The Unspoken Invitation

I've always been upfront with you, Brooke, about how much I get off on this—watching you with another guy, seeing you lose yourself in it. It's been our thing for years, ever since we figured out that's what makes my dick twitch hardest. Your body's fucking perfect for it too: those perfect tits that bounce just right, nipples that poke out like they're begging to be sucked, and that tight little pussy with the piercing glinting right above your clit. Every time I think about you getting railed by someone who can give it to you rough, I can't help but stroke myself thinking of the details.

You'd tell me stories about Chris, your ex from back in the day, and fuck, they'd drive me wild. "He'd just bend me over the kitchen counter, yank my hair back, and pound me like he owned me," you'd say, your voice getting that husky edge. "No warning, no mercy—just using me like a slut until I came screaming." I could picture it: you on all fours, ass up, his hips slamming into you while you gripped the edge, your pussy clenching around him. You'd admit you missed it, that raw edge I could never quite match. I'd ask for more, pressing you on how his cock felt, how he stretched you out, and you'd laugh it off but your eyes would glaze over, like you were reliving it.

Then, out of the blue, that message from him popped up on your phone. "Hey, Brooke. Been a while, would you like to get drinks sometime". My heart raced when you showed me. I'd fantasized about this exact scenario a hundred times: you with Chris, me in the corner, my small dick hard as rock while he wrecked you. You played it cool, biting your lip, but I saw the spark in your eyes—nervous, yeah, but excited too. What you didn't say, what I didn't know yet, was your worry. You'd always downplayed his size to me, saying he wasn't huge, just right. But deep down, you knew the truth: he was packing way more than I ever could, and once I saw it, shit might get real.

A few weeks of back-and-forth texts, and we set it up: meet at this little bar on the edge of town, the kind with sticky floors and neon signs buzzing like angry hornets. Not some fancy spot, just a hole-in-the-wall where the beer was cheap and the booths were tucked away. We pulled up in the truck, your hand squeezing mine a little too tight as we walked in. You were in that short black dress that hugs your curves, the one that rides up when you sit, and I could tell you were buzzing already—nerves mixing with that thrill you get before you let loose.

There he was, at a corner booth, looking sharper than I expected: broad shoulders under a fitted shirt, easy smile, but his eyes widened when he saw you. "Brooke," he said, standing to hug you, his hand lingering on your waist just a second too long. "You look... damn." You laughed, sliding into the booth next to him, me across from you both. The air felt thick right away, like everyone knew what was simmering under the surface. Chris shot me a nod—"Larry, right? Good to meet you"—but I caught the flicker of nerves in his glance. He probably wondered what the hell this setup was, why your husband was tagging along for drinks with an ex.

As the rounds flowed—whiskey for me, fireball for you—the tension eased into something electric. You leaned into him, reminiscing about old times, your laughter getting louder, freer. "Remember that time in the park? You just... pulled me behind the trees," you said, your voice dropping low, eyes locking on his. He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "How could I forget? You were begging for it." I sipped my drink, my cock stirring in my jeans as I watched your hand brush his thigh under the table. By your third drink, you were half in his lap, giggling as you shifted, and I saw it—the way his jeans tightened, that bulge growing against your ass. You ground down just a little, subtle but deliberate, and his breath hitched. "Fuck, Brooke," he muttered, low enough that only you heard, but I caught the edge in his voice.

You turned to me then, your cheeks flushed, nipples hard against the fabric of your dress. "Larry, this is fun, right?" It wasn't really a question—you knew I was hooked. But there was something else in your eyes, a wicked gleam. The alcohol had burned away whatever reservations you had left, and now you were buzzing with the idea of showing me everything. Showing me him. "Let's get out of here," you said, sliding off his lap but keeping your hand on his arm. Chris looked between us, piecing it together, his nervousness spiking—I could see it in the way he drained his beer. But he nodded, standing up, that bulge still prominent. "Yeah, alright."

We piled into the truck, you sandwiched between us on the bench seat, your hand on Chris's knee the whole drive to the hotel. I'd booked a room earlier, just in case—king bed, dim lamp by the window overlooking a parking lot full of semis idling like sleeping beasts. The elevator ride was silent, charged; you pressed against Chris, your tits brushing his chest, and he finally put an arm around you, pulling you close. I trailed behind, my heart pounding, dick straining.

In the room, the door clicked shut, and you turned to me, eyes sparkling. "Baby, can I... give him a lap dance? Just to start?" Your voice was sweet, but there was that edge, the one that said you were already wet. I nodded, sinking into the armchair by the bed, my hands gripping the arms. "Yeah, babe. Show me." Chris sat on the edge of the bed, looking a bit shell-shocked, like he wasn't sure if this was real. You dimmed the lights just enough, put on some low beat from your phone, and started swaying in front of him, your dress hiking up as you moved.

You straddled his lap slow, grinding your hips down, that perfect ass pressing right against his crotch. I watched his hands hover, then settle on your waist, pulling you closer. Your tits were inches from his face, nipples like diamonds through the thin fabric. "God, I've missed this," you whispered to him, loud enough for me to hear, your body rolling against him. His bulge was massive now, tenting his pants, and you rocked harder, letting out a soft moan as it nudged your pussy through your panties. He groaned, head tipping back. "Brooke, what the fuck are we doing?"

