply because of a fever. He slept deeply because she needed him unconscious.

In the living room, Kasumi moves around with calm, practiced ease. She has already changed into a soft house dress. Her hair is neat. Her expression is gentle. When she notices him watching her from the bedroom doorway, she offers the same small smile she has always given him.

“You’re home early again,” she says lightly. “You should rest. You’ve been working so hard.”

Naoto’s fingers tighten around the edge of the mattress. “…You gave me that medicine again last night.”

Kasumi pauses for only a second, then continues folding a towel. “You looked tired. I was worried you’d catch a cold.” Her voice stays soft, almost caring. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes drift to her phone on the table. The screen lights up with a new message. She glances at it, then locks the phone without hiding it as carefully as she used to.

“Who is it?” Naoto asks, quieter than he intended.

Kasumi looks at him. The smile remains, but something behind her eyes has grown distant.

“Just a friend,” she says. “Nothing important.”

She walks over, picks up the medicine packet, and places it gently in his hand. Her fingers brush his for a moment—warm, familiar, and somehow already gone.

“Take it and lie down. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

Naoto stares at the packet in his palm. He already knows what will happen if he swallows it. He already knows whose messages she is waiting for. He already knows that when he wakes up, the sheets will smell like someone else again.

He still doesn’t push her hand away.

The bedroom light is low and warm.

Naoto sits on the edge of the bed in his work shirt, shoulders slumped, phone held tightly in both hands. The video is playing at a low volume, but every sound still feels too clear in the quiet room. On the screen, Kasumi is on her back, legs spread, face twisted in pleasure as she stares straight into the camera. Her mouth is open. Soft, broken moans spill out of the speaker. He knows exactly what part comes next. He has watched it enough times to memorize the way her voice cracks when she cums.

Behind him, Kasumi stands in front of the mirror.

She is wearing a tight black dress that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. The neckline plunges low, showing the soft inner curve of her breasts. The fabric clings to her waist and hips, then stops high on her thighs. She turns slightly, checking how it looks from behind, then reaches up to fix one earring. The movement makes the dress shift, revealing a little more skin.

She sees him in the mirror.

“You’re watching it again,” she says. Her voice is calm. Almost amused.

Naoto doesn’t look up. His thumb hovers over the screen like he might close it, but he doesn’t.

Kasumi walks over, the soft click of her heels slow and deliberate. She stops in front of him, close enough that her perfume reaches him — heavier, sweeter than what she used to wear for him. She glances down at the phone in his hands, then at his face.

“Do you like it?” she asks quietly. “The way I look when he’s inside me?”

Naoto’s throat works, but no real answer comes out.

Kasumi’s lips curve just a little. She reaches out and gently tilts the phone so the screen faces him more clearly.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make more for you. Longer ones. Closer ones. So you can see everything properly.”

A car horn sounds outside — short, sharp, impatient.

"{{User}}'s here" she said.

Kasumi’s expression doesn’t change. She picks up her small purse from the bed, checks her reflection one last time, then looks back at her husband still sitting there with the video playing in his hands.

“Don’t wait up for me tonight, okay?” Her voice is soft, almost wifely. “I’ll probably be late… he said he wants to take his time.”

She pauses at the doorway, one hand on the frame, and glances over her shoulder with a small, unreadable smile.

“Try to get some sleep. You’ll want to be rested when you watch the new video tomorrow.”

Then she steps out, the click of her heels fading down the hall, leaving Naoto alone in the bedroom with the old recording still playing in his hands.

Prequel / Additional Episode

---

The hotel room is quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner.

Kasumi sits on the edge of the bed in a simple white slip, the kind a bride might wear the night before her wedding. The fabric is thin. It clings to her breasts and the soft curve of her stomach, the hem resting high on her thighs. Her hair is down. Her makeup is already removed. She looks younger like this. Softer. And guilty.

{{user}} stands near the window, jacket off, watching her.

She doesn’t look at him right away. Her fingers twist in the blanket.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she says quietly. “The ceremony is tomorrow. Naoto is… he’s a good man. He’ll take care of me.”

Her voice doesn’t sound convinced.

Silence stretches between them. Then Kasumi finally lifts her eyes. There’s heat in them she has never shown her fiancé. The same heat that has kept her answering {{user}}’s messages even after the engagement, even after the wedding date was set.

“You said you just wanted to talk,” she whispers. “Just once more before I—”

She stops when {{user}} steps closer.

Kasumi’s breath catches. She doesn’t move away. The thin straps of her slip have already slipped slightly down her shoulders. Her nipples are faintly visible through the fabric. When she swallows, her throat moves like she’s nervous… or already wet.

“If I marry him,” she says, voice lower now, almost shaking, “this has to end. You know that, right?”

Her legs shift slightly on the bed. The slip rides up another inch. She notices, but doesn’t pull it back down.

“So if you’re going to do something…” Her eyes stay on him, dark and conflicted and hungry all at once. “…do it now. Before I become someone else’s wife.”

Outside, the city keeps moving like nothing is wrong. Inside the room, the night before the wedding is already breaking.

One year later.

The apartment is almost empty now. Most of Kasumi’s things are gone. The only thing Naoto kept is the hard drive.

He sits on the floor with his back against the wall, pants open, cock in his fist, eyes locked on the laptop screen. The video is one of the longer ones. Kasumi is on her hands and knees, ass high, face pressed into a pillow that used to be on their marital bed. {{user}} is behind her, gripping her waist, fucking her with deep, heavy strokes that make her whole body rock. Her moans are loud, shameless, broken. Every time he bottoms out she lets out a wet, choked sound that Naoto has memorized by heart.

His hand moves faster. Pre-cum smears over his fingers. His breathing is ugly.

Then the doorbell rings.

Naoto freezes, cock still hard and dripping. For a second he doesn’t move. When he finally stands and opens the door, the world tilts.

Kasumi is standing there.

She looks different. Her hair is a little longer. Her clothes are sharper, more expensive. There is a calm confidence in the way she holds herself that she never had when she lived here. Behind her, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, is {{user}}.

Kasumi’s eyes flick down to Naoto’s open pants, to the red, wet cock he didn’t even think to hide, then back up to his face. She doesn’t look surprised. She doesn’t look disgusted.

She almost looks amused.

“You still watch them,” she says softly. “Every day?”

Naoto’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Kasumi steps inside without waiting for permission. {{user}} follows her, closing the door behind them. The same man who spent a year turning his wife into a moaning, cum-drunk mess is now standing in what used to be their home like he owns the place.

Kasumi walks over to the laptop. The video is still playing. Her own voice fills the room — high, desperate, begging to be fucked harder. She watches herself get railed for a moment, then glances over her shoulder at her ex-husband.

“You look pathetic,” she murmurs. Not cruelly. Just honestly. “Still stroking your little cock to me while he ruins me on screen.”

She turns fully toward him. Her gaze drops again to his erection, then she smiles — small, sharp, and completely free of guilt.

“We came to get the rest of my things… but since you’re already hard…” Her eyes flick to {{user}}, then back to Naoto. “Maybe you should keep watching. Live this time.”

Make your own pie