Here I am—watching another man move over her, her voice breaking into helpless sounds. Either she is having the kind of orgasm I could never give her, or she is giving the best performance I’ve ever witnessed. And as if that isn’t enough, the man between her thighs is wearing black stockings and suspenders—and has a four-inch pencil cock, at best.
So how did we get here..?
Sue had finally—if not eagerly—agreed to let me explore my bisexual curiosity. We’d found a man online: happily married but sexually neglected, craving any intimacy. I’d specifically chosen him because he had a small, shaven, cute-looking cock—barely an inch when limp and not even four when hard. I wanted my first taste of cock to be something manageable, easy to take in my mouth.
Sue picked our outfits. She had me in white—stockings, suspenders, and soft lace panties. He arrived in black, the deliberate opposite. The symmetry was her idea.
In the hotel room, conversation died quickly. The air thickened with perfume and nerves. I remembered the trembling in my hands as I knelt, the way he hesitated before stepping closer, the sharp scent of soap and fear. When I looked up, Sue was naked, watching from the edge of the bed, her lips parted, her expression somewhere between amusement and fascination.
“Go on,” she murmured. “Show me.”
The first touches were nervous—first kissing him through the soft lace before pulling the panties down to take him bare into my mouth: soft skin, a pulse that wasn’t mine. I could hear Sue’s breathing change, growing heavier, syncopated with mine. The rhythm between us built into something neither of us had expected—my curiosity turning into surrender, hers into hunger.
After about ten minutes of me stroking and sucking him, he announced he was cumming, and with a strangled moan, I felt warmth spill across my face and the taste of his cum filling my mouth—up to then, the only release I had ever tasted was my own. It wasn’t just the act itself that undid me; it was the knowledge that she was watching, trembling, aroused beyond control. I didn’t need to look down to know what had happened to me.
Sue went wild with excitement and immediately spread her legs, begging me to come and fuck her. But when I stood, the truth was already visible: a spreading dampness in my panties, my body spent without ever touching her. Her eyes widened first in surprise, then in something darker—recognition, perhaps, or triumph.
She pretended to be cross, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
“Fine,” she said, “Whoever gets hard first gets me.”
Looking over at him, stroking his little one-incher between thumb and forefinger, I thought I’d have no competition. But after a couple of minutes, he’d grown it to a firm three inches—still only matching my spent size—but his was hard, and I was still limp. She turned her head toward him and said, “Fuck me.”
What followed was a blur of motion and sound. He jumped her, his cock sliding in effortlessly, no resistance. The bed shook; her moans rose, deep and uncontrolled, as he took her like a man possessed. I stood there, watching the rhythm of their bodies, my cock finally beginning to recover. Her hands clutched at the sheets, her head thrown back, her thighs trembling. For a moment, jealousy burned hot in my chest, but then something shifted. The sight of her giving in, of him losing himself inside her, ignited a different kind of fire in me—shame that became arousal, humiliation that turned strangely sweet.
Back to the here and now, and her orgasm. The sound fills the room. I want to look away but can’t. Is this real, or is she performing—for him, for me, maybe even for herself—trying to justify what she’s doing? Whatever, he is certainly enjoying it!
He slows, and she rolls onto all fours, her body still quivering, and I think my chance has come. I move closer, hard, desperate, but she doesn’t even look back. He stays with her, shallow but persistent. Her pussy leaking love juice down her thighs and over his balls, which squelch obscenely against her and soaks the bedsheet.
Touching myself without meaning to, my breathing matches theirs—I wait for the sloppy seconds to reclaim that surely must be coming my way.
After a while, she collapses beneath him, panting as he pushes her legs together, his outside of hers, his puny willy sliding between her sticky thighs, his head surely only just nudging her entrance. Their heads side by side, I hear them whispering—soft, secret—and some giggling from Sue. She turns her head slightly toward me, eyes half-closed, and says, “He wants to try something tighter.”
I blink. “Tighter?”
Her mouth curves into a slow, wicked smile. “He wants to try anal,” she says softly, as though tasting the word.
“She’s too wet and sloppy for me,” he adds. “I need more grip.”
I stare at her, stunned. “Anal? Are you sure?” It’s something she had never let me do, even after years of marriage.
“Oh yes, baby,” she says, her voice thick with something I’ve never heard before. “The thought really turns me on.”
“Err… okay,” I manage, not sure which part of me was speaking—the husband or the humiliated voyeur. Maybe, I tell myself, this will open a new door for us. Maybe when my own turn comes, my sloppy seconds won’t be so sloppy after all.
“Thanks, baby, you’re the best,” she says as she rolls to one side, and he does the same, leaving a damp space between them on the sheets. Then she sits up, hair tangled, eyes shining with mischief and desire. She pats the mattress and looks straight at me.
“Come on, then, sissy,” she says in that slow, coaxing tone I can never resist. “Get on all fours, reach back, and spread yourself… show him where he belongs. After tonight, you won’t wear virgin white again.”
