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Hotwife Fantasies 3 - A Bull's Bull

Rating: 6
Don Jetman

Member

Posts: 3119
#1 · Edited by: Don Jetman 
 
Hotwife Fantasies 3 - A Bull's Bull

by Don Jetman


My wife chose him because he's a Bull's Bull. I always knew that. Heavily muscled, six-foot-six, smart as a whip, and quick on his feet. How could I ever expect her not to like him? And then there's this - her first impossibly huge cock as a bonus. I've always feared him a little, and he knows it. But it doesn't keep me from submitting whenever he wants. I tell myself it's just to keep her happy, but there's something more. Giving in to a powerful man who wants my wife. A little angsty, but a lot of heat there too. Giving her up to him, helplessly. Watching her cum face when he fucks her in way I never will. I know she loves all that too - that for an hour or two, he's the better man. The better cock. The better wife fucker.

It's one of those nights. A few d r i n k s with him at his place, talk about how he's sure I fail my wife in bed, my wife's quiet smile to rub that in. Then a retreat to a darkened room. Two small spotlights in the ceiling, each above an empty chair. Mine is unpadded wood, hard and unforgiving to flesh, with leather straps at the wrists and ankles. He makes me strip first, then fastens me in. I'm naked, completely helpless, ten feet away from where they stand together, free and complicit. He's hard and formidably huge, and my wife's sex is drenched, I'm sure. I'll know soon.

He strips her slowly, too slowly. Eyeing every inch of the tender flesh he exposes. A ritual of sorts. Making me watch. Making me want her. Crushing me bit by bit as the clothes fall from the body I know so well. Weighing me down with an urgent need to rescue her from this giant, but knowing she'd hate being rescued. It's begun. He's taking her mind and body from me, distilling her need into focused desire for him alone. And in those moments, during a split-second known only to her - marriage, husband, fidelity, friends, her very every-day existence, is discarded and forgotten as though dropped into the depths of a dark, guiltless well of lust.

He sucks her nipples till they pout, then redden with angry impatience. And yet he continues until she cries out, unable to bear his teeth and lips on the sensitive meat atop her firm little breasts. She begs, and he finally pauses.

"Look at him. So weak, yet with his fledgling little dick swollen at the sight of your v i o l a t i o n. Could he possibly be your husband? Is He? Tell me!"

She's too far gone already. Too deeply in the game. Too hungry for him.

"He's not. Not my husband. Not here. Not now," she answers. I can tell she means it. In his hands there is no other answer she can give. And his hands are on her - everywhere.

On his knees now, part of the ritual, easing the wisp of lace panties over her hips. They're nearly transparent, bought, I'm sure, for him, for this night. What would she have told me if I had seen them before tonight? That she wanted him to see all of her? That she wanted to assure him her pouting labia and hard little clit were his for the taking? That she needed to know nothing could resist the battering of his thick cock when he decided to impale her?

He bares her pussy, then rips the panties from her hips in one effortless gesture. She's naked now, so delicate and exposed. But she's wet there between her legs, a glistening pearl of moisture running the length of her slit, then caught in an instant by her silky inner thigh. He touches her there with the tip of his finger, pressing lightly on the rubbery head of her clit. She gasps, and he chuckles.

"Eager little slut. You belong to me now."

She answers breathlessly, without hesitation. "I'm yours."

He walks her to the second seat, a high-backed rattan peacock chair with a thick, ruby cushion. She sinks into it, white flesh blazing under the overhead light. He raises her feet onto a matching footstool, knees splayed, crimson cunt obscenely swollen and open. More ritual, I think. Showing me what he does to her. Taunting me with his victory, his newly conquered slut-wife. The wife he has taken from me.

The door opens. A quick sliver of light, then someone approaching. A young boy, eighteen or twenty, naked and erect. He's an Adonis. Golden hair, a lean, cut, athlete's body. His cock pulses as he enters the circle of light where she sits. It juts upward as if it's never been flaccid. Like the rest of the boy, it's slim and long, impossibly long, I think, to completely enter her. She gazes up at him in wonder, letting her eyes roam greedily over his body.

"The little slut craves what her husband can't give her," he tells the boy.

Now she knows her fate. Her eyes widen. Her knees part as far as she can manage, feet still ankle-to-ankle on the stool. She's both a queen and a sacrifice. Or maybe an offering to a rutting god.

He pulls aside the stool and slides into her without a word. I watch inch after inch of boy-cock disappear inside her. It's the look of wonder that never leaves her face that gets to me. She winces, finally, and I'm sure he's reached her limit. He pauses, then eases forward, more slowly, but his grin is more knowing, more arrogant. And she lets him in. Welcomes him, I think. Because her grin is the same as his.

It's clear he's deeper than I've ever been or known. It's not our Dom's girth she's proud of now, it's her capacity, a depth she never knew existed. A depth no one had ever tested. I can see her whisper to him as he sinks his final inch into her belly. Her words are never recognizable, never loud or distinct enough to hear. I imagine everything. Things too terrible, and things that would make me come if her sweet voice delivered them to me. She holds his face in her hands as he takes her, slowly at first, then more roughly as she pulls his mouth to hers and kisses him.

