Life of an Asian Couple
By LOAAC.
[google-translator]
My wife, Aria, was wearing a beautiful floral dress that plunged enough to show some of her ample 36C cleavage and was tight enough to emphasize her hourglass figure and her round but toned ass. She was fidgeting a bit with her hem as she thought her dress might be too short for her 5’6″ height, given her age. Truth be told, like most Asian women, she looked much younger than her 43 years. Though we had been married since the year 2000, we had dated much longer than that.
The ice in my wife’s drink clinked as she adjusted her posture slightly, her fingers lingering near the straw. Her gaze flickered past my shoulder–just for a second–, but I knew that look. The corner of her mouth twitched, the way it always did when she was trying not to smile at something she shouldn’t.
“Enjoying the view?” I asked, swirling my own glass. Aria’s eyes snapped back to mine, her cheeks flushing the faintest pink. She took a quick sip, the condensation from her glass leaving a damp streak on the linen tablecloth. “What view?” she said, too innocently, but her toes brushed against my shin under the table.
Behind me, cutlery clattered against a plate–someone had dropped a fork. A deep voice muttered an apology, and Aria’s eyelashes fluttered again. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. Her tells were carved into my memory after twenty-six years: the way her pulse jumped in her throat, how she’d suddenly remember to smooth her napkin over her lap when she was distracted.
“Those are pretty tight pants our waiter has on,” I said, leaning forward so my words wouldn’t carry.
Aria choked on her cucumber-infused mocktail. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, her fingers trembling just enough for me to notice. “I didn’t–” she started, then bit her lower lip.
The waiter straightened up, his crisp white shirt stretching across broad shoulders as he gestured toward the kitchen with the recovered fork. Aria’s gaze lingered on the way his black slacks clung to powerful thighs–I caught her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against her glass. When he turned back toward our table, she dropped her eyes so fast her bangs swung forward.
“I thought you were more interested in the front side,” I murmured, watching her fingers tighten around the stem of her mocktail glass.
Aria frowned at me, then gasped softly when the waiter pivoted to retrieve a fallen napkin from a nearby chair. The thin fabric of his pants left nothing to the imagination–the thick outline pressing against the seam made her throat bob as she swallowed hard.
She didn’t even blink when I raised a hand to flag him down, asking some nonsense about our entrées. The waiter leaned in closer to hear me over the ambient chatter, and Aria’s breath hitched audibly as the bulge in his slacks shifted mere inches from her face. Her knuckles went white around her glass, her lips parting unconsciously–until he glanced down and noticed her heaving bosom.
Her blush darkened to crimson as she jerked upright, knocking over her mocktail. Ice skittered across the tablecloth, and she scrambled to help sop up the mess with napkins–her fingers brushing the waiter’s muscular forearm as he reached to assist. Her breath quickened, and I could practically feel the heat radiating off her skin.
The waiter flashed Aria a knowing smile, lingering just a beat too long before stepping back with the damp linens. His belt buckle strained against his waistband as he moved, and for a moment, I thought she might whimper. Instead, she crossed her legs tightly, her sandal dangling from her toes in a way that made the strap dig into her delicate arch–a nervous tell she’d had since college.
“You okay?” I asked, nudging her foot under the table. She startled, her knee jerking up and bumping the underside of the table hard enough to rattle our silverware. The ice in her spilled drink shifted with a wet clatter.
“Fine,” she breathed, but her voice was two octaves higher than usual. When the waiter returned with fresh napkins, she stared fixedly at the pearlescent button on his sleeve, refusing to look any lower.
The waiter’s cologne–something woody with a hint of citrus–drifted between us as he leaned in to replace Aria’s mocktail. His forearm flexed against the tablecloth when he set the glass down, and I watched her eyes trace the veins snaking beneath his tanned skin. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips unconsciously, and when she finally met my gaze, there was a flicker of something raw and unguarded there–the same look she’d had a few months ago when I first fucked her with that large penis extension I bought online.
Fifteen years of marriage had taught me the difference between her polite moans and the trembling, breathless sounds she made when pleasure truly took her apart. Our sex was comfortable–warm, familiar, like slipping into an old pair of slippers–but I knew she’d been faking most of her orgasms since our honeymoon. She’d bite her lip and dig her nails into my shoulders, but I’d learned to recognize the subtle way her hips would still slightly after the third stroke, patiently waiting for my slender 4-inch dick to finish.
That changed when the silicone sleeve arrived in discreet packaging six months ago. It turned my modest 4 inches into twice the man I was before. The way her body had arched off the bed, her nails raking down my back as she came so hard she sobbed–it was the first time I’d ever felt her walls flutter around me. She’d clung to me afterward, whispering “thank you” into my collarbone like I’d given her some sacred gift. I’d expected jealousy, but instead, I’d been mesmerized by the slick sounds of her arousal, the desperate way she ground against me when I used it.
Now, watching Aria’s pupils dilate as the waiter adjusted his stance, I recognized that same hunger pooling in her parted lips. His forearm brushed against her shoulder when he handed her the replacement mocktail, and she inhaled sharply–her chest rising enough to make the neckline of her dress gape wider. A bead of condensation rolled down the curve of her breast, disappearing into shadow. The waiter’s knuckles whitened around the tray as he returned to the kitchen, stealing a glance back at my wife’s raised hem line.
