Picturing Her Night Out
Her long-awaited reply didn’t lessen that concern: ‘You text a lot.’
A prickling sensation needled at the back of his mind, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Something seemed off. Betsy has yet to talk to him like that. She never really spoke to anyone like that. She was your typical Southerner: kind and sweet to a fault, passive-aggressive at her worst. Yet this message read less passive and more outright hostile. Maybe she was testing him, her BFF having gotten into her head after only a few days without him around. The risk of the possibility was a big reason he hadn’t approved of this trip, to begin with. Leaving Betsy alone with Trish and Dale was dangerous for his marriage.
‘Sorry,’ he wrote back. ‘I just hadn’t heard from you, that was all.’
‘This is Trish, by the way. Betsy didn’t have a bag to match her new dress, so I carried all her stuff.’
That certainly explained a bit. The unfriendly message fit Trish perfectly, especially when it came to him. Betsy’s best friend loved throwing jabs his way. Rather than fight back, however, he tried to dodge.
‘She bought a new dress?’ Brad texted.
‘We bought it for her,’ Trish wrote. ‘She’d never buy something like this. But we needed something good for the club tonight.’
The club? The idea of Betsy at a club seemed completely foreign to Brad. He attempted to picture his wife in that setting, standing around in a dimly lit and crowded space dressed in her usual attire: a blouse, blue jeans, and a cardigan. The music thumped and blared. The ice in her glass of diet coke slowly melted. He almost laughed. He had a much easier time envisioning her at a church dinner, chatting with their neighbor Charlene and carrying their three-year-old on her arm while their five-year-old pestered her.
However, Betsy was a total pushover. If Trish insisted that she go to a club with her and Dale, she would feel obligated to wear a dress if they paid for it.
‘What sort of dress?’ Brad texted
‘One not for you.’ Brad frowned. He was about to respond when the three dots reappeared. ‘Hang on. I took a picture of her in it earlier.’
He sat up in his seat as his blue eyes bugged out of his head. Brad had seen his wife in dresses, but those were more elegant or summery. They were nothing like this. Nothing so overtly sexy.
After two kids, Betsy wasn’t near the slim and tight girl he first met in high school, but the dress style gave her extra pounds an undeniable appeal. The straps were thin chains connecting to a draped collar that exposed a touch of cleavage, and the ruched fabric outlined every bit of her curves in the most eye-catching way. Her heavier boobs appeared rounder on her ribcage. The folds of cloth de-emphasized her softer midsection but called attention to her big hips. And it drew the most tantalizing line down to her thick thighs.
His dick instantly reacted to the arousing image, growing stiff in his pants.
At a loss for words, he finally replied with a simple, ‘Wow.’
‘I know. There are a few more from throughout the night. I guess I can send them. But you have to say please.’
Brad scoffed at the suggestion. Asking for pictures of his wife? It was ludicrous. Why would he debase himself for a photo when he could have the real deal in three days and have her wear the dress for him when she returned home? Trish, however, had already seemed to anticipate that workaround.
‘It’s the only way you’ll see her in it,’ Trish texted. ‘I told her she had to leave it here and could only wear it when she visited us. Alone. So, what’s it going to be?’
Brad scrolled back up to the picture he already had. Betsy looked so hot in it, and it’d probably be enough to get him off tonight. But the thought of seeing more was too much to pass up, even if Trish was intentionally pushing his buttons. He reached down and rubbed the tip of his dick over his shorts. Or maybe it was because she was. He hated to admit it, but he enjoyed it when Trish fucked with him. She was such a bitch, but her little digs turned him on more than they pissed him off. His dick jumped whenever he caught her rolling her eyes at him or making an offhanded comment about his appearance.
‘Fine. Can I please see more pictures of my wife?’
‘Ugh. Don’t remind me that Betsy married you.’
Another picture came in. Betsy stood facing the mirror, a strand of her summer blonde hair wrapped around a curling iron. The view from behind led his eyes to his wife’s sizable rear. Although Betsy’s butt veered on the flatter side, the way the dress contoured to her large hips and thighs gave the wide expanse an appealing silhouette. He rubbed at his stiff dick and zoomed in closer until his wife’s big ass took up the screen.