She shivers when she cums, little tremors at first, then an avalanche of spasms and moans as her hips thrust violently upward to meet his plunging cock. Her mouth stays locked on his through her cum, her hands clutching his head and neck as though losing him might diminish the orgasm that wracks her delicious body. She concedes everything until it's over, but still stares into his blue eyes as he works. I see her hands move to his cock, clutching the root in her fist as it pistons in and out of her. He's over the edge in an instant and spews into her, groaning, thrusting, delivering his semen more deeply inside her, I imagine, than anyone ever has.

The boy pauses where I sit when he leaves, hands on his hips, his flaccid cock still longer than mine even when erect. It's swaying a little, drenched with her juices, still a weapon he brandishes, one used to boast that "I've made your slut-wife crave this cock, and I've made her cum for me." But instead, he's quiet, staring at me, reveling in my angst. He knows I'll never unsee it and never forget my wife impaled on his cock, whispering for more, abandoning her husband for those few minutes that it took to make her his.

She's recovering now. Panting. Head dropped to the side and eyes closed. She doesn't bother to close her legs, and his cum seeps from her gaping slit. The message is even more powerful than his. What more could a man do to her? She's so completely used, almost destroyed, I think. It's practically an accusation. "Why can't you do this to me?" But there's beauty too. Her flawless body in the blue-white light. The flush on her face, the satisfied smile. The little pillow of belly that sucks in and out, once so full of cock, now soft and smooth and empty. I'd give anything to know her thoughts in those moments. But I know I never will, except the teasing bits she remembers and decides to share. But there are things held too close for her to confess. Things she can't bring herself to say out loud. Would they make me hard, or wound me like a knife in the heart? Only she knows. Only she will ever know.

My thoughts move to our home, our bed, where I'll get to have her soon. She'll be all luscious body and true passion there. Teasing smiles, wearing her infidelity in the way she knows I love. "Fuck me while I tell you about him." Chasing away the angst. Needing my cock. Very soon. So close.

My mistake.

Her Dom takes her hand and helps her to her feet. They stand close to me, where my circle of light b l e e d s into darkness. She's on her knees facing me, hand on his immense thigh, staring, at me. How can her lust return so quickly, I wonder. But that's what he does. A Bull's Bull. A Master like no other she's ever had. The light throws shadows between the slabs of muscle over his chest and belly - deep crevices that separate striated bands of flesh that burst into the light. It's not fear, but envy I feel now. But also my "beta-ness", the abdication of my rights as husband, the surrender of my wife's sexual needs to this giant.

He turns to her and she looks up, adoring him, wanting the thick cock that now grows to a formidable size and weight. The thing's inhuman, I think. A monstrous stalk of throbbing meat, pulsing veins, capped with a flared head that drives her mad when he's inside her. That I'm still hard makes it worse. I see her comparing us. I wonder why she'd ever want mine again. "Average" becomes "insignificant" in his presence. But it's why he can take her so easily, and that keeps me harder than ever. The erotic dissonance is a mystery to me.

"Thank me for your new playmate," he tells her. She uses two hands on him. Cradles his balls and guides the tip into her waiting mouth. She struggles to take him. His girth stretches her jaw, and she concentrates on the head, sucking and licking like it's candy. Wife candy. His hips cant forward, thrusting a little, and her hand grasps the root for control. Her hand seems so small clutching it, a needy waif's hand servicing a monster's cock. Then she's greedy, pulling at him, sucking and slurping as she cups his balls and tugs at them. It goes on, and on, and on. She's so wanton, so obsessed with satisfying him at any cost, guiltless in front of her husband. I feel the loss for a few seconds, and almost look away. He's won. She is the slut he's vowed to make her. His slut. But I know it will pass, and it does. I know what her mouth does to a man's cock, and once again I'm proud of her beauty and talents.

He groans, thrusts, and she d r i n k s. A trickle escapes the corner of her mouth, and a gleaming trail, sticky and pearlescent, flows over her chin and onto her breast. It's so astonishing I almost miss her quiet little moans. His cock muffles them, but they're present. A declaration. Whether intentional or not, unmistakable evidence that she welcomes consuming her thick, salty, sperm-filled prize. Evidence that obeying him, pleasing him, is everything to her.

It's a quiet ride home. Glancing at her beside me, I'm consumed with thoughts of how she holds the cum of two men inside her, even as we travel the last few miles. How her Dom gave her body to a young stranger, and she eagerly let him take her. And her words in those moments of unguarded lust, that I'm not her husband there. Not when he's there. But she knows I need time to decompress, and just smiles at me, satisfied and content. When she smiles, I look carefully at the corner of her mouth where the giant's cum overflowed, and I get hard knowing that now she's my little slut once more. Until she gives herself to her giant again when her hunger for him demands another feeding.
Rating: 6, 2 votes.
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Hotwife Fantasies 3 - A Bull's Bull
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