LISTENING IN THE SPARE ROOM

I spent the whole night in the spare bedroom, lying naked on the small, creaky bed, listening. Every sound from down the hallway—every rhythmic thump of the mattress, every sharp slap of skin, every breathless cry—cut straight through me. I couldn’t help myself. My hand stayed on my willy the entire time, stroking slowly, sometimes frantically, as I imagined what was happening in the master bed.

She was in there with him. Giving herself to him completely, while I stayed obediently out of sight—just as I’d been told. The humiliating contrast between their pleasure and my isolation only made me harder. I came once. Then again. And again. Each orgasm felt desperate, unsatisfying, like scratching at an itch that only grew worse. I never left the room. Never saw him. But I heard everything.

Eventually, sometime just before dawn, the sounds stopped. I must have drifted off, my willy still sticky, my heart still racing.

MORNING WAKUP

I woke to the hiss of running water. The shower. It had to be him. My stomach flipped as I realized he was still here. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. The rules were clear: I was to stay in the spare room until he was gone. No exceptions. I wasn’t to be seen—not by him, not even accidentally.

The door remained closed, but I could hear him moving through the house with ease, like he belonged here. I expected he’d finish up, get dressed, and leave like last time.

But instead… the door handle turned.

HER PROMISE

He poked his head around the doorway, casual as ever. “I’m about to head off,” he said, then smirked. “But your wife promised me a blowjob before I left.”

My heart jolted. I stared up at him, stunned, the shame prickling across my bare skin like static.

“She’s fast asleep,” he went on, voice low and matter-of-fact. “Tired from earlier exertions. It’s been a long night.” He nodded toward the bedroom. “She’s curled up in the middle of the bed, looking too damn cute in all those crumpled, wet sheets. I didn’t want to wake her.”

Then his eyes locked onto mine. “So… how about you fulfill that promise?”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak. Just a dry, hollow gasp escaped.

“Me?” I finally managed to whisper.

“You said it,” he grinned, stepping fully into the room. With one hand, he casually unbuckled his trousers and let them fall, his boxers coming down with them. His cock—thick, long, not even fully hard—hung heavy between his thighs.

“Come on,” he said. “Suck my cock. I know you want to.”

Then he reached behind him and brought something into view—something soft and lacy, dangling loosely from his fingers.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was her lingerie. The delicate baby doll and matching panties. I recognized them instantly—not just because I’d seen her in them, but because I was the one who’d bought them. We’d gone shopping together, specifically to find something special for her to wear for him. I’d stood beside her in the fitting room, heart pounding, pretending to be helpful, all while imagining exactly what it would be like to see her wear that for another man. And earlier that evening, it had been my trembling fingers that dressed her—sliding those sheer panties up her legs, adjusting the straps on the baby doll, knowing full well I was preparing her for him.

And now he was holding it.

“Thought this might get you in the mood,” he said, tossing the bundle toward me.

It landed in a soft heap at my feet.

“Go ahead,” he said with a crooked smile. “Put them on.”

DRESSED TO SERVE

I stared at the garments. They were damp—still clinging with her scent, her juices. My willy twitched helplessly, hardening despite the humiliation crawling over me like a fever. My body betrayed me, just like it had during the night.

Blushing furiously, I slipped the sheer nightie over my head. It barely reached my hips. The panties came next—tiny, soaked, clinging to my thighs and already sticky, cold against my shaft and especially my balls, cradled in the sopping gusset. My willy strained against the tight fabric, making a pathetic but oh so satisfying little tent.

He watched me dress with a slow smile. “That’s more like it.”

He stepped into the room fully now, his cock rising as he took in the sight of me on display.

“If you do a good job,” he said, “maybe next time I’ll let you watch. She mentioned that’s what you really want. Said it would turn her on… having you involved. In some… small way.”

The emphasis wasn’t lost on me. I swallowed hard and went towards him, head bowed in submission.

ON MY KNEES

I sank down slowly, knees pressing into the carpet, heart pounding in my ears. My body felt weightless and heavy at once—my legs trembling, my lips parted, my willy straining helplessly beneath the clingy, damp panties.

He stood over me like a god. Tall, relaxed, cock hanging inches from my face—thick, flushed, already hardening again, still slick from my mouth and the earlier shower. It twitched slightly, as if it, too, were eager.

I looked up at him, searching his face. For approval. For permission. For something I couldn’t even name.

He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

“Go on,” he murmured. “You know you want to.”

That was all it took. I leaned forward, taking his shaft in my fingers, guiding it to my lips trembling, breath shaky—and kissed the head of his cock. Just a soft press of the lips, reverent. Then I opened my mouth and took him in. The taste was clean now, but unmistakably male. Salty. Musky. Dominant.

He let out a low sigh and placed one broad hand on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding me there—gently guiding me into place.

