“Oh, Fred,” Charity moaned, gasping frantically, her voice a low growl. His hands gripped her hips as her body rose and fell in a rhythm that was both primal and intoxicating.
Her head fell back, and her eyes were closed, bouncing uncontrollably on his cock. His fingers pressed into the firmness of her flesh, and she leaned forward, moaning into his mouth and shoving her tongue deep between his lips.
She was taunting him, and he responded accordingly. Stan grabbed hold of her butt and added more force to her bounce.
In no time, Fred was humping wildly into her body, slamming his dick deep into her belly. Charity’s hands dug into his stiff masculine shoulder; she was awash with the intensity of his dick strokes, and she was screaming every sound that came into her head.
Fred watched in amazement as her tits bounced and smacked his face, and her ass slammed his lap with every bounce.
“Yeaaa..fuck me…fuck me…fu…fu…fuc……yea….fuck…uuuhh…..” Her breathing got choppy, and her body shook, muscles stiffened, but she continued to buck into him as wave after wave of intense orgasm overtook her body.
When their lips parted, he grabbed her hips and bounced her over his dick fucking her deep and hard. She could hardly pull herself away from what she loved, and she was sensuously reciprocating and bouncing too.
Her eyes closed, her head thrown back, she was screaming and rambling things.
The wooden chair squeaked beneath them; the only sound in the room aside from their heavy breathing was the wet slap of their bodies meeting. her breasts swayed with each bounce, her head thrown back in abandon.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice strained. “Fuck me harder, Fred.” She said panting rapidly.
Fred complied, his hands gripped her hips as he began to thrust upward, meeting her movements with equal fervour. The pleasure was overwhelming, a mix of guilt and desire left him teetering on the edge.
He quickened his pace, his body moving with a desperation that matched her own. She tightened her walls around him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Then Charity eased herself up and turned around. She braced both hands on the edge of the desk, arched her back, and her ass hung. Fred stepped in behind her.
He grabbed greedily for as much of her flawless, round cheeks as he could and began ruthlessly groping her ass, feeling the wet heat from her pussy against the head of his swollen, throbbing cock. He slammed back inside.
Doggy was deeper, rougher; the angle let him hit that spot that made her bite her own forearm to muffle the cry. Skin slapped skin in a lewd, accelerating tempo.
Her breasts swung beneath her uniform; sweat beaded along her spine. He reached around, found her clit, rubbed tight circles while he fucked her with short, brutal snaps of his hips. Charity’s moans turned raw, animal—half plea, half command.
His phone buzzed violently on the desk. Fred froze mid-thrust. Charity whimpered in protest, urging him to continue but he stopped and fished it out, saw “Kate” with a picture of her flashing on the phone screen.
He answered, voice miraculously steady, but he was still moving his hips slowly. “Hey.”
“Fred, I’m running late—can you pick Mira from school? I’ve got that meeting with the bank people.”
“Yeah. Sure. What time?” he asked.
“Four-thirty pickup. Thanks, love.”
He ended the call, tossed the phone aside, and turned Charity around and lifted her again. Her legs wrapped around him instantly; her arms looped tight around his neck.
He spun, pinned her back to the wall—cool plaster against her spine and drove upward into her with punishing force. Solid, snapping strokes now, hips pistoning. The unconscious man lay still behind them. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound pulsed like a metronome to their recklessness.
She buried her face in his shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there to stifle the rising wail.
He felt her flutter, clench, shatter around him, silent scream vibrating against his skin, then chased his own release, burying deep and pulsing inside her with a low, guttural groan. They hung there a moment, panting, slick and trembling.
Then— A sound. Subtle. Metallic. The faint rattle of the door handle. Both of them froze.
The handle turned again, slightly harder this time. They sprang apart like shrapnel. Colour drained from Charity’s face.
Fred stepped back instantly, his heart slamming against his ribs. Clothes yanked into place with frantic speed—zipper up, belt buckled, Charity adjusted her uniform with trembling fingers, uniform smoothed.
Fred unlocked the door just as a third attempt at entry sounded. He finally opened it and found himself face to face with a middle-aged woman and a teenage boy in the threshold, faces pale with worry.
The patient’s wife and son. Their eyes widened at the sight of the doctor and nurse inside, the air thick with something unspoken. So did he—but only for half a second.
“Doctor,” the woman said anxiously, peering past him. “We came to see my husband.”
