My Wife Makes Me Suck Doug's Cock

The cedar candle on the mantel had been burning long enough to soften the air, and the living room felt smaller for it. I was thirty-six. Adriana was thirty-five. Eleven years of marriage had taught us exactly what we wanted from a Friday night, and tonight she had already decided the shape of it before Bruno even knocked.

He was thirty-eight, broad through the chest and thick through the thighs, the kind of man who still moved like the gym was a second job. Our trusted bull. He came in without ceremony, kissed my wife the way she liked to be kissed, slow and sure, and let his hand rest on the small of her back while she led him to the couch. I stayed where she had told me to stay, just inside the room, watching the black slip cling to her ass as she walked. No panties. She never wore them on nights like this.

Bruno sat and spread out, one arm along the back of the cushions. Adriana settled beside him, close enough that her bare thigh pressed the denim of his jeans. Her hand went to his lap at once, stroking the heavy shape of his cock through his pants, unhurried and possessive. I could see it thickening under her palm, the fabric pulling tight.

“Kneel,” she said.

I went down on the rug in front of them. From there the view was entire: her mouth curved, his easy grin, her fingers tracing the length of him like she was reminding both of us who ran the room.

“You have been useless all week,” she said, not unkind. Her hand kept working him. “Walking around this house half-hard because you know what I am going to make you do. Say it properly.”

My throat was dry. “I want to suck his cock.”

“You crave it.” She corrected me the way she always did, soft and exact. “You crave being my obedient little cock-sucker. Bruno’s cock in your mouth while I watch. While I decide how deep you take him. Isn’t that right, Bertrand?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, Adriana.”

Bruno shifted, giving her stroking hand more of him, and the bulge under her fingers looked obscene against the zipper. She looked at me over it, eyes bright, and the want in my chest pulled tight enough to ache.

She did not rush the zipper. Adriana liked the moment before a thing became real, the way my breathing changed when I knew what was coming and still had to wait for her hand. She rubbed Bruno through his jeans a little longer, thumb dragging over the head until the denim darkened with a small wet spot, then glanced at me to make sure I had seen it.

“Look at that,” she murmured. “He is already leaking, and you have not even earned the right to taste him yet. Stay on your knees. Hands on your thighs. I want you still while I take him out.”

I obeyed. My own cock strained against my pants, trapped and throbbing, and I did not touch it. She had not said I could.

The zipper came down slow. She reached in, wrapped her fingers around him, and drew his cock free of his briefs with a care that felt almost reverent. It was heavy in her hand, thick, the shaft veined and darkening as she stroked it from base to tip. The head was swollen, glossy, and a clear bead welled at the slit when her thumb passed over it. Bruno exhaled through his nose and spread his legs wider, settling back into the couch like a man who had nowhere else he needed to be.

Adriana locked eyes with me. Her fist kept a steady rhythm, slick now, the sound of it small and filthy in the quiet room.

“This is how I want you to worship it,” she said. “Not greedy. Not sloppy until I tell you to be sloppy. You are going to kiss the head first. You are going to thank him for letting you. Then you are going to open your mouth and take what I give you, and you are going to keep your eyes on me while you do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say what you are.”

“Your cock-sucker,” I said, and my voice came out rough. “Your obedient cuckold.”

Bruno grinned, low and pleased, and flexed his hips just enough to push himself through her fist. “He sounds ready.”

“He has been ready for days.” Adriana’s dirty talk dropped into that warmer, meaner register that always undid me. “Walking around hard because he knows his place is on his knees with a bigger cock on his tongue. Look at him. Look at how badly he wants it. I could make him beg and he would thank me for the chance. Wouldn’t you, Bertrand?”

“Please,” I said. I was not performing it. The word came out of me like something I had been holding since she texted Bruno that afternoon. “Please let me suck him.”

She stroked Bruno slower, twisting at the head, spreading the wetness down the veiny shaft so I could see every inch of what she was about to feed me. “Open your mouth. Show me.”

I did. She watched my tongue, my parted lips, the way my chest rose and fell, and something satisfied moved across her face. Then her free hand came down and gripped my hair, firm, not cruel, the way she held me when she wanted no mistakes. She guided me forward until the swollen head brushed my lower lip, hot and slick, the taste of him already on my mouth.

“There,” she said, and pushed me that last inch onto him. “Now be good.”

The head filled my mouth, heavy and salt-sweet, and the last of my hesitation went with the first slow suck. I was hers. I was exactly where I had been aching to be.

Adriana did not let go of my hair. She kept her fist at the base of Bruno’s cock and my head in her other hand, setting the pace before I could invent one of my own. “Long strokes,” she said. “Wet. I want to hear it.”

I sank down and drew back, lips tight around the thick shaft, tongue working the underside the way she had taught me on quieter nights when it was only her voice and my practice. Spit gathered fast. The sound turned obscene, wet and rhythmic, and Bruno’s thighs tensed under my palms where I had braced myself between them. He was big enough that my jaw ached within the first minute, and I wanted the ache. I wanted the proof of it.

“Deeper,” Adriana said, and pressed.

I took him until the swollen head nudged the back of my throat and my eyes watered. She held me there, not long, just long enough that I felt the surrender of it all the way down my spine, then let me up for air and pushed me down again. Long, wet strokes. Her hand on my head. Bruno’s low groan when I swallowed around him.

“Good little cuckold,” she praised, thumb stroking my scalp even as she forced me lower. “Look at you. Mouth full of his cock and still trying to take more. This is what you are for tonight. This is what you have been craving.”

I moaned around him and the vibration made Bruno curse under his breath. My own dick throbbed uselessly in my pants, a wet spot spreading at the front, and I did not care. All I cared about was the weight on my tongue and the sound of my wife’s voice telling me I was doing it right.

