Wife's Hung Colleague Fucks Her in Truth or Dare

The living room already smelled like lime and gin by the time Conrad took the armchair across from the couch. Adriana had kicked off her heels the second they walked in, and now she sat beside Mateo in a black dress that had ridden high on her thighs, one bare foot tucked under her. She was twenty-eight, flushed from the walk home, and she kept glancing between her husband and the man she had worked with for three years before she left the firm.

Conrad was thirty-two, broad through the shoulders, easy in his own skin. He rolled his sleeves and accepted the glass Mateo handed him. Mateo, thirty, had changed into a soft gray T-shirt after work. He was the one who suggested a game once the small talk thinned.

“Truth or dare,” he said. “Nothing heavy. Just so we aren’t staring at the wall.”

Adriana laughed. “You two are going to gang up on me.”

“Only if you pick dare every time,” Conrad said. His voice was low and unhurried. Mateo felt something shift under that tone, a curiosity he didn’t bother hiding.

They started lightly. Conrad admitted he still couldn’t cook anything that wasn’t pasta. Adriana dared Mateo to text his mother something sweet, which he did, grinning. Mateo dared Conrad to finish his drink in one swallow. Conrad did, throat working, and set the glass down without a wince. Adriana told a harmless office story about a printer that jammed during a client pitch. The questions stayed soft, the dares sillier than dirty, and yet the air thickened anyway. Conrad’s eyes kept finding the line of Adriana’s collarbone. Mateo noticed, and instead of looking away he leaned back, one arm along the couch behind his wife, watching the way Conrad watched her.

“Your turn,” Adriana told Conrad.

“Truth,” he said.

Mateo’s mouth curved. “Have you ever wanted someone you worked with?”

Conrad didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Adriana’s breath caught, small and bright. Mateo’s fingers brushed her shoulder. The game had been playful a minute ago. Now the three of them sat inside a quieter, hotter silence, glasses sweating on the table, nobody reaching for a refill hard enough to lose the thread.

“Truth,” Adriana said when the bottle pointed her way, and her voice had gone lower.

Mateo didn’t rush it. “Something from before me. Something you never put in a story.”

She looked at Conrad. He gave her the smallest nod, like permission she didn’t need and still wanted. “When I was twenty-four,” she said, “I hooked up with Conrad. At the office. More than once.”

The words landed clean. Mateo’s cock stirred against his thigh. He had known she had a past. He had not known it had a face sitting six feet away, calm as weather.

“How many times?” he asked.

“Four,” Conrad said, before she could soften it. “Maybe five if you count the supply closet that didn’t finish.”

Adriana’s cheeks went deep pink. “It finished. Just not the way we planned.”

“Truth,” Mateo said to her again, skipping his own turn without apology. “Tell me what he was like.”

She wet her lip. “Enormous. I mean it. I’d heard the jokes and thought people were exaggerating. They weren’t. Thick, long, the kind of cock that makes you stop and stare. The first time he pulled it out in the copy room after hours I actually laughed, and then I got on my knees because I wanted it in my mouth more than I’d wanted anything that month.”

Mateo shifted. The front of his pants had gone tight. Conrad watched him notice, and something like respect passed between them.

“Dare,” Conrad said.

Mateo met his eyes. “Show her how hard you are. Over the pants. Let her put her hand on it.”

Adriana didn’t wait to be told twice. She slid off the couch, dress hiking, and crossed the small space on her knees. Conrad spread his thighs. The ridge under his dark pants was obscene, a heavy bar running down his leg, thicker than Mateo’s wrist. She set her palm on it and stroked once, slow, feeling the heat through the cloth. Her mouth opened.

“God,” she whispered. “I forgot how heavy you are.”

“You didn’t forget,” Conrad said. “You just stopped getting to have it.”

Mateo’s voice came out rough. “Do you want him again? Right here. In front of me.”

“Yes.” She looked back at her husband, eyes bright, hand still working that massive shape. “I want him to fuck me while you watch. I’ve wanted to say it since he walked in.”

Conrad’s hand covered hers, pressing her palm harder against him. “And I want to fuck your wife until she can’t keep quiet. If you’re in, Mateo, I’m in.”

“I’m in,” Mateo said. He was already aching, already leaking into his boxers, and the dare had done exactly what the night had been building toward.

Adriana stood only long enough to drag the dress over her head. No bra. Black panties, already damp at the center. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down, stepping out bare, twenty-eight and glowing under the lamp, breasts full, nipples tight, the neat dark hair between her legs trimmed close. She dropped back to her knees between Conrad’s boots and worked his belt with shaking, eager fingers.

When his cock came free it slapped up against his stomach, then settled forward, enormous and flushed, the head broad and shining, veins thick along a shaft that looked almost unreal in her small hands. She wrapped both of them around it and still had inches left. A low sound broke out of her.

“I missed this,” she said, and licked the slit, tasting him, moaning at the salt. “I missed how it fills my mouth. How I have to work for it.”

She took the head between her lips and sank, jaw stretching, eyes watering on the second inch and then the third. Conrad’s hand settled in her hair, not forcing, just guiding, and she pushed anyway, greedy, until the thick crown nudged her throat. She gagged once, pulled back shiny and gasping, then went down again, deeper, humming around him like the size itself was the point. Spit slicked her chin. She stroked what she couldn’t swallow and looked sideways at Mateo while she did it, letting him see her lips strained wide, her throat working.

