Wife Convinces Husband to Fuck a Smooth Femboy

Gabriela had been talking about it for months, and tonight the talk had a body attached to it. She was thirty-two, long dark hair loose down her back, a silk robe hanging open over nothing, and she had set the living room the way she set a table when she wanted company to stay: low lamps, the big couch cleared, a towel folded on the arm of the chair she meant to use. Magnus sat on the edge of that couch in his undershirt and gray sweatpants, thirty-four and broad through the shoulders, watching the hallway the way a man watches a door he has already unlocked and is not sure he wants to walk through.

Dante came in from the guest bathroom barefoot, twenty-two and already out of his clothes. He was slender in a way that read more like a dancer than a boy, narrow waist, smooth chest, hips that tipped when he walked. Gabriela had asked him to shave, and he had done it properly. No stubble on his jaw, none under his arms, none along his thighs or around the soft little cock that hung between them, pink and small against a body that looked polished. He had left a faint shine of oil on his skin. He smiled at both of them like he had been invited to a dinner he already knew he would enjoy.

“You look exactly the way she described,” Magnus said. His voice came out lower than he meant.

“She described you, too,” Dante said. He sat on the far cushion, knees together, polite in a way that somehow made the nakedness sharper. “Said you were hesitant. Said I shouldn’t take it personal.”

Gabriela perched on the chair and crossed her legs, robe sliding off one knee. “I didn’t bring him here to ambush you. I brought him here because I have spent every night for three months telling you what I want to see, and you keep getting hard and then saying maybe. Tonight I’m asking you straight. Let him ride you. Let me watch that little cock flop while he does it.”

Magnus rubbed his palm over his mouth. He looked at Dante’s mouth, then at the clean line of his stomach, then away. “I’ve never fucked a guy.”

“You don’t have to pretend he’s one,” Gabriela said. “Look at him. Smooth. Pretty. Tight. I want his shaved body on your cock and I want to sit right here and see every bounce. That’s the ask. Yes or no, but I need you to hear it without me dressing it up.”

Dante tipped his head. “I’m not here to talk you into anything you don’t want. I’m here because the picture she painted sounded filthy in the best way, and I like being watched. If you say no, I’ll put my pants on and we’ll drink the wine she opened. No hard feelings.”

The room held still. Magnus’s sweatpants had already gone tight at the front, and all three of them could see it. Gabriela did not smile yet. She waited, one hand resting on her own thigh, the other on the arm of the chair, as if the night still had a door in it and only her husband could open it.

Gabriela leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and let the robe fall completely open so Magnus had her body in the same frame as Dante’s. “You want the picture? Fine. I’ll paint it until you stop pretending you don’t.”

She spoke slowly, the way she did when she wanted a sentence to land in his lap. “He climbs on. Those narrow hips settle over you. No hair anywhere, Magnus. I made sure. Chest, stomach, the little crease under his cock, the soft skin around his hole. When he sinks down on that thick cock of yours, you’re going to feel nothing but slick heat and the twitch of a pretty thing who’s been practicing on a toy all week so he could take you.”

Dante’s cheeks colored, but he didn’t look away. “She’s not exaggerating. I stretched myself in the shower. I’m ready if you are.”

“And I sit right here,” Gabriela went on, voice dropping. “I watch his shaved body grind. I watch that tiny dick swing. It won’t even get fully hard the way yours does. It’ll stay small and pink and it’ll slap his flat belly every time he bounces. Left, right, up against his stomach, then flopping down onto your abs when he grinds. I want to hear it. I want to see the little thing flop around while your cock stretches him open and his smooth thighs shake.”

Magnus’s hand had drifted to the front of his sweatpants. He wasn’t stroking yet. He was gripping, like he could hold the idea still if he held himself. “Jesus, Gabriela.”

“Don’t Jesus me. Tell me it doesn’t get you hard.” She nodded at Dante. “Show him. Stand up. Turn. Let him see what he’d be fucking.”