“Of course, Good evening,” Fred cleared his throat, slipping back into the calm, authoritative mask “I was just conducting an emergency bedside neurological assessment and private review of his vitals, nothing alarming at present,” Fred replied smoothly, professional composure settling over him like armour.
Charity stepped aside, equally composed now.
The wife exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Doctor. We were so worried…” They entered, moving quickly to the chair beside, taking her husband’s limp hand. The boy’s hand trembled slightly as he stared at his father.
Fred cleared his throat and turned to the son. “Please see me in my office afterwards.
We need to discuss commencing the second phase of his scan tomorrow.”
“Ok doctor,” the son whispered.
He issued a few quiet instructions to Charity, purely clinical, carefully distant:
“Nurse, make sure the mannitol infusion is charted correctly and prep the contrast consent form.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Charity clipped
He walked out, shoulders squared, his footsteps professional and measured to the last inch. The door closed behind him. Only then did his shoulders sag slightly. His heart thudded, not with desire now, but with guilt.
Had they heard anything? A muffled sound? A breath too loud? Had they noticed the faint flush on his neck? The subtle disorder in Charity’s uniform? Or had grief made them blind? He walked down the corridor, the sterile scent returning to fill his lungs.
Frank lay on his back, chest still heaving from the earlier exertion, the sheets tangled around his hips like evidence he couldn’t quite hide. The room smelled of sex and guilt. Outside the half-open window, the Lagos evening had thickened. He turned his head.
Beside him, Kate slept deeply on her stomach, one arm flung across his chest, lips parted, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, her breath warm and steady against his skin. She looked peaceful. Innocent. He felt neither.
The sight twisted something sharp in his chest. He should wake her. It was already late. Too late. She should have been home, home to Fred, his brother, her husband. Home to their daughter. Their daughter. The word throbbed in his skull.
God, what had he gotten himself into? It had started innocently enough. He could still see the first day she had come to him one rainy afternoon—eyes swollen, voice trembling, swearing that nothing was wrong with her. “I’m tired, Frank. I’m sure nothing’s wrong with me. I’m fertile.
We’ve tried everything.” Four years of marriage to his brother Fred and no child. Four years of silent accusations and hospital visits. She had been desperate. Broken. And he had been weak.
He hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t even understood it. One moment she was crying in his arms, and the next he was thrusting his cock into her wet pussy, right there on the living-room sofa, hard and fast and unforgivable. driven by something dark and reckless.
Something he had not bothered to name.
Weeks later, Kate had returned, trembling with a positive test, certainty blazing in her eyes: “It’s yours. I know it is.” They’d schemed like conspirators in a bad thriller.
Timed her nights with Fred carefully, made sure the calendar aligned. Frank had quietly arranged the travel, South Africa first, a discreet clinic in Johannesburg.
She’d given birth under a false name; Frank arranged everything—the altered announcements. Fred had received the news weeks after the true birth date, none the wiser. Or so Frank had believed.
Now she was pregnant again. And this time, she didn’t want lies. She wanted him. She wanted more than stolen afternoons. She wanted to escape. Visas. A new country. A new life. As husband and wife. The thought made his stomach lurch.
Kate stirred, lashes fluttering open. Caught him staring at the ceiling like a man waiting for judgment.
A slow, sleepy smile curved her mouth. She shifted closer, pillowed her head on his chest, and fingertips tracing lazy, possessive circles across his abdomen.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmured.
“You have to go home now,” he murmured, voice rough. “It’s late.”
Kate’s smile widened, wicked and unrepentant. “Not yet.” Her fingers drifted lower, deliberate, teasing. “One more.”
His breath hitched. He should have stopped her. He didn’t; she always won.
Her hand slid lower, fingers wrapping around his softening cock. Slow, deliberate strokes, thumb circling the head, palm gliding along the shaft, until blood surged back, Frank’s cock stirred with renewed interest.
Until he thickened and lengthened in her grip, heavy and insistent. His hands roamed over her body, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, and eliciting soft moans from her throat.
She leaned in and traced the outline of his dick cap with her tongue; his body shuddered, and she smiled at his soft groan of approval.
Kate blew the wet tip of his cock, the feeling was intoxicating. He closed his eyes tight as if opening them was a crime. before she took his full length inside her mouth.
Her mouth enveloped him completely, warm and wet, with her tongue swirling around his shaft. He had to bite down hard on his lip to stifle a groan as Kate’s mouth began to move, driving him crazy with anticipation every time her lips slid up or down his cock.
She hummed along as she sucked, sending vibrations that echoed through his bones and made his toes curl.
Written by Tito
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