Her Husband's Forbidden Archive

Chapter 1

My laptop was in for repairs. A spilled coffee, the usual chaos of a Thursday morning. Dean’s desktop, a hulking black tower in his home office, was my only option to finish the quarterly report. He’d left for his weekend golf trip an hour ago, the house echoing with a silence that felt different, expectant.

The report was mind-numbing. My fingers itched for a distraction. On a whim, I navigated away from the spreadsheets. A folder on his desktop, innocuously labeled “Tax Docs – Old,” caught my eye. Odd. Dean was meticulous, and this was sloppy. A double-click.

It wasn’t tax documents.

It was stories. Hundreds of them. The filenames alone sent a jolt straight to my core: *Chloe_and_the_Plumber.docx. Blacked_At_The_Office. Chloe_Takes_Two. cucks_cleanup.draft.*

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden quiet. I opened one at random. The prose was crude, pornographic, and utterly, devastatingly specific. It described *me*—my short brown hair, my dark skin, the tattoos curling over my hip, the ass he always claimed was too much for him to handle. It described my body being taken, filled, stretched, and claimed by men who weren't him. Men with "thick, veined monsters" and "relentless, punishing hips." Men who made me scream in ways he never could.

And it described *him*. Dean. My muscular, bald, devoted husband. Portrayed as a sniveling, small-dicked spectator. Forced to watch from a corner. Ordered to clean their mingled spend from my well-used, dripping pussy with his tongue. Denied any release of his own. The details were graphic, humiliating, and soaked in a longing so profound it vibrated off the screen.

I read another. And another. A kaleidoscope of my own degradation, authored by the man who slept beside me. Each story was a variation on a theme: my betrayal, his helpless arousal, my ultimate transformation into a vessel for other men’s pleasure. The "cuckold cleanup" was a constant, filthy refrain.

A slow, simmering heat began to uncoil deep in my belly, spreading outwards until my skin felt too tight. This wasn't anger. This was recognition. It was a key turning in a lock I hadn't known was sealed shut.

I leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under me. My gaze drifted to the window, but I didn't see the lawn. I saw possibilities. Glorious, filthy, endless possibilities. He’d written the blueprint for his own fantasy. He’d painted the picture of the woman I could be—a demanding, insatiable queen holding the leash of her willing, pathetic cuck.

A slow smile touched my lips. He wanted a fantasy? I would give him a reality. But on my terms. Starting from a place of total, anonymous control. A place where he could watch, but not interfere. A place where the only thing bigger than the stranger’s cock would be my husband’s humiliation.

I picked up my phone. My fingers flew over the screen, a message to Dean that was all sweet concern on the surface, and pure, molten command beneath.

**“Found your stories, baby. Don’t bother coming home early from your trip. We have a lot to discuss when you get back. And pack your kneepads.”**

I hit send. The heat between my legs was a demanding, throbbing pulse. The report was forgotten. The only spreadsheet that mattered now was the one I’d start drafting in my head: a list of glory holes I needed to find.

---

Chapter 2

“Get in here,” my voice was a low command that echoed in our quiet bedroom. Dean stood in the doorway, his golf bag still slung over his shoulder, his face a mask of pale dread. I was seated on the edge of our bed, the sleek black chastity cage resting on the duvet beside me like a promise.

“Chloe, I can explain—”

“Strip,” I cut him off. “Everything. Now.”

His hands trembled as he obeyed, dropping the bag, peeling off his polo shirt, stepping out of his shorts and boxers. His muscular frame, usually so confident, seemed to shrink. And there it was, his small, soft cock nestled in a thatch of shaved hair. The object of his deepest shame, the star of every pathetic story.

“On your knees. Crawl to me.”

He did, the hardwood floor cool against his skin. I picked up the cage, the cold metal clicking in my hands. “This is for your own good,” I purred, leaning forward to fit the ring around his pathetic balls, then guiding his little dick into the tube. The click of the tiny lock was the loudest sound in the world. “My little cuck can’t be getting any ideas. This pussy,” I said, running a hand over my smooth mound through my shorts, “isn’t for you anymore.”

