The Fantasy About a Stranger That Woke Me Up Wet

I was going through one of those streaks where desire would not leave me alone. I’m not talking about a passing horny spell, but something deeper: wanting to fuck twice a day and still looking for myself a couple more times. My husband Mateo always responded when I asked him to, and he did it well, but there were corners of my filth that I never quite managed to let go of with him. Not because of him. It was just that some nights my head wanted something I couldn’t even name.

That afternoon he was out in the patio, busy with who knows what, and I was stretched out on the sofa in the living room with my phone in hand. My skin was tingling. I sent him a dirty message asking for a photo, his photo, the one I knew by heart. I wanted to have it on screen while I made myself wait.

Three minutes later an image arrived. I opened it with an eager smile, and the smile froze on my face.

It wasn’t his.

It was, without a doubt, a photo pulled from the internet: a skinny guy, very pale, with abs so cut they looked drawn on. And a gorgeous cock. I’m serious, it wasn’t just any cock. Big, thick, a clean pink, with a swollen head and veins running all along it as if they had a life of their own. I looked at it longer than I should have. I felt a deep clench down there, and I noticed myself getting wet without having touched myself at all.

Mateo came in right then, drying his hands on his pants. I showed him the screen, pretending to be annoyed.

—And what is this? I asked you for a picture of you —I said.

—I was embarrassed —he admitted, and his ears turned red.

—Where did you get it? —I pressed, half joking—. Someone you know?

—No, not at all. I searched “dick pic” on the internet and picked any old one. The first one that seemed decent to me.

While he spoke, I had noticed he was rubbing himself through his clothes, slowly, almost without realizing it. He was already hard. I stood up from the sofa, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled out his cock, the real one, the one I knew well. Brown, nicely thick, hot in my hand. The second longest one I’d ever had inside me, and the only one I actually cared about at that moment.

I started licking the tip slowly, savoring it, tasting that eager pre-cum that kept leaking out of him. He was rock hard. He moaned softly while he stroked one breast with his free hand. I sucked him and worked him with one hand, and with the other I slid my fingers between my legs, where everything was already soaked.

I pulled away from his cock and leaned back on the sofa. I spread my legs so he could see how wet I was, shamelessly, offering myself. He grabbed my hips and shoved into me in one hard thrust, with no effort, because I was more than ready. He pinched my nipples, hard as stones, while he fucked me with everything he had and hunted for my clit with his thumb.

When I was about to come, something strange happened. Flashing through my mind, like bursts of light, were images of that photo. The defined abs. The pink, perfect cock of a man who did not exist for me. And that mental flash sent me flying straight to the top. I felt Mateo come with a rough roar, and I fell apart in an orgasm that shot out a good gush from me, everything mixing together with his. Damn. It was a delicious fuck.

***

But the hormones did not give me any peace. A while later, under the excuse of checking my phone, I did something I had never done before: a reverse image search of that picture.

It took me only a few minutes to find it.

It had been posted on a site called “Caseros sin Censura.”

The photo was part of a gallery. The guy had uploaded three or four pictures of his cock, from different angles, all of them just as good. Just looking at them made me wet again, and the feeling of still having the remains of Mateo between my legs made me feel dirty and turned on at the same time. It was an uncomfortable and delicious mix.

Below, his profile name: “MarcoFuego.” And a location. My country. The very same country where I was sitting, phone burning in my hand and my heart racing.

I closed the page in a hurry, as if someone might catch me, and went back to what I’d been doing. I cleaned up the kitchen, said goodnight to Mateo, washed my face, and we went to bed. I fell asleep thinking about abs that did not belong to my husband.

***

The next day we started with a morning quickie, one of those fast, efficient fucks before he left for work. As soon as the door closed behind him, I was back on my phone, looking for the photos of that so-called MarcoFuego.

