My wife traded me by the neighbor's son Ch. 04

Kristen emerged from the bathroom about ten minutes later, wrapped in a white towel that clung to her damp skin and reached only to mid-thigh. Her hair was soaked, dark strands plastered to her shoulders and upper back, dripping little trails of water that ran down her arms and legs. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, uneven red — the kind of color that could come from the hot shower, from the exertion of the run, or from something far more intimate that had just happened behind that closed door. She looked both radiant and slightly unsteady, like someone who had just run a second marathon in the same morning.

She paused in the hallway, one hand holding the towel closed at her chest, the other brushing wet hair away from her face. When her eyes met mine, there was a flicker — not quite guilt, not quite shame, but a brief, almost shy hesitation. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, then closed again. The flush on her cheeks deepened, spreading down her neck and across her collarbone.

I sat exactly where Brad had left me, still on the couch, hands resting limp on my thighs, the empty glass forgotten beside me. My cock had gone soft again, but the ache lingered, a dull throb that hadn’t gone away since the first wet sounds started drifting through the door. I looked at her — really looked — and saw everything I didn’t want to see: the slight swelling of her lips, redder than usual; the glassy brightness in her eyes; the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other like her thighs were still sensitive, still remembering the stretch of him inside her mouth.

She took a small step forward, towel slipping just a fraction so the top edge dipped low enough to show the upper curve of her breasts. She caught it quickly, clutched it tighter, but the movement only made her look more ****, more exposed.

“Hey…” she said softly, voice a little hoarse, a little raw. “You okay?”

I nodded once. Couldn’t speak. Didn’t trust my voice not to crack.

Kristen bit her lower lip — the same lip that had just been stretched around Brad’s cock — and looked down at the floor for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I… I didn’t mean for it to go like that. It just… happened. He came in and… I don’t know. I couldn’t say no.”

She took another step closer, towel clutched in both hands now, knuckles white. The flush on her cheeks hadn’t faded; if anything it had deepened, spreading to her chest. She looked almost shy, almost apologetic, but there was something else underneath — satisfaction, maybe, or relief, or the afterglow of being thoroughly used and enjoyed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you heard. I tried to be quiet but… he’s… he makes it hard to stay quiet.”

She laughed once — small, nervous — then stopped when she saw my face. The laugh died in her throat.

“I still love you,” she said quickly, like she needed me to hear it. “I do. This… this thing with Brad… it’s different. It’s not instead of you. It’s just… more. I don’t know how to explain it.”

She shifted her weight again, thighs pressing together like she could still feel him there — in her mouth, on her tongue, down her throat. Her cheeks burned brighter. “I swallowed,” she added quietly, almost confessing. “All of it. He told me to show him first, then swallow. I did. It tasted… strong. Like him.”

She looked at me then, really looked, waiting for something. Anger, maybe. Tears. Anything.

I gave her nothing. I couldn’t. My throat was too tight, my chest too heavy, my mind too full of the sounds I’d heard: her gagging, her begging, her thanking him while she swallowed his cum.

Kristen’s eyes searched my face for a long moment. When she found no reaction, she let out a small, shaky breath. I finally managed to speak, the words scraping out of my throat like broken glass. “Why are you telling me all that, anyway?”

She blinked, surprised for a second, then gave a tiny, almost helpless shrug, the towel shifting slightly against her damp skin. “I don’t hide it anymore. Brad said it wouldn’t be good for anybody if I tried to keep secrets. He said… honesty makes everything easier. No guilt. No lies. Just… everything out in the open.”

I swallowed again, the motion painful. “When is all of this going to stop?”

Kristen looked down at her bare feet for a second, toes curling against the floor. When she looked back up, her expression was soft but unapologetic. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I’m really into it right now. Like… really into it. The way he makes me feel, the way he talks to me, the way he takes what he wants… it’s addictive. But there’s always a chance he’ll get bored of me someday. Start dating other girls. Move on.”

She said “dating” so naturally, like it was already the right word for what they were doing. Like Brad was her boyfriend now, not just some kid from downstairs who fucked her in our shower while I sat on the couch and listened.

My voice came out thinner than I wanted. “And me? Our marriage? What happens now?”

Kristen stepped closer, the towel still clutched to her chest, water dripping from her hair onto the floor between us. She reached out and touched my cheek gently, thumb brushing the skin there like she was comforting a child.

“Nothing changes for me,” she said softly. “You’re still my husband. My home. My safe place. This thing with Brad… it’s separate. It’s just… another thing. You don’t need to worry about it. It doesn’t take anything away from us.”

