43. Night with the oldman [Part 1&2]

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The seconds seemed to pass as my wife moved around the house, sorting through things and trying to decide what to prepare for dinner. I did notice the slight discomfort in her eyes as if she had started realizing that she'd made a mistake, or at least that things had become more complicated than she'd expected. She could sense the awkwardness in me too. That much was obvious.

But… was I expecting more? If she had been the woman she used to be, maybe she would've stopped everything she was doing. She would've forgotten about dinner, forgotten about everything else, and simply tend to me until she knew what was wrong. But she wasn't that woman anymore. The conversation about cancelling dinner had ended almost as quickly as it had started, and now she was already thinking about what needed to be prepared.

Well, the boat had already sailed. There was no point pretending otherwise. It was already heading toward its destination, and whether I liked it or not, there wasn't much I could do to turn it around now. There was still some time before the boat[old man] arrived, though, and I needed something to occupy my mind. I couldn't keep standing there watching my wife move around while my thoughts tore themselves apart, so I headed upstairs and sat down in the chair. I closed my eyes and let the silence take over, shutting everything else out. For the next several minutes, I didn't move or open my eyes. I simply sat there, breathing steadily and hoping that if I stayed still long enough, my mind would eventually quiet down.

I wished time would stop. Or maybe something would happen, something completely outside my control that would give the old man a reason not to come.

…

…why?

Why am I like this? I let out a frustrated groan and rubbed my face. God... If I really didn't want him here, then why the fuck hadn't I stopped him? Why hadn't I told my wife to cancel the dinner when she'd given me the chance? Why had I agreed to let everything continue? Why?

The answer was simple. Because somewhere inside me, I wanted him to come. I swallowed. Why do I keep lying to myself?

…

Maybe this was my way of tricking myself into believing I wasn't the kind of man who could enjoy something like this. Maybe if I kept having these thoughts of denial, I could convince myself that I hadn't completely fallen prey to these urges.

But I'd already realized one thing, and I couldn't take it back. My body had reacted positively to those wrong interactions. That fact felt heavy in my chest because accepting it meant accepting something about myself that I had never imagined was there. I was never this guy. I leaned back and closed my eyes again. So how did I become him? Where did everything go wrong?

I had no answer.

The more I tried to trace it back, the more tangled everything became. Eventually, I opened my eyes, realizing that my thoughts were spiraling again, and decided I needed to focus on something else before I drove myself crazy.

My eyes stopped on my laptop. I reached for it and opened the screen, hoping I could lose myself in something meaningless for a while and simply kill some time. Then, almost immediately, I remembered about my post. The anonymous post I'd made when I was desperate for someone to explain what was happening inside my head.

Are there more comments?

I swallowed lightly before opening the website. A few notifications were waiting for me. I stared at them, suddenly feeling nervous about what I might find.

Ugh.

There were two comments. I stared at them for a few seconds, wondering whether I really wanted to read them. Part of me was hoping someone would finally say something that made sense, something that could explain why I was feeling this way. Another part of me was afraid that I'd find someone describing exactly what I was going through.

Eventually, curiosity won, and I clicked on the first comment.

It was from a woman.

"I recently found out about my husband’s this side. He’s always been the shy, quiet type, so I never suspected anything. One day I scrolled through his phone and couldn’t believe the searches I saw. At first I felt disgusted, but the more I read and the more I thought about it, the more curious I became. Now I’m just as addicted to the idea as he is. I haven’t been fucked by anyone yet, but I know it’s going to happen soon and I’m actually ready for it. My advice? Go with the flow and enjoy yourself. You never know if your wife might like it even more than you do."

I gulped. The comment felt far too close to home.

So my wife wasn’t the only one. Other women were getting pulled into this too.

GOSHHH.

I clicked on the second comment.

“I'm going to be honest with you because I wish someone had been honest with me when I was in your position. I used to fight these feelings too. I didn't want them. I didn't understand them, and I certainly didn't want to become someone who accepted them. But a friend of mine slowly influenced me. And little by little, I stopped resisting.

