[HAWA-377] Desperate Bachelor’s Secret Affair with a Submissive Wife in His Budget Flat

The desperation of a lonely guy with nothing but a cheap apartment and a relentless need finally found its target. I spotted her, this seemingly docile married woman, walking alone—her eyes downcast, her posture hinting at a quiet resignation. There was no money for the red-light district, and young girls were too much trouble, but she… she looked like she wouldn’t fight back. I lured her in with a fake story, my hands trembling not from guilt but from the sheer anticipation. Once inside my dingy place, it didn’t take much to push her down, her wedding ring glinting mockingly as I tore at her clothes. She whimpered, but it only fueled me more—this was my release, my only outlet for all that pent-up frustration. I took her hard and fast, ignoring her muffled cries, focusing only on the wet heat between her legs as I drove into her, claiming what I couldn’t afford to buy elsewhere.

Her body betrayed her protests soon enough. As I pounded into her, she started to squirt, jets of fluid soaking the stained sheets beneath us—a messy, uncontrolled eruption that made her shudder and moan despite herself. I flipped her over, gripping her butt tightly, leaving red marks on her pale skin as I plunged deeper, watching her eyes roll back in her head until they fluttered shut, her consciousness slipping away into a faint. She went limp beneath me, but I didn’t stop; her unconsciousness only made it easier to use her, to lose myself in the rhythm of my thrusts. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the empty room, mixed with her ragged breaths and my own grunts of satisfaction. I could feel her insides clenching around me, a wet, tight embrace that pushed me closer to the edge, her body responding even as her mind checked out.

When I finally came, it was with a guttural roar, pumping my cum deep inside her, a creampie that filled her up, marking her in a way her husband never could. I kept thrusting through the aftershocks, milking every last drop into her, feeling her twitch weakly beneath me. She lay there afterward, a broken mess—eyes still rolled back, faint tremors running through her limbs, my seed leaking out of her onto the mattress. I didn’t care about the mess or her state; all that mattered was the savage relief, the conquest of a married woman who’d given me what I craved without a fight. In that cheap apartment, with the scent of sex and sweat hanging heavy, I’d taken what I needed, reducing her to nothing more than a vessel for my release, and for a moment, the loneliness didn’t feel so crushing.