“Such a lucky little cuck,” he said softly. His tone wasn’t cruel. It was almost… affectionate. “Most guys would be furious. Enraged. But not you, huh?”

I whimpered around his cock, nodding as best I could.

“You like this,” he went on, starting to rock his hips. “You want it. You need it. You’ve been aching for this ever since you heard her moan my name.”

I moaned in response, tongue swirling, lips tight around his shaft. I could barely breathe—but I didn’t care. I wanted to be used. I deserved it. I drooled shamelessly, the wet sound of my mouth filling the small room as he slowly fucked my face.

He leaned in, calm and measured, as if every word had been carefully chosen for maximum impact—not cruel for cruelty’s sake, but because he wanted me to understand.

“She was so fucking loud last night,” he began, his voice low, almost intimate. “Bent over the bed, face pressed into the mattress, legs shaking, begging me not to stop. I had her wrists pinned, my cock buried deep inside her, stretching her wide. She kept telling me how full she felt, how complete. Said it was like being opened in ways you never could even imagine.”

The image alone made my chest tighten and my pulse surge, but he wasn’t done—not by a long shot.

“She was soaked,” he continued, voice steady. “I mean dripping. It was running down her thighs, pooling under her. I could hear it—feel it—every time I slammed into her. And she took it all. Every thrust. Every filthy word I whispered into her ear. She wanted it. No hesitation. No guilt. Just raw, hungry fucking.”

I wanted to look away, to escape the vivid imagery playing in my mind, but his next words stopped me cold.

“She told me something, you know. Right after she came for the third time. Said you’re the only man she’s ever made love to.”

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly. “Said she cherishes that about you. Said you’re tender with her, that you look into her eyes, that you make her feel adored. That you kiss her slowly and touch her like she’s fragile. She told me she needs that from you. The love. The care. The comfort of being held and protected. Said you make her feel like a goddess.”

A rush of emotion welled up inside me—part pride, part pain. Because I do love her like that. I always have. I’ve worshipped her, touched her with reverence, never wanting to cross any boundary that might make her feel objectified or disrespected. And she’s always responded with softness, with warmth… with affection.

But then his tone shifted—more serious now, quieter.

“But she also told me something else,” he said. “She said she couldn’t ask you to do the things she needs when she’s desperate to be truly satisfied. She said it would shame you. That it would be like watching you try to wear a mask that didn’t fit. That seeing you try to act like a man who could take her like that—who could pull her hair, slap her ass, force her open, treat her like some cumslut whore—would hurt her more than it would hurt you.”

He paused, letting it sink in.

“She said she loves you too much to put you through that. That she doesn’t want to tarnish what you two have—the love, the intimacy, the safety—by forcing you to pretend to be something you’re not. And most of all…” He leaned in a little closer. “She said it would break her heart to watch you fail, because she knows you just don’t have the equipment to satisfy her like that. She said that’s not your fault. You were never meant to be that man.”

The words hit like a slow, aching knife to the gut. Not shouted. Not cruel. Just… true. Or at least true to her. I felt it—this sick twist of grief and arousal, pride and shame, all tangled together.

“And that’s why I’m here,” he said simply. “Because she needs to be taken. Used. Filled. Not made love to. Fucked. And she needs to keep that separate. Because she loves you. But she needs me.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My mouth was dry, my willy straining uselessly in the panties, the raw truth of it all burning in my chest. I was the man she loved… but he was the man who owned her in bed.

My willy pulsed at that—violently. My balls ached. I could feel the soaked fabric of the panties sticking to my shaft, clinging to my skin as fresh precum leaked out in pathetic tiny spurts.

“She came twice before I even came once,” he continued. “Did you hear that part? When I had her by the hair and she was begging me to go deeper?”

I groaned, sucking harder, faster. My cheeks hollowed as I worked for him, desperate to please, desperate to disappear into the act.

“Yeah… that’s right,” he whispered, running his fingers through my hair. “Choke on it. Get it nice and wet for me, little husband.”

He paused then, shifting his hips to draw himself back slightly. I gasped for air, lips slick, chin damp.

“Say something,” he said. “Come on. I want to hear you admit it.”

My voice was shaking. “I heard you. All night. I couldn’t stop listening. I was stroking myself in the dark, naked… wishing I could be there. I came three times. Just listening. Just imagining it.”

His eyes sparkled. “Fuck. That’s even better than she told me.”

He began to thrust again, more purposefully now. I welcomed every inch, every pulse. I was drooling around his cock, spit leaking down my chin, strings of it clinging between my lips and his shaft every time he slid out even a little.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled.

“I want to watch,” I gasped, pulling away briefly, my mouth aching, spit trailing from my lips. “Next time… please. I want to see you fuck her. I want to be there. Even if I’m just… on the floor. Watching. Holding her ankles. Cleaning her up afterward.”