Even if he’s banging you, I thought. Even if he just came in your mouth while I sat here. Even if you swallowed him and thanked him and called yourself his good girl. Even if you’re standing here with his taste still on your tongue.

The words stayed trapped behind my teeth. I couldn’t say them. Couldn’t make them real. Kristen’s hand lingered on my cheek for another second, then dropped away. She gave me a small, almost sad smile.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked, voice soft but eager, like she was holding something delicious she couldn’t wait to share.

I felt my stomach twist. I already knew I wouldn’t like whatever came next. “Am I gonna like it?” I asked, quieter than I meant to, already bracing for the answer.

Kristen ignored the question completely. Her smile widened, eyes sparkling with that same giddy energy she used to get when she had gossip from a friend.

“It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen,” she said, almost whispering, but with a delighted little laugh at the end, like she was telling a girlfriend something scandalous over coffee. “Like… seriously. I could barely fit it in my mouth at first. I had to relax my throat so much just to take him deeper.”

The words hit me like a punch to the throat. My face went hot, then cold. I felt my jaw tighten so hard my teeth ached.

“I don’t want to hear that kind of thing, baby!” I said, louder than I’d spoken all morning, the volume surprising even me. My voice cracked on the last word, but it was out.

Kristen’s smile faltered for half a second. Then her brows drew together, and she straightened up, towel shifting slightly against her chest. The shift in her posture was subtle but unmistakable — from soft and apologetic to something closer to indignation.

“Tim,” she said, tone sharp but still controlled, like she was explaining something obvious to a child who should know better. “Who else am I supposed to tell? I can’t talk about this to my friends, my sister, anyone. They’d freak out. They’d judge me. They’d make it weird. So you’re the one who has to hear it. I’m doing you a favor by not hiding it. By being honest. By letting you be part of it instead of shutting you out.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, towel pulling tighter across her chest, cheeks still flushed but now with a hint of defensiveness.

“Brad says keeping secrets only makes things worse,” she added, almost reciting it like a rule she had memorized. "If I can’t talk about it with you, then it’s not fair to either of us. So yeah… I’m telling you. Because you’re my husband. Because I trust you. Because I love you.”

She paused, waiting for me to respond, but I couldn’t find words. My mouth felt full of cotton. My chest felt like it was caving in.

Kristen sighed, small and frustrated, like I was the one making this difficult. “I thought you’d want to know,” she said quietly. “I thought it would make us closer. Not… this.” She gestured vaguely between us — me sitting rigid on the couch, her standing there wrapped in a towel, the space between us suddenly feeling miles wide.

Then she turned and walked toward the bedroom again, footsteps soft on the floor. “I’m getting dressed,” she said over her shoulder, voice flat now. “We can talk later. Or not. Up to you.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a kind of heavy, suffocating quiet. Kristen came out of the bedroom eventually, dressed in loose sweats and one of my old T-shirts, hair still damp and tied back in a simple knot. She moved around the apartment like normal — made coffee, scrolled her phone, folded a load of laundry — but the usual small talk was gone. No “how’s your day going?” No “want to watch something?” No casual touches or shared glances. Just silence that felt thick and loaded, like both of us were waiting for the other to break it first.

I kept replaying everything in my head. The way she’d stood there in the towel, cheeks flushed, lips still swollen from Brad’s cock. The way she’d told me — casually, almost excitedly — that he was the biggest she’d ever seen. The way she’d defended it, saying I was the only one she could tell. I kept wondering if she was mad at me for not reacting the way she wanted. If she thought I was disgusted. If she was disappointed I hadn’t yelled or cried or begged her to stop. If she was already planning to see Brad again tonight, tomorrow, next week, while I sat here pretending everything was fine.

She kept glancing at her phone every few minutes. No notifications came. No buzz. No Brad. She didn’t say anything about it, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her thumb hovered over the screen before she locked it again.

By evening the silence had grown unbearable. We ate dinner at opposite ends of the table — sandwiches she’d made earlier, barely tasting them. She stared at her plate. I stared at mine. Neither of us spoke more than “pass the salt.”

Later, after the dishes were done and the lights were dimmed, she finally came back to the living room. I was on the couch again, same spot, same position, like I hadn’t moved all day. She stood in the doorway for a second, arms crossed, expression dark and stormy. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been fighting tears or anger or both.