I stood up, towering over his kneeling form. “Watch.” I turned my back to him, slowly pulling down my shorts and thong. I bent over, placing my hands on the bed, spreading my legs and presenting my full, tattooed ass and my completely bare pussy to his face. “See what you’ll never have again?”

“Chloe, please…” he whimpered.

“Shut up,” I snapped, looking back at him over my shoulder. “You wrote the script, baby. Now you get to watch the live production. Tomorrow, I’m going to a glory hole. I’m going to back this ass up against a wall and let a complete stranger shove his big, anonymous cock into my married pussy. He’s going to fuck me raw. He’s going to stretch me wide and pump me so full of his cum I’ll feel it leaking down my thighs.”

I reached a hand back, spreading my lips wide for him to see everything. “And when I come home, dripping his load, you’re going to be right here, on your knees. You’re going to lick my pussy clean. You’re going to taste every last drop of another man’s seed from inside my well-fucked hole. That’s your only purpose now. To clean up the mess that real men make.”

A low, strangled moan escaped him. I saw his caged dick twitch pathetically against the metal. Humiliation and arousal radiated from him in equal, delicious measure.

“Do you understand your role, Dean?” I asked, my voice dripping with condescension as I stayed bent over, my glistening slit on full display for his tormented gaze.

“Yes,” he breathed, his eyes glued to me.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes… Mistress.”

---

Chapter 3

The air in our bedroom was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of my arousal. Dean knelt where I’d left him, his caged dick a sad, locked lump against his thigh, his eyes wide and terrified.

“You think you know what I felt?” I taunted, walking to the dresser. I pulled out the drawer where I kept my secret toys, my fingers closing around the silicone behemoth I’d bought online. It was veined, intimidatingly thick, and a deep, flesh-toned black. “You wrote about it. But you have no idea.”

I turned, holding the dildo up so he could see every obscene detail in the lamplight. “This is nothing compared to him,” I said, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “That anonymous cock at the glory hole… it was so much bigger. It stretched me so wide I saw stars, Dean. It split me open and owned me.”

I climbed onto the bed, planting my feet wide on the mattress. “On your knees. Closer. You don’t get to look away.”

He scrambled forward, his gaze fixated on my smooth, bare pussy as I spread my lips with my fingers, already glistening. “Watch your wife,” I commanded. I brought the thick head of the dildo to my entrance, pressing against my tightness. A low groan escaped me. “Watch what a real man’s cock does to me.”

I pushed, and the massive intrusion began. My head fell back. “Oh, fuck… see that? You’ll never, ever feel this stretch.” I worked it deeper, my body accepting the girth with a practiced, hungry ease. “That stranger… he didn’t ask. He just took. He slammed this big, beautiful dick into my married pussy and told me I was his little slut.” I began to fuck myself with it, long, slow strokes that made my breath hitch. “And I was. I was his slut. I came screaming around his shaft, Dean. Something I’ve never done for you.”

His breath was ragged, a pathetic panting. A thin line of pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cage.

“I’m going to go back,” I moaned, pumping the dildo harder, the sound wet and obscene. “I’m going to let him, or someone else, fill me with real, hot cum. I want to feel it flood me. I want to walk home with it dripping down my legs.”

With a final, deep shove, I buried the toy to the hilt and let out a sharp cry, my body convulsing in a mock climax of pure need. I held it there, stretched and full, for a long moment before slowly pulling it out.

Then I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my soaked pussy hovering inches from his face. “Clean it. Lick your mistress clean. Taste the plastic substitute and imagine the real thing.”

He lunged forward, his tongue desperate and worshipful, lapping at my swollen lips, diving deep into my hole to collect every synthetic trace of my pleasure.