She eased me back until only the head rested on my lips, strings of spit connecting us, and turned to Bruno. The kiss she gave him was nothing like the greeting at the door. It was open, hungry, her tongue in his mouth while I knelt there panting, cock-drunk and shining. She kissed him like she wanted me to watch every second of how much she wanted him, and I did. I could not look away. When she broke it she was flushed, lips wet, and she smiled down at me with real warmth under the filth.

“Again,” she said, and guided me back onto him.

I sucked him with everything I had. Long strokes, then shorter ones when she tightened her grip and made me focus on the head, tongue flicking the slit until he swore and his hand landed heavy on the couch cushion. Adriana alternated without mercy. Praise, then a deeper push. A kiss for Bruno that left him groaning into her mouth, then my face forced back down his shaft until my nose brushed her fingers at the base and my throat fluttered around him.

“Such a devoted little husband,” she murmured, watching spit run down his cock and over my chin. “Taking him so well. He likes your mouth, baby. Hear him? That is all you. Keep going. Make him need to be inside me.”

Bruno’s hips started to move, shallow thrusts that Adriana allowed, controlling both of us with one hand in my hair and the other stroking what I could not yet reach. I hollowed my cheeks. I looked up when she told me to and found her eyes bright with pride and heat, and the sight of her watching me worship another man’s cock nearly made me come in my pants.

She kissed Bruno again, slower this time, filthy and lingering, one hand still holding me on him so I had to keep sucking through the whole thing. When she pulled back she was breathing hard.

“I want him in me,” she said. “And I want you right where you are.”

She stood, the slip riding up her ass, and turned her back to Bruno. He gripped her hips as she straddled his lap in reverse, sinking down onto his cock in one long, shaking slide that made her gasp and made me stare. I was still on my knees between his spread thighs, close enough to see every inch of him disappear into her. She was soaked. The sound of it was unmistakable. She braced her hands on his knees and started to ride, reverse cowgirl, slow at first, taking him deep and rolling her hips so I had the perfect view of her pussy stretched around his thick shaft.

“Lick,” she ordered, voice wrecked and happy. “His cock and my clit. Do not stop until I say.”

I leaned in and put my mouth where she wanted it. My tongue traced the veiny length of him where he slid in and out of her, tasting both of them, then moved up to her clit and circled until her thighs trembled around my face. She rode him harder. I followed, licking his shaft on the downstroke, sucking at her clit when she ground down and held him deep, spit and her wetness slicking my chin, my lips, everything. Bruno groaned, long and rough, hands tight on her waist, and the sound went through me like a hand around my own cock.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he said. “Both of you. Christ.”

Adriana laughed, breathless, and reached back to hold my head exactly where she wanted it. “Hear that? He loves it. Keep licking, Bertrand. Be useful while I take his cock. Right there. God, right there.”

I stayed. I licked him and I licked her and I let her use my mouth while she rode, and the living room filled with the wet sound of all three of us getting exactly what we had come here for.

She rode him until her rhythm broke. I felt it in the way her clit jumped under my tongue and her thighs tried to close around my head, and I stayed with her, licking steady, messy, devoted, while Bruno’s grip on her hips turned bruising and his groans went ragged. Adriana came first, a sharp cry, her pussy clenching around him so hard I could feel the pulse of it against my mouth. She did not stop moving. She ground down and took him through it, gasping my name and his, and Bruno followed with a rough, helpless sound, hips jerking up as he buried himself and came.

I felt him throb against my tongue where I was still licking the base of his shaft. He filled her in thick pulses, a massive load, so much that it started to leak around him before he had even finished, white and hot, slicking my lips where I refused to pull away. Adriana shuddered and laughed once, wrecked and pleased, and held my head there until the last of it spilled.

“Up,” she said, voice hoarse.

She pulled me up by the hair, gentle now, and kissed me. Her lips were soft. Mine were smeared with him and with her, and she licked into the kiss like she wanted every bit of it, tasting what I had been doing between her legs. When she drew back her mouth was shining. She looked at me with that tender, dominant calm that always undid me worse than the filth.

“Down again,” she murmured, and pushed my face back where it belonged. “Clean every drop. His load, my pussy, his cock. All of it. You know how I like it.”

I went willingly. Bruno had softened some but was still heavy against her, slipping free as she lifted just enough to give me room. Cum spilled out of her in a slow, obscene ribbon. I licked it up. I cleaned her folds, her clit, the mess on her thighs, then took Bruno’s softening cock into my mouth and sucked him clean, careful and thorough, tasting the salt of him mixed with her. He watched me do it, one arm around her waist, breathing hard, a lazy grin on his face. Adriana stroked my hair while I worked, tender now, nails light against my scalp.

“Proud of you,” she said quietly. “My devoted cuckold. You were perfect tonight. Look at him. Look at how well you took care of both of us.”

I finished and rested my cheek against her thigh, spent and aching and stupidly happy, my own cock still hard and untouched in my pants. Bruno relaxed into the couch and watched us both, sated, one big hand idly tracing Adriana’s hip. She kept petting my hair. For a minute the room was only breathing and the low tick of the candle.

Then her fingers tightened, thoughtful, already somewhere ahead of the quiet.

“Next Friday,” she said, almost to herself, though she was looking at Bruno when she said it. “I want him on his knees again before you even sit down. And I want Harriet to see it. She has been asking what our nights look like. I think she should watch you suck him while I ride your face afterward. We will text her tomorrow. I am already planning the chair by the window so she does not miss a thing.”

Bruno huffed a laugh, warm and willing. I stayed where I was, cheek to her skin, already hard at the thought of it, already scheming the words I would use when I begged her to make it happen sooner.