Hubby's Shame: Wife Rides Her Alpha Bull

Mark fidgeted in the corner of their crowded living room, the bass from the music thumping through his chest like a second heartbeat. The home party was Lisa's idea—a raucous gathering of her work friends and a few neighbors, all buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. But tonight, the air crackled with something darker, more primal. Lisa, his wife of five years, glided through the crowd like a queen, her tight red dress hugging every curve of her voluptuous body. At 32, she was a vision: full breasts straining against the fabric, hips swaying with predatory grace, long dark hair cascading down her back. Mark, 34 and wiry, felt like a shadow next to her, his button-up shirt already damp with nervous sweat.

Then Jake arrived. The door swung open, and in strode this towering slab of man—6'4" of pure muscle, broad shoulders filling the frame, tattoos snaking up his thick arms. Jake was Lisa's "coworker," or so she'd introduced him before, but Mark knew better. Jake's presence sucked the oxygen from the room. Women giggled and eyed him hungrily; men straightened up, suddenly self-conscious. Lisa's eyes lit up like fireworks. She sauntered over, pressing her body against his in a hug that lasted way too long, her hands lingering on his rock-hard chest.

"Jake, you made it," she purred, loud enough for Mark to hear from across the room. "I've been dying to see you."

Jake grinned, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. "Wouldn't miss it, babe. Especially not after what you promised on the phone."

Mark's stomach twisted. He clutched the tray of drinks Lisa had shoved into his hands earlier—"Be a good host, honey," she'd said with a wink that felt like a knife. Now, she looped her arm around Jake's waist, guiding him to the couch, her fingers tracing the ridges of his abs through his tight black shirt. "Mark! Drinks!" she called sharply.

Mark scurried over, tray trembling. Up close, Jake dwarfed him. The alpha's thighs were thicker than Mark's waist, his biceps bulging as he draped an arm casually over the couch. Lisa leaned into him, her hand sliding high on his thigh, inches from the massive bulge straining his jeans. "You're so tense, Mark," she teased, taking a glass from the tray. "Loosen up. Jake's just here to have fun."

Jake chuckled, his eyes locking onto Mark's with predatory amusement. "Yeah, little man. Serve us up."

The party swirled around them, oblivious or pretending to be, but Mark felt every stare. Lisa whispered something in Jake's ear, her lips brushing his lobe. He laughed, a deep, guttural sound, and squeezed her thigh possessively. "Promise?" he murmured back, loud enough for Mark.

"Oh, yes," Lisa replied, her voice husky. "Tonight, you're getting everything. All of me."

Mark's face burned as he refilled their glasses, spilling a drop on the coffee table. Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Clumsy boy. Clean that up." She snapped her fingers, and Mark dropped to his knees with a rag, ass in the air like a servant while she ground her body closer to Jake. Jake's hand slipped under her dress, out of sight, and Lisa bit her lip, stifling a moan. "God, Jake, you're so much man. Mark could never..."

The comparison hung in the air, slicing Mark's ego. His own cock—five inches on a good day—twitched pathetically in his pants, a mix of shame and unwanted arousal. Jake flexed his arm casually, the muscle popping like steel cable. "Bet he's never made you feel full, has he?"

Lisa shook her head, smirking at Mark's hunched form. "Never. You're the real deal." She stood suddenly, pulling Jake up with her. The party's noise faded as she locked eyes with Mark. "Bedroom. Now. And bring the tray—you're serving us there too."

Mark's heart hammered. This was it—the line they'd danced around for months in their twisted games. He nodded meekly, trailing behind as Lisa led Jake down the hall, her ass swaying hypnotically. Guests pretended not to notice, but whispers followed.

In the bedroom—their marital bedroom, with its king-sized bed and wedding photo on the nightstand—Lisa shut the door. The lock clicked like a guillotine. She turned to Jake, melting into his arms, their mouths crashing together in a sloppy, hungry kiss. Tongues battled audibly, Lisa moaning into him as his massive hands groped her tits, yanking the dress down to expose her lacy black bra.

Mark stood frozen by the door, tray in hand. "Put it down and kneel," Lisa commanded, breaking the kiss. Her eyes blazed with dominance. "Watch how a real man handles your wife."

He obeyed, sinking to his knees on the plush carpet. Jake stripped off his shirt, revealing a chiseled torso—pecs like granite, abs carved from marble, veins pulsing with power. Lisa ran her hands over him worshipfully. "Feel that, Mark? That's what a bull feels like." She stripped teasingly, shimmying out of her dress, revealing thigh-high stockings and a thong that barely contained her shaved pussy. Her bra hit the floor next, heavy D-cups bouncing free, nipples hard as diamonds.

Jake lounged on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, the bulge in his jeans obscene. Lisa straddled him, grinding her wet thong against it. "Mmm, feel how big you are already?" She glanced at Mark mockingly. "Mark's little dickie never even pokes like this. Isn't that right, cuck?"

Mark whimpered, his own pathetic erection straining painfully. "Y-yes, Lisa."

"Louder. Admit it."