“That’s it,” I moaned, grinding against his face. “Lick it all up, you pathetic cuck. But it’s not enough, is it? You want to taste the real thing. You need it.” I tangled my hands in his hair, forcing him deeper. “And soon, you will. I’m going to get properly bred by a real man, and you’re going to drink every last drop from my filthy, stretched-out pussy. That’s your climax. That’s your only release.”

I came then, for real, shuddering against his mouth, my moans echoing around the room as I pictured the anonymous cock that started it all, and the countless others waiting in the wings.

---

Chapter 4

The preparations were clinical. I rented the private room at The Red Door Lounge, a place that catered to… specific tastes. The one-way mirror was already installed, a sheet of perfect, impersonal glass separating the plush, dimly lit playroom from a small, dark viewing closet. I’d given the manager two photos: one of me, and one of the kind of men I wanted. He’d smiled and said, “Understood.”

Now, I stood behind the mirror, my hand on Dean’s trembling shoulder. He was naked except for the polished steel chastity cage, which gleamed dully in the closet’s darkness. His eyes were wide, fixed on the empty room on the other side of the glass.

“This is your front-row seat, cuck,” I whispered, my lips brushing his ear. “You get to watch, but you don’t get to touch. You don’t get to speak. You just get to feel that pathetic little worm of yours struggle in its cage while real men do what you never could.”

The door to the playroom opened. Two men entered. They were exactly what I’d asked for: towering, muscular, and moving with a predatory confidence. They were strangers, masks of focused intent. And the bulges in their jeans were not subtle.

“Look at them, Dean,” I hissed, my own pulse hammering with anticipation. “Look at the size of them. That’s what’s going to be splitting your wife open in about two minutes.”

I left him there, a statue of dread and arousal. I walked through the connecting door, into the warm light of the playroom. I was already naked, my skin oiled, my tattoos shimmering. I didn’t look at the mirror. I looked at the two men.

“You know what to do,” I said, my voice steady and commanding.

Without a word, they stripped. My breath caught. Their cocks were monstrous, thick-veined and heavy, already hard and eager. One was a deep brown, the other a pale, veined ivory. They were the living, breathing incarnations of every fantasy Dean had ever typed.

I turned my back, getting on my hands and knees on the large, padded bench, presenting my big, tattooed ass and my smooth, shaved pussy to them. I spread my knees wide. “Take your turns. Stretch me. Fill me. I want to feel both of you.”

The first man, the one with the dark cock, knelt behind me. I felt the broad, hot crown nudge against my entrance. He didn’t ask. He pushed.

“OH, FUCK!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls, meant for the ears behind the glass. “YES! THAT’S IT! BREAK ME OPEN!”

He drove in, a single, brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt. I felt my inner walls strain around a girth I’d never known. He started to pound, each thrust jolting me forward, his balls slapping my clit.

I turned my head towards the mirror, my face a mask of ecstatic agony. “YOU SEEING THIS, Dean? YOU SEEING HOW DEEP A REAL MAN GETS? HE’S IN MY FUCKING GUT!”

After a minute of his punishing rhythm, he pulled out, my pussy gaping and dripping. The second man was immediately there, his pale, thick cock replacing the first. The stretch was different, overwhelming, a fresh invasion. He fucked me with a slower, more grinding intensity, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.

“ANOTHER ONE! ANOTHER HUGE COCK FOR YOUR WIFE, YOU PATHETIC CUCK!” I shrieked, my body bouncing between his thrusts. “I’M A TWO-MAN SLUT NOW! YOUR LITTLE DICK COULD NEVER, EVER FILL THIS SPACE!”

They swapped again, and again, a relentless rotation of thick, hard flesh wrecking my married hole. The pleasure was a tidal wave, crushing and sublime. I was their shared toy, my pussy a well-used, sloppy mess.

I could feel my climax coiling, tighter and tighter, fed by their size and their force and the knowledge of who was watching.

