I never thought I’d be writing this, let alone confessing it publicly. But what happened to me that night shook something deep inside me, and I can’t stop replaying it in my head. Maybe putting it out there will help me figure out how I really feel—or at least make it easier to cope. It started as an ordinary night, but it quickly became anything but.
It was around 2 a.m. when I woke up. The bed was shaking gently, nothing too dramatic, but enough to stir me from my sleep. At first, I thought maybe my boyfriend was shifting around, or having trouble sleeping. But then I turned over, and what I saw made my stomach drop.
There he was, lying next to me, his phone illuminated in the dark. His hand was wrapped around his cock, moving slowly, deliberately. It took me a second to fully grasp what was happening. My mind raced—what was he watching? Was it porn? As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw something that shocked me to my core: it wasn’t porn. He was looking at photos of our friend.
My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to make sense of it. She was in a bikini, posing at the beach, all smiles and perfect tan lines. The girl in question is someone we both know well. She’s 24, petite, with a tight body and perky 26C breasts. I’d always thought she was pretty, but I never imagined my boyfriend would get off to her pictures.
A wave of jealousy surged through me. How could he do this? Was I not good enough for him anymore? I looked down at my own body—5’4″, brunette, 32D breasts, fit from regular workouts. I had always taken care of myself, but in that moment, I felt utterly inadequate. Was he fantasizing about her while I lay next to him, completely unaware?
My first instinct was to scream, to wake him up fully and confront him. The anger in me bubbled up, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. But as I watched his hand stroke up and down his cock, something strange happened. That fury was still there, but it mixed with something I didn’t expect: arousal.
My body betrayed me. Despite the jealousy clawing at me, I felt a rush of warmth between my thighs. I hated that I was turned on by this. I should’ve been disgusted, but instead, I felt my clit throb. As I watched him jerk off to her, I couldn’t help but imagine what was going through his mind. Was he thinking about touching her? Fucking her? Did he wish it was her lying next to him instead of me?
I should have been disgusted, but instead, my fingers found their way between my legs. I was soaked. It felt so wrong, but so fucking good at the same time. I started rubbing my clit, matching the pace of his strokes. Every time his cock twitched in his hand, my arousal spiked higher.
The jealousy I felt started to shift. It wasn’t just anger anymore. I was turned on by the fact that he was so into her, so lost in his fantasy, that he didn’t even notice me watching. I started rubbing myself faster, trying to keep quiet, though my breathing had become shallow and ragged.
And then, before I could stop myself, I reached out and grabbed his cock. The shock on his face was priceless. He froze, his eyes wide with panic, clearly trying to figure out how to explain. His mouth opened like he was going to apologize, but I didn’t give him the chance. Instead, I started stroking him.
His body relaxed as I took control, and I could feel the tension leave him. There was no point in pretending anymore. I leaned closer, keeping my voice low, sultry. “Is this what you want? To cum for her?” I whispered in his ear, feeling the heat of his skin against mine.
He hesitated for just a moment before nodding, his eyes filled with lust and shame. I couldn’t help but smirk. I was the one holding him in the palm of my hand, not her. I was the one making him moan, making him buck his hips as I stroked him faster, harder.
I kept stroking him as I teased, “Pick your favorite picture of her.” He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he scrolled through the photos of her in that tight bikini. When he finally settled on one, I could see why. She looked perfect—tiny waist, flawless curves. The jealousy flared up again, but it only made me more determined to finish him off.
“Look at her,” I purred. “You want to cum all over her, don’t you?” He groaned, his cock pulsing in my hand as I stroked him harder. My own arousal was building to a fever pitch as I watched him. I felt powerful, like I was controlling both of us, pushing us both to the edge.
And then it happened. His entire body tensed, his breath hitched, and with a low growl, his cock spasmed. Thick streams of cum shot across the screen, splattering her picture. I could feel the heat of his release against my hand, and it sent a thrill through me.
I let go of his cock and turned over without saying a word, a smirk playing at the corners of my lips. My heart was still racing, my body still aching with need, but I didn’t let him see that. I left him there, covered in his own mess, staring at the cum-soaked picture of her.
The next morning, we didn’t talk about it. He avoided eye contact, clearly unsure of what to say. But now, every time I see her photos, I can’t help but remember that night. The jealousy, the lust, the power. And as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I find myself getting wet just looking at her too.