Dante rose without hurry. He turned, showing the long line of his back, the dip above his ass, the hairless cleft. He looked over his shoulder at Magnus and reached back, spreading himself just enough that the oil caught the lamp. “I’d ride slow at first,” he said, almost gentle. “Then faster, if you wanted. You can hold my hips. You can fuck up into me. I like being used while somebody watches. Especially if she’s the one telling me how pathetic my little cock looks bouncing.”

Gabriela’s fingers slipped between her own legs, unashamed. “There. That’s the part that wrecks me. Your thick cock buried in a smooth twenty-two-year-old femboy, his tiny dick slapping around like it doesn’t even belong in the scene, and me getting off on every wet sound. You don’t have to call it anything. You just have to admit your cock already voted.”

Magnus exhaled through his teeth. The grip on himself loosened, then tightened again. He looked at Dante’s offered ass, at the clean skin, at Gabriela’s wet fingers, and something in his face gave. “It turns me on,” he said, rough. “I didn’t want it to. But it does. The flopping. The way you talk about it. Him wanting it.” He dragged the sweatpants down and his cock sprang up, thick, flushed, already wet at the tip. “All right. Come here. If you still want it, Dante, get on me. She gets to watch. That’s the deal, and I’m in.”

Dante’s smile went bright and filthy at once. “I’m in.”

Gabriela’s breath left her in a shaky laugh. “Then take the shirt off, husband. Lie back. I want nothing between me and the view.”

Magnus yanked the undershirt over his head and stretched out on the couch, cock standing rigid against his stomach. Dante climbed over him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of those solid hips, one hand braced on Magnus’s chest. Gabriela dragged her chair closer until her knees nearly touched the couch, robe open, eyes fixed on the place where their bodies were about to meet.

“Slow,” she said. “I want to see him open.”

Dante reached back, lined Magnus’s cock up, and sank. The head pushed, met resistance, then slid in on a slick sound that made Gabriela’s mouth fall open. Dante’s lips parted. His stomach tightened. Inch by inch he took it, smooth thighs trembling, until his hairless ass sat flush against Magnus’s groin and that thick cock was buried to the root.

“Fuck,” Magnus groaned. His hands hovered, then settled on Dante’s waist. “You’re tight.”

“Told you,” Dante breathed. He rolled his hips once, testing, and his soft little cock swayed with the motion, brushing Magnus’s lower stomach. “God, you’re big.”

Gabriela leaned in so close she could smell the oil and the heat. “Look at that. Look at it hanging there. Bounce, baby. I didn’t invite you over to sit still.”

Dante rose. Magnus’s cock dragged out, shining, then Dante dropped and took it again. The first real bounce made his small cock flip up and smack lightly against his flat belly. He did it again, harder, and the little thing swung, slapped, flopped back down. Gabriela made a sound that was almost a moan and almost a laugh.

“There,” she said. “There it is. That pathetic little dick flopping while you take my husband’s cock. Don’t you dare cover it. I want every slap.”

Dante rode. His body was all smooth lines and controlled muscle, oiled skin catching the lamp each time he lifted and came down. His cock stayed small, flushed pink, swinging in a messy arc: up against his stomach, sideways across his shaved pubic mound, then a wet little smack when he ground down and it landed on Magnus’s abs. The sound was obscene and delicate at once. Gabriela couldn’t look away from it.

Magnus’s hesitation had burned off. His fingers dug into Dante’s narrow hips, guiding the rhythm, then taking it. He planted his feet and thrust upward, meeting Dante on the downstroke so the femboy jolted and gasped. Each upward fuck made that tiny cock leap and flop harder.

“Yeah,” Gabriela urged, two fingers working her own clit in tight circles. “Fuck him. Use those hips. I want to hear that little cock slap. Harder, Dante. Bounce like you mean it. Let it flop all over him.”

Dante’s head tipped back. His chest was bare and gleaming, nipples tight, stomach flat and hairless, and every thrust made his small cock dance. It swung left and struck his inner thigh. It swung right and painted a thin streak of precum across Magnus’s stomach. It flopped up and down with no dignity at all, exactly the way Gabriela had begged to see, a soft pink weight that couldn’t keep up with the pace of the thick cock splitting him open.

