Hypnotized Cravings: Teresa Claims Errol

Teresa had stopped pretending the marriage still scratched the itch. At forty-two she was curvaceous in a way that made her dresses work overtime, heavy breasts, wide hips, a soft belly she no longer hid, and a mouth she painted dark when she wanted trouble. Her husband Errol was forty-five and meek down to his socks. He asked before he touched her. He came too fast and apologized into her shoulder. Boredom had settled in her like dust.

She invited Wesley over for drinks on a Thursday while Errol was home. Wesley was thirty-eight, her coworker, dominant in the way he took up a room and expected people to adjust. She had watched him shut down arguments with a look. She had also watched his hands and imagined them on her. When the doorbell rang, Errol was already in the armchair in gray sweatpants, tablet glowing. Teresa answered in a clingy black dress and no bra.

Wesley stepped in and did not bother with hello to the husband first. His eyes went to Teresa's chest, then her mouth.

"You look fuckable," he said, clear and casual. "He hear that? Good."

Errol's head jerked up. "We were just going to have a drink."

"We can pour them," Wesley said. He sat on the couch and pulled Teresa down beside him before Errol could stand. One big hand settled high on her thigh. He looked at Errol and smiled without warmth. "Your wife and I have been circling this for months. I'm done circling."

Teresa felt the old boredom split open. She left the wine on the table, barely touched, because she wanted her mind sharp. She met Errol's eyes and did not soften it.

"I've always fantasized about being taken by a real man while my cuckolded husband watches," she said. "Not a joke. Not a maybe. I want Wesley to do it in this room, and I want you here for all of it. If you don't want that, say so now and he leaves."

Errol's throat worked. The front of his sweatpants had already lifted. Shame and hunger fought on his face, and hunger won.

"I want it," he said. "I'll watch. I agree."

Wesley squeezed her thigh. "Then stop pretending this is drinks."

Wesley didn't wait. He turned Teresa's face with two fingers under her chin and kissed her hard, mouth open, tongue pushing in like he already owned the taste of her. She made a hungry sound and kissed him back, fisting his shirt. His other hand covered her breast, squeezing through the thin dress, thumb rolling her nipple until it peaked and ached. Heat flooded her. She broke the kiss just long enough to look at her husband.

"Get over here," she said. "Right beside us. I want you close enough to hear how wet I am."

Errol stood on shaky legs and sat on the couch at her other side, knee almost touching hers. Wesley grinned and kissed her again, deeper, while his hand shoved the dress up and cupped her cunt through her panties. He rubbed the soaked cotton and laughed against her mouth.

"She's dripping and I haven't even taken my cock out," he told Errol. "Sit there and watch your wife grind on my hand."

Teresa did. She rolled her hips into Wesley's palm, kissing him sloppy and loud, groping the thick ridge in his pants while Errol stared from inches away. Wesley shoved her panties aside and slid two fingers into her. She gasped into the kiss, clutching his wrist, fucking herself on his hand in their living room.

She pulled back, lips wet, and looked Errol dead in the eye.

"I want him to claim me completely," she said. "Not a taste. All of me. You stay and watch. Don't you dare leave this couch."

"I'll stay," Errol whispered. His hands hovered over his lap.

Teresa slid off the cushions and dropped to her knees between Wesley's spread thighs. She opened his belt with eager fingers, dragged the zipper down, and freed his cock. It was thick, heavy, darker at the head, bigger than Errol's in a way that made her mouth water and made her husband go very still. She wrapped her hand around the shaft, stroked once, then turned her face so Errol could see her tongue drag from base to tip.

"Watch me suck a real cock," she said, and took Wesley into her mouth.

She sucked him like she had been starving for it. Spit shone on her lips. She bobbed, cheeks hollowing, one hand pumping what she couldn't swallow, the other braced on Wesley's thigh. Wet sounds filled the room. Wesley groaned and gripped her hair, guiding, not forcing, and she moaned around him to show she wanted the hold. Errol's breathing went ragged beside them. Teresa pulled off with a filthy string of spit, stroked the slick shaft, and smiled at her husband.