The restaurant’s ambient jazz faded into white noise as Aria slowly uncrossed her legs, the hem of her dress riding up another inch. Her sandal slipped off entirely this time, the ball of her foot pressing against my calf in a silent plea. Under the table, my hand found her bare knee, and her thigh tensed like a coiled spring when my thumb grazed the sensitive skin just above her stocking.
“Oh god,” she breathed into her palms, her shoulders hunching forward until her cleavage nearly spilled over the neckline of her dress. “I couldn’t stop looking–” The rest of her confession dissolved into a shudder when the kitchen door swung open again, revealing the waiter balancing three steaming plates along his corded forearms. Aria’s hands slid down to grip the edge of the table, her knuckles pressing white against the linen.
“Do you think that he noticed?” she whispered.
Aria’s fingers muffled her words as she peeked through the gaps between them–just in time to catch the waiter’s broad shoulders disappearing through the kitchen doors. Her pulse throbbed visibly at the base of her throat, a quick flutter beneath the delicate gold necklace I’d bought her last anniversary.
“What? That you were staring at his cock?” I replied jokingly, squeezing the soft flesh of her inner thigh just hard enough to make her squirm. The jazz trio launched into a sultry rendition of ‘Fever,’ punctuated by the sound of Aria’s sharp intake of breath. Her chest rose dramatically, the neckline of her dress clinging to the sweat-dampened swell of her breasts.
“Scott!” My wife gasped with embarrassment. She smacked my wrist weakly–a reflex more than a rebuke–but didn’t pull away. Instead, her knees pressed together tighter, her thighs trembling under my fingertips.
“He definitely noticed,” I murmured, watching her teeth sink into her lower lip.
The meal progressed with the kind of charged silence that hummed louder than conversation. Aria’s napkin became a crumpled mess in her lap, her fingers pleating the fabric absently every time the waiter’s polished shoes clicked past our table. When he leaned down to refill her water glass, she inhaled his cologne like it was oxygen, her toes curling against the restaurant’s hardwood floor. His sleeve brushed her bare shoulder–accidentally?– and she shivered hard enough to make her pearl earrings sway.
“Bathroom,” I muttered abruptly, pushing back my chair before she could respond.
Aria blinked up at me, her lips parted around some unfinished thought, but I was already weaving through the maze of linen-draped tables. The jazz trio’s saxophonist hit a particularly filthy note as I shouldered open the men’s room door. Inside, the air smelled of bleach and something muskier beneath–the sharp tang of male sweat clinging to warm ceramic tiles.
Two urinals stood side by side against the far wall, their pale porcelain gleaming under fluorescent lights. No partitions. No privacy. My fingers hesitated at my zipper as I glanced over my shoulder–empty. The first spurt hit the porcelain with a sound that echoed too loudly in the tiled room. I kept my hips angled forward, shoulders hunched, but the mirror above the sinks betrayed the pink tip of my modest erection as I relieved myself.
The door hinges creaked. Heavy-soled shoes scuffed against the tile–not the quick in-and-out footsteps of someone washing their hands, but the deliberate stride of a man with purpose. My stream faltered for a heartbeat, then resumed with nervous insistence as the waiter’s polished loafer came into view. His belt buckle jingled as he unzipped, the sound obscenely crisp in the quiet room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw tanned fingers push aside crisp white shirting, and then–
Christ. It wasn’t just thick–it was obscene. The flushed head flared wider than my thumb, veins mapping the length of him like topographic ridges. His piss hit the porcelain with enough force to make mine sound like a trickle by comparison. Steam curled up from the impact point, and for a delirious moment, I wondered absurdly if that was normal.
“Hope you and your wife are enjoying your dinner,” he said conversationally, still pissing like a racehorse.
My dick twitched pathetically against my palm, the pink tip barely clearing my zipper.
I snapped out of my inappropriate staring and looked forward again, blankly. “Oh, yes,” I replied, “food was great, and my wife was impressed with your, uh, service,” I nervously answered. The shaking in my voice echoed in my ears even though the waiter didn’t notice.
“Well, you’re a fortunate guy! I hope you don’t mind me saying that your wife is gorgeous,” the waiter gave himself a lazy shake–three thick slaps against his thigh that echoed like gunshots in the tiled room.
My mouth went dry watching the foreskin slide back over that swollen head, the way his balls hung heavy between muscular thighs still partially sheathed in those obscenely tight slacks. I watched him and couldn’t help but fantasize about him shaking the last drops of cum out of his monstrous white bratwurst and onto my wife’s tongue.
His belt buckle clinked as he tucked himself away–had to fold it downward, Christ–and I quickly turned to the sink, scrubbing my hands raw under scalding water. The mirror reflected how his biceps flexed as he washed up beside me, droplets glistening in the dark thatch of hair peeking from his unbuttoned collar.
I cleared my throat, keeping my voice low enough that the jazz tune bleeding through the door would swallow our words. “Perhaps, you’d like to join us for a drink or something? So we can show you how much we appreciate your service,” I bravely asked.