Trish then texts: ‘If you want more, you must keep asking.’
Between his arousal and the pleasurable sensations of his dick tip against the fabric of his underwear, asking Betsy’s best friend for sexy pictures of his wife had shifted from absurd to kinky.
‘Can I please see another picture of my wife?’
‘WHAT did I tell you?’ Trish replied. ‘Ask again.’
Brad could hear Trish’s snarky and assertive tone across the screen, sending a shiver through his shaft. His wife wasn’t the only one that was a pushover. Brad secretly loved being bossed and ordered around, particularly when threading this sexual line. He always imagined Trish as an aggressive and dominating lover, and the idea of her ordering him around and taking control in twisted ways had crept into his fantasies. But it was never just her. His wife also played a central role in these kinky thoughts.
Betsy never acted unpleasantly toward him, but her pliability had allowed for little moments where Trish’s criticisms seeped through. Small, what-would-have-otherwise-been unmemorable occurrences stuck in his mind because of how his prick reacted to them. His wife was normally so docile and kind, so seeing her act maliciously, especially regarding him, made a perversely wicked contrast to the woman he knew. It led to dark fantasies of Trish manipulating Betsy and having her insult and degrade him.
‘Can I please see another picture of Betsy?’
Two more pictures showed up. The first was a selfie of Betsy and Trish taken at the traditional downward angle. The two girls looked stunning. Unlike her friend, Trish retained a fit figure, having never had kids, only recently married, and spending much time in the gym. Although Trish’s dress showed off her shoulders and toned arms, from what was visible in the photo, it seemed much more conservative than Betsy’s. Seeing his reserved wife as the more provocative of the two was quite a contrast. A fact further emphasized in the second picture showed Betsy bending over and slipping on her heels. The view gave the barest glimpse down the front of her dress, and it occurred to him that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
‘She looks really good, doesn’t she?’ Trish sent.
‘She does,’ Brad texted back. ‘Really hot.’
‘More than you deserve.’
Brad groaned. Sticky pre-cum had formed a wet patch in his shorts. Heading into the bedroom, he slipped off his moist clothes and lay on the mattress. He slowly pumped his dick with his fingers and read Trish’s last message. Right?
‘Yes,’ he replied.
“Fuck,” he grunted, his eyes examining the new images.
Betsy stood at the bar, head tossed back and taking a shot. Her long hair cascaded down her back in waves, and the slight arch of her spine pushed her boobs and butt out.
In the second picture, she sat on a stool with a cocktail in hand, and the shortness of her dress left almost all of her lower limbs exposed. Her already thick thighs appeared even bigger, with one leg crossed over the other.
The final two photos were of her back up again, chatting with some guy. One had her smiling kindly, her posture straight, and her body leaning back as she sipped from a glass. The other looked like it was taken later: her dress a little less neat and tidy, her hair less pristine. She also seemed less stable on her feet, mid-sway. Her head was bowed slightly, and she sucked from the mixing straw of a fourth drink. Her caramel eyes turned to the guy in front of her.
Was Betsy drinking? Out of everything, that seemed like the most unbelievable aspect of all this. His wife never drank, except for special occasions like anniversaries or New Year’s, and even then, it was usually one glass of champagne at most. The drunkest she’d ever gotten was at Trish’s wedding because Trish kept insisting her bridesmaids do shots with her.
Brad barely saw or hung out with Betsy for most of the event. Trish wanted the bridesmaid and groomsmen always together, but back at the hotel, she had stumbled in drunk and horny and fucked him while still in her dress. It was one of the hottest nights of their marriage, even though, or maybe because, she kept wishing he could go deeper and criticized his lack of prowess.
‘Uh-huh. We did a shot when we arrived, but then this guy kept buying her drinks all night,’ Trish sent.
‘Which guy?’ Brad replied.
Brad’s breath caught in his throat. A picture of Betsy on the dance floor with the same guy she’d been talking to in the previous photos popped up. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and swarthy skin. There was about a foot of distance between them, but he was eyeing her up as she laughed and moved her arms to the beat. It all appeared chaste, but something about his wife dressed that way with another guy sent more pleasure through his shaft. But the two images that followed soon after that one turned up the voltage on the pleasure meter.