He smirked, cock slick with my saliva, glistening in the morning light. “You’re not even pretending anymore, are you?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t.

“Beg for it,” he said, his voice suddenly harder. “Beg for my cum.”

And I did.

I dropped my hands to his shaft, stroking him fast and sloppy as I leaned in, sucking him with everything I had—no rhythm, no technique—just desperate, filthy hunger. My eyes were watering, my willy leaking, my body trembling with humiliation and anticipation.

“Please,” I moaned, mouth full. “Please… I want it. I want to taste you. I want to swallow every drop.”

My words were slurred and soaked with spit, but I meant every one.

“That’s it,” he hissed. “Fucking take it. You’re gonna remember this every time you hear her moan. Every time you hear that bed creak. Every time she calls my name.”

And I would.

THE SETUP

His breath hitched. His hips tensed. I felt him swell against my tongue, thicker, hotter, ready. I moaned in anticipation, lips locked tight, stroking him desperately with both hands now, practically drooling down my chest as I worshipped his cock.

Then—just as he growled low in his throat—I heard her voice.

“Yeah, baby,” she purred from the doorway. “Suck him. Just like that.”

My eyes flew open. My heart nearly stopped.

She was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, wearing nothing but a partly open translucent robe and a lazy, satisfied grin. Her hair was messy from their long night of passion. She looked beautiful. Devastating.

I froze, humiliated beyond words, his cock still buried halfway in my mouth.

She stepped forward slowly, hips swaying. “You look so cute down there, baby. All drooly and eager. I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

He laughed softly, running a hand over my hair. “Told you I could get him to suck it. Didn’t take much, either.”

My stomach twisted. My heart pounded even harder. It was a setup. The whole thing. Her being ‘asleep,’ him walking in naked, the panties and nightie… they’d planned it. Together.

“You really are our perfect little cuck,” she murmured, crouching beside me now, brushing the hair out of my eyes. Her gaze was soft but wicked. “Listening to us all night, jerking off in here while I got serviced by a real man. And now here you are… gagging on his cock.”

“You look so pretty like that,” she murmured, her voice a breathy purr. “My sweet little husband in my nightie and panties… desperate, aching, dripping…”

I whimpered, the fabric clinging to my body now soaked between my legs, my willy twitching pathetically beneath the silky material. I could barely look at her, the shame and need warring inside me. I was humiliated but still sucking. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

She kissed my cheek, then whispered into my ear. “You’re doing so well, baby. Look how hard you are. Your little willy is leaking. You want him to finish in your mouth, don’t you?”

I nodded frantically. My eyes welled with tears of shame and arousal.

“Then beg for it,” she said sweetly. “Beg him to cum for you. To give you what you need.”

I pulled back just long enough to gasp out the words, voice trembling. “Please… please cum in my mouth. I want it. I need it. I want to taste you… swallow all of it…”

He groaned.

She leaned in closer, fingers stroking my cheek as she whispered, “Do it for me, baby. Swallow every drop, but first I want to see his cum on your tongue. I want to kiss you after and taste him inside you.”

“And when he cums,” she whispered, her voice tightening just a little with excitement, “I want you to let go. Let it all wash over you. Your shame. Your helpless little willy twitching in my panties, untouched, untouched but leaking. I want you to feel it deep—your first sissygasm.”

The moment I heard her say it—sissygasm—something inside me cracked wide open. I wasn’t just kneeling for her. I was surrendering completely.

Those words undid me, aided by her free hand slipping between the cheeks of my ass to stroke the thin fabric over my puckered hole and balls. My willy throbbed in the wet knickers, untouched, twitching hard, dribbling more sticky precum.

He grabbed the back of my head and thrust forward sharply. I relaxed my jaw as best I could, letting him use me, moaning around his cock, throat fluttering. And then I felt it—hot, sudden, pulsing. The first thick rope hit the back of my mouth. Then another. And another. I was tasting my first cum straight from the source for the first time in front of my wife.

I swallowed greedily, moaning through it, holding his cock deep in my throat as he emptied himself into me. My willy began to leak, not spasming as his did, just leaking an increasing stream of cum, my sissygasm draining my balls and prostate totally as I took every drop.

When he finally pulled back, I gasped and opened my mouth for her, as she’d asked—tongue out, showing her the creamy smear he’d left behind. My lips were shiny, my chin soaked, eyes dazed and glassy.

“Mmm,” she sighed, running a thumb across my bottom lip and then sucking it. “You did taste him. Good boy.” Then she leaned in for a sloppy kiss, her tongue tasting him inside my mouth.