“HE’S… HE’S GOING TO CUM!” I yelled as the first man’s thrusts turned ragged and urgent. “HE’S GOING TO PUMP HIS LOAD DEEP IN MY CUCKOLD PUSSY! DO IT! FILL YOUR SLUT!”

With a guttural roar, he slammed home and held. I felt the hot, pulsing jet of his release flood my deepest parts, a scalding claim. He pulled out, and a river of his cum leaked down my thigh.

The second man didn’t wait. He sheathed himself in my sperm-slicked hole and resumed fucking, his own orgasm building fast. “YES! THE OTHER ONE TOO! FILL ME WITH YOUR FRIEND’S CUM STILL INSIDE ME!” I begged, and seconds later, a second, powerful surge of hot seed joined the first, overfilling me, stretching my walls with its volume.

Both men stepped back, their work done. I remained on my hands and knees, utterly wrecked, their combined loads already dripping in thick, creamy ropes onto the bench below me.

I looked straight into the mirror, into the darkness where I knew Dean’s shattered eyes were glued.

“Now, cuck,” I panted, my voice raw. “You see that pathetic, caged little nub between your legs? I want you to touch it. I want you to jerk it. Try to get off while you watch your wife’s ruined, overflowing pussy. Try to cum in your cage while you look at the mess real men made of me.”

Behind the glass, a strangled sob broke the silence. I saw the faint movement of his arm, the pathetic, shameful jerk of his hand on his locked, tiny penis. His humiliation was complete, a tangible force in the room.

I smiled, a queen surveying her spoils. “Good boy. Now stay there. I’ll be in soon. You have a big, wet cleanup waiting for you.”

---

Chapter 5

The double penetration was over, but the room still vibrated with the raw energy of what had just happened. The two anonymous men had zipped up and left without a word, leaving me on my hands and knees on the padded bench, utterly wrecked and overflowing.

I was a mess in the most beautiful way. Their combined loads—thick, hot, and copious—were already leaking from my gaping, well-used hole, dripping in heavy, creamy ropes down my inner thighs and onto the leather below. The air was thick with the smell of sex and sweat and conquest.

I pushed myself up, my legs trembling. I didn’t bother to wipe myself. I turned and walked slowly toward the one-way mirror, my bare feet silent on the floor. I stopped inches from the glass, knowing he was there in the dark, his caged dick straining pathetically against its steel prison. I spread my legs wide, offering him a full, obscene view of the aftermath.

“Look at it, Dean,” I said, my voice hoarse from screaming. “Look at what they did to your wife’s pussy. It’s ruined for you. Forever.”

I saw a shadow move behind the glass. A choked sob.

I turned and walked to the connecting door, pushing it open. The viewing closet was dark and smelled of his fear and pathetic arousal. He was exactly where I’d left him, kneeling, his hand frozen mid-stroke on his caged little nub. His face was streaked with tears.

“On your feet, cuck,” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Follow me.”

He scrambled up, his movements jerky with shame. I led him back into the playroom, the scene of my defilement. I pointed to the floor directly in front of the bench, where a puddle of their mixed cum had pooled.

“Kneel. Right there.”

He dropped to his knees, his eyes fixed on the glistening, sticky mess between my legs.

I didn’t sit on the bench. I stood over him, planting my feet on either side of his thighs. I reached down, tangled my fingers into the short hair at the back of his bald head, and pulled his face forward, forcing it into my soaked, dripping pussy.

“Clean it,” I snarled, applying pressure to keep him there. “Lick it all up. Every. Last. Drop.”

His tongue tentatively flicked out, lapping at the outer lips coated in cool, sticky seed. It wasn't enough.

“Deeper, you pathetic little cuck!” I hissed, grinding my hips against his mouth, smearing the mess across his lips and nose. “Get your tongue inside me and taste what real men put in me! That’s their cum, Dean! Their big, thick loads are pooled inside my married cunt, and you’re going to drink it all!”