‘The one she was dancing with all night,’ Trish sent.
Betsy and the stranger clasped hands, a bit closer together as he tried to teach her how to move better to the beat. His hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder, their hips both angled toward each other. She was still smiling at him, but there was less pure amusement and more of an added touch of intensity.
‘Was she dancing with this guy all night?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes. Betsy got into it. Want to see it?’
Brad swallowed deeply. His eyes drifted back to the last image. ‘Yes. Please.’
He waited for the next photo, his two fingers and thumb jerking at his dick. Instead, another message appeared, making him moan in perverse decadence.
‘Say, “Please send me more pictures of my wife dancing with another guy.”’
“I thought you didn’t want me to remind you we’re married?’
Trish text: ‘I do in this case.’
‘Please send me more pictures of my wife dancing with another guy.’
Brad’s movements on his dick gathered speed. The first photo saw the stranger’s hands holding tight to Betsy’s hips, the space between them shrinking. The second closed the gap even more, Betsy’s palm on his chest, their eyes locked onto each other.
‘What do you think?’ Trish asked.
‘OMG,’ he typed out with one hand. ‘She looks incredible.’
‘THEY look incredible,’ Trish corrected. ‘Go ahead and admit it. Admit how hot your wife looks dancing with another guy.’
Arousal overtook every emotion in Brad’s head, smothering any sense of jealousy or confusion. Trish’s depraved demands, the power she was wielding over him, seeing his wife acting so unlike herself with a random guy that was feeding her drinks, clouded his judgment and reasoning. Submitting to Trish became the right and only course of action. And by far the hottest.
‘My wife looks so hot dancing with another guy.’
Betsy and the stranger’s bodies met, stomachs touching, her legs on either side of one of his, a brown hand on her lower back pulling her closer.
‘She’s never as hot as this with you,’ Trish sent.
Trish kept ordering. Brad kept obeying, and more pictures rolled in of his wife surrendering to the touch of this tan-skinned man.
‘You’re right. Betsy’s never this hot with me.’
Betsy’s back against his chest and her ass covering his hips; one of his hands around her waist, right under her boobs, and the other lower on her belly, right above her panty line.
‘They look much better together than we do,’ he texts Trish.
Dress bunched up almost to the tops of her thighs, one of his hands creeping further around her hips, fingers pressing into the cheek of her wide rear.
‘She deserves someone hot and not an overweight loser like me.’
The two of them are back at the bar, sweaty and disheveled. Betsy leaned forward and waited for the bartender, her lips slightly parted. The guy hugged her from behind, his arms around her waist, where exactly his hands landed, obscured by the darkness under the bar.
‘Our kids would look cuter if she had them with someone like him,” Brad texts.
Betsy and the guy are in a similar position but back on the dance floor. Her head was against his collarbone. One of his hands snaked around her body and cupped a low breast through her dress, her hand behind her back, disappearing between their bodies.
Panting with his dick and fingers covered in a slick sheen of pre-cum, Brad waited for the next humiliating statement Trish wanted him to say. He couldn’t believe half the things she had gotten him to repeat, especially the last one. That one was notably fucked up, but it was close to something he had heard her say to Betsy before, that she would have found their kids cuter if she had them with someone other than him. By all rights, Betsy should have been disgusted by that, kicked Trish out of the house, and never talked to her again. Instead, she just lightly and unenthusiastically scolded her. Trish had taken that as a victory.
If she had known that Brad had overheard her and later jacked off imagining her making Betsy repeat it to his face, she would have thrown a party in celebration.
He waited, but no further messages came in. Maybe Trish wanted him to text something independently and take the initiative. She’d probably enjoy hearing him demean himself and their marriage without urging. She should never have married me, he texted.
A few agonizing seconds later, the three dots appeared. ‘You’re right,’ Trish texts. ‘Betsy shouldn’t have. She should take home guys like him instead of settling for your pathetic babydick.’
