Those men are incredulous; he can see that written all over their faces. But he also knows they don't really give a rat's ass. After all, they're going to fuck the slut, too. The bitch is going to open her legs and welcome them aboard with a huge shit-eating grin on her painted-whore's face. She's going to tell them how good they are. She's going to let them know that her husband is a needle-dicked wimp who can't give her what she needs: a good, hard, long and very nasty fuck.
He looks at his wife's face and sees her pleasure. Her fingers are tugging at the man's skin, she's gasping and groaning and babbling about how big he feels inside her while she clutches him, begging him to tear her apart.
The guy on top of his wife is smirking as he drills her. He knows he's doing a good job. He knows he's being watched and wants to give the cuck something to think about.
Then, at his wife's croaking plea, one of the other guys is at her. He's in her mouth, his girth stretching those whore-lips.
And she takes them both: one in her slutty cunt, the other between her bitch-lips, and while all that is going on, through all the moaning and gasping and slap-slap-slap, she has her eyes fixed on her husband's face.
He sees it there in her eyes. He can read her disdain, her scorn, her
disappointment.
You, her eyes say above lips distorted by cock.
This is what you really want. You say you hate it, but I know you love to watch me doing this. You make a big deal out of it, telling me how fucked-up it is, how big a slut I am, but I know how much it turns you on to watch these guys fuck me.
Go on, watch. Watch me get fucked; watch me suck dick and listen to me beg for their seed.
Maybe he'll come inside me? Maybe I'm not taking the pill? Maybe he's bareback in my naked cunt...
Maybe I'll scream for him to flood my unprotected womb with cum.
As he watches, the guy inside his wife mumbles he gonna blow. Right in front of him, while he's staring at the slut and her lover, the man thrusts deep and hard for four or five vigorous strokes. Then he bellows he's doing it. His butt cheeks tighten and release, clenching and unclenching as his cock pumps semen.
The woman beneath him is mumbling around the mouthful of male gristle wedged between her lips. She squeals and whimpers and has a hand between her legs. She rubbing her clit and coming, carried along by the pulsing cock inside her.
Then, while he stares at where the young man and his wife were joined, he sees the scarlet gape of her and the dangling bulb of the condom, the teat filled with jizm. And he's strangely disappointed by the sight of that bloated bladder jiggling as the guy climbs away from the slut on the sofa.
"More," gasps his wife. She's fisting the cock that was in her mouth, looking at the third guy to climb aboard.
"On your knees," the third young man says. He's cranking at a huge dick with one fist as he hauls the whore around to suit his wants with the other. "Yeah," he adds when the woman is kneeling there, her pelvis raised, her buttocks high, the sodden and scarlet mollusc of her cunt offered to him. He slides in bareback while his friend fucks into her mouth again.
Those boys use her like she wants to be used. They make a big deal out of telling one another what a slut she is; they talk to each other and make ribald comments about how the older women are always the horniest, about how crazy some of them are for cock.
He knows they're taunting him.
He's still standing in the doorway, his stare fixed on his wife's big tits swinging back and forth. The slut has dressed for them. She's in stockings and heels, the denim skirt she wore to greet them at the door all bunched around her waist, the blouse a heap on the carpet.
He hates what he's seeing, but he loves it, too, and the conflicting emotions seethe inside him. He knows he's weak for letting her do this. It shouldn't be allowed to happen.
He
should stop her doing it.
But he can't control his wife, and he knows if he tries to, she'll leave. And having his buddies know his wife left him is even more galling than these three having at her.
So this is what he has to endure. He can't give her what she needs, and so he has to let her do what she wants. Not that she forces him to watch, but he knows from experience that she'll just go off and fuck all those other guys anyway. It's better to see it than make it worse in his imagination. At least this way there's only three of them. If she goes out alone for a night of hotel sex he conjures up gang-bang scenarios of incredible numbers.
It's ironic that during those times when his wife's been a motel slut he's been as hard as iron. Alone in bed imagining her filled with strangers' cum, those fantasies get him so spitting mad at her for leaving him in a cuck's bed that he masturbates and thinks up hate-fuck scenes in which he's the tattooed, one-percenter, outlaw biker who fucks his wife into submission.
During those times in bed with just his mind and fist for company, when he comes, it's a deluge of semen. If she could only see him during those times...
He thinks about how it'll be when those boys finish and leave. Then he'll get hard, and If his wife's face is spattered with cum, even better. He'll lick the goo off her and kiss her mouth, and better still would be if the bareback guy pumps her full of the stuff, too. That way he can fuck into the mess, stirring the guy's porridge with his spoon until he adds his own gloop to the sodden mess, his ejaculate mixing in with that boy's.
He hates the shit-stinking scenes those guys write on the internet. He reads those stories and wants to puke.
That's what he tells himself. But he loves them, really.
He just hates himself for the thrill they give him.
Which is why he trolls the story boards and writes those comments.
Because he wants to watch her getting gang-fucked and used; he wants to taste other men's cum from his wife's pussy.
That's his dirty little secret.