Eventually, I accepted that this was a part of me. I'm not saying that to encourage you. I'm telling you because I want you to understand how difficult it can become once you stop fighting it. It’s too fucking addicting. If you still have the strength to resist, and I hope you do. Please don't give in just because the feelings are becoming difficult to control. I kept telling myself I was only trying to understand myself, but there came a point when I realized I wasn't fighting anymore. So if you're still fighting, don't give up too easily. Please save yourself before you reach the point where I am.”

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

What the hell did I just read?

The second comment felt little nerve-wrecking. It felt as though I had somehow stumbled across a version of my future speaking directly to me. I could relate to almost every word he'd written, every hesitation, every pushback. The only part I couldn't answer was the one thing that frightened me the most.

Do I have the strength to fight back?

I honestly didn't know.

So Is this my fate?

The helplessness I'd felt while reading his words suddenly felt familiar. It wasn't just his story anymore. I could feel a small part of that same helplessness inside myself.

I shut down the laptop and sat there for a second, my heart still thumping heavily. The clock continued ticking in the room, each second reminding me that time hadn't stopped just because I wanted it to. In the end, I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes, just trying to rest.

……

…

..

.

I woke with a slight tremor, my body jerking as though I'd been pushed from a great height.

“Wh-wha...”

I blinked several times, completely disoriented. I couldn't remember where I was or why I had fallen asleep on the floor. I rubbed my eyes and slowly pushed myself upright.

What time is it?

I looked toward the window.

Darkness. Hours seemed to pass without me noticing anything at all.

…Wait. My stomach dropped.

I stared at the window again, trying to process what I was seeing.

Night?

Thump. Thump.

Then another thought struck me. Dinner?

Thump. Thump.

I rushed toward the stairs, still trying to shake the last remnants of sleep from my head. I climbed a few steps before my feet suddenly stopped. My eyes focused on the door step where I noticed my wife standing with someone else in front of her.

I couldn't see him completely from where I was standing, but I already knew who it was.

The old man.

“Shit.”

She lowered her head randomly, and from the angle I was seeing them, it looked as though she was going for a kiss???

No fucking way.

I reacted without thinking. I brought my foot down hard against the stair, making a loud smack that echoed through the hallway. It was deliberate. I wanted them to know I was there. I wanted them to stop whatever they were doing.

And if I was being completely honest with myself, it wasn't because I was suddenly acting like some protective husband.

It was because if something was happening, I needed to know about it. I needed to see it. The impact was louder than I'd expected, though, and I immediately regretted it when pain shot through my toe.

“Ugh!”

I grabbed my foot and groaned.

My wife immediately turned around.

“Are you okay?”

She rushed toward me, concern replacing whatever expression she'd had seconds earlier. I sat down on the stairs and held my foot, trying to make the pain seem less serious than it actually was.

“I slipped a little,” I said through a grimace. “At least I didn't fall.”

She crouched beside me and carefully looked at my foot. “You should be more careful. What were you doing?”

“Nothing. I just... was little sleepy.”

I glanced past her. The old man was still standing near the door, looking at me.

He looked disappointed, as though my sudden appearance had interrupted something he was about to enjoy.

She helped me to my feet and guided me toward the living room and the old man followed us inside. He was still dressed in that worn tank top and shorts.

“You really hurt yourself?” He sat down beside me and glanced toward my foot.

“It's nothing,” I muttered.

The old man sank back into the cushions with a groan, his eyes never leaving my wife as she headed for the kitchen. "I always drink some tea before dinner," he said loudly. "Can you make me one, lady?"

My wife glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "Sure."

Once she disappeared, the old man turned toward me on the couch, his voice dropping into that low, sinister tone. "You know, there's this woman who takes care of all my needs," he started, watching my face carefully. "Every single one of them. Even those kinds of needs, if you know what I am saying."

I shifted uncomfortably, already sensing where he was leading the conversation. "Haha, what do you mean by that?" I asked, playing dumb even as my stomach fluttered anxiously.

