Hospital Debauchery

Minutes crawled by in the dim bedroom, each second stretching into an eternity, the air thick and oppressive with the raw, musky scent of sweat, cum, and forbidden sex, a primal aroma that clung to the walls like a stain.

The crucifix above the bed cast a long, accusing shadow across the hardwood floor, its dark silhouette stretching toward Thorne's crumpled body like a finger of divine wrath, pointing at his ruin.

Thorne lay slumped against the baseboard, his body limp and heavy as a sack of broken bones, his once crisp suit now a tattered shroud. buttons missing, tie dangling like a noose, fabric torn and soaked with sweat and tears. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, each one a struggle against the unconsciousness that held him like a merciful shroud, shielding him from the nightmare his life had become.

His mind swirled in a chaotic haze of denial, replaying the horrors of the day in jagged, fragmented flashes, the video blasting his depravities across the hospital auditorium, projected on a massive screen for all to see, colleagues gasping, some laughing, the cold, emotionless call from the board firing him on the spot, the receiver shaking in his hand, the email revoking his medical license, words like "gross misconduct" and "ethical violation" searing into his soul like a brand.

The barrage of mocking texts from colleagues he once commanded, "Toilet slave Thorne, how's the sewer taste?" "Choke on your shame, chief!" and worst of all, bursting into this room to find his wife, his Theresa, with Devon.

It had to be a nightmare, a vicious dream spawned from the guilt and stress of his double life, a hallucination that would dissolve with the dawn. Yes, that was it all a bad dream, a cruel trick of his mind.

He'd wake up any second, roll over in their familiar bed, find Theresa beside him, her soft snores a quiet comfort, her hand resting on his as they prepared for morning prayers and coffee, the world whole and right again.

But then the bed creaked, a steady, rhythmic groan that pierced the fog in his head like a serrated blade, the sound wet and insistent, layered with soft, sloppy slaps and guttural gasps that sent a shiver of dread through him.

Thorne's eyes twitched violently, his eyelids fluttering as reality clawed its way back in, dragging him from the depths with cruel, unrelenting hooks. He gulped hard, his throat dry and raw from earlier screams, a knot of fear twisting tight in his gut like a fist clenching around his insides, squeezing until he could barely breathe.

Slowly, painfully, he raised his head from the cold, unforgiving floor, his neck stiff and aching from the brutal kick that had sent him crashing into the wall, his vision blurry at first, spots dancing in his eyes from the impact, his head throbbing with a dull, pounding ache.

As his sight cleared, the scene slammed into him like a runaway truck, Theresa, his faithful, churchgoing wife of twenty years, naked and straddling Devon, riding his cock with wild, unbridled abandon. Her full, heavy breasts bounced heavily with each downward thrust, nipples hard and dark as coal, sweat glistening on her soft belly and thick thighs as she ground down on him, her pussy stretched impossibly tight around his pulsing shaft, juices slicking her inner thighs and dripping onto his balls in shiny, obscene trails.

Her face was a vision of raw ecstasy. cheeks flushed a deep crimson, mouth open in a constant, gasping moan, eyes half lidded with pleasure, lost in a world of bliss he'd never come close to giving her.

She moaned loudly, her voice raw and desperate, calling out "Devon! Oh, Devon, yes, fuck me!" in a tone so fervent, so uninhibited, it was as if she'd never uttered his own name in their decades of marriage.

Thorne's heart shattered into sharp, jagged fragments, each piece cutting deeper as tears flooded his swollen, bloodshot eyes, streaming down his tear-stained cheeks in hot, bitter rivers.

He watched, frozen in horror, his body still too weak to move, his limbs heavy as if chained to the floor. "Theresa… please, no," he whispered, his voice breaking like brittle glass, a trembling sob that carried all his pain, but the creaking bed and her relentless moans drowned him out completely.

She didn't notice at first, too deep in her rhythm, her hands braced on Devon's chiseled chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving red crescent marks as she rode harder, her ass cheeks clenching with each bounce, her pussy making wet, squelching sounds as it swallowed his cock whole, the slick noises echoing like a mockery of their sacred vows.

Devon's hands gripped her hips with bruising force, fingers sinking deep into her soft, yielding flesh, guiding her up and down with forceful, commanding pulls, his cock slamming up into her with each bounce, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room like a filthy, relentless drumbeat that pulsed in time with Thorne's breaking heart. "That's it, Theresa, ride that cock, take every fucking inch," he growled, his voice low and commanding, dripping with smug satisfaction, his dark eyes locked on her face, watching her unravel with a predator's glee, his abs flexing as he thrust up to meet her, his balls slapping against her ass with each stroke.

"You're a good wife." Devon uttered.

His gaze flicked briefly to Thorne, a smirk curling his lips, as if savoring the destruction he'd wrought.

Theresa's eyes finally snapped open at the faint, broken whisper of her name, locking on her husband slumped against the wall. For a split second, shock froze her, her eyes widening in horror, her mouth opening in a silent gasp, her body pausing mid thrust as if the sight of him might pull her back to reality.

"Elias!" she gasped, her voice cracking with guilt, her hands trembling as she tried to stop, to pull off, her fingers twitching toward him like a lifeline. But Devon didn't let her, he thrust up hard, his cock hitting deep inside her, striking her G-spot with ruthless precision, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense her vision blurred, her pussy clenching tight around him in a desperate, involuntary grip.

