Wife's BBC Bull Breeds Her on Hubby's Throne

I never should have bought the throne.

The moment the delivery men wrestled that massive, ornately carved oak monstrosity through our front door, I felt the shift in power. Seven feet tall, deep crimson velvet cushions, gilded lion heads on the armrests — it looked like something a medieval king would sit on while deciding who lives and who dies. I told Megan it was meant to be a conversation piece for our living room. She just smiled that wicked little smile she’d been wearing more and more lately and said, “Perfect. A king needs a throne.”

That was six months ago. Before Marcus.

Now the throne sits in the exact center of the room like a dark altar, and I’m the one who dusts it every Saturday morning while my wife is usually still leaking another man’s cum from the night before.

I’m on my knees wiping the velvet when Megan walks in wearing nothing but one of my old dress shirts, unbuttoned. At twenty-eight she looks better than the day I married her — fuller tits, wider hips, an ass that jiggles just right when she walks. Her dark hair is messy, lips still puffy from last night’s use. She stops in front of the throne and runs her fingers along the carved wood like she’s petting a lover.

“Marcus wants to breed me on it,” she says casually.

My cloth freezes on the seat cushion. “What?”

“You heard me.” She turns, leans back against the throne, and spreads her legs just enough for me to see the faint bruise marks on her inner thighs. “He’s tired of fucking me in our bed. Says that’s your territory, even if you don’t get to use it anymore. He wants to put a black baby in me right here. On your precious throne. While you watch from the floor like the pathetic little cuck you are.”

My cock tries to harden in its cage. The tiny metal prison she locked me in three months ago bites into my swelling flesh.

“Megan… please.”

“Please what?” She steps forward, plants one bare foot on my shoulder, and pushes me down until I’m sitting on my heels. Then she climbs into my lap, straddling me, grinding her bare, freshly fucked pussy against the front of my pants. I can feel how wet she still is. How open.

“Tell me again how much bigger he is,” she whispers, rolling her hips in slow, filthy circles. “No. Beg me to tell you.”

I swallow hard. “Please… tell me how much better his cock feels than mine.”

Megan laughs softly, the sound dripping with contempt. She reaches between us and flicks the steel bars of my cage through my pants.

“His cock is thicker than my wrist, baby. When he first pushed inside me I thought he was going to split me in half. You remember that little pink thing between your legs? The one that used to make you cum in ninety seconds? Marcus laughs about it. He calls it your ‘clitty.’ Says it belongs in a cage, just like I do.”

She grinds harder, letting her slick folds drag along the metal prison. Her voice drops into that husky tone she only uses when she’s really worked up.

“Every time he bottoms out I feel him in my stomach. He rearranges my insides. And when he cums…” She shivers, eyes fluttering. “God, when that thick black dick pulses, it feels like he’s pumping straight into my womb. I cum so hard my toes curl. You’ve never made me cum like that. Not once in six years.”

My hands shake where they rest on her thighs. I want to touch her. I want to fuck her. I want to cry.

“You’re not allowed to cum today,” she tells me, reading my mind. “Not until he’s finished breeding me. Maybe not even then. Now call him. Tell him to come over tonight. Tell your wife’s bull that the throne is ready for him.”

I do it. With her still grinding on my caged dick, I dial Marcus’s number and put it on speaker.

His deep voice fills the room. “What’s up, little man?”

I hate how small I sound. “Marcus… Megan wants… she says you should come over tonight. To the house. She wants you to… to breed her. On the throne.”

There’s a low chuckle that makes my stomach twist. “That right? Your wife finally ready to get knocked up on your fancy chair while you watch?”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

I close my eyes. Megan’s grinding gets faster, her breath hot against my ear.

“I want you to breed my wife on my throne while I watch from the floor.”

“Good boy. Tell her to wear the red heels. Nothing else. I’ll be there at nine.”

He hangs up.

Megan kisses me then — deep, filthy, possessive. She tastes like another man’s cock. When she pulls back her eyes are bright with cruel excitement.

“Go make the throne nice and clean for my bull’s black ass. I want it spotless before he ruins me on it.”

The hours crawl by in a haze of humiliation and aching need. I polish the wood until it gleams. I vacuum the floor around it. I set up the lighting exactly how Megan wants — bright enough that nothing will be hidden from me.

At nine sharp the doorbell rings.

Marcus doesn’t wait for me to answer. He never does anymore. He just walks in like he owns the place, all six-foot-four of him, broad shoulders stretching his black compression shirt, dreads tied back, that arrogant smirk already in place. His eyes find the throne immediately.

“Damn. That thing really does look like it belongs to a king.” He looks at me. “Too bad it’s about to have a real one sitting in it.”

Megan appears at the top of the stairs wearing nothing but the red stilettos. Her breasts sway as she descends, nipples already hard. The lips of her shaved pussy glisten between her thighs. She walks straight to Marcus, rises on her toes, and kisses him like she’s starving. His big hands immediately grip her ass, spreading her cheeks so I can see everything.

They make out for a long minute while I stand there forgotten. Then Marcus pulls back and points at the floor beside the throne.

“Chair. Now.”

I drop to my knees beside my own throne like a trained dog.

Marcus sits.

The sight of his powerful black body filling that ridiculous antique chair does something visceral to me. He looks like he was born to sit there. A king claiming his seat. He spreads his thighs wide and Megan immediately sinks to her knees between them, eagerly working his belt open.