AFTERCARE

Under her instruction, I gently licked him clean—my lips soft, my tongue obedient, trembling with each pass. She guided me lower, watching closely as I took his balls into my mouth, one at a time. I licked them slowly, reverently, then sucked them gently, letting them rest against my tongue, my face burning with humiliation. He didn’t say a word—just stood there, relaxed, letting me do it, letting her watch.

I was still kneeling, breath coming in ragged pulls, my little willy shrinking helplessly inside the soaked fabric. I could barely process what had just happened. But she wasn’t finished with me.

She stood slowly and turned toward him, her voice low and intimate. “Thank you, lover,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “But I think he’s got one more job to do before you leave.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh?”

She looked down at me again. I saw her expression shift—her smirk deepening, her eyes sparkling with something darker, hungrier.

“You’re not the only one who needs cleaning up,” she murmured, stepping back and slowly parting her thighs.

And then she opened her legs fully… revealing the wreckage between them.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and began pulling up his trousers. He gave her another kiss, murmuring something about looking forward to their next hookup. Then, with a glance in my direction, he added, “He’s earned his reward—he can watch next time.” And with that, he left us alone.

She stood there, smiling down at me. Radiant. Spent. Still glowing from the night before. Still entirely in control.

I remained kneeling—breathless, flushed, my face burning with fresh humiliation. My willy twitched uselessly inside the now-soaked panties. I could still taste him, feel the weight of his balls lingering on my tongue.

“This opens so much more for us, baby,” she whispered, reaching down to trace her fingers along my cheek. I knelt there, panting in her lingerie, face still sticky with him, the scent of her thick in my nose.

She stepped closer, barefoot, wearing nothing but a loose robe that hung open at the front, revealing the raw, glistening evidence of what they’d done together. Her thighs shimmered faintly in the morning light—streaked with their dried love juices, smeared slick, and the unmistakable mess of her satisfaction.

I could smell her—musky, potent, freshly used.

“You did so well,” she murmured, brushing my cheek with the back of her fingers. “But he’s not the only one who needs cleaning up.”

She opened the robe wider, revealing the wreckage between her legs. My eyes locked onto her pussy—red, swollen, utterly ravaged. Her lips were stretched slightly open, puffy and glistening with the aftermath of hours of hard fucking. A thick, creamy slick coated the inside of her thighs, and more was still oozing from her gaping, well-fucked hole.

“You seem to enjoy cum so much,” she said, her voice soft but edged with amusement. “So why don’t you finish the job?”

I whimpered.

“Come on,” she coaxed, guiding my head downward with gentle pressure. “You’ve heard it. Now taste what a real man does to your wife.”

My face flushed even hotter, but I obeyed. I always did.

I leaned in, breathing her in. The smell was intense—raw sex, sweat, his seed, her juices, all mingled into something filthy and irresistible. I opened my mouth and let my tongue explore the mess he’d left behind. Her pussy was hot and swollen against my lips, and the moment I touched her, she gave a little sigh and opened her stance slightly wider.

She was leaking—truly leaking. Thick, white rivulets of his cum still drooled from her used pussy, trickling slowly down toward the backs of her thighs. I licked up every drop I could reach, working carefully, tenderly, reverently. Her folds were slick and glistening, clinging to my tongue as I pushed deeper, tasting the slick blend of him and her. Her walls were stretched open, still gaping slightly from his size, tender and twitching with aftershocks.

I tongued her slit, then dipped into the loosened entrance itself, lapping at the pooled cream inside her, moaning softly as I swallowed what he left behind.

“That’s it,” she murmured, running her fingers through my hair. “Get every drop. Lick me clean, baby.”

She rolled her hips against my face, encouraging me to go deeper. My tongue pushed further into her, swirling around inside her stretched, sperm-swollen hole, scooping and sucking and swallowing what I could. The taste was obscene—hot, bitter, tangy, unmistakably male—and still I couldn’t stop. I knew from now on I would crave cum.

Her breathing deepened. I could feel her arousal building again, her clit swollen and exposed, begging for attention. I flicked it gently with the tip of my tongue, circling, teasing, until she moaned and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling me tight against her mound.

“I should make you do this every time,” she gasped. “You’re so good at it. So eager. God… you were meant for this.”

I moaned into her folds, my own willy twitching hopelessly in its silky prison, completely untouched but aching all over again. The shame was overwhelming—but so was the heat of it. My place, my purpose, was between her thighs, cleaning her, serving her, tasting her pleasure… his pleasure.

When she finally pulled away, I was soaked in her, my face shiny with her live juices and cum. She looked down at me with a satisfied smirk and tapped my chin.

“Now that’s what a good little husband does,” she whispered. “And next time… if you keep being such a good little clean-up slut… maybe we’ll let you watch the whole thing.”

She turned and walked out of the room slowly, leaving the robe on the floor behind her.

I knelt there, panting, humiliated, and so aroused it hurt despite my limp, shriveled willy.