Her Used Cunt Fed to Her Husband

Petra came home at nearly midnight, the porch light catching the shine on her collarbones. Tobias, thirty-two and still in the undershirt he had worn to cook a dinner she never ate, stood in the kitchen doorway and watched his twenty-eight-year-old wife set her purse down as if she had forgotten what a purse was for. Her lipstick was gone. Her hair, usually pinned for the gallery where she worked, hung in a loose dark knot that had been handled. The hem of her dress sat crooked on one thigh.

“Long night,” she said. Her voice was soft and far away.

“I left a plate.” He hated how small he sounded.

She looked at the counter, then at him, and the look slid off. “I’m not hungry.” She kissed the corner of his mouth on her way past, a dry press that smelled like someone else’s cologne and the salt of dried sweat. In the bathroom the shower ran for a long time. When she came to bed she wore a clean shirt and turned her back. Tobias lay awake with one hand on the sheet between them and felt the absence of her body the way a man feels a missing tooth.

It had started three weeks earlier. She began staying late. She came in flushed, vague, answering questions with half-sentences and then falling asleep before he could undress her. The sex stopped. Not a fight, not a talk. She simply stopped reaching for him, and when he reached for her she caught his wrist, gentle, and said she was tired. Night after night the same tired. He jerked off in the shower with his forehead against the tile and hated how quickly he came, how the pictures in his head were not of her mouth but of the marks he sometimes thought he saw on her hip when the shirt rode up. He never asked. Asking felt like something that would make it real, and also like something she would refuse to answer. He stayed hard under the covers and did not touch her. She slept.

The second time she came home used, she was not alone.

Tobias heard the key, then a lower voice in the hall, a laugh that did not belong to either of them. He stood up from the couch in his socks. Petra entered first, barefoot, heels in one hand, the same vague shine on her skin. Behind her came a man who had to duck the lintel. Malik was thirty-five, broad through the chest and thicker through the arms than Tobias was through the whole torso, dark-skinned, close-cropped, dressed in a black shirt open at the throat. He was twice Tobias’s size in the way that mattered in a room: height, weight, the quiet way the floor took him. He looked at Tobias without apology and without hurry.

“This is Malik,” Petra said. Her mouth was swollen. “From the opening. He walked me home.”

“I drove,” Malik said. His voice was low and even. “She said her husband would want to meet me.”

Tobias’s throat closed. He should have been angry. He was hard. The knowledge of that arrived at the same time as the shame, and the shame did not soften anything. Petra watched his face, and for the first time in weeks she looked fully present. Color sat high on her cheeks. She stepped close enough that he could smell sex on her, unmistakable, the sweet-salt of a cunt that had already been fucked and not washed.

“I want this,” she said, quiet, only for him, and then louder so Malik could hear. “I want you to have it too. If you don’t, he leaves. Say it.”

“Stay,” Tobias said. The word came out hoarse. He said it again, clearer. “I want you to stay.”

Malik’s smile was small. He shut the door with the flat of his hand and turned the lock. “Good. Then we do this properly.” He looked at Petra. “Take the dress off. Leave the panties if they’re still on. I want him to see what I left him.”

She unzipped without looking away from her husband. The dress pooled. Under it she wore nothing but a pair of gray panties soaked through at the crotch, the fabric translucent and stuck to her. A thick white seep had already started down the inside of one thigh. Tobias made a sound he did not recognize. Malik came up behind her, one large hand spanning her waist, and bent to speak against her ear while looking at Tobias.

“You’ve been starving him,” Malik said. “That’s over. Sit on his face. Feed him that used cunt. Let him taste what I’ve been putting in you while he waits up with a cold plate.”

Petra’s breath hitched. She nodded. “Yes.”

“Say it to him.”

She crossed the room, took Tobias by the front of his undershirt, and walked him backward until his calves hit the couch. “Lie down,” she said, and her voice had the old heat in it, the heat he had been missing, aimed at him now for a reason that made his cock jump. “I want your mouth. I want you to eat me while I’m still full of him. I came home like this on purpose.”

He lay back. The cushions gave under his shoulders. She climbed over him, knees on either side of his head, and the smell of her hit him before the heat did: sweat, her own slick, and the heavier, muskier load leaking out of her. She hooked the wet panties aside with two fingers. Her pussy was swollen, pink and used, lips parted, a fat white drip already gathering at the entrance. She looked down at him between her breasts.

“Open,” she said.

He opened. She sat.