"She helps me with everything," he continued, his eyes gleaming. "When I need my cock sucked, she drops to her knees without being asked. When I need to fuck, she spreads her legs and takes it. When I need to cum, she makes sure I empty every drop inside her… Oh, wait... now that I think about it, I never actually came inside her. Well, next time for sure.”

My face burned as I realized exactly who he was describing. My wife. The woman making his tea right now. My cock stirred again, growing heavier against my thigh.

He never came inside her.

I swallowed hard.

Should I be happy about that? Or disappointed?

"She's got the nicest ass I've ever seen," he went on, his voice getting more dirty. "Round and soft, the type that jiggles just right when you slap it. And when I'm pounding her from behind, the way her ass cheeks clap against my crotch... that sound drives me fucking crazy."

I felt my cock starting to harden, pressing against my short as I imagined my wife's ass bouncing while the old man fucked her. "That's... that's quite a detailing," I managed, my voice slightly strained.

"Her tits are delicious too," he continued, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Big and soft, with nipples that get rock hard when I suck on them. She loves it when I grab them while I'm fucking her, squeezing them while I drive my cock deep into her pussy."

My erection was growing rapidly now, the image of my wife being fucked by this old man making my pulse race. I reached for a pillow and casually placed it over my lap, trying to hide the obvious bulge forming in my shorts.

"She can take it so deep," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Her throat opens up perfectly when I fuck her mouth. She gags a little but never pulls away, just keeps sucking like she needs my cum down her throat."

I pressed the pillow harder against my growing erection, feeling it throb against the fabric. My wife was humming in the kitchen, completely unaware that her lover was describing their affair in explicit detail right beside me.

"I should tell you a secret about her," the old man said, leaning closer with a wicked grin. "This woman I've been describing? She's married. Has a husband and everything. But she still comes crawling to this old cock of mine like she can't get enough."

My heart pounded in my chest. "Wh-what? Really?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly as I pretended to be shocked while my cock twitched violently at his words, precum leaking from the tip and soaking into my underwear. I shifted the pillow, trying to get more comfortable while hiding my throbbing erection.

"Oh yeah," he confirmed, his eyes sparkling with malice.

"That's... that's really something," I managed weakly.

Here you go," my wife said sweetly, as she stepped closer to pass the tea. His fingers fumbled the handle. The cup tipped. Hot liquid splashed across his lap. He jerked back with a loud shout, face twisting as the heat soaked through the thin shorts.

My wife panicked. She set the cup down fast and rushed to him, hands already reaching. I felt a quick stab of worry too, but it looked like only a little had spilled. He recovered quicker than expected.

"Lady, the hell are you doing? You trying to burn me?" His voice came out rough. Before she could answer he grabbed her wrist. He pulled her hand down, guiding it straight onto the wet fabric covering his cock. He pressed her palm flat against the thick, soft shape, pretending to show her the spot.

"Look how hot it is," he muttered, rubbing her hand slowly over the bulge. "It’s hurting me. Do you feel it?"

Her cheeks flushed deep red. Her fingers stayed where he placed them, feeling the heavy warmth through the soaked cloth. "Yes… it’s… hot," she whispered.

I remained frozen, watching her hand move over his cock while he kept rubbing it against her palm. My own cock pulsed at the sight. I had to stop this.

"T-That’s a little… I stopped without completing. My wife’s fingers twitched. She noticed my stare. In one fast motion she pulled her hand away, cheeks burning even brighter. The old man’s eyes met mine calmly while her hand still hovered inches from his lap.

The old man didn’t let the moment slip. He shifted his hips forward, pressing his soaked shorts tighter against the outline of his cock. The fabric clung to every ridge and vein, the thick length clearly visible as it lay heavy against his thigh. My wife’s gaze dropped again, lingering on the wet bulge. Her lips opening slightly, and I saw her throat work as she swallowed.

"Its painful," he said, voice low and rough. He reached for her hand once more, slower this time, giving her every chance to pull away. And as expected, she didn’t. Her fingers were now again on his crotch, and he guided them in a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip. The motion made the head of his cock shift under her palm, the wet fabric stretching around its shape.

