You warned me not to sneak my boyfriend over, but when you came home early and caught me bent over the laundry in nothing but your shirt, you knew something was up. I could see the hunger in your eyes, the way your cock strained against your trousers. You needed proof I hadn’t been fucked, and there’s only one way to be sure. Your thick fingers pry my thighs apart, teasing my sticky wetness. The shame burns, but not as hot as how bad I want you to punish me for being such a dirty fucking liar….