Something primal flickered behind his eyes–not quite surprise, but the slow-burning recognition of a game he’d played before.
The waiter shut off the tap with deliberate slowness, droplets spraying the porcelain as he turned to face me fully. His tongue darted out to wet his lips–an unconscious mirror of Aria’s earlier gesture–before he replied, “My shift is over in 15 minutes.”
It wasn’t a question. My pulse jumped as I realized my hot wife fantasy may be coming true.
I fumbled for the paper towels, my fingers brushing against his wrist when we reached for the same dispenser. The contact sent an electric jolt up my arm — his skin was furnace-hot. “Got a car, J?” I asked, noticing that his name tag simply said ‘J.’
His laughter bounced off the tiles, deep and rich as he shook his head. “Just my legs,” he said, rolling his shoulders in a way that made his shirt strain at the seams.
Leaning in, I caught the scent of salt and something darker beneath his cologne as I murmured, “Black 4Runner, back corner of the lot–third stall from the dumpster.” My breath fogged the mirror between us, obscuring the flushed reflection of my face for a heartbeat. J’s nostrils flared slightly, his gaze dropping to where my wedding ring glinted under the harsh lights.
“Easy to remember,” he rumbled, adjusting the bulge in his slacks with a casual shift of his hips that made my throat tighten.
Back at the table, Aria was worrying her napkin into shredded lace, her thighs clamped together so tightly the hem of her dress had ridden up to reveal the lace tops of her stockings. I slid into my seat with deliberate calm, watching her pupils dilate as I dragged my fingertips across her bare knee.
“What’s that smile about?” she whispered, her voice husky with suspicion and something hotter.
I tapped the rim of my glass twice–our old signal for ‘wait and see,’ and saw the exact moment her pulse skipped beneath her delicate collarbone. The waiter’s polished black loafers clicked against hardwood as he cleared the following table over, and Aria’s fingers spasmed around her fork.
Our dessert arrived–chocolate torte with a single candle flickering at its center–but her gaze kept drifting toward the kitchen doors. “Scott,” she hissed, pressing her knee hard against mine under the tablecloth. “What’s the surprise?” she demanded through clenched teeth, but the flush creeping down her chest betrayed her.
I traced idle circles on the inside of her thigh, letting my fingertips brush higher each pass until her breathing turned shallow. “Patience,” I murmured. Partly out of fear that she would shoot down my idea of having my loving wife pleasured by J’s big white cock.
After finishing dessert and paying for dinner, we walked to our car, Aria’s fingers laced through mine, oblivious to how the night would unravel. Now she clung to my arm like she might float away, her steps unsteady beneath the flickering streetlights. The scent of her arousal clung to her, mingling with the ocean breeze rolling in off English Bay.
Just before reaching our SUV, I pulled Aria against me, her back pressing into the cold metal of the passenger door as I cradled her face. My lips met hers–a slow, deep kiss that tasted of chocolate and the drinks we’d shared. When I broke away, her lashes fluttered open to see J leaning against a lamppost twenty feet away, his muscular silhouette backlit by neon. Her entire body tensed against me, nails digging into my biceps.
“Are we really doing this?” she breathed, her voice trembling with equal parts terror and excitement I hadn’t heard since our wedding night.
“The fantasy you keep whispering about when my tongue’s buried in you?” I murmured, slipping a hand between her thighs to feel the slick heat already soaking through her panties. She whimpered–tiny, desperate–as my fingers pressed against the lace. “God, you’re dripping already.” I withdrew my glistening fingers and brought them to her parted lips. “Taste yourself, Aria. Taste how badly you want this.”
Her tongue darted out–automatic, obedient–and her pupils blew wide as she sucked my fingers clean with a soft moan. Behind us, J’s belt buckle jingled faintly as he shifted his stance. The sound made her hips jerk forward against mine, the metal door rattling against her weight.
“He’s watching you swallow your own wetness,” I growled against her ear. “Bet he’s imagining how your lips will stretch around that fat cock.”
Aria whimpered, her hand flying to clutch at my shirt–half-push, half-pull–as J’s shoes crunched gravel toward us. His shadow engulfed us both, and I felt her shudder when his knuckles brushed the bare skin of her shoulder. “Fuck,” she whispered–not to me, but to the mere Adonis-like presence of J’s figure beside us.
“You’ve been teasing me all night,” J murmured, his voice rough as he leaned in to sniff her neck, nostrils flaring at the musky sweetness of her arousal. His fingers traced the trembling line of her collarbone, dipping lower until they caught the edge of her dress’s plunging neckline.
“Now’s your chance to have the real thing,” I plainly stated. J’s thumb grazed her nipple through the fabric, and Aria arched like a bowstring. “Or don’t you want me to clean your pussy with my tongue after he fills you up with his cum?” I added.
J’s laugh vibrated against her skin as he hooked a finger under her dress strap, letting it snap back against her damp flesh. “Your husband says you’ve been dreaming about this,” he rumbled, his other hand sliding down to palm her ass through the thin fabric–barely a whisper of resistance between his grip and her skin. “But I need to hear it from those pretty lips.”