The first taste was salt and her and something thicker that coated his tongue when she ground down. He groaned into her and licked, helpless, eager, the frustration of weeks breaking all at once into hunger. She rocked, smearing herself over his mouth, his nose, his chin. Cum slid out of her in a warm rope and he swallowed because there was nowhere else for it to go, because he wanted it, because the sound she made when he sucked it out of her was the sound he had been dying to hear. Malik stood at the end of the couch, watching, one hand resting on the back of Petra’s neck.

“Kiss me while he cleans you,” Malik said.

She leaned up and Malik bent, and their mouths met over Tobias’s body, slow and wet, her ass still working in small circles on her husband’s face. Tobias could hear the kiss. He could feel her thighs tremble when Malik’s tongue pushed into her mouth. He lapped harder, chasing the creampie as it spilled, licking her clit when she shifted, then the stretched entrance when she sat back down and fed him another mouthful. His cock strained against his pants, untouched, leaking. He did not care. Her weight on his mouth was the only thing in the room.

“Good boy,” Malik said, not to her. “That’s how a husband eats. Don’t waste any.”

Petra broke the kiss on a moan. “He’s swallowing it. Tobias—God—he’s swallowing all of it.”

“Then we give him more to work with.” Malik unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall. His chest was broad, the stomach flat and hard, a trail of dark hair leading down into pants he opened without ceremony. His cock came out heavy, thick as Tobias’s wrist, already wet at the head, the shaft a deep brown that darkened toward the base. Petra stared at it the way she used to stare at dessert. Malik stroked once, slow, and tapped her lower lip. “Mouth. Hands on his chest so he feels you. I want him under us the whole time.”

She bent forward, ass lifting off Tobias’s mouth for one second that felt like a loss, and took Malik in. The sound was wet and immediate. Tobias grabbed her hips and pulled her back down onto his tongue, unwilling to stop, and she moaned around the cock filling her throat. Malik fucked her mouth in short, controlled thrusts, one hand in her hair, the other braced on the couch. Spit ran from the corner of her lips onto Tobias’s stomach. Every time Malik pushed deep, Petra’s cunt clenched and pushed another trickle of cum onto her husband’s tongue.

“Look at her,” Malik said, voice roughening. “Came home vague because I fucked the words out of her. Now she’s clear. You taste why.”

Tobias did. He licked until his jaw ached and kept going, nose buried in her, breathing her in, swallowing what Malik had left and what she was making fresh. His hands slid up her thighs. She was shaking. When she came the first time it was sudden, a hard grind, a cry muffled by Malik’s cock, her pussy fluttering and flooding his mouth. He drank it. He would have thanked her if his mouth had been free.

Malik pulled out of her throat with a slick sound. A string of spit connected her lip to the head of his cock and broke. “On your knees over him. Ass up. I want his tongue on both of us.”

She moved. Tobias stayed on his back, face shining, chest heaving. Petra got onto her hands and knees on the couch, straddling his head in reverse now so her used cunt hovered an inch above his mouth and her face was down near his cock, still trapped in his pants. Malik stepped in behind her, spat once into his palm, and rubbed it over the head of his cock even though she was already soaked. He looked down at Tobias.

“You stay right there. Lick where I go in. If you stop, I stop, and she doesn’t get to come again. Understood?”

“Yes,” Tobias said. His voice cracked. “Please.”

Malik pushed in. Petra’s mouth fell open on a long, broken sound, and Tobias watched from underneath as that thick cock spread her, inch by inch, the lips of her cunt stretching pale around the dark shaft, cum and her own wetness foaming at the edges. He lifted his head and licked. His tongue met her clit, then the stretched rim, then the underside of Malik’s cock as it slid home. The taste was filthier now, hotter, both of them at once. Petra dropped her forehead to Tobias’s stomach and sobbed with pleasure.

“Fuck,” she said. “He’s licking you. He’s licking us. Tobias, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

Malik set a rhythm, deep and steady, the couch shifting under the weight of him. Each thrust shoved Petra’s pussy down onto her husband’s mouth and then pulled it up, and Tobias chased it, tongue flat, then pointed, cleaning the shaft when it drew back, sucking the mix of them off her when it drove in. Malik’s balls swung and brushed his chin. Petra fumbled Tobias’s pants open with shaking hands and took his cock into her mouth, not gentle, hungry, and the shock of her wet heat after weeks of nothing nearly ended him. He held on. He licked. Malik talked them both through it, low and filthy, telling Petra how tight she still was, telling Tobias what a good little husband he was for keeping her wet for a bigger man, telling them both to listen to the sound of that cunt getting fucked right over a devoted tongue.

