It is her last gasp. A desperate, exhaustion-weakened attempt at hurting you. One undertaken by a broken and bested woman.
The wife of your lover.
A one you messaged and challenged — fought and then conquered.
There in her own living room.
There on her own couch.
And though it hurts as her nails dig into your still-covered sex, when you have pried her gouging digits free, you will punish her.
For that attack and every other.
For her willingness to stand in your way.
But also to make sure that though she misses the man she married, and cries at her own tragedy every night.
He is yours forever and always.
The mistress becoming owner.
As with her husband, a wife parts ways.Recommend0 recommendationsPublished in