Out of nowhere she asked, voice flat but edged with something sharp:

“Do you think I’d be sexier blonde?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She didn’t repeat it. Just waited, staring at me like the answer mattered more than anything. I swallowed. “You’re already beautiful. You don’t need to dye your hair unless you want to. But… yeah, you’d look good any color. You always do.”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. Just nodded once, like the answer was expected but still insufficient.

Then she stepped closer, cupped her own breasts through the T-shirt, lifting them slightly, turning sideways as if examining them in an invisible mirror.

“What about a boob job?” she asked, voice tighter now. “Do you think I’d look better with bigger ones? Like… really big. Fake big.”

My stomach dropped. She already had perfect breasts — full, natural, the kind that drew eyes without trying. They fit her body perfectly. They always had.

“No,” I said, too quickly. “You don’t need that. They’re… they’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

She let her hands drop. Her expression hardened.

“Brad canceled tonight,” she said suddenly, voice cracking with anger. “Some blonde with giant fake boobs texted him. Some bimbo with huge tits and a spray tan. Invited him out. And he said yes. Just like that.”

She started pacing, short angry steps across the living room.

“He said he’d ‘let me know’ if he was free later. Like I’m some backup plan. Like I’m not even worth keeping plans for. He’s probably fucking her right now. Probably got her bent over somewhere, telling her she’s his good girl while she bounces on his cock. While I sit here like an idiot waiting for him to remember I exist.”

Her voice rose with every sentence, jealousy pouring out raw and unchecked.

“And you know what? It’s your fault.” She stopped pacing and turned on me, eyes blazing.

“You pissed him off this morning. You tried to talk back. You told him to shut up. You acted like you had any say in this. And now he’s mad. Now he’s punishing me by going to some fake-titted slut instead of coming here to fuck me. Because of you.”

She pointed at me, finger shaking.

“If you’d just kept quiet like you’re supposed to, like he told you to, he’d be here right now. He’d be inside me right now. But no. You had to open your mouth. You had to try to be the big man for once. And now I’m the one who gets nothing.”

She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling under the T-shirt, tears welling but not falling. “I love you,” she said, voice breaking. “But right now I hate you a little. Because you’re making this harder than it needs to be. And because Brad’s probably balls-deep in some other girl while I’m here… waiting. Again.”

I stared at her for a long moment, the words she’d just said still ringing in my ears. Something inside me — maybe the last shred of pride, maybe desperation — finally pushed through the numbness.

“Isn’t this the perfect time to end it?” I asked quietly, almost pleading. “He’s with someone else right now. He chose another girl over you tonight. You’re better than waiting around for a guy who treats you like an option. You’re married. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You don’t have to do this.”

Kristen’s face twisted like I had just said the most ridiculous, offensive thing she’d ever heard. Her brows shot up, mouth opened in disbelief, then snapped shut. She let out a short, incredulous laugh that had no humor in it at all.

“Are you serious?” she said, voice rising. “End it? Because he’s with someone else tonight? Tim, that’s exactly why I can’t. Brad hates when I get cranky or jealous. He told me that once — said it kills his vibe, makes him want to pull away. If I freak out now, if I act like some possessive wife, he’ll just ghost me harder. He’ll go find girls who don’t make drama. Girls who play along.”

She took a step closer, eyes flashing with frustration and something sharper — jealousy so raw it made her hands tremble.

“The best thing I can do is show him I’m better than her,” she continued, voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “That I’m naughtier. That I’m more fun. That I’m the one he actually wants to come back to.”

I felt the floor tilt under me. “What do you mean by that?”

Kristen’s expression was pure jealousy now — lips tight, eyes narrowed, cheeks still red from earlier but now burning with anger instead of afterglow. She crossed her arms, nails digging into her own skin like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” she said through clenched teeth. “But maybe… maybe I send him some nudes right now. While he’s with her. Something really dirty. Something that proves I’m not jealous, I’m just better. Maybe a video of me touching myself, moaning his name, telling him how much I need him. Maybe I send it with a caption like ‘thinking about you even when you’re busy.’ Let him see what he’s missing. Let him know I’m not waiting around like some pathetic wife — I’m ready whenever he wants me.”

She was breathing faster now, almost panting, eyes glassy with unshed tears and fury.

“Or maybe I go full slut,” she went on, voice shaking but gaining strength. “Maybe I buy something slutty tomorrow — lingerie, heels, whatever — and send him pics all day. Make him so hard he ditches her and comes straight here. Make him choose me again. Because I’m not letting some random bimbo with fake tits take what’s mine.”