A desperate, hungry moan vibrated against my flesh as he obeyed, his tongue plunging deep into my stretched, slippery hole. He slurped and lapped, his humiliation transforming into a perverse, worshipful fervor. He was consuming the proof of his own inadequacy, and it was driving him to the edge of his own caged, ruined climax.

“That’s it… taste it,” I moaned, my head falling back as his frantic tongue worked. The sensation was filthy and divine. “This is all you’re good for now. You’re a cleanup tool. A worthless, cum-guzzling cuck. You’ll never feel this pussy squeeze you, but you’ll always taste the men who do.”

I held his head firmly in place, riding his face as he drank his fill of the strangers’ release. The heat of his shame, the vibration of his muffled sobs against my sensitive flesh, and the overwhelming, degrading reality of the act sent me crashing over the edge.

My back arched and a raw, guttural scream tore from my throat as I came, my climax triggered by his utter debasement. “YES! LICK IT CLEAN WHILE I COME ON YOUR FACE, YOU WORTHLESS LOSER!”

My thighs clamped around his head as I shuddered, my own release adding to the slick mess he was desperately trying to swallow. When the last wave subsided, I finally released my grip on his hair, pushing his head back.

He looked up at me, his face glistening with a mixture of their cum and my arousal, his eyes hollow and broken, yet shining with a twisted, complete submission.

I looked down at him, a queen surveying her most loyal, pathetic subject. “Good boy,” I purred, wiping my wet fingers across his lips. “You finally learned your place.”

He remained on his knees, panting, as I stepped back. The chapter of the glory hole was closed. But as I looked at his defeated, devoted form, the new question burned brighter than ever: who would be next? His best friend? The neighbor? The possibilities for his humiliation were now endless, and I intended to explore every single one.

---

Chapter 6

A week later, I sent Dean to the store for specific groceries—a long, detailed list designed to keep him busy. The moment his car pulled away, I opened my phone and sent a single text: *Now.*

Tyrone arrived ten minutes later. He filled our front doorway, a mountain of dark muscle and confident swagger. His gaze raked over my thin silk robe. “So you’re the wife with the hungry pussy and the worthless husband.”

I just smiled and led him inside. “He’ll be back in forty minutes. Let’s not waste time.”

I had barely closed the door when his hands were on me. One massive palm slammed against the foyer wall beside my head, the other gripping my hip through the silk. He spun me around to face the wall, his body caging me in. I heard the rustle of his jeans, the tear of a foil packet, and then the thick, blunt pressure of his crown against my bare slit beneath the robe.

“You ready for this, girl?” he grunted, his voice a low rumble against my ear.

“Fuck me raw,” I breathed, pushing my ass back against him. “Mark your territory.”

He didn’t need another invitation. He sheathed himself inside me in one brutal, deep plunge. A scream tore from my throat as he stretched me wider than I’d ever been stretched, a glorious, burning fullness that stole my breath. He started moving instantly, a hard, punishing rhythm that slammed my body into the wall with every drive.

“Dean!” I shrieked, knowing he wasn’t there, loving the humiliation of it. “OH GOD, Dean, LOOK AT THIS COCK DESTROYING YOUR WIFE!”

The front door clicked open. Dean stood frozen in the doorway, grocery bags dangling from his hands, his face a mask of sheer horror.

“Get in here and kneel, cuck!” Tyrone commanded without breaking his stroke, his hips pistoning into me. “You’re gonna watch this up close.”

Dean dropped the bags, produce rolling across the floor. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees just inches from where Tyrone’s massive, glistening black cock was disappearing into my gripping, stretched pussy.

“Look at this, little man,” Tyrone snarled, his pace becoming brutal, animalistic. “See how she takes all of me? See how her married pussy suckles on a real dick? This is what she needed. You could never give her this with that tiny, useless shrimp you call a cock.”

“He can’t, baby!” I moaned, my words bouncing off the wall. “He’s a premature little loser! This… THIS is what I need! FUCK ME! BREED ME!”

