The air outside the rooftop bar hit Imani like a warm, damp towel after the controlled chill. Emry didn’t hail a cab immediately. He stood beside her on the pavement, a tall, dark silhouette against the gleaming skyscraper facade. “This way,” he murmured, his hand finding the small of her back. The touch was light, proprietary, sending a jolt straight to her core. Not a question, a statement. He guided her away from the main flow of sleek-suited patrons, towards a side street pulsing with a different energy. Motorbikes weaved, steam billowed from food stalls, the air thick with spices – star anise, chili, frying garlic. Katong wasn’t just a destination; it was a sensory immersion.
He walked close, his cologne cutting through the street smells. “Better than a sterile bar, right?” he asked, his voice low, intimate despite the cacophony.
“It’s definitely… alive,” Imani breathed, her eyes wide, taking in the makeshift plastic tables, the fluorescent lights, the intense focus of cooks wielding woks over roaring flames. Her silk jumpsuit felt suddenly conspicuous, Imani aware of her body and the way the silk clung to her curves.
They stopped at a corner stall barely wider than a closet, its sign a faded Chinese character. Emry exchanged rapid-fire Hokkien with the elderly woman behind the counter, who cracked a near-toothless grin and gestured towards a rickety metal table crammed against the grimy brick wall. “Sit,” Emry said, pulling out a wobbly stool. “Trust me.”
He ordered without consulting her. Plates arrived: glistening, dark-hued beef rendang fragrant with lemongrass and coconut; a vibrant heap of sambal goreng green beans studded with shrimp paste; fluffy white rice. He poured them tall glasses of teh tarik, the sweet, milky tea pulled dramatically from one jug to another until frothy.
Imani took a hesitant bite of the rendang. The flavours exploded – rich, complex, spicy-sweet, utterly unlike anything Marcus would ever order. “This is delicious.”
“Told you,” Emry grinned, watching her. He ate with relish, his movements economical, confident. “Real food. Real life.”
They talked. Not about the safe topics she navigated at Marcus’s corporate dinners. Emry spoke about navigating pirate-infested waters off Borneo sourcing timber, about getting lost in the Cambodian jungle for three days, about the visceral thrill of finding a hidden waterfall no tourist map marked. His hazel brown eyes held hers, intense. He asked about her – not her job, her husband, her house – but about her. The dreams she’d shelved. The wanderlust tamped down.
“I feel… muted sometimes,” she confessed, the teh tarik and the city’s feverish energy loosening her tongue. “Like I traded the volume knob for… stability.”
He leaned closer. “Stability’s a cage if you let it rust shut, Imani. That spark in your eyes? That’s you. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, snuff it out.” His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second. “Life’s too fucking short for muted.”
The heat in his look was unmistakable now. The spicy food, the potent tea, the sheer audacity of being here with him – it coalesced into a liquid heat pooling low in her belly. She felt reckless, alive in a way she hadn’t for years.
He signalled for the bill, settling it with a wad of colourful Singaporean notes. As they stood, he didn’t guide her back towards the main road. Instead, he turned down an even narrower alley. Strings of bare bulbs cast erratic puddles of light. The noise of the main street softened, replaced by dripping water and distant, muffled music.
Halfway down the shadowed passage, he stopped. Turned. The confident ease was gone, replaced by a predatory stillness. He crowded her back against the cool, rough brick wall, his body a solid line of heat blocking escape. “Before we continue our walk, I need to know…” Imani braced herself. Her heart raced in anticipation. “Just dinner,” he breathed, leaning into her, his voice a low growl that vibrated through her. He wasn’t asking. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
His eyes bored into hers, lifting his hand, knuckles tracing the line of her jaw, down the sensitive column of her throat. The touch was electric, sending shivers across her skin despite the humid air. Imani didn’t shy away. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You smell incredible. Like sweet, spicy, intoxicating… trouble.”
His other hand slid down, palming her ass through the thin silk, pulling her hips hard against his. Imani gasped, but didn’t pull away or even attempt to stop him. The rigid length of him pressed against her thigh, undeniable, immense. Imani looked up at him, lips slightly parted in a silent unspoken word. A tremor ran through her. But a dark, thrilling need ignited.
“Emry…” It was half-protest. Not even she believed it, it felt like something she should say, as a dutiful wife. But in this moment Imani felt only her growing want.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, as if reading her doubt plucked directly from her head. His lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. His teeth grazed her pulse point. “Say it.”
She couldn’t believe his boldness, and hers that she allowed it. Her body arched into his touch, betraying her. A low hum escaped her lips as his hand slid beneath the strap of her jumpsuit, pushing it off her shoulder. His mouth pressing against the exposed skin, sucking hard. The mark would show. With every kiss she found herself caring less, her body tingling from Emry’s touch.