My wife’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled just enough to feel the weight of him, the heat radiating through the thin material. She rubbed once, twice, the motion almost absentminded, like she was testing the temperature. Her cheeks stayed flushed, but her eyes stayed locked on what her hand was doing.

I couldn’t look away. My cock was dying to be touched, the head already sloppy with pre-cum. I shifted my stance, trying to hide the obvious tent, but my wife’s eyes flicked down and a small smirk touched her lips. She knew exactly what this was doing to me.

"Feel that?" he asked her, voice almost gentle now. "Right there. That’s where it hurts the most." He pressed her palm harder against the head, letting her fingers trace the swollen ridge. Her thumb brushed over the tip, and I saw the fabric darken even more as a fresh bead of fluid seeped through.

My wife’s fingers moved on their own now, stroking slowly along the length, feeling every inch. She wasn’t just checking the burn anymore. Her touch had turned curious, almost hungry. She squeezed gently, testing the give of the thick shaft, and the old man let out a low groan that made my stomach twist.

After few seconds, she finally stopped and straightened up.

“You should change,” she said, looking at the old man.

Then she turned toward me and smiled.

“Can you get something for him to wear?”

“S-sure,” I said.

I mean, he clearly can't stay in those stained shorts.

I pushed up from the couch and headed toward the bedroom, legs shaky. As I walked past her, I made sure to keep my boner hidden from her. There was no way I was going to let her see her husband in such a pathetic state. Just before I turned the corner I glanced back on a whim, just to make sure they hadn't started doing anything.

They can't be that desperate, can they?

And, of course, just like always, I was wrong.

She seemed hellbent on proving me wrong. I caught the sudden motion as she crouched down, her knee hitting the floor with a loud thud.

The… hell?

The movement had been so sudden, so desperate, as if she couldn't wait for me to leave the room. My stomach lurched.

Is she… sucking him already?

I couldn’t see it clearly enough to be certain, but my gut knew.

I shoved my hand inside my own shorts and wrapped my fingers around my cock. It was burning, slick at the tip, the heat spreading through my palm and up my entire body. “F-fuck...”

I walked into the bedroom and slid down my shorts. My cock sprang free, a clear string of precum stretching from the tip. I caught my reflection in the mirror. Shorts around my ankles, dick standing straight out, shiny and leaking.

A fucking loser.

What kind of husband gets rock hard watching his wife rub an old man’s cock? And now she must be on her knees with her mouth full of him.

The thought made me feel like a complete failure.

…

…

Enjoy it.

A voice called out from somewhere deep inside me, buried beneath all the guilt and denial I'd spent so long trying to suppress. I'd always tried to tone it down. But I guess it had been waiting for an opportunity like this, and now that it finally had one, it couldn't help itself.

Just give in. Enjoy.

I swallowed.

S-Should I…? It wasn't like I'd never enjoyed it before, but back then, more than enjoying it, I had been conflicted. Maybe that was why the guilt had felt so heavy, because part of me still hadn't completely given in.

But what if... today...

…What if today I stopped fighting it?

I looked at my cock and it twitched in response. Clearly, that was a yes.

Don’t you want to jerk that cock while you watch your wife and the old man doing their dirty thing?

I-I do.

Didn’t you love it when she rubbed his thick, long cock?

Y-yes, I did.

Accepting that part of me sent a strange, ticklish bliss through my stomach. I gave my shaft one slow pull from root to tip. The sensation stole my breath. One stroke and my legs felt weak.

My fist froze around my cock. Shit. I need to hurry. I suddenly realized how long I'd been gone. They were probably already doing something out there and I was hiding in here stroking myself. I let go of my shaft, wiped my wet palm on my thigh, and yanked my shorts back up. The fabric immediately tented around my aching erection. I scanned the closet, grabbed the first pair of loose shorts I could find, and hurried out.

I made sure my footsteps were loud on the way back. Heavy steps. Obvious steps. Letting them hear me coming.