“Oh God,” Brad groaned, feeling his orgasm approaching.
‘My wife should be out fucking hot guys like him not raising kids with me,’ he sent.
‘I’m glad you agree.’
Again, everything still needs to show up. ‘Aren’t you going to send another picture?’
Trish replied: ‘Sorry. I don’t have any more. That was the last one.’
He swore in frustration, his dick letting out a pang of disappointment. All he needed was one more picture, one more image. ‘Can’t you take another one of her in the dress?’ he begged.
‘Those were all from a while ago. Betsy isn’t wearing it anymore. We’re back home.’
That gave Brad pause. Why was he still talking to Trish instead of his wife if they were home? ‘You are? Then can I talk to Betsy?’ he sent.
‘She’s busy,’ Trish replied. ‘She’s in the guest room sucking that guy off.’
Brad’s hand came to a screeching halt. That had to have been a joke. That had to have been Trish fucking with him. There was no way his wife would do something like that. Regardless of the cheating, he couldn’t imagine Betsy sleeping with someone she met hours ago. That was nothing like her. Then again, he couldn’t have imagined her going to a club, drinking so much, dancing so scandalously. The other thing he couldn’t have imagined was his reaction. Instead of ruining his erection, the sudden possibility of Trish telling the truth strengthened it.
‘No, she’s not. You’re lying to mess with me,’ Brad sent.
Three dots appeared. Not the ones letting you know someone was typing but an ellipsis. That was Trish’s response to his disbelief.
When she didn’t elaborate further, he started to type out another message, but then a new image appeared, and a jet of pre-cum shot out of his tip and splashed onto his pudgy stomach. A naked man with brown skin sat on the edge of a bed, his hands bracing on the mattress behind him. The angle of the picture put his back and thighs mostly in the frame, but there, bent over his lap, was a head of summery blonde locks.
Brad frantically zoomed in. His heart pounded in his chest. The details were hard to make out, and only the girl’s hair and a bit of her face were visible. It could be the same guy. It could be his wife. But he needed to be more certain. Maybe that was what Trish was going for.
‘That’s not proof. That could be anyone. I still don’t believe you,’ Brad sent to Trish.
She replied, ‘Jesus Christ. Okay, fine. How about this, then? Send me a picture of your tiny dick. I know it’s out. I know you’ve been jerking off to Betsy and that guy this whole time. Send me a picture and say you have a tiny dick, and I’ll give you your proof.’
It took much effort for Brad not to cum as he snapped a photo of his hard and wet dick, typed out, ‘I have a really small and pathetic dick,’ and hit send. He watched the photo upload, the sad state of his gut making the three-and-a-half-inch member appear even more pitiful.
‘Fuck me, you are small 🤣,’ Trish texted. ‘Betsy told me you were when you started dating, but my God. You’re even smaller than she said.🤣 You’re smaller than an eight-year-old.🤣🤏 Ugh. Hang on.’
Brad lay there and let his mind wander, hoping to ease his aching dick so he didn’t instantly erupt when the evidence arrived. The knowledge that his wife lied about his dick size, still acknowledging his diminutiveness but embarrassed about how minuscule it was, flipped his stomach and churned his nuts. When a video came in, he was glad he took a moment because the bed would have been covered in his seed if he hadn’t.
It started in first-person with Trish walking toward a cracked open door. She pushed it open and sauntered into what appeared to be the guest room. First, Trish focused the camera on the floor, where the familiar dress lay crumbled in a pile, along with a pair of pink panties. Then, she turned the lens upward, bringing into view his wife sitting on her haunches, her head bobbing up and down the guy’s lap. The view was from the back, but the deliciously wet sucking sounds confirmed she was in the middle of blowing him.
Trish flipped the camera to selfie mode. Her pretty face came on screen, her dark hair messy, and her eyeliner smudged. He knew she was completely naked from her bare shoulders and the mirror in the background reflecting her toned ass. She shifted her position and then angled the phone so he could see his wife’s profile over her shoulder, whose lips energetically slid up and down five thick inches of the stranger’s nine-inch brown dick.
Trish smirked and ended the video.
