My Prostitute Wife Services Clients in Our Marital Bed

Felix had never grown used to the sound of the front door unlocking when Fiona brought work home. At thirty-two he still felt that low electric jolt in his stomach the moment her key turned, the same jolt that had lived under his ribs since the night they first agreed she would take clients only in their marriage bed. Fiona was twenty-nine, sleek and deliberate, a high-end escort whose appointments were booked weeks out; the thrill they both chased was never the money. It was the knowledge that every stranger who paid for her would stretch her open on the exact mattress where she curled against Felix every night afterward, his mouth still tasting the same pillow.

Tonight the apartment smelled of the citrus oil she favored and the faint musk of fresh sheets. Felix stood in the bedroom doorway while she stepped out of her heels. Two men followed her in. Sullivan was forty-one, broad through the shoulders, silver threading the dark hair at his temples; Bianca, thirty-five, taller and leaner, already shrugging out of a charcoal jacket. They were regulars. Fiona had told Felix earlier that both wanted the same evening, the same bed. The arrangement was clear and wanted by everyone in the room.

“Help me,” she said softly to her husband, turning so her back faced him. The zipper of her dress ran from nape to the hollow of her spine. Felix’s fingers found it without hesitation. He drew it down slowly, exposing the black lace of her bra and the smooth pale skin he kissed every morning. Sullivan and Bianca watched in silence, already hard outlines visible behind their trousers. Fiona glanced over her shoulder at Felix, eyes bright with the private joke of it.

“Make the bed ready for them,” she murmured. “Our bed.”

He moved to the king mattress they shared. He folded the duvet back with deliberate care, plumped the pillows she rested her head on when she whispered goodnight against his mouth. The sheets were crisp, white, faintly scented with her laundry soap. Fiona stepped out of the dress. It pooled at her ankles. She stood in garter belt, stockings, and nothing else between her thighs; her shaved cunt already glistened. She crooked a finger at Felix again.

“Undress me the rest of the way. Show them how you take care of what’s theirs tonight.”

His hands went to the clasps of her bra. The lace fell away; her breasts were full, nipples tight from the air and from the two sets of eyes on her. He rolled the stockings down one leg and then the other, kneeling so his face was level with the soft inner skin of her thighs. She carded her fingers through his hair once, possessive and fond, then stepped free of the last scrap of fabric. Completely bare, she turned to face her clients while Felix remained on his knees beside the bed they slept in.

“Come here,” she told Sullivan first.

Sullivan crossed the room. Fiona rose onto her toes and kissed him hard, open-mouthed, tongue sliding deep while Felix watched from the floor. The wet sound of it filled the quiet. She pulled back only enough to speak against Sullivan’s lips, voice low and filthy so her husband would catch every word.

“You’re going to put that thick cock right where Felix kisses me goodnight. Right in the center of this mattress. You’re going to stretch my cunt open on our sheets until I drip all over the place he lays his head.”

Sullivan’s hand gripped her ass, fingers digging in. She turned next to Bianca, pulled him down by the tie, and kissed him with the same hungry thoroughness—slow rolls of her tongue, a soft moan he could feel. When she broke the kiss she looked straight at Felix while she spoke to the younger man.

“And you,” she told Bianca, “you’re going to fuck me after him, or maybe at the same time if I decide I want both of you wrecking me. You’ll bury yourself in the exact spot my husband tastes when he crawls into bed with me. I’ll still smell like both of you when he holds me later. He loves that. Don’t you, baby?”

Felix’s throat worked. He managed a nod. His cock strained painfully inside his pants; he had not been given permission to touch it yet. Fiona smiled, sharp and affectionate, and pointed to the corner armchair they had positioned months ago for exactly this purpose—angled perfectly toward the bed, close enough to hear every wet slap and every filthy whisper.

“Sit,” she ordered gently. “Watch how they use our marriage bed.”

He sat. The leather was cool against his back. From here he could see the entire expanse of white sheets, the headboard they had chosen together, the lamp that cast warm light over Fiona’s bare hips as she climbed onto the mattress on all fours. She looked back at the two men and then, deliberately, at her husband.

“Take your cocks out,” she said. “Let him see what you’re going to put inside me.”

Sullivan unbuckled first. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already flushed dark. Bianca followed, longer, the head already slick. Fiona reached back with both hands and spread her ass cheeks, showing them the pink of her cunt and the tighter pucker above it. She was soaked; a thin string of arousal clung to her inner thigh.

“This bed,” she said, voice dropping into that honeyed, nasty register she saved for nights like this, “is where I sleep every night with my husband. Tonight you’re going to ruin me on it. You’re going to make me come so hard the sheets stay wet under us. Felix is going to sit right there and stroke himself while you stretch me open in the place he kisses goodnight. Understand?”

