Hubby's Corner: Wife Squirts for Hung Boss

Hey everyone on Hubby's Corner, it's me, Mark, posting this confession because I can't keep it bottled up anymore. My name's Mark, 35, average guy with an average job and, well, an average dick—let's be real, about 5 inches on a good day. My wife Sarah? She's a goddess. 32, curvy in all the right places—perky D-cup tits, a juicy ass that turns heads, long auburn hair, and these full lips that were made for sin. We've been married eight years, always loyal, vanilla sex twice a week if we were lucky. But that all changed six months ago when she started her new job as executive assistant to Mr. Vance, her boss at the marketing firm downtown.

It started innocently enough. Sarah's always been ambitious, and this gig paid double what she'd made before. Mr. Vance—tall, built like a linebacker, late 40s, silver-fox handsome with a commanding voice that makes you sit up straight. She came home those first weeks glowing, talking nonstop about how sharp he was, how he ran meetings like a king. But then the overtime kicked in. "Late night again, babe," she'd text, and I'd wait up with dinner reheated. When she finally stumbled in around 10 or 11, her cheeks were always flushed, blouse a little rumpled, skirt hiked just a tad too high. She'd kiss me quick, mumble about "big projects," and crash.

I noticed other shit too. Her panties in the hamper were soaked—not just wet, but creamy, like she'd been dripping for hours. And during our pillow talk, when we'd cuddle and I'd try to initiate, she'd whisper things that made my stomach twist. "God, Mark, you should've seen Vance today. His pants... fuck, that bulge. It's like he's smuggling a python." I'd laugh it off at first, but my cock twitched hearing her describe it—thick outline straining his slacks when he stood at the whiteboard. "Bigger than yours, babe? Way bigger," she'd giggle, her hand absentmindedly stroking me while her eyes glazed over. Tension built fast. Our sex got awkward; I'd thrust into her missionary style, and she'd barely moan, her mind clearly elsewhere.

One night, after a particularly late return—her thighs glistening like she'd run a marathon—she straddled me in bed, grinding slow. "Mark, I have to tell you something," she breathed, her pussy lips slick against my shaft. "Vance's cock... I saw it today. Accidentally. He adjusted himself during a meeting, and holy shit, it's massive. At least 9 inches, thick as my wrist. Veiny, uncut, just... perfect." My heart pounded, humiliation flooding me as I got harder than ever. She teased me mercilessly, whispering details while bouncing lazily on my dick—how it swung heavy when he shifted, how the women in the office whispered about it. Our fuck was lackluster as always; I came in two minutes, spurting weakly inside her, while she faked a sigh. "It's okay, baby," she cooed, "but imagine if it was him stretching me..."

I was obsessed. Jerked off to the thought nightly, hating myself. Finally, I cracked. "Sarah, if you're that into him... maybe you should, you know, explore it. With my okay." Her eyes lit up like Christmas. "Really? You'd watch? Be my little cuck?" I nodded, ashamed and thrilled. "Video call. Share your screen or whatever. Just... let me see." She kissed me deep, her tongue hungry. "You're the best hubby. It's happening tonight—after hours 'extra duties' at his office. He invited me already. Get ready."

My hands shook as I propped my phone on the nightstand, naked, cock throbbing in anticipation. Sarah dressed slutty—tight black pencil skirt hugging her ass, sheer white blouse unbuttoned to show lace bra, no panties. "Wish me luck, cuck," she winked, blowing a kiss before heading out. At 9:45 PM, the video call rang. I answered, heart slamming.

There she was, in Mr. Vance's corner office—city lights twinkling behind floor-to-ceiling windows, his massive oak desk cleared except for a bottle of whiskey. Vance lounged in his leather chair, shirt sleeves rolled up showing veined forearms, tie loose. Sarah stood before him, biting her lip. "Mark's on the call, sir," she said breathlessly. Vance smirked at the camera, his deep voice booming. "Good evening, Mark. Hope you're comfortable. Your wife's about to earn that promotion properly." Humiliation burned my cheeks, but I stroked my pathetic dick slowly, mesmerized.