Tyrone’s rhythm became erratic, frantic. “She’s gonna take my seed, cuck! Gonna pump her full of superior black seed! And you… you’re gonna drink every drop!”

With a final, ground-shaking roar, Tyrone buried himself to the hilt and erupted. I felt the hot, pulsing flood deep inside me, jet after jet filling me up. My own climax detonated around him, a violent, screaming release that left my legs buckling.

He held himself there, throbbing, for a long moment before slowly pulling out. A thick river of his cum immediately began to leak from my well-used hole, dripping down my trembling thighs.

Tyrone turned to Dean, tucking his still-glistening, immense cock away. “Now. Clean her up. Lick my cum from your wife’s pussy. Show me how grateful you are that a real man finally satisfied her.”

Sobbing, Dean crawled forward. He pressed his face between my spread legs, his tongue lapping desperately at the creamy, overflowing mess.

“Tell him thank you, Dean,” I panted, my hand forcing his head deeper.

“Th-thank you,” Dean whimpered, his voice muffled against my flesh.

“Louder!” Tyrone barked.

“THANK YOU!” Dean cried, his tongue plunging inside me to collect the last of Tyrone’s potent release.

I came again, a sharp, shuddering aftershock, as my husband consumed another man’s claim on me. Tyrone watched, a cruel smile on his lips, as his humiliation was made complete.

---

Chapter 7

The heavy velvet drapes were drawn, turning the bedroom into a dim, intimate arena. Dean knelt beside the bed, his wrists already encircled by cold steel. I didn’t speak as I clicked the first cuff shut around the thick post of our wrought-iron bedframe. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist. The second cuff snapped closed, securing him.

“Comfortable?” I asked, my voice a low purr.

He nodded, his eyes wide and pleading. I shed my robe, letting it pool at my feet, and climbed onto the bed. I didn’t straddle his lap. I moved higher, positioning myself directly over his face, my smooth, shaved pussy hovering inches from his mouth.

“You know the rule,” I said, settling my weight onto his chest. “No touching unless I say so. Just watch. And breathe me in.”

I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and opened the video call app. A contact labeled “Tyler - Work Conference” was at the top. I hit call.

It rang twice before he answered. Tyler’s handsome, grinning face filled the screen, a hotel room visible behind him. “Chloe? This is a surprise.”

“Hey, Tyler. Hope I’m not interrupting,” I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness. I angled the phone so the camera captured my naked body from the waist down, my thighs framing Dean’s trapped, flushed face beneath me.

Tyler’s grin turned wolfish. “Not at all. What’s… uh, what’s going on?”

“My husband’s right here,” I said, reaching down to pat Dean’s bald head. “But he’s tied up at the moment. I was feeling lonely. Thought you might want to watch me play.”

I saw Dean’s eyes squeeze shut. I ground my hips down, my ass pressing into his face. “Open your eyes, cuck. Watch the screen. Watch a real man appreciate what you can’t have.”

I shifted the camera and began to touch myself. My fingers, slick with my own arousal, circled my clit. A soft moan escaped me. “Mmm, you like that, Tyler?”

“Fuck yeah, I do,” his voice crackled through the speaker, eager. “You’re incredible.”

I let my other hand drift down, past my stomach, until my fingertips brushed against Dean’s confined, tiny cock, trapped in its chastity cage and pressed against my thigh. I made a show of feeling it, my expression one of amused disdain.

“You feel that, Tyler?” I murmured, my voice husky with performance. “That little nub poking my leg? That’s my husband. That’s all he’s got. It’s like a fingertip. A sad, twitching little bean.” I laughed, a cruel, beautiful sound. “And he has to listen to this. He has to watch me get wet for you while his pathetic excuse for a cock rubs against me.”

“Jesus,” Tyler breathed, his own hand moving out of frame.

“He’s crying, Tyler,” I reported, rocking against Dean’s face, smothering his silent sobs. “Tears are running into my pussy. They’re just making me wetter. I’m going to come for you. I’m going to imagine it’s your cock, not his worthless little dicklet, making me scream.”

