18. The White Sheet
The White Sheet
The Kellers’ bedroom was so deathly quiet it almost hurt.
The immaculate white sheet lay smooth across the marital bed. The pillows were stacked neatly. On the wall, the wedding photograph of Markus and Nadja still hung in its usual place—bright, pure, clean, like a silent accusation of the life she was supposed to preserve.
Karl stared greedily at the bed the moment he stepped across the threshold.
Nadja saw exactly how his dull gaze clung to the pristine white fabric. She saw his bony Adam’s apple move up and down, as though his diseased mind were already overflowing with filthy fantasies about what he was going to do to her on her own husband’s bed.
She didn’t give him a second to savor the sight. She shoved him hard in the chest without warning.
He fell backward onto the mattress. The bed frame gave a rough, loud creak that brutally tore through the clean silence of the room.
Karl lay on the bed, his old naked body sinking heavily into the fresh white bedding. His sagging lower belly rose and fell with his panting breaths, and the rock-hard thing between his legs still jutted obscenely into the air.
Nadja stood at the edge of the bed and looked coldly down at him.
Karl had been right. She was in a fucking hurry.
But not like a woman who had blindly lost control. Not out of love. Not tenderness. And certainly not because he had somehow seduced her.
It was a dark, primitive hunger that had been building for far too long—awakened under the dining table by his filthy old fingers and tongue, then strangled by Markus’s voice at exactly the moment she should have come.
The two violent orgasms were still throbbing through her body in hot aftershocks. But they hadn’t satisfied her. They had only made her more sensitive. Hornier. Greedier.
Between her legs, she was soaking wet. Her pussy clenched in the cool bedroom air as though begging for something much bigger than fingers, something much harder than a tongue.
The filthy sensation of Karl spreading her open, of him digging around inside her, still burned in her lower belly like a fucking fire that refused to go out.
It hadn’t been enough. And precisely because it hadn’t been enough, the lust kept gnawing at her mind with every passing second.
Nadja hated it. Deeply. But she could no longer deny it.
She wanted to be filled.
She needed a feeling more distinct, more painful, than this unsatisfied craving that had been gnawing at her flesh since the ride in Karl’s disgusting car.
And over all of it, Markus’s name still hung heavily in the room.
In the wedding photograph, Markus’s face shone with a trusting, happy smile, as though he were inevitably going to witness the next scene. The scene in which Nadja was ready to sink deeper and dirtier than she ever had in her life.
Karl was disgusting. Old. Brazen. Pathetic. Constantly horny. There were countless words for everything repulsive about him.
But he had also been there. Outside in the rain. At the register. Back when the pipe in her apartment had been leaking. In the kitchen. Kneeling beneath the dining table.
He had simply paid for her groceries, cooked her lunch, then dropped to his knees like an animal in heat and licked her without restraint until she couldn’t even speak normally to her own husband on the phone.
He had been unbelievably good to her. In an utterly perverse, filthy way, during those few hours he had almost been more of a husband than her own husband. And that forbidden thought alone made her pussy even hotter.
Karl braced his elbows against the mattress and tried to sit up, panting.
Nadja planted one hand flat on his chest and shoved him mercilessly back down.
“Stay down,” she ordered. Her voice was sharp and irritated, as though all she had to do was maintain that cold tone to convince herself she still had control.
Karl obediently sank back into the immaculate white sheets, his arms slightly spread.
Below his soft belly, his huge, deep-red, veined cock jutted steeply from the old body — an obscene intrusion that had no place in this clean bedroom.
Nadja bent down. Her hand decisively grabbed what remained of the knit dress, torn open along the side.
The fabric still hung loosely from her shoulder, waist, and breasts—from the skin that still burned where Karl’s greedy old fingers had touched her.
The dress was the last thing still clinging to her. A thin, wrinkled shell pretending she was still Markus’s good wife, still decent enough to slip seamlessly back into her old life once this filthy thing was over.
Nadja pulled hard. With a sharp tearing sound, the fabric gave way. One final stubborn seam tore beneath her hand.
The fine wool slipped from her shoulder, over her full breasts, down her rounded hips, and fell in a shapeless, useless heap at her feet.
It wasn’t only a ruined dress. It felt like a false, dishonest skin she had ripped from her own body. The skin of the good wife. The skin of respectable decency. The very last layer that had desperately tried to hide how obscenely hot her blood was really running.