Brad replayed it again, repeatedly watching the reveal of the dress and Betsy’s back. Her blonde head bounced rhythmically, her bare shoulder hunched slightly, and her wide flat ass sat on her calves and feet. She looked dick-achingly sexy like this: naked, kneeling, and sucking a big cock. Sucking someone else’s cock. The disparity of her softness, like the small curve of her love handles, to the hard muscles of the guy’s chest and abs was depravity exemplified. He continued until the video arrived at the profile view of her mouth, plump lips encircling the tanned shaft. Like the previous segment, Brad played and replayed the scene of his wife’s depraved act of wanton sexual deviancy.
After ten minutes, his groin and fist were soaked with slippery pre-cum. He had kept bringing himself to the edge and backing away, fighting between succumbing to what he had and wanting to know more to see how much further Besty had gone.
Not bothering with a text, he video-called his wife’s phone.
“What?” Trish panted, her blissful face coming on the screen.
For a second, Brad was taken aback. Trish’s toned and naked body straddled her husband’s as she energetically fucked herself onto his massive and thick cock. Her jiggling boobs were smaller than Betsy’s but much perkier, with pale pink nipples contrasting his wife’s darker ones. But the differences didn’t stop there, extending to defined abdominals, tight hard-at-work thigh muscles, and a fully shaved slit.
She half moaned, “I’m busy, dinky dick.”
“Sorry, I…” Brad gathered his thoughts, forcing his eyes and ears to ignore and drown out the sight and sounds of Trish and Dale fucking. “Please, I have to…can I please talk to Betsy?”
“Talk to or watch her, ungh, finally getting fucked by a real cock?”
Brad stayed quiet, but it was obvious from the wet fapping of his jerking fist which one he meant.
“Mmm… That’s what I thought,” Trish said. “Admit it, you babydick loser. I want to hear you admit that you want to see your wife railed by a cock that puts your pathetic toddler-sized pee-pee to shame.”
“I want it,” Brad groaned.
“More!” she ordered.
“I want to see my wife fucking a real cock.”
“I’m a small-dick failure whose wife deserves better than he can give.”
“Fuck, yes!” Trish moaned.
“She should have cheated on me years ago for being such an overweight loser with a babydick,” Brad shouted.
“Ah! Ah! Fuck! Nngh!”
Trish’s trim body muscles tightened, abs clenching and thighs straining, as she tensed, scowled, and came. Her orgasm was fast, powerful, and intense, and she snapped open her still-blazing eyes once it passed, meeting Brad’s through the phone.
“Come on, Dale,” she said and dismounted her husband with a grunt. “Let’s show this babydick loser how a real cock fucks his wife.”
Trish reentered the guest room, and the sounds of two bodies slapping together hit Brad’s ears before he even saw them. “Hey, Betsy,” Trish hummed and turned the camera toward the bed. “Your husband wants to watch.”
“W-what?” Betsy gasped. She lifted her gaze to the camera. Her face twisted half in shock, half in pleasure. “Oh, God. Honey, I’m so sorry.”
Brad exploded. His wife lay naked on her back. Her bare boobs were floppy on her chest, her soft stomach a touch flatter in the horizontal position, and her large thighs spread wide apart to show her trimmed muff of coarse brown hair. The vision of her like that was enough to push him over the edge as it was. But then there was the other half of it all. The equally naked well-built man between those thick legs, the muscles of defined and impressive pecs and biceps, and the hefty brown sausage pummeling Betsy’s slit buried deep and jackhammering in and out with fast and powerful thrusts. That image rocketed the building cum inside of Brad outward, globs of it spewing up and drooling back down onto his belly, shaft, balls, and thighs.
Yet even after all that, he remained hard. His small dicklette rose like a distant mushroom cloud. Breathing heavily, he resumed his stroking.
“Don’t apologize to him,” Trish sneered.
She held the phone toward the couple on the bed, but Brad caught her reflection in the mirror across the room. She was bent over at the edge of the mattress, Dale taking her from behind. She tossed her head back and bit her lip before returning to Betsy.
“He should be apologizing to you,” Trish said.
“But I’m… cheating on him,” Betsy said.