My fingers worked faster, plunging inside myself now, fucking myself with my own hand as I stared into the phone’s camera. The dual humiliations—Dean’s immobilized witness, Tyler’s virtual voyeurism—coiled the tension in my core to a breaking point.

“That’s it… I’m gonna… I’M GONNA COME!” I screamed, my back arching violently. “WATCH ME, Dean! WATCH ME COME FOR ANOTHER MAN!”

My climax ripped through me, a blinding, convulsive wave of pleasure. My thighs clamped around Dean’s head as I shuddered, my cries echoing in the quiet room. On the screen, Tyler groaned his own approval, his face a mask of lustful triumph.

I slowly came down, my body going limp. I lifted the phone, giving Tyler a sated, wicked smile. “Thanks for the help, Tyler. I needed that.”

I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the bed. For a long moment, the only sound was my ragged breathing and Dean’s muffled weeping against my thigh. I lifted myself off him, a strand of my arousal connecting my glistening lips to his wet, tear-streaked cheek.

“Open up, cuck,” I whispered, lowering myself back down, this time aligning my swollen, sensitive pussy directly over his mouth. “Clean your mess. And taste what you’ll never, ever get to feel inside me again.”

He obeyed, his tongue emerging to lap weakly at my folds. As he serviced me, I closed my eyes, savoring the final, perfect truth of my control and his absolute, delicious defeat.

---

Chapter 8

His tears were a slick, salty sheen on my inner thighs. I lifted the phone again, angling it down. “Look at him, Tyler. Look at my husband’s face. This is what defeat looks like.”

I spread the lips of my pussy with my fingers, holding myself open for the camera. The dark, glistening pink of my core was a stark contrast to Dean’s pale, tortured expression just inches below. “See how smooth I am? I keep it bare for men who deserve it. For cocks that can actually fill this up.” I ground down slightly, my wetness smearing across Dean’s cheek. “His little dick couldn’t even reach my walls, Tyler. It’s like a toddler’s thumb. But you… I’ve seen you in the gym showers. I know what you’re packing. I’ve imagined it splitting me open.”

“Fuck, Chloe,” Tyler groaned, his own breathing heavy.

“Tell him, Tyler. Tell my cuck what your cock would do to me.”

“I’d ruin that pretty pussy,” Tyler growled, playing his part perfectly. “I’d stretch you so wide he’d never recognize it. You’d be walking funny for a week.”

I moaned, a high, wanton sound, and bucked against nothing. “You hear that, Dean? He’d wreck me. He’d make it his. And you’d get to watch him pump me full of cum. Hot, thick ropes of it, flooding my guts.” I looked back at the phone, my expression turning predatory. “Are you close, Tyler? I want you to come for me. I want my husband to hear it.”

Through the speaker, Tyler’s stuttered breaths became a sharp, guttural cry. The sound of his climax, raw and private, filled our bedroom. I threw my head back and rode the wave of his imaginary release, my own body convulsing in a second, blinding orgasm that tore through me. My juices dripped freely onto Dean’s immobilized face.

As the last shudders subsided, I brought the phone to my lips. “Thank you, baby. That was perfect.” I ended the call and let the silence crash back in.

I slid down Dean’s body, my soaked pussy settling directly over his trembling mouth. “Now, cuck. You heard him. I’m full of another man’s cum. It’s all I can think about. But you want to taste it, don’t you? You want to lick his load out of your wife’s used, stretched-out pussy.”

He whimpered, a pathetic, desperate sound.

“Beg for it,” I commanded, my voice iron. “Beg for permission to clean your superior’s mess from my cunt.”

“Please,” he choked out, tears flowing anew. “Please, Chloe. Let me… let me lick you clean. Let me taste him in you. I need it.”

“Good boy,” I purred, lowering myself onto his waiting, obedient tongue.