"He's thicker than you," she said. "My jaw already aches and I love it. Sit there and take it. This is what you've been too meek to give me."

She went back down, deeper, gagging softly and pushing through it because she wanted to, slurping, drooling onto Wesley's balls while Errol watched every obscene inch disappear between her lips. Wesley's thighs flexed. His hand stayed in her hair, praise rough in his throat.

"That's it. Use that married mouth."

She hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, eyes flicking up to Errol so he could see how eagerly she worshipped another man's cock. Humiliation sat on her husband's face, bright and helpless, and it only made her wetter.

Teresa pulled off with a wet pop and stood. She stripped without teasing. Dress over her head, panties kicked aside, bare in the lamplight, breasts swaying, nipples tight, thighs slick. She looked at Errol once, made sure he was watching, then pointed at the rug.

"On the floor," she told Wesley. "I want him to see what you do to my pussy."

Wesley stretched out on the living-room floor, cock standing thick and shiny with her spit. Teresa turned her back to him and straddled his hips, reverse, facing Errol. She reached between her legs, lined that fat head up with her soaked entrance, and sank. The stretch punched a broken sound out of her. Inch by inch her cunt opened around a cock that made Errol's look polite. Her lips clung and dragged, pink and shiny, spreading wider than they had in years.

"Look," she gasped, bracing her hands on Wesley's thighs and sitting lower. "Look at it, Errol. Watch my pussy take him."

Errol leaned forward on the couch, eyes locked on the place they joined. Teresa rolled her hips and felt Wesley's cock pry her open, the head kissing deep, her ass spreading over his stomach. She lifted until the rim of her hole clutched his crown, then dropped, taking him to the base. The slap of her ass on his hips was loud. Her breasts bounced. Cream already filmed the shaft where she rode him.

"Fuck," Wesley growled, hands gripping her waist. "Tight for a woman who acts this hungry. Ride it."

She rode. Slow at first so Errol could see every inch vanish, then harder, grinding her clit against nothing and getting friction from the thick drag inside her. The view was filthy and perfect. Her pussy stretched in a wet ring around Wesley's cock, clinging on the upstroke, swallowing on the down. She reached down and spread herself with two fingers so her husband couldn't miss a thing.

"See how I have to open for him?" she said, voice shaking. "You never fill me like this. You never make me gape. He's claiming me and you're just going to sit there and watch your wife get used."

Errol made a small, wrecked noise. His hand twitched toward his sweatpants.

"Not yet," she snapped, bouncing faster. "You don't touch until I say."

Wesley thrust up to meet her and the angle knocked a cry out of her throat. Her first orgasm hit mean and sudden. She slammed down and ground, cunt fluttering, squirting a little slick down his shaft onto the rug. She screamed, head thrown back, tits shaking, and didn't stop riding through it. Wesley held her hips and fucked up into the spasms, thick cock punching through the clench.

"Again," he said. "You're not done."

She wasn't. The aftershocks rolled into a second crest while she was still split on him. She sobbed his name, not her husband's, and Errol flinched like the sound had hands. Teresa laughed, breathless and nasty, and kept moving until her thighs burned.

Wesley sat up behind her, kissed her shoulder once, hard, then pulled out. Her hole clenched on nothing, gaping, shiny. He stood, hauled her up, and bent her over the arm of the couch so her face was level with Errol's lap and her ass was high. He kicked her feet wider. She grabbed the cushion and looked her husband in the eye as Wesley lined up and drove back in, one long stroke that stuffed her full.

"Oh, fuck, yes," she moaned. "Pound me. Let him hear it."

Wesley did. Doggy-style, deep and ruthless, hips cracking against her ass, balls swinging up to slap her clit. The couch shifted under the force. Teresa's breasts dragged the cushion. Every thrust shoved a wet sound out of her and a degrading line after it.

