You know it's true

You know it's true. She's on her knees on the bathroom floor, tile cold under her, hair falling over one eye while she works that thick cock past her lips. Your wife. The one who used to make you wait till after dinner, who said she was tired. Not tired now. Her shoulders shift with every bob of her head, necklace catching the light when she pulls back just enough to breathe. I watched from the doorway for maybe ten seconds before she noticed me. Didn't stop. Just glanced up with her mouth full, made this little noise like she was annoyed I was interrupting, then went right back to it. His hand stayed on the back of her neck. Big guy. Same one from the gym she mentioned once. My cock was already hard. I didn't touch it. Just stood there while she gagged a little, spit running down her chin, and he groaned. She pulled off for air, strings of saliva connecting her bottom lip to the head of his dick, then she looked right at me again. "You can stay if you want," she said. Voice all raspy. "Just don't talk." Then she went down again, deeper this time, and I saw his balls tighten. Her free hand reached between his legs to cup them. The wet sounds got louder. I backed up until my shoulders hit the doorframe. She never looked up after that. Just kept going like I wasn't there anymore.