You know he looks at her. Talks to her. Texts her all the time, even when she’s with you. You ask her what’s so funny, why she’s laughing at her phone, and her smile fades with her usual response: nothing. Nothing for you to know, you’re not allowed in their world. It’s just between them.

Ever since she met him she’s been working long, long hours. Overtime even on the weekends, but she never comes home stressed and exhausted. Instead, she looks so alive: hair big and a little messy, cheeks pinked, and a huge smile on her face that she can’t contain, even around you. She takes a nice long soak in the tub and has you bring her some chilled champagne in the expensive glasses you bought for her for no reason other than the fact that the things she puts her mouth on should be no less perfect than she is. She peels off her clothes and leaves them there, never saying to pick them up but you do so anyways. You pretend it’s just to be useful, but the real reason is so you can stare at her dirty, cum-covered panties.

You noticed it almost the first time she started working overtime. She was dipping her body in a rose-petal filled bath, collected by you on your way home from your own pathetic job, and in order to prevent yourself from staring idly at her perfect form, you picked up her pile of beautifully soft and silken clothes just to feel something cold and wet in between her pants. You drop everything apart from a tiny, lacey black thong, the small triangle of cloth where her pussy goes absolutely soaked. Coated in dense, white creaminess, it emitted the sweetest scent that had ever occurred to you in your life. You knew exactly what it was, and suddenly her decadent, post-work bath habits made so much more sense. You couldn’t help but think that was perhaps why she chose this over showering, so his cum would seep out of her into the bath water and she would be enveloped by his body once more. Was she in love? Parched from the unusual overuse of your brain, you made a bid to collect some of the bath water later on when she’s not looking. Drinking their diluted cum water would only be the very beginning of your degeneracy.

The real prize is the cummy panties you collect every time. Her work husband never disappointed, plugging her with an obscene amount of cum every time. Sometimes it’s still so warm you can tell he loaded her up right before putting her in a car, so it’d be fresh just for you. As if you were even a thought that crossed his mind. You are nothing to him. It’s why he pounds and rails her til she’s so swollen it hurts to sit down, not a care in the world if anyone else wants a chance because they definitely weren’t getting it. She’s so naturally tight you know you would barely even be able to slip a finger into her pussy she’d be so puffy. Not that she’d let you anyways—it’s been months since she’s even let you eat her out, let alone fuck her. So this is your sex life now: secretly stealing her panties and doing unspeakable things to them. At first you’d only look, then eventually you caught a whiff, and naturally after that you just had to have a taste. Once, when you almost completely lost your mind, you stuffed the panties into the microwave and warmed up their fluids so you could pretend he squirted his thick hot nut all over your face, the smell of them wafting through the kitchen and lingering as if they had fucked right there and then. You’d be standing at attention, waiting for your duty to clean up. You can only dream.