Caught Between Husband and Boyfriend

I’m twenty-eight, married, and naked on my back in the middle of our bed with the afternoon light cutting stripes across my tits. Wesley is between my spread thighs, his palms holding me open, and I’m still texting with one hand like this is nothing. My phone screen is bright against my face. I type with my thumb, hitching a little whenever his breath hits my clit.

He’s my boyfriend. Errol is my husband. They both know. They both like it. I like it more than I should.

Wesley’s eyes are locked on my clit like it’s a problem he’s going to solve with his mouth and then his cock. He drags one knuckle along the wet seam of me, slow, not rushing, and I twitch. My other hand is in his hair, not pulling yet, just resting there so I can feel him move.

I send the message.

He’s looking at it. You should see his face.

The typing bubble from Errol pops up almost immediately. I’m already wet enough that Wesley’s finger slides in without friction, just a thick, easy push to the second knuckle. I gasp, phone wobbling.

Wesley looks up from between my legs, mouth shiny. “Tell him I’m about to put it in you.”

“I already did.”

He smiles against my inner thigh, then goes back to looking. He parts my lips with his thumbs and just stares, like he paid for the view and he’s going to take his time. My clit is swollen, standing out, and he flicks it once with his tongue, then again, then flattens his tongue and licks a long, filthy stripe from my hole up to that little knot of nerves. I drop the phone on my stomach and it slides off into the sheets.

“Wesley—”

“Shh. Let me look.”

He does. He looks while he touches. Two fingers now, spreading me, watching how I clench around nothing, watching the shine. He rubs my clit in tiny circles that make my hips try to chase him. I’m thirty seconds from begging and he knows it. He always knows it.

I reach down and hold myself open for him because I’m greedy and I want him staring. “Put it in. Slow. Like you said.”

He kneels up. His cock is already hard, thick, the head dark and wet. He drags it through my slit, painting himself with me, bumping my clit on purpose until I curse. Then he notches himself at my hole and just stays there, the pressure a promise.

“Look at me,” he says.

I look. I feel every millimeter as he starts to push. Slow. The stretch is fat and deliberate. He doesn’t slam. He feeds it into me an inch at a time, watching my face, watching where we’re joined. I can feel my cunt sucking at him, pulling. My mouth falls open. I grab the sheets.

“Fuck. That’s—Wesley, that’s deep already.”

“Halfway.” He sounds wrecked and pleased. He holds my hips and gives me another slow inch, then another, until his balls rest against my ass and I’m full, stuffed, pulsing around him. He stays buried, not thrusting yet, just grinding in tiny circles so the head of him rubs that spot inside that makes my toes curl.

I’m panting. My tits jiggle when I try to breathe. I reach for my phone again because I’m a brat and I want Errol to see the timestamp, and Wesley catches my wrist and pins it to the mattress.

“He’ll be here,” Wesley says. “You don’t need to text him that I’m in you. He’ll see.”

He draws out just as slow as he went in, the drag obscene, then sinks back to the root. My eyes roll. I’m making those little punched-out sounds I only make when I’m getting fucked right. He sets a pace that’s almost cruel in how unhurried it is—long strokes, wet sounds, his eyes dropping to watch his cock disappear into me over and over.

The bedroom door opens.

Errol stands there with his keys still in his hand. He’s in his work shirt, sleeves rolled, and he takes in the whole picture in one look: me on my back, legs wide, Wesley’s cock sliding in and out of my married cunt, my phone somewhere in the sheets, my face flushed and guilty-happy.

He shuts the door with his heel. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t ask us to stop. He looks at my face first, then at where Wesley is stretching me, and his mouth goes tight in that hungry way I know.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” Errol says.

Wesley doesn’t. He keeps that slow, filthy rhythm, holding my thighs open so my husband can watch every inch. Errol walks to the side of the bed, unbuckling, and I reach for his belt because I want both of them in my hands, in my mouth, in me. I get his zipper down and haul his cock out. He’s already hard, already leaking. I wrap my fingers around him and stroke while Wesley fucks me, and Errol’s breath goes ragged.