Aria’s breath hitched as his fingers skimmed higher, tracing the wet lace now plastered to her folds. “Tell him,” I urged, nipping at her earlobe while J’s middle finger circled her clit through soaked silk. A strangled moan escaped her throat when he pressed down hard, the lace digging into her swollen flesh.
“Y-yes,” she gasped, her hips bucking forward into his hand as J’s other arm caged her against the car.
His breath was hot on her neck–spiced rum and mint–as he murmured, “Yes, what, sweetheart?” His teeth grazed her pulse point just as his thumb hooked into her panties, snapping the delicate fabric against her wet skin.
Aria’s knees almost gave out when J’s fingers finally slipped beneath the lace, his fingertips dragging through her slick folds with agonizing slowness. “I want your cock,” she blurted, her voice cracking as he pressed two thick fingers inside her without warning. Her head fell back against the car door with a thud, her dress riding up past her stocking tops as she spread wider instinctively.
J chuckled darkly, twisting his wrist to make her gasp. “All of it?” he taunted, watching her eyelids flutter when he crooked his fingers just right. She moaned my name like a prayer–her fingers clutching at J’s biceps while her other hand fumbled blindly for mine–until J suddenly withdrew, holding his glistening fingers up between them. “Looks like someone’s been fantasizing about this for a while,” he murmured, painting her parted lips with her own arousal before pressing a filthy kiss to her slack mouth.
The SUV’s interior smelled of leather, and her perfume had gone heavy with sweat as J yanked her across the backseat by her stocking tops. I barely had the door closed before he flipped up her dress–the lace bodysuit beneath now sheer with wetness–and buried his face between her thighs with a groan that vibrated through her entire body. Aria arched off the seat with a scream, her fingers tangling in his hair while her toes curled against the headrest.
“Oh god, right there…” she sobbed, her hips jerking uncontrollably as J’s tongue speared into her, his nose grinding against her clit with each thrust.
Through the rearview mirror, I watched her legs tremble around his shoulders, her heels digging into his back as she tried to pull him deeper. J growled against her–the sound muffled by her slick flesh–and pinned her thighs apart with his massive hands. The wet, filthy sounds of his tongue working her open filled the car, louder than the hum of the engine. Aria’s nails raked down his neck when he suddenly bit her inner thigh, leaving angry red marks that would bruise beautifully tomorrow.
Aria glanced up and caught my eye. “Drive!” she begged, her voice insistent. Fortunately, we live pretty close to the restaurant.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the obscene outline of J’s cock through his pants–each ridge and vein unmistakable even beneath the straining fabric. “Fuck, Scott, he’s so hard,” she moaned, her thumb pressing against the swollen head until J hissed through clenched teeth. The SUV swerved slightly as my grip tightened on the wheel, her awe-struck whisper, “It’s so BIG!” echoing in the charged air between us.
J chuckled darkly, nipping at her earlobe before murmuring, “Bigger than you’re used to, isn’t it?” His hands slid up her thighs to rub her dripping folds glistened under the passing streetlights. When he leaned in to whisper in her ear, I caught the way her breath hitched–his voice a velvet threat: “I saw your husband’s little dick in the bathroom. God, it was so small. You’re in for a big treat tonight.”
As we arrived home and parked in front of our house, Aria and J were the first to exit our SUV. Aria whimpered–half-protest, half-prayer–as J guided her up the porch steps, his palm splayed possessively across her ass while she fumbled with the keys. Her dress clung to her sweat-slicked back, the fabric riding up so high I caught flashes of lace barely containing her swollen lips with each unsteady step. The neighbor’s porch light flickered on across the street, and Aria froze–her body going rigid against J’s chest–until he growled, “Move,” and shoved her through the doorway with a sharp slap that echoed through the foyer.
Inside, J’s belt buckle clattered to the hardwood as Aria knelt with surprising obedience between his spread legs–her fingers working his zipper frantically while her breath came in ragged bursts. His cock sprang free with an audible snap, the flushed head glistening under the entryway chandelier, and Aria’s stunned gasp filled the silence before she tentatively licked her lips. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she whispered, her eyes darting between his monstrous erection and my face–seeking permission or absolution–before J tangled his fingers in her hair and guided her forward.
“Open,” he commanded, and the wet pop of her lips stretching around his girth made me ache.
Their first thrust was shallow–Aria gagging immediately–but J merely tightened his grip, rocking deeper with each pulse of her throat until tears streaked her mascara. “That’s it, take it like you’ve been dreaming about,” he growled, watching her drool slick his shaft as she struggled. The obscene squelch of her lips working his length filled the hallway, punctuated by her choked whimpers whenever he hit the back of her throat. My fingers dug into the doorframe as J suddenly yanked her head back, his cock glistening with her spit, and smirked down at her ruined lipstick. “You taste that?” he rasped, smearing her own wetness across her swollen lips. “That’s your pussy’s next meal.”
Aria’s fingers fluttered helplessly against his thighs–her usual confidence with my modest size shattered by the sheer girth stretching her jaw–until J abruptly dragged her up by the hair. “Breathe,” he ordered, letting her gasp for air before shoving two fingers past her lips. “Suck ’em clean,” he commanded, watching her tongue dart between his digits with the same desperation she used to fake orgasms with me. His other hand massaged the base of his cock idly, smearing pre-cum across his abs as he murmured, “Gonna need you wetter than this for what’s coming.”