I didn't know what they might be doing, and I didn't want to know yet. I wanted to give them enough time to stop whatever they were doing and slip back into the roles we had all been pretending to play. I wasn't ready to walk in on something that couldn't be explained away. I wanted to keep pretending that everything was still innocent.

Thump. Thump.

What must they be doing right now?

Thump. Thump.

I turned the corner expecting to see them on a distance from each other.

…

…

Empty. The room was empty.

My eyebrows shot up. What the fuck? I stood there staring at the vacant couch, the cushions pressed from where the old man had sat. No sign of them.

Where the hell did they go?

…Bathroom??

No... They can't be this stupid. They can't make it this obvious. We were playing the pretending game, and I wanted to keep it that way. I didn't want to confront any of it now. I wasn't ready for an answer that would leave me with no way to act dumb anymore.

Anyhow, I checked the bathroom and they weren’t there either. I checked the bedroom again, then the kitchen, and each empty room only made my confusion worse.

Thump. Thump.

I stood in the hallway, my brain going nuts.

Where are they?

My thoughts were becoming harder to control, and I could feel myself getting overwhelmed by everything happening around me. Then I remembered the pill Ray had given me. Without thinking too much about it, I decided to take it, hoping it would somehow calm my anxiety.

I pulled it from my pocket, swallowed it with some water, and stood there for a moment, waiting.

Nothing happened. Maybe it doesn't work right away.

Anyways, I had to find them quickly. My eyes moved toward the stairs.

…Upstairs?

I started walking, each step making me more nervous. The door up there was closed. My cock gave a hard twitch inside my shorts at the thought of what might be happening behind it. I knocked once, softly.

…

No answer.

Another knock, a little louder.

The door opened slowly. My wife stood there, cheeks flushed, breathing a little fast. The stench of the old man hitting me raw, coming out of her skin and clothes. My stomach dropped and my cock throbbed at the same time.

"What are you guys doing?" I asked, keeping my expression normal. I was hoping she'd give me a reason that was believable enough for me to accept without asking questions.

Before she could answer, the old man groaned from inside the room. “Ugh... it's burning.” My wife immediately turned toward him and then looked back at me. “He's in so much pain,” she explained. “I was trying to find the medkit so I could help him feel better.”

Relief flooded through me even though I knew it was bullshit. The excuse was just believable enough. I could keep pretending. "Oh. Alright."

I stepped inside. The old man was quietly standing in the corner, his stained shorts doing nothing to hide the massive bulge straining against the fabric. He grinned at me, shameless, like he was making fun of me.

This fucker…

I looked away fast and focused on finding the medkit.

"I think it was around here," I muttered, grabbing the medkit and handing it to my wife. She took it without a word.

The old man immediately dropped onto his back, legs spread. "Ahhhh, this is burning a lot…" His cock pushed even more obviously against the thin cloth, the heavy dent obscene. His behavior was becoming harder and harder to ignore, and the more openly he acted, the harder it was for me to ignore everything happening and keep playing the dumb character.

My wife knelt beside him, medkit in her lap.

Wait...

Why did she sit beside him? And why did he lie down like that?

My stomach tightened.

Is she going to apply the ointment for him?

Fuck no.

Suddenly, she looked at me with the same expression she had when she made me cum last time. Those dominating eyes. And in the moment, I realized that was exactly what was going to happen. My cock jerked hard through my shorts, the bulge becoming obvious, and my wife noticed it immediately. She looked away quickly with a little smile.

"Hurry up, lady," the old man groaned, "Help this old man feel better. This burn is killing me."

My wife turned to me with an apologetic expression. "Please, can you turn around for a while?" she asked softly, then added with a small grin, "Or you can watch if you want."

Thump. Thump.

No. no. don’t say that.

I knew this was crossing a line. Whatever happened next, there was no way I would be okay with it happening right in front of me. I should have said something. I should have stopped them before things went any further.

But strangely, the words never left my mouth.

Was it the pill?

