Please my husband, forgive me

Please my husband, forgive me

Mrs. Oluoch stared at the bed and the man sprawled across it in horror as she stumbled back. The knowledge of the mistake she had made the night before pounded through her head over and over again like the strike of a tambourine.

She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide, her stomach churning in sick realization of exactly how huge this mistake was. The mistake and the man. The man was her boss—Mr. Chumba. He was married too but his wife worked in Mombasa.

He took up almost every inch of space on the mattress, his powerful legs sprawled, his strong arms moving restlessly as though searching—for her.

And he would be. The man was inexhaustible. A veritable sex machine with no off switch once he got started. And she should know now––she and every other woman he had ever had in his bed.

She could feel the memory of the night before on every inch of her body: her breasts, swollen and sensitive from his lips suckling at the tender tips, her lips abraded and tender from his kisses, and between her thighs.

That memory nearly brought her to her knees as her gaze slipped to his thighs, to the half-erect flesh that appeared threatening and overlarge, even though he wasn’t fully erect.

Yet he had fit inside her. Stretching her wide, often in a pleasure bordering pain. He had managed to work every inch of that ironhard flesh inside her, and he had destroyed her with it. Pounding inside her with a force that shook the bed and shook her senses, throwing her into one climax after another, bringing such pleasure that she had been unwilling to deny it. Unwilling to deny him anything, even at the end.

Her hand covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. Oh God, she hadn’t let him do those things to her, had she? Lifted her rear for him and begged for more as his tongue caressed forbidden flesh, then screamed in pleasure and in pain as the head of his cock began to work inside the heavily lubricated little hole.

The August school holidays had just started and her husband Mr. Oluoch had taken their two kids to Migori to stay with their grandmother. He said he’d be back after two days. On the Saturday that her husband had left, her boss Mr. Chumba had called her to the office for some urgent work. He then insisted on buying her a drink in the evening. She had always been welcoming when he flirted with her, mostly because she was arguing with her husband on a daily basis. But she’d never really considered cheating until that evening.

After the drinks, he had requested her to drive him back to his place because he hadn’t come with his car. She hugged him goodbye when they arrived at his apartment block but when she turned on the engine, it wouldn’t start. She wanted to take an Uber but he insisted that she could come inside and sleep on the couch then he’d help her get the car fixed in the morning.

That’s how they ended up having sex.

He had pummeled her. He had taken her sanity. When he had finished marking the wet depths of her poosy, he had turned her to her stomach and marked her rear as well. With heated slaps, with diabolically talented fingers, and finally, with the deep, controlled thrusts of his cock.

He had taken her anally too, and she had let him. And as she had lain beneath him, fighting for breath, he had told her how much he loved her.

Now she was staring at him as he snored.

Shaking in fear, she quickly jerked her dress on, not bothering to search for her panties and bra. God only knew where they were. She had to get out of there before he woke up.

She was crying as she opened the door of the house and went to where her car was parked to try and start it again. It was still early. The mist was thick, surrounding the car and creating a luminescent, otherworldly air that cut into her soul.

She didn’t understand why she was crying. She had enjoyed it.

Touching him had been like touching power itself. He was huge, so tall and broad, his body leanly muscled and graceful. His chest lightly furred, the crisp curls had raked her chuchus as he thrust into her. That power had seeped inside her, filled her with emotions she had tried to hold in check, tried to protect herself from.

She loved her husband but she loved her boss too. He made her heart clench and her soul ache. He had the power to bring her to her knees or to make her fly in ecstasy with only a glance from those odd dark eyes of his. And when he touched her…When he touched her, he’d had the power to make her forget who and what Mr. Oluoch was.

As she tiptoed to the parking lot of the fancy apartment block in Kileleshwa, she kept her head down, kept her eyes on ground, and prayed no one saw her.

She could get lucky. She could escape, and no one would ever know she had spent the night with her boss.

She swiped at her tears. She hated crying. She had learned years ago that no good came of it. It only succeeded in making her feel worse than ever. But she couldn’t stop the tears any more than she could stop the pain. Mr. Chumba had been chasing her for months. Those light eyes framed by the thick, inky black lashes, so pale they mesmerized her and pierced into her soul.

His smile was always slow and sexy, knowing. As though he were aware of the ache that centered between her thighs and tormented her. As though he knew how often she dreamed of feeling him against her, touching him, being touched.

Forcing herself out of that bed had been next to impossible. She had wanted him to flow over her; she wanted to take his cock into her mouth again and practice what he had taught her. She wanted to hear him moan her name again, watch his eyes darken.

She wanted to run and hide and make certain she never let herself become so vulnerable to him ever again. And it was breaking her heart. Walking away, turning her back on the only man who had ever banged her properly was killing her. It hurt physically. It made her stomach cramp. It made her heart feel like a raw, aching wound.

Her husband only lasted two rounds at most. But he was a good man. Their arguments mostly stemmed from something wrong she’d done. Her boss on the other hand had fucked her for the whole night.

She got into her car and turned on the key. Surprisingly, the engine started. Yet she was still reluctant to drive away. She was confused. A part of her wanted her to go back to the apartment, for just one more chance to take another hot, mind-numbing kiss from his perfect lips.

Another part of her thought about her family. Her kids were probably chatting with their grandmother right now. Her husband was probably helping with pruning the fence.

She felt guilty.

She decided she was leaving so she stepped on the accelerator and whizzed through the gate, ignoring the watchman when he said hello to her. But after almost hitting a pedestrian just a few meters outside the gate, she parked the car on the side of the road. Her mind wasn’t focusing on the road so she called her friend Mrs. Njau to come and driver her home.

Mrs. Oluoch told her everything when she arrived twenty minutes later. She moved to the passenger seat while Mrs. Njau occupied the driver’s seat.

“Did you tell him no?” she finally asked her gently.

She shook her head sideways. She hadn’t even thought to tell him no.

“Did you want to tell him no?”

She shook her head again, shaking beneath the knowledge in his eyes.

She couldn’t have told Mr. Chumba no if her life had depended on it. Each touch, each kiss had been a fantasy come to life.

She nodded slowly. “Let’s go home then. We can talk about it there. No sense in making things worse by lingering out here long enough for anyone to see you. If you want to keep this quiet, you’re going to have to pretend it didn’t happen.” Her gaze sharpened then. “Do you want to keep it quiet?”

As the car slid to the tarmac again, Mrs. Oluoch couldn’t help the sob that tore from her chest again or the fear that rolled through her. She had cried last night when he touched her the first time. Because she had dreamed of it for so long. Because he had stroked more than just her body, kissed more than her lips.

He had touched that inner core of her being that she hadn’t realized could be possessed. When his fingers had parted the folds between her thighs and his expression had hardened with lust, he had wet his fingers on her juices, then brought them to his lips, his lashes lowering sensually at the taste of her.

A second later he had dipped his fingers between her thighs again and brought them to her lips. And she hadn’t been able to deny him. She hadn’t been able to deny him a single thing in the hours they had spent touching and tasting each other.

Everything he had asked of her, she had given.

What would happen to her marriage now? Would she be able to look at her boss in the eye on Monday?

God help her if he ever had her that weak again. She would never be able to deny him. Never be able to hold on to her pride or her soul. If he asked it of her, she knew she would never be strong enough to tell him no.

And she never told him no. Cheating is addictive so despite the guilt, she slept with her boss again and again. Her husband would eventually find out, and she’d have to say the words she never thought she’d say, “FORGIVE ME HUSBAND.”

But he never did. He took the kids and left. They preferred to be with their dad after all.

Borrowed from as written by Philip Etemesi