“Come with me,” Aria said with a devilish smile as she led our former waiter, her hand gripping his cock, upstairs to our marital bedroom.
J followed her eagerly while I trailed behind, watching her hips sway with newfound confidence–her stockings faintly hissing against her thighs with each step. She glanced over her shoulder at me, her lipstick smeared and pupils blown black with lust, before grabbing me and ripping off my clothes.
Aria guided me onto the bed first, my modest frame looking almost boyish next to J’s towering musculature. She knelt between us–one hand wrapping around my familiar little erection, the other barely able to close around J’s monstrous shaft–her fingertips not even touching as she stroked him. The contrast was obscene; my pink tip scarcely visible past the length of her delicate hand, while his swollen cock, veins pulsing with each heartbeat, clearly needed 3 of her hands to engulf it. Aria whimpered, her gaze darting between our cocks like she couldn’t believe how much bigger J’s cock was.
Suddenly, she pushed me flat on my back and swung a leg over my face in one fluid motion–her dripping pussy hovering inches from my mouth while she faced J’s throbbing erection. The musky scent of her arousal as she lowered herself onto my tongue without hesitation. At the same time, I watched her take J’s cockhead between her lips with a reverence she’d never shown me, her hollowed cheeks making wet, filthy sounds that vibrated through my entire body.
“Fuck, he’s stretching my throat already,” Aria moaned around J’s girth, her fingers kneading my thighs as my tongue flicked faster against her clit. She pulled off with a gasp, strands of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening crown. “Look at this monster, Scott,” she panted, using her hand to barely stroke half his length while my entire erection disappeared in her single fist. “You feel so… tiny.” The way her voice cracked on the word sent a perverse thrill through me–my dick twitching pathetically against her palm even as shame burned my cheeks.
I doubled down, circling her clit with the precision of twenty-six years’ practice while she gagged herself deeper on J’s shaft. Her thighs quivered against my ears as he suddenly grabbed her hair, forcing her nose into the dark curls at his base. “Take it all, you greedy slut,” he growled, hips snapping forward to bury himself down her throat. Aria’s scream vibrated through his cock as my tongue pressed hard against that spongy spot just inside her entrance–her orgasm hitting like a live wire, juices flooding my chin while her nails scored my ribs.
She tore her mouth free with a wet pop, gasping for air as she scrambled backwards until J’s leaking cock bobbed at eye-level. “I need…” she panted, wiping spit from her chin with trembling hands, “I need to fuck this cock before I lose my nerve.”
The raw hunger in her voice startled me; this wasn’t the hesitant Aria who’d worried about dress lengths. This was the primal woman who’d once let me fuck her tight asshole while I plunged a big fat vibrator in her cunt while watching Magic Mike.
J moved with predatory grace, his calloused palms spreading her cheeks apart as he knelt behind her–the head of his cock glistening with her spit as it approached her soaked folds.
“No!” Aria exclaimed. “Scott, I want you to feed his cock into me,” she begged.
Hesitantly, and still lying prone beneath my wife, I reached up and grasped J’s thick manhood. It was heavier than I expected and slick with Aria’s saliva. The ridges of veining on his cock were pronounced against my smaller fingers–rough terrain compared to my smooth, thinner member.
I pulled back his foreskin and guided his swollen head to my wife’s glistening entrance, watching her hips jerk involuntarily at the first contact–so much wider than anything she’d taken before. J’s groan rattled the headboard as I pressed forward, my knuckles brushing against Aria’s trembling lips as his crown breached her with an obscene wet pop. Her whole body seized, her back arching violently as she screamed into our duvet, “Oh GOD, it’s splitting me in half!”
I had the perfect position to view Aria’s pussy lips stretching around his thick shaft. He was only halfway in, and his BWC was already deeper than my little 4-inch Chinese dick ever reached before.
Her inner walls squeezed around him reflexively, the way they used to clamp down on my fingers when she’d fake orgasms years ago–except now, the contractions were violent, involuntary. A pearl-like bead of pussy juice welled where they were joined, trickling down his balls to drip onto my face as Aria sobbed, “Too much… Oh fuck, it’s too much cock,” before J shoved the remaining inches home with one brutal thrust.
The sound she made–half scream, half guttural moan–sent my neglected dick twitching against her face as her body bowed unnaturally, trying to accommodate his impossible girth. Through the haze of her tangled pubic hair, I watched her stretched pink flesh glisten around his base, swollen lips clinging to him as she’d never let go. J’s abdomen slapped against her ass with each shallow rock, already smearing her juices across her trembling thighs.
I continued to lick her clit, the new taste of her sweet pussy juices and J’s pre-cum intermixed and streamed out of her stretched cunt, my tongue swirling faster as her hips bucked violently–her body caught between retreating from the intrusion and chasing the pleasure. J’s hands clamped around her waist, his knuckles whitening as he held her steady for each measured thrust, every inch of retreat making her whimper until he buried himself to the hilt again with a wet slap of flesh. Aria’s fingers tore at the sheets, her voice breaking into a shattered moan as she suddenly came–her inner walls fluttering around him in waves that forced a ragged groan from J’s throat.