My thoughts felt different somehow. My body was reacting more strongly, and the anxiety that had been overwhelming me moments ago seemed to be fading into something else. I felt more aroused, more drawn to what was happening instead of wanting to stop it.

I want them to keep going.

The thought came so easily that it scared me.

Is this the pill? Is it making me think like this?

I couldn't find an answer. My thoughts were becoming foggier by the second, and the more I tried to resist them, the harder it became to think clearly.

Fuck. Who cares?

I remained standing there like a statue, unable to move or speak. I knew I should have done something, but my mind felt too clouded to decide what. I simply stood there, watching, as the last bit of resistance inside me seemed to fade away.

My cock throbbed violently, the offer hanging in the air between us. I couldn't speak. The silence was enough.

Without another word, the old man hooked his thumbs into his shorts and yanked them down completely. His massive cock wobbled heavily against the air. It was enormous: thick, veined, and easily more than twice the size of mine. The head was swollen and dark, and even soft, it looked intimidatingly long.

I was completely flabbergasted, my mouth going dry as I stared at the old man's huge cock lying exposed right there on the floor.

He sighed dramatically, completely ignoring my presence. "Please apply the ointment, lady. I can't take this burning anymore."

My wife was too stunned to speak at first. She turned her head toward me, her eyes wide, then started fidgeting through the medical kit, searching for the burn ointment. I noticed the red mark clearly now, it was definitely a real burn, right next to his cock. So he was actually in pain? It didn't matter. The old man was lying there with his massive cock completely exposed, my wife sitting right beside him, and I was standing several feet away, with my cock hard at the sight.

My wife found the ointment tube and passed the medical kit to me. "Can you hold this for me?" she asked quietly.

I took it without a word, my hands shaking slightly. My wife shifted closer to the old man's exposed cock, and I could see her mouth was already so close to it that I imagined her lips wrapping around that thick head.

She dragged her finger near the burn mark, her touch gentle as she examined the area. At the contact, the old man's cock jerked hard, nearly hitting her face as he moaned loudly, "Ahhh, yeah, right there."

My wife looked at me because she could see that her touches weren't just making the old man's cock twitch, they were making mine throb too. She gave a small laugh before looking away, but I didn't catch her stare. My eyes were fixed on her hand hovering just inches from that massive cock.

She squeezed some ointment onto her fingers and began spreading it over the burn mark. The old man groaned deeply as her fingers worked the cool cream into his skin.

"Ugh, it's hard to apply with this thing covering the view," she muttered, referring to his thick cock blocking her access to the burn. Without hesitation, she grabbed it directly with one hand, wrapping her fingers around his thick shaft to move it aside.

There was no cloth covering his cock anymore. My wife was directly holding his thick, heavy cock right in front of me, her fingers wrapped around his dick while I watched.

The old man moaned loudly, his hips shifting as her fingers worked the cream into his skin. "That's it," he groaned. "Just like that."

She continued rubbing the ointment around the burn mark, occasionally having to adjust her grip on his cock as it twitched and grew even more hard in her hand. The old man's shaft was thickening noticeably, the veins standing out as her fingers worked around the sensitive area.

"Lady, you’re missing a spot," the old man said suddenly. He reached down, took her wrist, and guided her ointment-covered fingers straight over the mark that sat directly on top of his cock. The head twitched violently under her touch, a fat bead of clear fluid already welling at the slit.

I couldn’t take it anymore. My own cock was throbbing so hard it hurt. I backed toward the armchair near me, sat down fast, and shoved one hand under my shorts. I dragged the medical kit across my lap to hide the movement. My wife shifted slightly to let the old man move her hand, and the moment her fingers wrapped around that heavy shaft again, he started gliding her fist up and down.

"Ahh, yeah, right there," he groaned. "Apply it some more.”

My wife looked back over her shoulder at me. Our eyes met for half a second before I jerked my gaze away, cheeks burning. I wrapped my fingers around my own aching cock under the fabric and gave it a quick, desperate stroke, trying not to make the motion obvious. Every time her hand slid along that thick old cock, my own shaft jerked in response.