I don’t know what possessed me. I created a profile from a fake email account, one I made up in two minutes just for that. I went into his gallery and, with my pulse a little faster, left a comment:

“Those abs turn me on more than the cock, and that’s saying something, because the cock is gorgeous.”

I wrote it and immediately regretted it. I thought about deleting it. I didn’t.

Fifteen minutes later I saw he had replied. “Do you like them? Want to chat?”

I thought I was insane. A married woman, satisfied that very morning, writing to a stranger over a photo. But I typed a “yes” before I gave myself time to argue with myself.

He sent me his username on a messaging app in private so I could add him. I did. I opened a new anonymous chat, and the messages started.

—Does my cock turn you on, pretty girl? —he wrote.

—You have no idea. I’d suck it all the way. Send me more pics —I replied, surprised by my own boldness.

Two came through, from different angles. Yes, it was the same one, no doubt about it. But these were better shots, sharper, and you could see him hard and ready for action. The skin pulled tight, the glans shining. I bit my lip at the screen.

I was irrationally turned on. My nipples were showing through my T-shirt, my clit was pounding, and between my legs I was already primed and ready.

—Send me a pic, babe —he asked.

I positioned my phone so that part of my tits and my nipples could be seen, without my face showing. I took the photo and sent it without thinking twice. This whole sending-pictures thing was a lot more exciting than I had ever imagined. The anonymity, the risk, the idea of a stranger looking at what only Mateo usually saw.

—To be fair —I wrote— you sent me two.

So I spread my legs on the bed, pushed my pajama shorts aside and, with my index and middle fingers, separated my lips. I took the opportunity to feel my own wetness and spread it over my impatient clit. I snapped a close-up of everything, wet and open under my fingers, and sent it to him.

—So hot, baby. How much of a slut do you feel? —he asked.

—Like a total slut —I answered, and it was true. I didn’t recognize myself. Every word we traded made me wetter, the whole situation had me completely out of control.

—Want a video call? Can you? —he typed.

—Yes, but I’m going to put you on the TV screen. I want to see you big and show you properly —I answered. Definitely not me.

—Done.

The call tone sounded. I didn’t think about it. I answered.

On the screen appeared a slim but athletic torso, abs cut just like in the photos, and in the foreground a cock that made you want to swallow it whole. He was already jerking himself off, slowly, with the glans wet and shiny. I couldn’t see his face and I didn’t care. The only thing that existed was that huge image in front of me.

I positioned my phone in the same frame, showing my sex open with my tits in the background. I rubbed my clit hard while he worked his cock on screen and I listened to him moan. God, it was insanely hot. Watching him get turned on for me, for a photo of me, with neither of us able to touch the other.

I pushed my fingers inside and rubbed without stopping, watching him masturbate, getting off with me at a distance. His moans were deep, guttural; he had a very masculine voice that came through the speakers and ran all over me.

The panting got heavier. I watched him come with a couple of spurts that soaked his cock, which was still hard and throbbing. And I, with the image of a stranger jerking off in front of me, felt the shudder of orgasm rise up my legs and, without any shame at all, let my squirt go in front of the camera, up close, offering it to him.

***

And then, suddenly, I woke up.

I was drenched in sweat, with my pajamas stuck to my skin and my breathing ragged, clearly just having come for real. It took me a few seconds to understand where I was. The TV was off. The phone was on the nightstand, silent. Mateo was sleeping beside me, oblivious to everything, breathing deeply.

The whole chat with MarcoFuego, the photos, the video call, the perfect stranger with the cut abs… it had all been a dream. A filthy dream, so vivid that my heart was still pounding in my chest and the echo of pleasure was still throbbing between my legs.

I looked at the clock. It was five thirty in the morning.

I stayed there for a moment staring at the ceiling, smiling in the dark, replaying every detail before it could slip away. Then I turned toward Mateo and ran my hand over his chest, slowly, going lower.

Time to wake up my husband, I thought. After all, someone had to pay for what that stranger had turned on.