“You like watching it?” Dante asked her, voice breaking as Magnus drove up into him. “My useless little dick bouncing while he wrecks me?”

“I love it,” she said, filthy and sure. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Shaved clean, hole stretched around my husband’s cock, and that tiny thing flopping like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. Ride him. Don’t stop. Magnus, grip him tighter. Fuck up. I want to see his belly jump.”

Magnus did. He hauled Dante down and punched his hips up, again and again, the couch creaking under them. Dante’s smooth thighs shook. His ass clapped softly against Magnus’s groin. Sweat and oil mixed until his whole body glistened, collarbones, ribs, the tender skin where his cock met his body. Gabriela watched the small cock slap his flat belly on a particularly deep thrust and had to bite her lip to keep from coming too soon.

“Right there,” Dante gasped. “Fuck, right there, you’re hitting it—”

“Prostate,” Gabriela said, delighted and mean. “Milk him with your cock, Magnus. I want that little thing to spurt while it flops. Don’t let him hide it. Dante, hands on his chest. No touching yourself. You come from being ridden open or you don’t come.”

Dante obeyed, palms flat on Magnus’s pecs, back arched, riding harder. His small cock swung wildly now, a blur of pink that smacked his stomach, smacked Magnus, left shiny strings between them. Gabriela slid off the chair onto her knees beside the couch so she could see it from the side, every flop, every bounce of that shaved body, every inch of thick cock disappearing into a hairless hole.

“God, look at you both,” she breathed. “My big husband buried in a pretty smooth femboy, and that tiny cock just flopping around like a toy. You’re perfect. Both of you. Don’t you dare finish until I say I saw enough. I haven’t. Bounce. Slap it. Let me hear it.”

Magnus’s grip bruised Dante’s hips in the best way. He fucked upward in short, brutal strokes, eyes locked on the place they joined and then on the little cock dancing above his stomach. “I’m close,” he warned, voice shredded. “He’s so fucking tight. Gabriela—”

“Fill him,” she commanded. “But make him come first if you can. I want that small load on your abs while his cock is still flopping. Dante, grind. Right on it. Let him milk you.”

Dante sobbed out a yes and bore down, rolling, bouncing, his smooth body a slick machine built for the view she had asked for. The little cock whipped and slapped, and then it jerked, still small, still soft-hard, and spilled. Thin pulses of come striped Magnus’s abs and Dante’s own shaking stomach, dripping off the flopping length as he kept riding through it, unable to stop, prostate wrung out by every upward thrust.

The sight undid Magnus. He slammed up, held Dante down on his cock, and came with a rough shout, pumping deep, filling that tight ass in heavy throbs Gabriela could almost see in the way Dante’s belly fluttered and his spent little cock gave one last weak flop against the mess.

They shuddered together. Dante folded forward, forehead against Magnus’s shoulder, still seated, still full, breathing like he’d run. Gabriela climbed onto the couch beside them, robe forgotten, and kissed Magnus first, deep and grateful, tasting the groan still in his mouth. Then she turned and kissed Dante, slower, licking the corner of his lips, one hand sliding over his sweaty, hairless back.

“That,” she said against his mouth, “was exactly what I wanted. That tiny cock flopping all over him while he stretched you. I could watch it every night.”

Magnus’s hand found her thigh, sticky and warm. Dante laughed, breathless, and stayed where he was, Magnus’s cock softening inside him. The three of them were a tangle of oil, come, and spent muscle, the room smelling like sex and the wine nobody had poured.

Gabriela kissed them each again, unhurried now, and rested her cheek against Dante’s smooth shoulder while her fingers traced the mess on Magnus’s stomach. “You were perfect,” she told them both. “The way it swung. The way it slapped. I didn’t know it would look that filthy and I already need it again.”

Dante hummed, pleased and wrecked. Magnus stroked her hair with the hand that wasn’t still curled around a narrow hip.

She lifted her head, eyes bright, and looked from one man to the other. “So,” she said, voice low and already hungry again, “when can I watch that little cock flop on him next?”