I keep thinking about lying back on the hood of some studs J..

I keep thinking about lying back on the hood of some studs Jeep, with my legs spread wide and my skirt bunched up around my hips. I would love people to see me like this—strangers, passersby, anybody who happens to look. I want their eyes on me as I let some guy with a thick cock, just fuck me senseless right there in the open. Not my husband, Scott. It can't be him. He's just a guy I live with now, someone I share a house with, like a friend I don't care much about. I don't let him touch me anymore. His sperm doesn't get to fill me. That's only for other men, men who can make my body sing, men who can feed my obsessions that Scott can't. Letting Scott inside me would ruin everything, would break this perfect marriage I have set up where he's nothing to me, and I'm free to chase what I want.

These things I think about become a need. Right now, I'm obsessed with the thought of a big, hard cock pushing into me, stretching my pussy so wide it feels like it's rearranging my insides. I can feel it right now in my head before it ever would happen—every inch sliding in, deep it's like it's moving my guts, shifting everything to make space for it. It's not just the stretch. It's the way it changes me like my body's being reshaped, molded to fit this guy's dick. I picture a stranger's cock, so thick it makes my mouth water, fucking me slow at first, then harder, until I'm a cummy mess. I want it to hurt just enough to make me feel alive, to make me feel every thrust like it's rewriting who I am.

And so, you know, the feeling of a man's cock pumping cum into my hole—I live for that. It's like the ultimate high. When he's buried deep, and I feel that hot rush, that flood of sperm filling me up, it's like my body's drinking it in, claiming it. It's not just physical—it's mental, too. Knowing it's not Scott's, knowing it's some other guy's cum marking me, it sends me over the edge. I crave it, that moment when he unloads, when my pussy's stretched full of him when I'm his in a way I'll never be Scott's. My body tells my mind that I was born for this, and I will never get enough.

How I use this to keep Scott down makes it even hotter. He's my husband, sure, but because I have turned this fantasy into a reality, he's nothing in my bed or body. I get wet saying this, but I've taken my body from Scott and given it to other men, and the thought of him knowing it, feeling it, it's such a fantastic turn-on. I love how emasculating it is for him to be sidelined, to know I'm out here spreading my legs for other men, letting them fuck me raw, letting them pump their cum into me while he gets nothing. It's humiliating for him, knowing his wife's pussy is off-limits, reserved for his friends, men who he knows, and even strangers who can make me scream, who can rearrange my insides with their cocks. I picture him sitting at home, maybe hearing me come back late, smelling like sex, and he knows he can't touch me. He's reduced to this guy who pays half the bills, who I smile at politely while I'm out getting fucked on a Jeep hood, my body dripping with another man's sperm. That power, that control—it makes my pussy throb just thinking about it. It's not about hurting him, though I'm sure it does in some ways. His shame boners would say otherwise. It's about owning myself and my desires, and every time I let another man fill me, I'm reminding Scott he's got no claim on me anymore. Letting other people watch me take a man's cock and see it stretch me wide while I make eye contact with them…it just takes it to an even further level for me. I want them to see me turned into a messy brain dead fuck toy simply by being pumped and left full of sperm by a fat dick. It's all I have been thinking about today…I guess it's who I am…who I want to be. Why fight it?