"Oh God—Elias, I—" she stammered, trying to pull away, tears welling in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in glistening trails, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. But the pleasure was too much, an unstoppable tide, her body betraying her completely as her hips ground down despite herself, chasing the orgasm that built like a storm in her core.

She bit her lip hard, drawing a bead of blood, stuttering through moans, "It's… it's so good, Elias, don't cry, please. I'll… I'll come back to you after this, I swear. I'll cook your favorite beef stew, light candles for us at church, pray for us both tomorrow. But… but this cock, oh Jesus Christ, this cock comes first right now! I can't stop, it feels too fucking good!" Her words came out in broken, gasping bursts, stammering as she rode him harder, her body lost to the rhythm, her pussy squirting with each deep, punishing thrust, juices soaking Devon's lap and the sheets in a growing, glistening pool, her full breasts heaving, sweat dripping between them, her moans turning louder, more desperate, a primal hymn of betrayal.

Thorne's tears spilled over like a dam breaking, his face crumbling into a mask of pure devastation as he watched his wife, his devoted Theresa, who led Bible study every Wednesday, who organized the church bake sales, who prayed the rosary every night with a fervor that once warmed his heart, moan like a woman possessed, calling Devon's name in an ecstasy he'd never elicited from her, not in twenty years of marriage.

"Theresa… how could you do this to us?" he sobbed, his voice cracking, rising to a high-pitched wail that echoed his shattering soul, but she only moaned louder, her eyes fluttering shut as pleasure consumed her, "Devon, yes, right there, fuck me harder!"

The betrayal sliced through him like a blade, his chest heaving with ragged, gasping breaths, his hands balling into fists so tight his knuckles popped, rage and heartbreak warring in his veins as his world collapsed.

The sex raged on, relentless and raw, Devon flipped her onto her back with a rough twist, her legs spread wide as he pounded into her missionary style, his cock stretching her pussy to its limits, slamming deep with each thrust, her juices squirting out around him in messy, forceful sprays that soaked the quilt and dripped onto the floor.

"Holy God, fuck me, yes, deeper!" she screamed, her hands clawing at his back, leaving red scratches that bled faintly as her body shook with another orgasm, her pussy clenching so tight it milked his shaft, her thighs trembling violently.

Devon pulled out suddenly, his shaft glistening with her cum, veins pulsing as he guided her mouth to it. Theresa hesitated for a heartbeat, her eyes flicking to the crucifix with a flicker of guilt, but then she surrendered, taking him in deep, her full lips wrapping around his thick, throbbing head, sucking hard with sloppy, eager enthusiasm, her tongue swirling around the shaft, tracing every ridge as she bobbed her head, moaning around him like it was the most divine thing she'd ever tasted.

"Mmm, Jesus, so big, so fucking thick," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his cock, her hazel eyes looking up at him with a mix of shame and wild, insatiable hunger, saliva dripping down her chin onto her heaving breasts, pooling in her cleavage and trickling down her soft belly.

Devon groaned deep in his throat, a primal sound, his hands fisting her hair, tugging gently at first, then harder, thrusting into her mouth until she gagged, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the spit, but she kept sucking, her throat working around him, her hands gripping his thighs for balance.

When he came, he held her head steady, his cock pulsing as he flooded her mouth with hot, thick spurts of cum that filled her cheeks, the salty, musky taste making her moan louder, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

Theresa swallowed greedily, her throat bobbing as she took every drop, her tongue darting out to lick the rest from the corners of her mouth, catching stray beads that clung to her swollen lips, moaning softly, "Oh Lord… so good, so much cum, forgive me."

Devon pulled back, his chest heaving, satisfied, stroking her cheek gently as she knelt before him, her body still trembling with aftershocks, cum lingering on her flushed lips, her eyes glazed with a mix of ecstasy and lingering guilt.

Amidst it all, Thorne had dashed out, unable to watch his wife swallow another man's cum like a starving woman, his sobs turning to gut-wrenching wails that echoed through the house as he fled the room, stumbling down the stairs in a blind panic, his heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards.

He slammed the front door behind him so hard the windows rattled, the sound reverberating like a gunshot, his mind a whirlwind of betrayal, loss, and shattered dreams, the image of Theresa's pleasure seared into his soul.

Devon raised Theresa's chin gently, her face still flushed and slick, cum smeared on her swollen lips as she looked up at him from her knees, her full breasts heaving with each ragged breath, her body still buzzing from the intensity. "Your husband was a good man, Theresa," he said softly, his voice laced with mock sympathy, his thumb wiping a stray drop of cum from her chin, his touch deceptively tender.

She nodded quickly, her hazel eyes wide and glassy, her voice a hoarse whisper, "Yes… he is." Her words trembled, caught between guilt and the afterglow of pleasure, her hands resting on her thighs, still shaking.

"Where do you think he's headed now?" Devon asked, his thumb brushing her hair tenderly, his dark eyes searching hers with a glint of curiosity, his smirk barely concealed.

Theresa shrugged, her shoulders quaking slightly as she caught her breath, still kneeling, her body glistening with sweat, her pussy still throbbing faintly. "Probably to his mom's place… or to see our daughter." She bit her lip, a faint, dazed smile crossing her face despite the chaos, her mind still clouded by the pleasure that had consumed her, her faith a distant memory in the face of Devon's dominance.

Devon smiled back, wide and dark, his eyes glinting with cold triumph as he helped her up, his hands firm but gentle on her arms.