Brad audibly groaned, and his wife whimpered and clenched at the bedsheets, twisting them in her fists. Her cunt must have been drenched from how easily the stranger’s big brown cock fucked into her. With every impact of his hips, every plunge of his cock into her depths, her body shook and quivered, rippling with eroticism. She never looked hotter.
“Tell her,” Trish ordered Brad with a gasp and a smile. “No, better yet, show her. Keep the camera on your pathetic little dick and tell your wife what you told me.”
Soft brown eyes hazed with arousal met his lust-clouded ones. Fingers pumping at his aching dick, Brad lovingly and longingly stared at his wife and flipped his camera around. Betsy squealed and arched her back, thrusting her hips toward the stranger’s shaft.
“I deserve to be cheated on,” Brad said, his chubby stomach and tiny dicklette filling the screen. “I’m sorry you’ve had to settle on my tiny dick all your life.”
“See?” Trish said, her snarky voice brimming with fulfilled delight. “His pitiful little dick loves it.” She bowed her head, dark hair covering her face as she enjoyed her husband’s dick ravaging her. “God, you should have fucked Dale’s groomsman when you had the chance. Instead of wasting another year on this babydick asshole.”
Betsy whined, and Brad groaned, a flash of heat enveloping him.
“You like knowing that, don’t you? I almost got your wife to cheat on you at my wedding.”
The pace of Brad’s fingers on his short shaft answered for him, and Trish grinned maliciously through the mirror.
“I know she felt his big cock during the slow dances, which made her all horny. He almost got her back to his hotel room. But then she slipped off to you. At least that night led to me finally getting her to admit what a fucking disappointment you were.”
A strained moan rolled past his wife’s lips, the sound of embarrassment dosed with arousal. Brad echoed a similar hum and panted, “It did?”
“Uh-huh,” Trish said, her response laced with pleasure and barely audible behind the heavy sounds of fucking in the guest room.
Brad descended into a tailspin of depravity, hearing that one of the best sexual nights of his life was the lowest for his wife.
“Tell him, Betsy,” Trish urged.
Brad’s eyes rolled into his head over his dark fantasies stepping into reality.
“Look at him beating that failure of a dick. He wants to hear it. He needs to hear it. Tell him.”
Through the camera, his wife watched him stroking his small four-inch dick. She took in his messy and sticky state, subconsciously compared his pudgy gut and diminutive-sized dick to the muscled body and fat brown sausage ravishing her, and absorbed her husband’s excitement over her illicit and carnal betrayal. Her reluctant and shameful expression melted into one of serotonin-drenched surrender.
“It’s true,” Betsy finally said. “I tried to deny it for so long, but that night…nnghh…you left me so unfulfilled.”
He imagined Betsy lying on the hotel room bed after he conked out, awake and horny. He wondered if she fingered herself, thinking not about his useless babydick but that groomsman’s cock that pressed against her as they slowly danced.
“When I talked to Trish about it a few months later,” Betsy said. “Oohhh… She said she always suspected you sucked in bed.” Betsy’s eyes fluttered. “I told her…ahhhh…I told her she was right and…she didn’t know this…but it turned me on admitting it.”
Trish and Brad simultaneously cried out in pleasure. The perverse sounds wrapped heavy chains around Betsy’s core and dragged her further under.
Betsy said, “Every time Trish said something about you from then on, I listened to her more. Agreed with everything she said about you.”
The dark-haired devil flashed a self-satisfied smile in the mirror, delighting in knowing she had helped chip away at their marriage and lead Betsy down this path. The one that ended with her right here, on her back with her thick thigh spread and another man’s cock in her cunt.
“I never wanted to admit how small your dick was, but after Trish’s wedding and now Vikram,” Betsy gasped, a powerful thrust from the at last identified stranger rocking her body. “I can’t keep pretending any longer. It’s so small. You have a babydick. I can’t feel it inside me.”
Trisha hissed, “It feels good to hear her say it finally. Doesn’t it, dinky dick?”
“Yes,” Brad groaned, his dick-slimed fingers fapping frantically.