When his cock springs free, I feel my own shrivel further in its cage. Ten and a half inches of thick, veiny black meat, already leaking precum. The head is fat and glossy. Megan moans like she’s seeing god and immediately starts worshipping it with her tongue, slobbering loudly, making sure I hear every wet sound.

“Look at it, hubby,” she says between long licks up the shaft. “This is what a real man’s cock looks like. This is what breeds wives.”

Marcus leans back like a conqueror, one hand resting on the gilded lion head of the armrest — my armrest. He watches me with lazy contempt while my wife tries to fit as much of his cock down her throat as she can.

After a few minutes he taps her head. “Enough. Get up here. Reverse cowgirl. I want your husband to see every inch going in.”

Megan climbs onto the throne, facing me, her back to Marcus. She plants her red heels on the edge of the seat, thighs spread obscenely wide. Reaching between her legs, she grips that monstrous black cock and rubs the fat head up and down her dripping slit.

“Watch closely, baby,” she purrs. “Watch my married pussy take a superior cock.”

She sinks down.

The stretch is obscene. Her pink lips part around the thick head, then stretch wider and wider as inch after inch of dark shaft disappears inside her. She’s so wet that it makes filthy squelching sounds. When she’s halfway down she has to pause, breathing hard, her belly visibly bulging from the invasion.

“Fuck… he’s so deep already,” she gasps. “I can feel him past my cervix. Your little dick never got anywhere near there, did it?”

She keeps sinking until her ass rests against Marcus’s muscular thighs and every inch is buried. The sight is burned into my brain — my wife completely impaled on another man’s bare cock, sitting on the throne I paid for.

Marcus grips her hips and starts lifting her, then slamming her back down. The throne creaks under the force. Megan’s tits bounce wildly. Her moans get louder, filthier.

“Tell him,” Marcus growls.

Megan locks eyes with me, her face flushed with pleasure.

“His cock is ruining me. I’m never going to feel your pathetic prick again after this. This is the only dick that matters now. This big black bull cock is going to put a baby in me right here on your fucking throne.”

She rides him faster, her juices running down his heavy balls and soaking into the crimson velvet. The wet slapping sounds fill the room. Marcus reaches around and rubs her clit with two thick fingers while he thrusts up into her. Megan screams.

“I’m gonna cum — oh god I’m gonna cum on his cock again!”

Her entire body convulses. I watch her pussy clamp and flutter around his thickness as she squirts, clear fluid spraying out around his shaft and drenching the throne. My throne.

Marcus doesn’t let her rest. He lifts her off his cock with casual strength — the wet pop as he leaves her gaping is humiliating — and spins her around. He bends her over the left armrest, her tits squishing against the carved wood, ass high. Her face is inches from mine. I can see every expression as he lines up and drives back into her from behind in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck!” she wails.

He starts pounding her with deep, breeding strokes. The sound of his heavy balls slapping her clit is rhythmic and merciless. Every thrust pushes her forward so her face gets closer to mine. Her eyes are glassy, lost in pleasure.

“Tell him what’s happening,” Marcus orders, never breaking stride.

Megan’s voice comes out in broken gasps between thrusts.

“He’s… breeding me… on your throne… His cockhead is kissing my cervix… every… fucking… stroke… He’s going to flood me… Give me a black baby… while you watch… from the floor… like a good little… cuckold bitch.”

Marcus grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her head back, arching her spine. The new angle makes her scream louder. The throne rocks with every powerful thrust.

“I’m close,” he grunts.

Megan’s eyes find mine again. They’re wild.

“Do it. Cum in me. Breed your white slut on my husband’s throne. Fill me until it’s dripping out!”

Marcus roars. His thrusts become short, grinding, impossibly deep. I can actually see his heavy balls draw up tight. Then I hear it — the wet, audible spurting sounds as his cock erupts directly against her cervix. Heavy, powerful jets of thick cum blasting straight into her womb. Megan cums again with a guttural scream, her pussy milking him for every drop.

“YES! I’m getting bred! I’m getting fucking bred on my husband’s throne!”

He keeps pumping for almost a full minute, grunting with each fresh spurt until cum is literally forced out around his cock and runs down her thighs in creamy rivers.

Finally he pulls out.

The sight is devastating. Megan’s once-tight pussy is a wrecked, gaping hole, red and swollen, visibly pulsing. A thick waterfall of pearly white cum pours from her stretched opening, splattering onto the velvet seat of my throne.

Marcus stands up, his massive cock still mostly hard and glistening with their combined juices. He steps right in front of me.

“Clean it.”

I don’t even hesitate anymore. I open my mouth and take the head of another man’s cock between my lips. The taste is overwhelming — salty, musky, with the sweet tang of my wife’s pussy. I suck obediently, tongue swirling, cleaning every inch while Megan stays bent over the armrest, hips tilted up high to keep as much of his load inside her as possible.

When Marcus is satisfied he pulls out with a wet pop and slaps my face with his heavy dick.

“Good bitch.”

Megan finally slides off the throne on shaky legs. Cum is still leaking down her thighs. She grabs my face with both hands and kisses me deeply, thrusting her tongue into my mouth so I can taste Marcus on her too. When she pulls back she’s smiling like a woman who’s just had her life changed.

She leans in close, lips brushing my ear, and whispers the last filthy promise that seals our new future.

“This is only the beginning, cuck. Next month he’s moving in. And your throne is going to be our breeding bench from now on.”