“Fuck,” she mumbled, her fingers tangling in his dark brown hair, pulling him closer, instead of pushing him away. The silk felt like a cage. She needed skin.
He understood. With a rough tug, he pulled the top of the jumpsuit down to her waist, freeing her breasts. The cool alley air brushed her nipples, already hard peaks. He groaned, low and feral, his gaze raking over her.
“Jesus, you’re perfect,” he rasped. He didn’t ask. He claimed. His mouth closed over one taut nipple, sucking hard, swirling his tongue. His other hand squeezed the other breast, fingers pinching the nipple. Sharp, delicious pain mixed with the agonizing pleasure. She cried out, her head pressed against the brick wall, her back arching in an offering.
His hand left her breast, sliding down her stomach, over the silk clinging to her hips. He found the laces an untied them. The silk pooled around her ankles, leaving her in only lacy black panties and heels. His eyes, dark with pure lust, devoured her. Sliding down her body, he helped her step out of the jumpsuit, picking it up and draping it over his shoulder. “Look at you,” he breathed, his voice thick. “Sweet, sexy, naughty wife. Standing half-naked in an alley. For me.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties. Tugging. The delicate lace tore. He pushed the ruined fabric down her thighs. She kicked them off. She was exposed now, to his predatory gaze, unsure what would happen next.
He dropped to his knees before her. The sight of him kneeling with his face at the intersection of her thighs was obscene. He spread her legs wider with his hands. His breath was hot against her inner thigh.
“You smell like heaven,” he growled, inhaling deeply. His fingers slid through her slick folds, gathering her wetness. “I want to taste you.” He lunged, his hungry mouth sucking and licking, his tongue delivering a flat stroke from her entrance straight up to her clit. Probing and possessive.
The cry of pleasure tore from her throat. Her hands flew to his hair, fisting it, holding him there. He didn’t need holding. He feasted. His tongue was relentless, circling her clit, flicking rapidly, then plunging deep inside her, fucking her with his tongue.
He growled against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her core. The pleasure was immense, sharp, almost unbearable. She was panting, babbling, her hips bucking against his face, seeking more friction, more of that punishing tongue.
He pulled back slightly, breath ragged. His lips glistened with her wetness. He looked up at her, his hazel eyes blazing with pure hunger. “Look at me.”
Imani forced her eyes open, hazy with lust, meeting his fierce gaze. Her chest heaved.
“See what you do?” he rasped, his voice gravelly. “See how fucking wet you are for me? How bad you want it? Say it.”
“I want it,” she gasped, her voice broken. “I want you to… to fuck me.”
A dark, triumphant smile touched his lips. He started to rise, his hands moving to his belt buckle.
The metallic rasp of Emry’s belt buckle echoed unnaturally loud in the damp alleyway silence. His hands, moments before tracing her jaw with deceptive gentleness, now trembled with a raw, barely contained urgency. Not nerves. Possession. He shoved trousers and briefs down his hips in one violent motion. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, pulsing visibly against the taut skin of his lower abdomen. Veins stood out like cords. Imani’s breath hitched, her gaze locked on his length. The sight of him hard for her sent a fresh flood of wetness between her own thighs. Imani found herself consumed by the heat radiating from him and the slick ache he’d ignited deep inside her.
“Look at what you fucking did to me,” he growled. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her ass. “I need to feel you.”
Before she could gasp, before she could brace herself, he lifted her. Effortlessly. As if her voluptuous frame weighed nothing. Her back against the rough brick. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the muscles of his lower back. His cock, hot and rigid, pressed against her soaked entrance, the broad head slick with her own arousal and the assault of his tongue.
With a guttural groan, he drove himself into her. One hard thrust. Deeper and more filling than she’d ever felt. Her body shuddered, stretched and filled obscenely wide. She let out a shriek, clawing at his shoulders and whimpering as he stilled allowing her to adjust to the size of his cock. Another thrust, and a shockwave of sensations flooded Imani’s body.
“FUCK!” she screamed, her nails raking down his shoulders through the thin linen shirt. Her head thrashed back against the brick. “Fuck!” she panted, “Emry!”
“Take it,” he snarled, his face inches from hers, eyes blazing with feral intensity. His breath was hot against her mouth. “Take every fucking inch.” He held himself buried to the hilt, grinding his pelvis against hers, forcing her body to accommodate him completely. The stretch was agonizing, yet exquisite. He pulled back slowly, dragging his cock along her sensitized walls, the friction almost unbearable. She whimpered again, then he slammed back in. Harder. Faster. The wet slap of flesh meeting flesh filled the narrow space.
