I wasn't supposed to see it.
Her drawer. The one on the far left of our built-in wardrobe flush with the cedar wood panels, sleek with polished chrome handles. It looked no different from the rest, except she always locked it. Subtly, but consistently. I'd only caught the glimpse of a tiny key disappearing into her purse once.
She told me it was full of "college junk." Yearbooks. Old letters. Maybe a worn vibrator or two from her wild phase.
But tonight, she forgot to lock it.
Late Night Stirring
It was two-thirty in the morning. The house was quiet. Only the hum of the AC and the occasional creak of settling wood filled the space.
She was asleep beside me, arm draped across my chest, her soft lips parted against my skin. Her thigh was hooked over mine possessive, content, as if she hadn't spent the past hour crying out my name while I fucked her so deep I thought the neighbors would complain.
But I couldn't sleep.
Not because of the sex.
Because of the way she moaned. The way she said "don't stop" in a tone that wasn't begging it was trained.
Like she wasn't asking me.
Like someone else had made her say those words first.
The Drawer
I slipped out of bed carefully, bare feet pressing against cool hardwood. The dim hallway light cast just enough glow for me to see.
I knelt before the wardrobe and reached for the drawer.
It opened. No key. No resistance. Just a soft click.
Inside was a velvet lined box. Burgundy. Luxurious.
I lifted the lid, and what I saw made my breath catch.
A black lace teddy folded with military precision. A remote controlled bullet vibe nestled next to it. Leather cuffs. A silk blindfold still bearing the faint scent of jasmine and sweat.
And notes. Dozens of them.
Handwritten, some smudged with what looked like lipstick or tears.
"Touch yourself for me. Think of the first time."
"You're not allowed to come until I say the word."
"Record the next one. I want to see how much you miss me."
My chest tightened.
There was a flash drive tucked into a small satin pouch.
I should've put it all back.
I didn't.
The Video
I plugged the USB into my laptop, popped in my headphones, and hit play.
The screen faded from black.
And there she was.
My wife.
Tied to our bed.
Legs spread, arms secured with silk rope to the headboard. Her body arched. Her nipples were pinched with clamps, her mouth gagged but I could still hear her moaning.
A man appeared on camera. Masked. Silent. His voice never showed.
But his hands were sure. Confident. Possessive.
He trailed a feather down her body until she writhed. Pulled away the gag.
And then she said it.
"Please, I need you. I want your cock. Not his. Yours."
I paused the video.
My heart was racing. My cock was throbbing.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to jerk off.
I didn't know which was worse.
The Reaction
I closed the laptop and slid the flash drive back into the pouch.
Put the box exactly where I found it.
Closed the drawer.
Locked it.
I walked back to bed.
She stirred as I slipped beneath the sheets. Her arm found my chest again. Her lips brushed my neck.
"Mmm," she whispered, eyes still closed. "You okay?"
I kissed her forehead. "Just thirsty. I'm fine."
She bit her lip in her sleep, turning to straddle my thigh.
Her hand slid down my stomach and found me hard.
"Oh" she purred. "You sure?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
She climbed on top of me, slow and hungry.
And as she sank down on my cock, I couldn't stop wondering:
Was she fucking me?
Or was she thinking of him?
And God help me
That only made me harder.