J’s heavy balls dragged against my face as he increased his pace of fucking my wife’s tight Chinese cunt, each thrust forcing another choked scream from Aria’s throat as she arched backward–her perfect tits bouncing wildly.
I knew from our younger years that once Aria had her first orgasm, reaching her next orgasm was much easier and stronger in intensity. Our record was her cumming 5 times in a row. Tonight, I knew that record would be broken.
“Oh fuck, I can feel him in my stomach!” she wailed, her thighs trembling violently as J suddenly pulled almost all the way out, letting her stretched pussy lips cling obscenely to his shaft before hammering back in with a wet slap that shook the bed.
Her second orgasm had hit like a freight train–her body convulsing so hard my tongue slipped free–and J snarled something unintelligible as her cunt milked him in pulsing waves. Aria’s mouth clamped around my dick and enveloped my whole length in one desperate bite–her muffled screams vibrating against my erection while my chin dripped with their mingled fluids. J’s rhythm faltered for the first time, his massive thighs quivering as he fought to hold back.
But I could see it perfectly from beneath my wife… his orange-sized balls were starting to tighten up with his impending climax, his thick cockhead swelling even wider inside her spasming cunt. Aria’s fingernails carved crescent moons into my leg as she came again–a broken, shuddering cry around my dick–just as J’s thrusts turned erratic.
“Gonna fill this tight little cunt,” he grunted, his voice thick with lust, and I watched in perverse fascination as his shaft visibly pulsed inside her distended entrance, the veins standing out like cables under her stretched skin.
The moment his cum flooded her was unmistakable–Aria’s entire body went rigid, her thighs clamping around his hips while her cunt visibly rippled around his twitching cock. J’s roar rattled the windows as he bottomed out one last time, his fingers digging bruises into her hips while rope after hot rope pumped deep into her trembling body. Overstimulated, Aria’s moans turned to sobs as his cum overflowed around their joining, dripping in thick strands onto my face–salty and primal compared to my own meager releases.
After what felt like an eternity, J eased his softening cock out with a wet squelch, Aria’s ruined pussy gaping obscenely as rivers of his cum spilled onto my face. She collapsed forward, her slick thighs trapping my head as she trembled–her breath coming in ragged, post-climax hitches.
“That’s it, baby… Be a good cuck and lick me clean,” Aria panted, her fingers kneading my still hard dick as she pressed my face harder into her swollen, leaking slit. The salty tang of J’s cum mixed with her arousal made my tongue move greedily, eager to prove my devotion even as shame burned through me. Above me, J chuckled darkly, his thick fingers tracing the stretched rim of her pussy–now loose and glistening–before plunging two fingers back in to scoop more of his seed onto my waiting tongue.
Aria arched with a shattered moan when J suddenly turned her around, forcing her to watch as he smeared his cockhead, covered with their combined fluids, across my lips like war paint. “Tell him how much better my cock felt,” J growled, his other hand cupping her chin to catch the drool dripping from her swollen lips.
Her breath hitched–eyes glazed with leftover pleasure–before she whispered, “Fuck… You couldn’t… Couldn’t dream of filling me like that,” her voice breaking as J’s already-hardening cock pressed against my tongue, forcing me to suck him clean.
The salty betrayal on my tongue should have disgusted me, but I throbbed against her thigh instead–her toes curling against my hip as she watched me swallow J’s essence. Her trembling fingers reached down to stroke my neglected dick with mocking slowness, her nail scraping the weeping slit just as J dragged me up by the hair to face his smirk.
“Still hard after all that?” he taunted, his thumb swiping through the mess on my chin before shoving it into my mouth. “Maybe you should try to fuck your wife’s ruined pussy with your babydick.”
Aria’s breathy giggle turned into a gasp as J flipped her onto her back, her legs splayed obscenely wide to reveal her gaping, cum-dripping hole. “Oh God, look what you did to me,” she moaned, spreading her puffy lips with two fingers–the swollen flesh glistening under the bedside lamp as another thick glob of J’s release oozed out.
I crawled between her trembling thighs, my dick bobbing pathetically as I positioned myself at her wrecked entrance–the heat radiating from her stretched walls making my pulse spike despite the humiliation.
J’s laughter was a dark rumble behind me as he gripped my hips, his calloused fingers digging bruises into my skin. “Go on, Cuck,” he taunted, lining my meager four-inch erection up with Aria’s ruined hole as she bit her lip in mock sympathy. “Let’s see if you can even feel her anymore.”
The moment I pushed forward, my entire length was swallowed effortlessly by her slackened cunt–no resistance, no tightness, just the shameful glide of my pitiful dick through J’s leftover mess. Aria’s disappointed sigh cut deeper than any insult as she arched a brow at J.
“Is it… Is it even in yet?” Aria asked.
J’s fingers tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back to watch his smirk as he reached between Aria’s legs. His thick fingers circled where we joined, easily slipping past my thrusting hips to plunge into her alongside me.
“Fuck, he’s like a fucking toothpick in there,” J groaned, crooking his fingers to make Aria whimper–her cuntal walls fluttering around him while barely registering my pathetic movements.