"He's better," she told Errol, voice breaking on the impacts. "God, he feels so much better. Thicker. Meaner. He actually fucks me. You tap and apologize. He claims. You hear how wet I am for him? That's not for you."

Errol's face was red to his hairline. His cock strained his sweatpants, a dark spot already blooming at the tip.

"Take it out," Teresa ordered, gasping as Wesley bottomed out and ground. "Stroke yourself. Slow. You do not cum. You watch your wife get pounded and you leak if you have to, but you do not finish. Nod if you agree."

"I agree," Errol said, hoarse, and shoved his sweatpants down. His cock was smaller, flushed, already drooling a clear strand. He wrapped his fist around it and stroked, obedient, eyes glued to the place Wesley's cock vanished into her.

Wesley set a brutal pace. Skin on skin. Teresa's ass rippled with each slap. She pushed back to meet him, wanting it deeper, wanting the humiliation loud.

"Look at me taking it," she moaned. "Look at my cunt stretched on his cock while you jerk that little thing. You don't get to cum. You get to see what a real man does when he owns your wife. Harder, Wesley. Make me scream for him."

Wesley grabbed her hips and hammered her. The head of his cock knocked something deep that made her vision spark. She came screaming, a raw open-throated sound, pussy clamping so hard Wesley snarled and had to fight through it. She didn't go quiet. She kept talking through the convulsions, filthy and aimed straight at Errol.

"I'm cumming on him. Not you. Never you like this. Feel how empty your hand is? That's all you get. Stroke it. Don't you dare shoot. I want you aching while he ruins me."

Errol's fist slowed, desperate, precum slicking his fingers. A drop fell to the rug. He whimpered and kept his eyes on her.

Wesley didn't let up. He folded over her back, one hand on her throat, not squeezing shut, just holding, the other reaching under to rub her clit in rough circles. Teresa's knees nearly buckled. Another orgasm tore through her, then another right on its heels, screaming, sobbing, cursing, her cunt milking Wesley's cock in frantic pulses. She drooled on the cushion. Her ass was red from his hips. Every degrading word came out broken and true.

"Better, better, so much fucking better. You're my cuck, Errol. Stay hard and useless. Watch him use the hole you can't satisfy. I'm his tonight. Say it."

"You're his," Errol whispered, stroking, shaking, not cumming because she had ordered him not to.

"Louder."

"You're his," he said, wrecked. "I'm watching. I won't cum."

Wesley laughed once, dark, and fucked her through the last screaming peak until her voice cracked and her pussy fluttered helplessly around him. Teresa stayed bent, used and glowing, still pushing back for more, still staring at the husband who stroked himself and obeyed.

Wesley slammed deep and stayed there, groaning through his teeth, and Teresa felt the hot flood punch into her. Pulse after pulse, a massive creampie, so much it leaked around his thick shaft at once and dripped toward the cushion. He held her hips and emptied himself, claiming her in thick spurts she could feel painting her walls. When he pulled out slow, her hole gaped and clenched, white spilling down her swollen lips in heavy strings.

"On your knees," she told Errol, voice wrecked and mean. "Crawl. Clean your wife's used cunt. Every drop he put in me. You agreed to watch. Now you finish the job with your tongue."

Errol dropped and crawled between her spread legs, face red, cock out and leaking a shiny thread of precum onto the rug because she still had not let him cum. He pressed his mouth to her messy pussy and licked, obedient, swallowing Wesley's cum mixed with her slick. She moaned at the wet, humiliated sounds he made and spread wider so he couldn't miss a drop.

She turned her head and kissed Wesley hard, passionate and filthy, tongue in his mouth, while her husband ate the creampie out of her.

"This is our new dynamic," she said against Wesley's lips, loud enough for Errol to hear with his tongue buried in her. "He watches. He cleans. He doesn't get to finish unless I say. You claim me whenever you want."

Wesley laughed, low and satisfied. Teresa laughed with him while Errol whimpered into her cunt and lapped faster, humiliated and leaking.

"Swallow it, cuck. Lick his load out of my fucked pussy and thank me for the taste."