The old man was lying through his teeth. There was no burn mark where he claimed, just smooth skin stretched over that massive shaft. But it didn’t matter. My wife believed him. She squeezed more ointment onto her palm, frowned, and muttered, "It’s too big to apply with just one hand."

She brought her other hand up, wrapped both around the old man’s cock, and started stroking him properly. The old man let out a long, satisfied moan, hips rolling into her double-fisted grip. I matched her rhythm under my shorts, small, frantic strokes that made my thighs shake. My breathing turned shallow and ragged.

My wife kept glancing back at me while she worked. She didn’t say anything, just watched my face, watched the way my arm made small movements beneath the medical kit. I tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t; the humiliation was too much. Instead I stared at her hands sliding up and down that glistening shaft, at the way her wedding ring caught the light every time it disappeared under the swollen head.

The old man’s cock started leaking steadily now, thick clear strands dripping from the tip. One fat drop landed right on her wedding band, smearing across the gold as she kept stroking. Another followed, then another, until her fingers were shiny with his precum mixed with the ointment.

"That’s it, lady," he panted.

My cock twitched violently at the words. I squeezed myself harder under the kit, trying to stay quiet while my wife’s hands worked that massive cock right in front of me. The old man’s hips lifted off the floor, pushing his shaft through her tight double grip. More precum oozed out, coating her fingers and dripping onto her ring again.

She didn’t wipe it off. She just kept stroking, her expression unreadable except for the slight flush on her cheeks. Every few seconds her eyes flicked back to me, catching the way my arm jerked under the medical kit. I looked away each time, too ashamed to hold her gaze while I secretly jerked off to the sight of my wife giving another man a two-handed handjob.

The old man groaned louder, his cock swelling even more between her palms.

My wife’s fingers slid all the way down to the base, then back up, twisting slightly at the head. The sight made my own cock throb painfully. I stroked faster under my shorts, my thighs trembling, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

She looked at me again, longer this time. Her eyes dropped to the medical kit hiding my lap, then back to my face. I couldn’t look away. The shame burned through me, but I couldn’t stop stroking either. My wife knew exactly what I was doing, and she didn’t say a word. She just kept working that thick old cock with both hands while I sat there jerking off in secret.

The old man’s hips suddenly bucked upward, driving his thick cock through my wife’s slick fists. She froze, fingers still wrapped around the shaft, while he started thrusting in short, brutal strokes that made his heavy balls slap against her wrists. The motion looked exactly like he was fucking her hands, and every violent upward thrust dragged more thick precum out of his cock.

I stopped stroking myself, gripping the base of my own cock under the medical kit to hold back the orgasm that was already coming. My balls ached. My thighs trembled. I watched his swollen head punch between her palms again and again, shiny with ointment and his own leaking fluid.

My wife stayed still, letting him fuck her grip. The wet sound of his cock sliding through the cream and precum filled the room. Every time his hips snapped up, her wedding ring disappeared under the fat head, coming back coated in another string of clear fluid.

I had to stop again, squeezing hard to keep from shooting. My cock pulsed angrily in my fist. I could feel the orgasm right there, but I forced myself to wait. I wanted to see him finish first.

The old man’s thrusts grew faster, more desperate. His cock swelled even thicker between her hands.

My wife’s eyes flicked to me again. She didn’t speak. She just watched my face while the old man used her hands like a cunt. I looked away, and gave my own shaft one careful stroke before stopping again.

His hips slammed upward one final time. A thick rope of cum erupted from his cock, splattering across my wife’s fingers and on her clothes. Another heavy spurt followed, then another, until white streaks ran down her knuckles and dripped onto her lap. The sight pushed me over the edge. I came hard under the medical kit, my cock jerking in my fist as I pumped load after load into my shorts. My body shook with the force of it, breath locked in my throat while I tried to stay silent.

The old man kept thrusting through his orgasm, pushing the last thick drops out onto her hands. My own cum soaked through my underwear, warm and sticky against my skin.