“Feel that?” he grunted, his rhythm brutal, relentless. Each thrust sending her deeper into a frenzy. “Feel how fucking deep I am inside you?” His hands tightened on her hips, lifting her slightly with each powerful drive, using the wall for leverage. “Scream for me. Let it go.”
He was right. She couldn’t stop herself. Guttural moans, sharp cries, fragmented pleas spilled from her lips with every punishing plunge. Her body arched, trying to take him deeper, her hips meeting his thrusts with a frantic urgency that shocked her. She was grinding against him, milking his cock with her inner muscles, lost in the raw, animalistic pumping.
He leaned in, crashing his mouth against hers. It wasn’t tender. It was domination. His tongue invaded, mimicking the relentless thrusting below. She tasted herself on his lips, she kissed him back with equal ferocity, biting his lower lip, sucking his tongue, pouring every ounce of her pent-up frustration, her buried desire for more, into the savage connection.
His hand slid from her hip, fingers tangling in her long, wavy hair, fisting it tight. He yanked her head back, exposing her throat. His lips trailed hot, wet kisses down the column, teeth scraping the delicate skin. “Mine,” he breathed against her pulse point, punctuating the word with a sharp thrust that made her sob. “This is mine tonight.”
His pace intensified, becoming almost frenzied. The alley blurred. The neon reflections swam. All she knew was the relentless pounding deep inside her, the scrape of brick on her back, the bite of his fingers in her hair, the overwhelming scent of sex and sweat. Her climax built not as a wave, but as a detonation deep within her core, triggered by the sheer, brutal force of his possession. It consumed her, shattering her perfect, safe life. Her inner walls clamped down viscously around his driving cock, milking it, pulling him deeper still. She screamed, feeling every thrust , her body convulsing against the wall, against him.
“YES!” Emry roared, his own control shattering. Her contractions triggered his release. He buried himself impossibly deep, grinding against her clit as he pulsed inside her. Hot jets of cum flooded her, thick and seemingly endless, filling the stretched channel he’d claimed. He groaned, a deep, shuddering sound of pure, primal satisfaction, his forehead pressed against hers, his body rigid against hers as he emptied himself.
They stayed locked together, panting harshly in the humid air, slick with sweat. Then everything at once rushed back. The distant city sounds reasserted themselves. Reality seeped in, cold and sharp.
Imani trembled violently, her legs still wrapped around him, her core throbbing with the aftershocks of pleasure and the deep, aching stretch. His softening cock remained buried inside her, a tangible reminder of the obscene act. Her husband’s face flashed in her mind – kind, predictable Marcus, probably in a meeting at this very moment. Guilt, sharp and corrosive, stabbed through the haze of endorphins. What had she done?
Emry slowly pulled out. A gush of their mingled fluids followed, dripping down her inner thighs. The sensation was shockingly intimate, and unlike anything she’d ever done with anyone, not even her own husband. He lowered her gently, her bare feet touching the cold, wet concrete. Her legs nearly buckled. He held her upright, his hands firm on her waist, his gaze intense as he searched her face.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Shame burned her cheeks hotter than the Singapore night. She looked down at herself – breasts exposed, silk ruined at her feet, thighs slick with sex. The scandal of it all.
He bent, retrieving the torn silk jumpsuit. He didn’t hand it to her. Instead, he draped it loosely around her shoulders like a shawl, covering her nakedness with a gesture that felt strangely protective amidst the wreckage of what they’d just done. His thumb brushed a smear of dirt from her cheekbone, his touch unexpectedly gentle now.
“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice rough but softer than before. The predatory edge was momentarily gone, replaced by something… watchful. Assessing.
She sucked in a ragged breath, the air tasting of spent passion. Her body hummed, spent, and claimed by this man barely a stranger to her. The spark she’d craved hadn’t just ignited; it had consumed everything laid across its path, leaving scorched earth in its wake. She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. The gold flecks seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. What had she unleashed?
He leaned close again, his lips brushing her ear. “Hotel’s too far,” he stated, his voice regaining a hint of that dangerous command. “I know a place nearby. Private.” He paused, letting the implication hang. “We’re not finished.”
Part two of the Ebony Cuckold Wife story, where Imani gets pulled deeper into the city, and into betraying her husband with this handsome stranger. If you’d like to read some of my other blogs you can find me over at Ebony Goddess Mindfuck. If you want part III I hope to be finished with that before Halloween, so watch this space.
Goddess Nicole