Mateo had his pants open. His own cock stood in his fist, flushed and eager, nothing like the monster disappearing into his wife’s mouth and still hard enough to hurt. He stroked slowly, unwilling to finish before the show really started.

“Couch,” Conrad said, voice tight. “I want you bent over it.”

Adriana rose, mouth wet, and planted her hands on the back of the sofa, ass tipped up, feet planted wide on the rug. Conrad stood behind her, pants shoved to his thighs, that huge cock bobbing. He dragged the head through her folds, once, twice, coating himself in how soaked she already was.

“Tell him,” he said.

“I want it,” she told Mateo, breathless. “I want him to stretch me. Please fuck me, Conrad. Right in front of my husband.”

He pushed in. The head alone made her cry out, a sharp, delighted sound, and then inch after thick inch spread her open. Mateo watched her pussy cling and yield, pink lips dragged thin around a shaft that looked too big to fit and kept fitting anyway. Conrad seated himself to the hilt with a low groan, hips flush to her ass, and held there while she shook.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he said. “Still take me like you were made for it.”

He drew back and slammed home. The couch jumped. Adriana’s breasts swayed, her fingers white on the cushion, and the next thrust punched a broken moan out of her. He set a hard rhythm, deep and steady, balls slapping her clit, each stroke burying that enormous cock until her stomach seemed to flutter with it. She pushed back to meet him, hair stuck to her neck, talking through it in filthy little bursts.

“Yes—God, yes, deeper—Mateo, look how he fills me—I can’t—it’s so thick—”

Mateo looked. He couldn’t have looked anywhere else. His fist moved faster, slick with his own pre-cum, eyes locked on the place where Conrad disappeared into his wife over and over. The wet sounds filled the room. Conrad reached under her and rubbed her clit in rough circles, and she came the first time with a shocked wail, pussy clamping down so hard Conrad had to grit his teeth and fuck her through it.

“Not done,” he said when she sagged. He pulled out, cock gleaming, and dropped onto the couch, legs spread. “Turn around. I want him to see every inch.”

Adriana climbed on facing away from him, reverse, and reached back to line him up. Mateo had the perfect view: her spread thighs, her swollen pussy, the huge flushed head pressing at her entrance. She sank. Slowly. The shaft vanished inside her bit by bit, stretching her open in plain sight, her lips gripping him, a thin shine of arousal sliding down to his balls. When she was seated she braced her hands on Conrad’s knees and started to ride.

Up, until the thick ridge of his head tugged at her entrance. Down, until she took him to the root and gasped like it knocked the air out of her. Her ass bounced. Her tits swayed. Conrad’s hands spanned her hips and helped her slam down harder, the wet clap of it obscene and perfect. Mateo stroked furiously now, close, holding off by force of will because he wanted the whole thing, every second of his wife split open on another man’s cock while she looked straight at him and smiled like she’d never been happier.

“See it?” she panted. “See how deep he goes? I used to sneak into the stairwell for this. I’d go back to my desk with my panties soaked and pretend I hadn’t just been fucked stupid by him. I want you to watch me take it. I want you to cum watching him stretch me.”

Conrad groaned and thrust up to meet her, the angle meaner, deeper. She cried out, head tipping back onto his shoulder, one hand dropping to rub her clit while she rode. The living room lamp caught every detail: the clutch of her body around that massive shaft, the way her stomach tightened, the raw, hungry look on Conrad’s face as he fucked up into her and didn’t look away from Mateo once.

“I’m close,” Conrad warned, voice shredded. “Where do you want it?”

“On me,” Adriana gasped. “On my tits. My face. I want Mateo to see you cover me.”

She rose off him with a wet sound, turned, and dropped to her knees between his spread thighs, breasts lifted in her hands, mouth open, still trembling from the edge. Conrad stood, fist flying over that enormous cock, and the first thick rope hit her cheek, hot and heavy. The next striped her tongue. Then he was coming in long pulses across her tits, white streaks painting her nipples, her collarbones, her chin, more than Mateo had ever seen one man give. Adriana moaned like the heat of it tipped her over. Her free hand jammed between her legs and she came hard on her own fingers, thighs shaking, crying out his name and then Mateo’s, loud and shameless, while cum slid down the curve of her breast.

Mateo couldn’t hold it. The sight of his wife painted and shaking, kissing Conrad the second he leaned down to meet her, open-mouthed and filthy, ripped the orgasm out of him. He came into his fist in hard spurts, groaning, hips jerking, eyes wide open so he wouldn’t miss a second of their kiss or the mess shining on her skin. It rolled through him longer than he expected, sharp and blinding, until he was gasping and spent and still staring.

Conrad eased back. Adriana wiped a thumb through the cum on her lip and laughed, breathless, glowing. Mateo wiped his hand on a napkin and reached for her, and she came to the couch still naked, still marked, and kissed him too, soft and grateful. The three of them sat in the wreckage of the game, chests heaving, smiling like people who had gotten exactly what they came for.

Mateo’s pulse was still loud in his ears, but his mind was already moving. Next Friday, he thought, watching Conrad’s hand rest easy on Adriana’s bare thigh and feeling his wife lean into both of them. He’d clear the weekend. He’d tell Conrad to pack a bag. One night hadn’t been enough, and he was already planning how to ask for two.