“You were texting me with his face in your cunt,” Errol says, voice low. “Show me.”

I turn my head and take him into my mouth. He tastes like salt and skin. I suck him messy, spit running, while Wesley’s slow thrusts rock me onto Errol’s cock. Errol’s hand finds my hair. He doesn’t force. He just holds, watching his wife drool on him while another man uses her hole.

“Jesus, Paulina.” Errol’s hips twitch. “You get so wet for him. I can hear it.”

Wesley picks up the pace a fraction, still not pounding, still making me feel every ridge. “She’s dripping down my balls. You want to feel?”

Errol leans over me, reaches between my legs, and his fingers find my clit while Wesley’s cock is still sliding in and out. Two of them touching me at once. Errol rubs tight circles and I moan around his dick, the sound vibrating. I’m shaking. I’m going to come if they keep this up and I want to, I want them to see it.

“Come on his cock,” Errol tells me. “Then we’re both going to use you.”

Wesley fucks me through it. The orgasm hits dirty and deep, my cunt clamping, my thighs jerking in Wesley’s grip. I pull off Errol’s cock to gasp, a string of spit connecting my lip to his shaft, and I keep stroking him while I clench and flutter around Wesley.

They don’t give me a minute.

Errol strips the rest of the way, gets on the bed, and they move me like they own the arrangement, which they do. Wesley pulls out of me with a wet sound that makes me whimper at the empty feeling. Errol lies back and I straddle him without being asked. I sink onto my husband’s cock in one long drop, taking him to the hilt, and he groans like it hurts in the best way. I’m soaked from Wesley. I bounce once, twice, then Wesley’s hand on my back folds me forward over Errol’s chest.

I know what’s coming. I want it.

Wesley’s slick cock presses against my ass, then lower, against the same hole Errol is already filling. He doesn’t force. He waits until I push back, until I say, “Do it. Put it in with him.”

The stretch is filthy. Two cocks, one cunt, the slide of Wesley crowding in beside Errol, both of them groaning, me making a broken noise into Errol’s neck. I’m so full I can barely think. They find a rhythm—Errol thrusting up, Wesley grinding in, both of them moving in me at once, the friction insane. My clit drags on Errol’s stomach. I can feel them rubbing against each other inside me.

“Look at you,” Errol says against my ear. “Stuffed with both of us. This is what you wanted when you were on your back texting, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

Wesley’s hands are on my ass, spreading me so he can watch both cocks stretching my hole. He spits, it runs down, and he uses it, pushing deeper. I’m shaking again. Errol’s mouth is on my tit, sucking hard, teeth grazing. They fuck me like that, overlapping, the wet slap of it filling the room, my moans going hoarse.

I come a second time with both of them in me, clenching so hard Errol swears and Wesley’s rhythm stutters. They don’t stop. They use the aftershocks, pounding now, all the earlier slowness burned off. I’m a mess between them, drooling, taking it, reaching back to grab Wesley’s hip so he’ll stay deep.

Errol’s hand finds my throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Where do you want it?”

“In me. Both of you. Fill me.”

Wesley comes first, grinding in, pulsing, flooding me around Errol’s still-moving cock. The extra wetness makes the slide obscene. Errol lasts another dozen strokes then slams up and comes too, pumping into the same hole, mixing with Wesley. I can feel it leaking out around them while they’re still buried.

They stay in me until they’re soft enough to slip free. I collapse onto my back again, legs still open, come dripping down my ass onto the sheets. Wesley’s fingers scoop some of it and push it back into my cunt. Errol watches, then does the same, two of them stuffing their mess back inside me like they don’t want it wasted.

I’m still twitching. My phone buzzes somewhere in the blankets, ignored.

Wesley leans in and licks my clit once, tasting all of us. Errol spreads me with two fingers so he can see the leak, then slaps my wet cunt lightly, just enough to make me jump.

I lie there used and open, husband on one side, boyfriend on the other, both of them looking at my freshly fucked hole like they’re already thinking about round two.

Errol wipes his cock on my inner thigh, smearing what’s left. “Keep your legs spread. We’re not done putting it in you.”