The obscene squelch of their mingled fluids filled the room, louder than my ragged breathing or Aria’s breathy moans whenever J’s knuckles brushed my stomach.
“Oh fuck, Scott! I can’t feel your babydick at all anymore,” Aria gasped, her fingers threading through J’s chest hair while his thumb circled her clit with proprietary ease.
Her legs locked around his wrist, riding his fingers with abandon as my own thrusts grew frantic–desperate to prove I could still satisfy her even as her cunt dripped another hot stream of J’s cum onto the sheets beneath us. J’s smirk widened when she suddenly arched off the mattress with a broken cry, her inner walls squeezing his digits while my dick slid uselessly through the slick mess between them.
The scent of their mingled sweat and sex clung to the air as J leaned down to capture Aria’s moan with a rough kiss–his free hand pinning my hips down to ensure I couldn’t even pretend to fuck her properly. “Pathetic,” he muttered against her lips, his fingers scissoring inside her with a wet squelch that made her sob. “Your wife’s pussy’s so wrecked she needs three fingers just to feel something now.”
Aria’s answering whimper was equal parts shame and arousal, her nails scoring red lines down J’s back as she came again–her cunt pulsing around nothing but empty, overstimulated space.
I watched J’s smirk widen as he withdrew his glistening fingers and pressed them against my lips–forcing me to taste Aria’s ruined state while she panted beneath us. “That’s what a real cock does to a woman,” he growled, shoving his digits deeper until my throat convulsed. Aria’s trembling hand reached between her legs, her fingertips barely brushing the stretched rim of her entrance before she whimpered and arched–another weak orgasm rippling through her as J’s thumb found her clit again. “Jesus, she’s still cumming on nothing,” he laughed, the vibration of it traveling through my spine where his palm still held me pinned.
Aria’s dazed eyes flickered down to where my dick twitched pathetically inside her slackened cunt, her lips curling into a smirk even as another shudder wracked her spent body. “Pull out,” she breathed, her voice raw from screaming. “I want to watch you jerk that babydick while J fucks me properly.”
The humiliation burned hotter than any pleasure as I obeyed, my erection bobbing obscenely above the mess between her thighs–her gaping hole visibly clenching around nothing as J positioned himself at her entrance with a possessive grunt. “Don’t worry, Cuck,” he taunted, his cockhead glistening with her arousal. “I’ll make sure she feels this one.”
The moment J slammed home, Aria’s back arched off the mattress with a strangled cry–her thighs trembling violently as her body struggled to accommodate his renewed girth. I fisted my dick roughly, my precum mixing with their spilled fluids as J set a brutal pace, each thrust stretching her swollen lips wider than the last.
“Fuck, look at her,” J growled, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. “Your wife’s made for this cock.”
Aria’s answering moan was shattered, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as her cunt visibly rippled around him–another orgasm building despite her overstimulation.
I moved closer to her face and she instinctively reached her hand out to reach for mine.
Aria’s grip was slick with sweat–her fingers tightening around mine as J’s thrusts sent tremors through her body that vibrated up my arm. Her other hand grasped my wrist suddenly, dragging my fingers toward her parted lips before sucking them into her mouth with a desperate groan, her tongue swirling around my digits like she was starving for any part of me to hold onto. The contrast was dizzying–her body writhing beneath J’s merciless hips while her eyes locked onto mine with something perilously close to apology, even as her cunt dripped his cum onto the sheets beneath them.
Her lips parted, a generous offering for her beloved husband. I leaned in, presenting my familiar yet now-inadequate dick to her inviting lips. She took me in willingly, her tongue swirling with practiced affection–yet her eyes widened suddenly, gagging slightly as J’s thrust rocked her face forward, forcing my entire length down her throat with an unexpected brutality. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to accommodate both cocks simultaneously, her nose pressed against my pelvis while J’s balls slapped wetly against her ass with each deep drive into her overflowing pussy.
The obscene symphony of sounds: J’s grunts, the wet slap of flesh, Aria’s choked gags around my shaft, filled the room as her body became the perfect conduit for our shared degradation. One hand clenched in my hand and her other milking my balls, she moaned as her next orgasm approached.
“That’s it, take it deeper,” J snarled, his hips pistoning faster, the veins in his thick cock pulsing against her stretched lips with every withdrawal.
Aria’s throat convulsed around me, her gag reflex overwhelmed by sheer need, her tears mixing with spit and pre-cum as she took us both like the perfect, broken-in wife she’d become.
I came first–bursting down her throat with a strangled groan, my hips jerking erratically as I unloaded stream after stream of cum. Aria struggled to swallow it all, and my cum dribbled out of the sides of her perfectly formed lips. Aria’s eyes rolled back, her cunt clenching around J’s relentless thrusts as if my climax had flipped some hidden switch in her ruined body.
“Oh fuck, here we go…” J growled, his rhythm stuttering as Aria’s walls suddenly spasmed in violent, rhythmic contractions around him. His release punched into her with animalistic force, his cock pulsing visibly as he flooded her already overflowing depths, her stomach distending slightly under the sheer volume.