Petra came again with Malik buried to the base, her cry vibrating around Tobias’s cock, her thighs clamping his head. Malik didn’t slow. He fucked her through it, then pulled out suddenly, cock gleaming, heavy, dripping onto Tobias’s lips.

“Clean it,” Malik said. “Mouth open. Show me you want it.”

Tobias turned his head, mouth open, and Malik fed him the head. It was thicker than anything Tobias had taken, salt and Petra and the bitter edge of precome. He sucked. He had not planned to. His body had already decided, weeks of frustration turning into this, this eagerness, this need to be used the way she had been used. Malik’s hand settled on the back of his head, not forcing, guiding, and Tobias took him deeper, gagging once, breathing through his nose, licking the shaft clean of his wife while Petra watched from above and stroked him with a slick fist.

“That’s it,” Malik murmured. “Both of you. My cock, her cunt, his mouth. Everybody fed.”

He pulled free, stroked himself once, and looked at Petra. “Ride his face again. I want his ass.”

Tobias’s stomach flipped, heat and nerves together. Petra slid back over his mouth without being asked twice, facing Malik now, and lowered her swollen, open cunt onto his tongue. Malik stripped Tobias’s pants the rest of the way off, spread his thighs, and slicked two fingers with the wetness running down Petra’s thigh. He pressed them to Tobias’s hole, slow, circling.

“You want it,” Malik said. It was not quite a question.

“Yes,” Tobias said into his wife, the word muffled and desperate. “Yes. Fuck me. I want it. I want both of you.”

Malik worked him open with patience that felt like another kind of dominance, one finger, then two, crooking until Tobias jerked and moaned into Petra and she laughed, breathless, and ground down harder. When Malik replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, the stretch burned and then gave. Tobias’s hands flew to Petra’s thighs. He held on. Malik sank in, inch by thick inch, talking him through it, telling him to breathe, telling Petra to keep feeding him, telling them both how pretty they looked stacked like this for him. The burn melted into a deep, shocking fullness. Malik bottomed out and held there, one big hand on Tobias’s hip, the other on Petra’s waist, and then he started to fuck.

It was raw and slow at first, then harder, the couch complaining, Petra riding Tobias’s mouth in time with the thrusts so that every stroke into his ass pushed his tongue deeper into her. She came a third time, shaking, calling both their names, creampie and fresh slick smearing his face until he could barely breathe and did not want to. Malik’s dirty talk turned rougher, commands and praise mixed, calling Tobias his good cuck, calling Petra his greedy girl, telling them to take it, take all of it, this was what they had been waiting for on all those vague nights. Tobias came without a hand on his cock, sudden and violent, striping his own stomach while Petra licked it up and Malik fucked him through the aftershocks. The clench dragged a groan out of Malik. He drove in deep, held, and came in thick pulses that Tobias felt as heat, as pressure, as a claim poured into him. Petra watched Malik’s face while it happened and touched herself once more against her husband’s mouth, a smaller, shivering peak, and then went still.

For a while the only sounds were breathing.

Malik eased out. Cum leaked warm down Tobias’s ass and onto the cushion. Petra climbed off his face and collapsed beside him, chest heaving, one leg thrown over his. Malik stood, spent and gleaming, and looked at the two of them with something almost gentle under the dominance.

“Thank you,” Petra said. Her voice was wrecked and clear. She reached for Malik’s hand and squeezed it, then found Tobias’s and held that too. “Both of you. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Tobias said. He meant it. His mouth tasted like all of them. His body ached in ways he already wanted again. “For staying. For—everything.”

Malik bent and kissed Petra’s forehead, then, after a beat, the top of Tobias’s head. “You call me when you want it again. Not before you’re ready. Not after you’ve talked yourselves out of it. When you want it.”

“We will,” Petra said.

Malik dressed without hurry, found his keys, and let himself out. The lock clicked. The apartment went quiet in the way it did after a storm, the refrigerator humming, a car passing on the street below. Petra turned into Tobias and he turned into her. They were sticky, cum drying on his chin and her thighs and between his cheeks, her hair stuck to his shoulder, his arm heavy across her waist. Neither of them reached for a towel. She pressed her face into his neck. He felt her smile against his skin.

“Next time,” she whispered, so low he almost missed it, “I want him to stay longer. I want you under me again while he uses you. I want to watch your face when he fills you.”

“Whenever he wants,” Tobias whispered back. “Whenever you bring him home.”

She nodded against him. Their breathing slowed until it matched. The porch light still burned beyond the curtains. Neither of them spoke again. They lay in the mess they had made, held and holding, and the room kept its silence.