Both men murmured agreement. Sullivan climbed onto the mattress first, kneeling behind her. He ran the fat head of his cock up and down her slit, coating himself, teasing the entrance. Fiona’s eyes stayed locked on Felix while the pressure increased.

“Tell him,” she whispered to Sullivan. “Tell my husband exactly where you’re putting it.”

Sullivan’s voice was rough. “Right in the middle of your marriage bed. Right where you sleep next to him. I’m going to fuck this tight cunt until it’s shaped around me.”

He pushed in. Fiona’s mouth fell open on a silent cry as the thick shaft stretched her. Inch by inch Sullivan sank into her, the sheets wrinkling under her knees, until his hips met her ass. He held still for a long second so Felix could see the way her pussy lips were forced wide around the base of another man’s cock. Then he started to thrust—deep, steady strokes that made her breasts sway and the mattress creak.

Bianca moved to the side of the bed, cock in hand, and offered it to Fiona’s mouth. She took him greedily, cheeks hollowing, spit shining on his length while Sullivan fucked her from behind. The dual wet sounds filled the room: cunt around thick cock, mouth around long cock. Fiona pulled off Bianca just long enough to speak again, voice broken by the pounding Sullivan was giving her.

“Feel that, Felix? That’s Sullivan’s cock dragging across the spot you kiss when the lights go out. He’s going to flood me right here. Then Bianca’s going to take his turn and stretch me even more. Both of them in our bed. Both of them making me take it while you watch from the corner like the dirty husband you are.”

Felix’s hand finally pressed hard against the front of his pants. He could see everything—the way Sullivan’s heavy balls swung and slapped against her clit, the sheen of her juices already darkening a circle on the sheet beneath them, the glaze of spit on Bianca’s cock as she sucked him again. Fiona’s eyes never left her husband’s. Every filthy detail was for him.

Sullivan gripped her hips harder and drove deeper, the wet sound growing louder. “Your wife’s cunt is gripping me like she never wants me to leave this bed,” he told Felix without looking away from the place where he disappeared inside her. “I’m going to fill her up right where you sleep.”

Fiona moaned around Bianca’s cock, then pulled free again, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the head. “Do it,” she panted. “Come inside me on our sheets. Let him watch you pump me full in the place he holds me every night. Then Bianca gets the same. I want both of your loads dripping out of me onto this mattress. I want Felix to smell you on me when he finally crawls in beside me later.”

Bianca stroked himself slowly, watching Sullivan’s rhythm. “I’m next,” he said, voice tight. “I’m going to turn her over and fuck her face-up so your husband can see every inch going in. Right in the middle of your bed. Right where you kiss her goodnight.”

Fiona’s smile was pure heat. She reached back, spread herself wider for Sullivan’s next thrust, and kept her gaze fixed on the corner chair.

“That’s right,” she breathed. “Both of you. Our marital bed. Make me take it. Make him watch every second while you stretch his wife open exactly where she belongs to him at night. Don’t stop until I’m shaking and leaking all over the place we sleep.”

Sullivan’s pace turned punishing. The headboard knocked softly against the wall. Fiona’s moans rose, unrestrained, the sound of a woman being thoroughly used and loving every second of the exhibition. Bianca waited his turn at the edge of the mattress, cock glistening, eyes dark with the promise of what came next. Felix sat frozen in the chair, heart slamming, the entire scene unfolding on the white sheets that still held the faint indentation of where he and Fiona had slept the night before—sheets that were already being ruined in the best possible way, and the night was only beginning.

Sullivan’s punishing rhythm finally broke. He pulled free with a wet sound that made Felix’s breath catch, the thick shaft glistening, and rolled onto his back in the center of their king mattress. Fiona climbed over him at once, straddling him reverse-cowgirl so her bare ass faced the headboard and her flushed, stretched cunt faced the corner chair. She reached between her thighs, found Sullivan’s heavy cock, and sank down on it in one long, deliberate slide.

Felix saw everything. The fat head parted her pink lips again. The thick shaft disappeared inch by inch until her ass settled flush against Sullivan’s hips. Then she rose and dropped, rose and dropped, fucking herself on another man’s cock with her knees planted in the exact depression where Felix’s body usually lay. Each downward stroke spread her open wider; each upward stroke left her inner walls clinging, shiny, reluctant to let him go. Her juices ran down Sullivan’s shaft and pooled on the white sheet beneath them.

Bianca stepped closer, cock still wet from her earlier attention. Fiona leaned forward without missing a beat of her ride and took him deep into her throat. She hollowed her cheeks, spit running from the corners of her mouth, while Sullivan’s thick cock kept punching up into her from below. The dual invasion made her moan around the length filling her mouth. Felix watched the reverse-cowgirl angle give him a perfect, filthy view: the ring of her stretched cunt gripping and releasing, the way Sullivan’s balls tightened every time she slammed down, the wedding band on her left hand flashing as she braced herself on Sullivan’s thighs.