Aria’s scream was muffled around my softening dick, her thighs quaking with aftershocks as J collapsed atop her–his sweat-slick chest pressing me into the mattress as they both gasped for air. The smell of sex and salt and surrender clung thick in the air, their combined weight pinning me in place as Aria’s limp fingers finally released their death grip on my hand. J chuckled darkly against her shoulder, lazily tracing the bite marks he’d left on her collarbone while his spent cock still twitched inside her.
“Still think your husband’s enough for you now, princess?”
Her reply was a breathless whimper, her swollen lips brushing my thigh as she turned her head–her eyelashes fluttering against my skin when J suddenly pulled out with a wet squelch that made us both shudder. Rivers of cum gushed from her gaping pussy, pooling hot and sticky between my legs as Aria’s exhausted moan vibrated against me. J’s rough fingers smeared the mess across her trembling stomach, painting lewd streaks down to her clit before giving it a punishing flick.
“Clean her up, cuck,” he ordered, shoving my face downward with a boot to my shoulder. “Every drop.”
The taste of them both was overwhelming–J’s saltier essence mixing with Aria’s tangier arousal as I lapped obediently at her ruined folds. Aria arched weakly when my tongue found her oversensitive clit, her thighs clamping around my ears as another pathetic whine escaped her throat. J’s amused exhale above us turned into a dark chuckle when her hips jerked involuntarily–her body still wired to respond even after being thoroughly wrecked.
“Fuck, look at that,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the stretched rim of her pussy as it visibly clenched around nothing, “she’s still trying to milk a cock that’s not even there.”
Aria’s trembling fingers wound into my hair–not guiding, just clinging–as her breath hitched with each swipe of my tongue through the mess dripping from her. I could feel J’s cum trickling down my chin when he suddenly crouched beside us, his still-hard cock bobbing against Aria’s flushed cheek.
“Open,” he commanded, and the way her lips parted automatically–still glazed with my release–sent another bolt of shameful arousal straight to my spent dick.
He fed her his thickening length with a satisfied grunt, her throat working around him as my tongue continued its humiliating task between her thighs.
The mattress shifted as J braced one hand beside Aria’s head, his other hand fisting her hair to hold her still while he fucked her mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. His flesh muffled her gagging sounds, her tears dripping onto my forehead as I lapped at her swollen clit–the vibration of her moans traveling through his cock and into my tongue. J’s chuckle was dark with ownership when Aria’s hips jerked against my face, her oversensitive flesh still chasing sensation even as she choked around him.
“God, she’s fucking addicted now,” he mused, twisting her nipple hard enough to make her scream around his shaft.
Aria’s body suddenly went taut, her thighs shaking violently around my head as she came again–her cunt fluttering uselessly around nothing while J’s cock pulsed down her throat. He pulled out just as his release hit, painting her flushed face with thick ropes that splattered across her closed eyelids and parted lips. Her tongue darted out instinctively to catch the overflow, her exhausted whimper muffled by the taste of him.
The bedside lamp cast long shadows as J collapsed beside her, his muscular frame dwarfing ours as he dragged her limp body half atop his chest. One possessive hand remained tangled in her hair while the other traced idle patterns through the mess drying on her stomach. I watched her fingers twitch weakly against his ribs–not pushing away, but clinging–as her breathing slowed to match his.
“Round two in twenty,” J murmured against her forehead, his thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheekbone before his eyes slid shut.
Exhaustion pulled her under before she could answer, her lashes fluttering closed against the sweat-dampening J’s chest hair. But even in sleep, her grip on him didn’t relax–her delicate fingers curled loosely around his softening cock like she feared it might disappear before morning. The sight sent a pang through my chest sharper than any humiliation tonight–her unconscious possessiveness proving what her pride still wouldn’t admit. J smirked without opening his eyes, adjusting his hips slightly to nestle deeper into her grasp.
I slid into bed next to Aria’s limp form, my fingertips hesitating before brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead–her skin still fever-hot from exertion. She stirred slightly at my touch, her lips parting on a soft exhale that carried the faint musk of J’s cum, and something primal in my gut twisted at the realization that even her breath smelled like him now. Across her body, J’s fingers twitched possessively against the curve of her ass, his breathing already deepening into sleep. At the same time, his half-hard cock still glistened in her hands, freshly anointed by her unconscious ministrations.
The silence between us stretched thicker than the sex-heavy air, broken only by the occasional wet drip of their combined fluids seeping from Aria’s well-used pussy onto the sheets beneath us. I watched a single drop roll down the inside of her thigh–slow, viscous–before catching on the crease of her knee, and the memory of her screaming around J’s cock while her cunt milked him dry flashed behind my eyelids like a branded afterimage. My own spent dick twitched pathetically against my thigh, still leaking a thin trail of cum that paled in comparison to the obscene pools J had left inside her.
The rest of the night continued with more frantic fucking whenever J awoke–sometimes pulling Aria onto his lap. At the same time, she was still half-asleep, her body responding instinctively even as she whimpered tired protests. Each time left her cunt more wrecked than the last, her puffy lips now so stretched that she couldn’t fully close her thighs without discomfort. By dawn, her cunt had taken so much of J’s cum that it had begun leaking out in slow, constant rivulets.
Little did we know that what would happen the next day would change our lives even more…
To Be Continued…?
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