A Dream Come True

William Kaine drifted in a pink haze, his lewd fetish electrifying every nerve as the ballroom's silence fed his fantasies. Sprawled across an executive chair, he spotted a stunning woman gliding toward him, her movements liquid under the sheer drape of her Victoria's Secret satin slip—visible beneath the delicate white Chanel dress. She melted into his arms, and their bodies swayed into a forbidden dance. The intimacy was intoxicating, sweet as honey, stoking his arousal as he floated between sleep and waking, the warmth of whisky merging with her seductive pull.

Just as he leaned closer to see her face—

"Uuunnn♡!! … Ah… ah♡… Ha♡, haa♡, Ahaaaa♡♡ "

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

The sounds cut through the haze—low, wanton moans and the fierce rhythm of flesh meeting flesh, distant yet jarringly real.

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

"Honey!!!♡♡♡… Mmm♡♡… nhnnn!!!♡♡♡, oOoHhh, AhHHnNNnh… ♡♡♡"

The voice—soft, intimate, achingly familiar—cut through the haze of sleep like a knife. In an instant, William's dream shattered. His eyes flew open, pulse hammering.

"Sammy!" Willliam jerked upright, sheets tangled around him, the last traces of his fantasy dissolving into cold reality.

He wasn't home. He wasn't with her.

He was still stuck at Joe's villa, and Samantha—his Samantha—was in the master bedroom. Playing Joe's girlfriend for some aunt's visit.

Steadying himself, William realized his throat was parched, the wine from La Boucherie and the late night whisky leaving him dry. He slipped out of the guest room, careful not to disturb the silence, planning to fetch water from the kitchen. Passing Mrs. Norris's room, he heard her faint snoring, a mundane anchor in the charged night. 

He sighed, relieved, convincing himself the moans were just a product of his "weird, dirty" dream. After all, his long-cherished NTR fantasy—sharing his beloved wife's beauty with another man—was unfolding. Samantha, his stunning, curvaceous wife, was lying in another man's bed, a thought that sent a thrill through him, tinged with a prickle of fear.

Tiptoeing downstairs, the villa's moonlit glow cast shadows across the front lawn and pool beyond the windows. As he passed the first-floor main bathroom, a glint caught his eye—a flesh-colored, translucent thong discarded on the tile floor. Rajiv froze, his pulse spiking. Squinting in the dim light, he stepped closer, his breath catching. It was unmistakably Samantha's; he'd seen her slip it on after her morning shower, the scene of delicate fabric hugging her hips still in his head. His mind raced. "What happened? Could it be…"

Hurrying into the bathroom, he spotted more—a flesh-colored lace bra, carelessly tossed into the basin. Samantha was meticulous, her love for cleanliness and order a hallmark of her character. She'd never leave her underwear strewn like this; only a man, careless or deliberate, would. Rajiv's heart pounded, his thoughts spiraling. Had Joe helped her change, peeling off her dress and lingerie in a drunken haze? The imagination wove a hentai-fueled fantasy: Joe's hands unclasping her bra, Samantha's curves bared, her scent filling the air.

Before William could fully process the scene, the moans returned—soft, breathy, but unmistakable.

"Hmm♡… Nfunn♡… Ah♡… Nmmnn♡♡… "

The sounds drifted from the main bedroom, threading through the silence. His breath caught. Muscle memory took over, guiding him forward in a silent advance. This time, the door wasn't locked. It stood slightly ajar, a hairline gap—no wider than a fingernail—inviting him closer. From within, the dim glow of a lamp spilled out, painting a slender blade of light across the living room's wooden floor.

On the sprawling king-size bed, a muscular man knelt, his back to William's direction, the man's powerful buttocks arching back before thrusting forward with forceful precision. Another thrust followed, the rhythm deliberate and commanding. 

His hands gripped a woman's delicate ankles, holding her legs in a stunning V-shape, her round, sexy thighs spread wide, her body yielding to his every motion. Her pink-painted nails dug into his buttocks, urging him deeper, their bodies twisting in sync with each impact. A platinum Cartier chain gleamed on her right ankle—William's birthday gift to Samantha, his beloved newlywed wife. The woman beneath the man was Samantha, and the man driving into her was his buddy, Joe Norris.

William's breath caught, his pulse roaring. He'd fantasized about this countless times—Samantha shared, her beauty claimed by another—but the reality was more exhilarating than any dream. He shifted, peeking from a different angle, his eyes drinking in the scene. Samantha's smooth blonde hair was disheveled, fanning across the sheets, her flushed face a vision of ecstasy and strain. Her eyes were tightly closed, her rosy lower lip caught between her teeth, as if savoring a mix of pain and pleasure. One delicate arm clutched Joe's muscular hip, matching his thrusting rhythm, while the other stretched back, her elbow digging into the bedsheet to lift her slender waist higher. The motion thrust her full, juicy breasts upward, their soft curves bouncing with each impact.

Joe's large hand reached down, roughly kneading her breasts, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh as Samantha gasped, her body arching into his touch. Panting, Joe lowered her legs, guiding them into an M-shape, her flawless thighs framing the intimate connection between them. His other hand gripped the bed's edge for leverage, his gaze fixed on Samantha's face beneath him, her flushed beauty a canvas for his desire.