“Look at him,” she gasped when she pulled off Bianca’s cock for air. Saliva strings stretched between her lips and the glistening head. “Look how deep another man is inside the cunt you own. Right here on our bed. God, Felix—his cock is so fucking thick. He’s rearranging me where you sleep.”

She swallowed Bianca again, taking him until her nose pressed against his stomach, throat working. Sullivan’s hands clamped her hips and started thrusting up hard to meet her. The wet slap of skin filled the bedroom. Felix’s cock strained so painfully he finally freed it, stroking in time with every visible plunge into his wife.

Sullivan growled, flipped her with sudden strength. Fiona landed on her hands and knees facing Felix. Sullivan mounted her from behind and drove straight back into her soaked cunt in one brutal stroke. The headboard knocked the wall. She cried out, eyes locked on her husband’s, and began talking directly to him between every hard thrust.

“It feels better,” she moaned, voice raw and shameless. “Better than anything when they use me like a whore right here. In our own bed. Sullivan’s cock is pounding the place you kiss goodnight and I love it—fuck—I love being stretched open on these sheets while you watch. Harder. Use me harder. Make me take it like the paid slut I am in the bed I share with my husband.”

Sullivan gripped her hair, yanked her head back so Felix could see every expression, and slammed into her with short, vicious strokes that made her tits swing and her voice break. Bianca moved in front of her again. Fiona opened her mouth eagerly, sucking him deep while Sullivan wrecked her from behind. Spit and precum slicked her chin. The mattress dipped and creaked under the force of two men using her.

“I’m going to come inside her,” Sullivan rasped, eyes on Felix. “Right in the middle of your marriage bed. Filling the cunt you sleep against every night.”

Fiona pulled off Bianca’s cock long enough to beg. “Do it. Pump me full. I want it dripping out of me onto our sheets. Then Bianca comes on my hand—on my wedding ring. Mark me. Both of you. Let my husband see.”

Sullivan buried himself to the hilt and held, hips jerking as he unloaded deep inside her. Fiona’s mouth fell open on a broken cry; Felix watched the base of that thick cock pulse, watched her pussy flutter and clench around the flooding shaft. Sullivan stayed buried until the last spurt, then pulled free. A thick rivulet of cum immediately spilled from Fiona’s stretched hole and streaked down her inner thigh onto the sheet.

Bianca stroked himself faster. Fiona turned, still on all fours, and held out her left hand—fingers spread, the gold wedding band catching the lamplight. Bianca’s cock jerked. He painted her fingers in heavy ropes, white streaks landing across her knuckles and the ring that marked her as Felix’s wife. She rubbed the mess deliberately between her fingers so Felix could see it shine.

The two men dressed in silence, still breathing hard. Sullivan zipped his trousers. Bianca shrugged back into the charcoal jacket. Fiona stayed exactly where she was—sprawled face-down then rolling onto her back, legs still spread wide on the ruined sheets. Cum leaked steadily from her well-fucked cunt, soaking a dark circle into the mattress they shared every night. She looked wrecked and radiant, chest rising and falling, thighs shiny.

At the door Sullivan paused. “Same time next month?”

“I’ll book you both,” Fiona answered, voice hoarse and satisfied. The lock clicked behind them. The apartment fell quiet except for Felix’s heartbeat and the soft wet sound of her pussy still dripping.

She crooked a cum-streaked finger at him.

“Come here, baby. Reclaim what’s yours.”

Felix left the chair on unsteady legs. He stripped fast, cock rigid and leaking. He climbed onto the marital bed—onto the same sheets now marked by two other men—and settled between her open thighs. Her cunt was hot, slippery, swollen. He pushed into her in one long glide and groaned at the loose, flooded heat. Sullivan’s load squelched around his shaft; the scent of sex and citrus oil and strange men rose between them.

Fiona wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. Her lips found his ear. She whispered while he fucked her slow and deep, reclaiming every inch.

“I love this,” she breathed. “I love letting strangers stretch me open right here for you. I love the way our bed smells after. I love knowing you’ll crawl in beside me later and taste them on my skin. Use me now. Fill me again. Make this cunt yours after they’ve finished with it.”

Felix thrust harder, chasing his own release inside the sloppy mess they had left. She kissed him open-mouthed, tasting of Bianca, and clenched around him until he came with a broken sound, adding his own seed to the mix already leaking from her. He collapsed over her, still buried, heart hammering against her breast.

They lay tangled in the center of the ruined sheets. Fiona stroked his hair with the hand that still carried Bianca’s drying cum across the wedding ring. The lamp threw soft gold over the headboard they had chosen together, over the pillows that still held the shape of ordinary nights.

Felix pressed his face to her throat and finally understood the quiet truth that had lived under every moan and every filthy order: the bed had never belonged only to them. It had always been the stage she built for the only audience that mattered—and every stranger who paid was simply another way she kept him watching.