Nadja kicked the fabric carelessly aside. She stood completely naked in front of Karl. No top. No dress. No panties.
Nothing left between her body and the drooling, hungry stare of the old man lying on her own marital bed.
The bedroom light laid a faint golden sheen over her white skin. Her full breasts hung heavy and natural, the pink nipples rock-hard from cold and pure lust.
At that moment, she looked nothing like the innocent woman in the wedding photograph on the wall. She had become something entirely different.
A slut made of skin, sweat, and insatiable hunger, standing in front of the old neighbor she despised and now wanted to ride without restraint.
Karl opened his mouth.
Nadja raised one leg and planted her bare foot dominantly against his chest. Her toes brushed his gray chest hair, then she pressed harder, pinning him contemptuously into the mattress like a dirty rag.
“I decide what happens here,” she said quietly, razor-sharp. “You just keep your mouth shut.”
Karl nodded quickly. His Adam’s apple moved up and down. His reddened, dull eyes remained hypnotically fixed on her wet, open crotch.
He opened his mouth, his wrinkled face twisting into a happy, perverse grin. “Yes, Mrs. Keller…”
Nadja climbed onto the bed. She spread her knees wide and knelt directly over Karl’s hips.
Then she lifted her pelvis. Her hand reached unerringly for his hard cock and guided the hot, throbbing head directly toward her wet slit.
Nadja stopped abruptly.
Something important suddenly flashed through her mind. No condom. She’d already had to take the morning-after pill once this month.
The thought was brief, ice-cold, completely clear.
There were still condoms in the nightstand drawer. Markus’s. The expensive pack she had bought only recently — to cover her own guilt.
All she had to do was reach out and take one.
Her own juices were already dripping heavily onto Karl’s stomach.
Nadja lowered her face and stared mercilessly into his eyes. “When you’re about to come, pull out.”
Her voice was hard, pragmatic, allowing no argument.
Karl nodded wildly. “Yes. I’ll pull out in time. Promise.”
Nadja didn’t believe the old bastard for a second. But her horny body was already lowering before her mind could build another rational barrier.
She forced her hips downward.
Karl’s thick head parted her slick lips and slowly, heavily, painfully stretched her open.
The pressure was immediate. Her body resisted and opened at the same time; her tight pussy closed around the massive tip entering her as though it couldn’t decide whether to reject him or greedily pull him deeper.
Nadja let out a strangled breath. Her hips reflexively jerked back a fraction.
“Ah…” She threw her head back and clenched her teeth. “What are you, a damned bull…”
But beneath it all, her body felt sickeningly satisfied. That exact stretch. That exact pain. That was what she had wanted.
Karl bared his teeth, his old face distorted with pain and pleasure because she was so unbelievably tight and wet around him.
But his eyes burned.
Seen from below, Nadja looked far too beautiful, too perfect ever to be touched by him. A young naked woman, her full white breasts swaying heavily with every breath, brown hair hanging wild against flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted as she desperately tried to swallow a moan.
The gray, washed-out light of the rain moved across her skin and made her body look both untouchable and intensely alive— as remote as an untouched bride in a wedding photo and so abysmally lustful that she was lowering herself moaning onto the enormous cock of an old neighbor.
Nadja sank a little farther. Karl’s cock slid deeper inside her.
This time, she didn’t pull away. She closed her eyes, exhaled shakily, and let her full weight swallow him with agonizing slowness.
Inch by inch, the thick, veined flesh disappeared into her wet pussy. When she finally sat fully on him, he filled her completely and brutally.
A dull, insistent pain pulled deep through her lower belly as the huge thing nearly struck the deepest part of her.
Nadja grimaced in pain. She couldn’t move immediately. She had to stay still for a long moment. Breathe. Adjust to the overwhelming fullness.
“Ah…” Karl sucked air whistling through his teeth. “Your pussy… is so fucking tight…”
Nadja began to move.
The swollen lips of her pussy stretched extremely tight around his thick shaft, gripping him so firmly that every movement of her hips left a gleaming wet trail along him.
Her juices ran freely around his base, mixing with the dried saliva on her thighs and making the sounds beneath their rubbing bodies unbelievably filthy and humiliating.
Every time she lifted her hips, the deep-red flesh emerged gleaming in the gray light. Every time she lowered herself again, her pussy swallowed him mercilessly, inch by inch.