Even with how sexy Betsy looked naked, her styled hair splayed out under her, a big cock stretching open her pussy, her humiliating words turned him on more than anything else.
“Betsy wasted so much time on my pathetic dick,” Brad admitted.
“I really did,” Betsy agreed. “It makes me almost regret marrying you.”
That simple statement edged Trish just far enough. The manipulative minx rolled her eyes back into her head and came on Dale’s cock. Under other circumstances, witnessing his wife’s best friend’s muscles tighten and become more defined when she orgasmed might have drawn Brad’s attention. Still, all that mattered to him now was the insults spewing from Betsy’s mouth.
“I can’t believe until now that the only dick I’ve had inside me has been that tiny thing,” Betsy groaned.
Trish had collapsed forward onto the mattress following her climax. Dale still hammered away at her, but her cheek lay pressed against the soft sheets, and she held the phone up at a lower angle. The change kept Betsy’s body in view but left Vikram’s hard physique and powerful fuckstick off-screen. It also gave Brad a close-up view of his wife’s heavy tits, large thighs, and, most importantly, lust-ridden face. He couldn’t see the dick that was bringing her to levels of pleasure he never could, only the pleasure itself. Vocalized in her stinging statements and cries of passion.
Besty said, “I used to think I liked it. But that’s just because…nnnggh…I didn’t know any better.”
“I knew you were a virgin when I asked you out,” Brad blurted. The secret thoughts he had buried for so long came gushing out of him. All the insecurities and self-doubt spill out in an unending stream like pre-cum. “I didn’t want you to have experienced another guy because I knew my shrimp dick couldn’t compare. It’s also why I didn’t push you for anything sexual for so long.” Brad grunted, just the thought of what he was about to say nearly bringing him to the peak. “It wasn’t because I was nice. I wanted us to date long enough that you wouldn’t break up with me once you saw how small my dick was.”
For a handful of seconds, the only sounds were an amused “Wow,” from Trish and the rhythmic slaps of four bodies amid carnal delights.
Then, Betsy glanced at him with the eyes of a woman changed, a hint of that disdain he always saw in Trish glowering in his wife’s gaze. “I should have, you babydick loser. At least now I know what a real cock feels like, and I’m never returning to your small, pathetic, shrimp-sized dick.”
Betsy gasped, turning her eyes away from her husband and toward the cock filling her pussy. “God, he’s so big.”
Vikram’s speed had reached a fevered pitch, and she groaned and panted, barreling toward something Brad could never give her.
“I faked every orgasm I ever had with you,” she said, her breath fast and shallow. “You never made me cum once.”
Her thick thighs spread even wider, and Brad could see the barest glimpse of her lower lips wrapped around a brown shaft.
“But this big cock is about to make me cum so hard….”
Brad’s fingers were a manic blur on his slimy dick. He twisted and writhed on the bed, drowning in the sick perversity of witnessing his wife about to experience her first-ever penetrative orgasm. And it was going to be with another man. One with a dick that put him to shame. Betsy’s squeals and cries reached a speedy clip. Her nose scrunched, and her eyes clenched. Her body jiggled and bounced from the power of Vikram’s fucks. She opened her mouth, sucked in a breath, and the camera flipped around, Trish’s sinister face grinning at him from against the sheets. A scream of pure bliss and pleasure erupted from off-screen.
Trish said, “Sorry, loser, you’ll never get to see that. Don’t call back.”
Betsy’s wail of ecstasy cut off as Trish ended the call.
Hours later, the chime of his phone woke him from his cum-covered slumber. He had passed out after his second orgasm, his deflated dick barely peeking out from a nest of stuck-together pubes.
‘I’m extending my stay,’ the message said. ‘I’ve got years of cock to catch up on but don’t worry. I’ll take lots of pictures so you can finger your babydick.🦐🤣🤣🤏’
Placing his phone on the dresser, Brad rolled over after responding with a thumbs up and closed his eyes. His marriage would never be the same, and he honestly couldn’t wait for Betsy to return home and degrade and demean him right to his face. In the meantime, he was glad, at the very least, that he’d keep getting pictures of his wife’s continuing nights out.
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