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, whispering something I couldn't catch. His eyes flicked to me, then back to you, and he nodded, hesitant. You slid off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs, your hands on his belt. "Baby, watch this," you said, looking over your shoulder at me with a smile that was pure mischief. Chris shifted, still nervous, but he didn't stop you as you unbuttoned his pants, tugging them down just enough. His underwear strained, the outline huge—thicker than I'd imagined, longer too. You hooked your fingers in the waistband, pulling slow, teasing. "You ready for this?" you asked him, voice husky.

He swallowed hard. "Yeah... go for it." The fabric slid down, and his cock sprang out, half-hard but already dwarfing mine. It flopped heavy against his thigh, smooth and thick with perfect veins, the head a deep pink, easily seven inches even soft with big smooth balls. I'd seen plenty in porn, but this? It was real, right there, and my stomach flipped—shock, jealousy, arousal crashing together. My own dick, fully hard in my pants, was maybe five inches on a good day. You stared at it, your breath catching, eyes wide like you'd just remembered how it felt. "Holy shit, Chris," you murmured, excitement flooding your face. You glanced back at me, that smile widening. "See, Larry? This is what I've been telling you about."

I just nodded, mouth dry, hand unconsciously rubbing my crotch. You wrapped your fingers around the base—your hand barely closed around it—and leaned in, lips parting to take the head into your mouth. He was growing fast, thickening as you sucked, your tongue swirling over the slit. "Mmm," you hummed, the vibration making him twitch. Saliva dripped down the shaft as you bobbed, taking more, your cheeks hollowing. He was fully hard now, pushing nine inches easy, curving up toward his stomach. You pulled off with a pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock, and looked at me again. "Babe, I want to compare. Come here."

I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stood, unzipping, my dick springing out—hard, but pathetic next to his. You grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer, then took both in your hands, holding them side by side. His dwarfed mine completely, the girth alone making mine look like a joke. "Look at that," you said, stroking him slow while giving mine a quick tug. "Chris is so much bigger. Isn't it hot?" Chris's nervousness melted away as he saw it, a smirk crossing his face. He relaxed back, confidence kicking in. "Damn, Brooke. No wonder you want this."

You laughed, low and dirty, dropping to your knees again to suck him deeper, gagging a little as he hit the back of your throat. Your free hand reached between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your soaked panties. "I need him to fuck me, baby," you gasped, pulling off, spit shining on your chin. "Show you how it's done." Chris stood, kicking off his pants, his cock bobbing heavy. He grabbed your arms, pulling you up and yanking your dress over your head. Your tits spilled out, nipples rock-hard, and he pinched one, making you whimper. "You still like it rough?" he asked, voice rough.

"Fuck yes," you breathed, shoving your panties down, revealing that pierced pussy, lips already swollen and glistening. He spun you around, bending you over the bed doggy-style—your favorite, the one I could never pull off without slipping out. Your ass up, back arched, he lined up, rubbing the fat head along your slit. "Tell him," you said over your shoulder to me, eyes locked on mine. "Tell Chris to fuck your wife hard."

I swallowed, voice shaky. "Do it, man. Give it to her." He thrust in, one long push, stretching you wide. You cried out, fingers clawing the sheets. "Oh god, yes— so fucking big!" He didn't hold back, gripping your hips and slamming deep, your tits swinging with each pound. The piercing caught on his shaft, making wet slaps echo. I jerked my small dick watching, mesmerized by how he filled you, your pussy lips gripping him tight. "Harder," you begged, and he obliged, yanking your hair back like in your stories, arching you up. "Take it, slut—just like old times."

You came fast, shuddering, squirting all over his balls and giant cock. "Fuck, Chris—don't stop!" He flipped you onto your side, that position you love where he can go deep from behind, spooning you rough. One leg hooked over his hip, he drove in again, his hand mauling your tits, twisting those perfect nipples. I could see everything—his cock pistoning in and out, your juices coating him, the way your clit piercing rubbed against his base. "Larry can't do this," you moaned, humiliating me just right, your eyes on me the whole time. "He can't stretch me like you—fuck, you're ruining me for him!"

Chris growled, picking up speed, his balls slapping your ass. "You love being my little whore, don't you?" He reached around, fingering your clit, and you bucked, another orgasm ripping through you. He wasn't far behind—pulled out just enough to flip you onto your back, then plunged back in missionary, folding your legs to your chest. "Gonna fill this pussy," he grunted, pounding relentlessly. You clawed his back, screaming, "Yes—cum inside me!" He buried deep, cock pulsing over and over again, flooding you with hot spurts. You milked him, pussy clenching, a creamy mess leaking out as he softened.

He pulled out, spent, his dick slick with cum and your wetness. You sat up, legs spread, fingering the creampie dripping from your stretched pussy. "Baby, clean me up," you ordered, voice breathless but firm. I crawled between your legs, humiliated and horny, lapping at your folds. The taste—salty, mixed with your sweetness—made my cock throb. You pushed my head down, then guided me to Chris. "Off his cock too. Suck it clean." I did, wrapping my lips around his softening length completely filling my mouth, tasting you both, his cum sliding down my throat.

When I finished, you pulled me up, kissing me deep, sharing the flavor. "Thank him," you said, smirking. I looked at Chris, who was grinning now, relaxed. "Thanks, man... for fucking my wife so good." He chuckled, clapping my shoulder. "Anytime. She's a keeper."

You curled up between us after, your body glowing, but as we lay there, you whispered to me, "Your so lucky"!