
Honestly, my hands were shaking a little when I took that pic—not because I thought he wouldn’t like it, I knew he would, but because it felt so fucking dirty. My top was tied so tight it pushed everything up, my bra barely holding me in, the seatbelt slicing right across my tits like it was framing them on purpose. I could see how hard my nipples were through the fabric. I looked at it twice before sending it, biting my lip, hesitating just long enough to feel that guilty little thrill in my stomach. My husband was literally fueling up his car a gas station stall over. 

I wanted J to see it. I wanted him to know I’d stopped whatever I was doing just to be a slut for him in my car. When I hit send, my heart was racing. The second his reply came through, I flushed so hard I could feel it in my face, my chest, all the way between my legs. I was already wet before he even said anything dirty back. Just the idea of him opening it, seeing me like that, imagining his hand on his cock getting hard because of me—it had my thighs rubbing together in the driver’s seat, panties getting uncomfortably wet. Every buzz from my phone made me gasp. I didn’t even try to be subtle about it. I wanted him to talk filthy to me. I wanted him to say he’d untie my top, suck on them, squeeze them until I whined. I wanted him to own it, to know I was sending him slutty photos while I was around my husband. I kept picturing his hands on me, his mouth, the way he’d grip my hair and call me his little whore, and I couldn’t stop touching myself between replies. Just two fingers pressing through my soaked panties while I tried to type something teasing back. I was so close it was humiliating. The truth is, that pic wasn’t even just for him. It was for me too. Proof that I’m exactly the kind of girl who sends another man pictures of her tits. 😈



I texted J today... 😈