She stopped suddenly, chest heaving, like she’d just run another mile. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I opened my mouth, closed it. Nothing came out.

Kristen looked at me for a long second, then shook her head like she couldn’t believe we were even having this conversation. She turned away without another word, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. Not a slam, just a quiet, deliberate click that felt louder than any shout.

For the next thirty minutes I heard the faint sounds of her moving around in there. She was taking pictures. Dozens of them. Naked ones. Provocative ones. The kind she’d send to Brad while he was out fucking some blonde bimbo with giant fake tits. The kind that would make him hard again the second he opened his phone, make him remember why he kept coming back to her, make him ditch whoever he was with and text her to come over right now.

The thought made my stomach twist so hard I almost gagged.

What the hell did this kid have?

Besides the obvious — the huge cock she couldn’t stop talking about, the one that apparently stretched her mouth and pussy in ways I never had — what else? Confidence? Swagger? The ability to make her feel like the center of the universe when he looked at her? The ability to turn her into someone who sent nudes to a guy who was currently balls-deep in another woman, just to remind him she existed?

I sat there imagining it: Kristen in front of the bathroom mirror, towel discarded, phone held high. Arching her back to make her breasts look even fuller. Spreading her legs slightly to show the thong still clinging to her wet pussy. Turning sideways so he could see the curve of her ass. Maybe spreading her lips with two fingers, showing him how pink and swollen she still was from the shower blowjob. Maybe a close-up of her mouth, lips parted, tongue out, with a caption like “Still tasting you… wish you were here."

And Brad — wherever he was right now — would open those messages mid-thrust, smirk at the blonde beneath him, and feel his cock twitch harder because my wife was begging for him even while he fucked someone else.

Thirty minutes. Thirty fucking minutes of soft camera clicks, quiet giggles to herself, little moans when she posed in ways that turned her on.

When the bathroom door finally opened again, Kristen stepped out wearing nothing but one of my old T-shirts — too big, hanging off one shoulder, hem barely covering her ass. Her hair was dry now, loose around her shoulders, cheeks still flushed but calmer. She looked… satisfied. Like she’d accomplished something.

She didn’t look at me right away. Just walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, drank half of it in one long swallow. Then she turned, leaned back against the counter, and finally met my eyes.

“I sent them,” she said simply, like she was telling me she’d paid a bill. “A lot. More than usual. He hasn’t replied yet, but he will. He always does when I send enough.” She took another sip of water, eyes never leaving mine.

“I'm sorry. I’m not mad anymore,” she added, almost gently. “I was earlier. But now… I just want him to remember why he keeps coming back to me. Why I’m better than some random blonde. And if that means I have to be dirtier, sluttier, more ****… then that’s what I’ll be.”

She set the glass down, walked over to the couch, and sat on the opposite end from me. Not touching. Not close. But close enough that I could smell the faint trace of her body wash mixed with something muskier underneath.

“I’m not leaving you,” she said quietly. “I’m not choosing him over you. I’m just… choosing more. And I need you to be okay with that. Or at least pretend to be. Because if you keep fighting, if you keep making me feel like I have to choose… I might actually have to.”

She looked at me then, really looked, eyes soft but unyielding. “I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t want to lose this either.” She reached out, rested her hand on my knee for a second then pulled it back. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “You coming?”

Before I could even form an answer — before the words could climb out of my throat — her phone lit up on the coffee table. The screen glowed bright in the dim living room, Brad’s name flashing across it in bold letters. Kristen’s eyes snapped to it instantly, widening with a sudden rush of joy that made her whole face transform. The sadness, the anger, the frustration from before earlier vanished like smoke.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, voice trembling with excitement. “It’s him. I can’t believe he’s calling me. It worked. The photos worked. I knew it would.”

She didn’t stand up. Didn’t walk away. She stayed right there on the couch, inches from me, legs tucked under her, and answered the call without hesitation. She pressed the phone to her ear, eyes shining, lips already curving into a relieved, almost worshipful smile.

“Hey…” she said softly, voice instantly sweet and apologetic, like she was the one who needed forgiveness. “Hi. I’m so glad you called. I was… I was worried you wouldn’t after earlier.”

A pause while he spoke. Her free hand twisted the hem of the T-shirt nervously, but her expression stayed open, eager, hanging on every word. “Yeah… I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten all jealous and cranky like that. It was stupid. I know you hate when I act like that. I just… I missed you so much today and when you said you were busy tonight I kind of freaked out. But that’s on me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do.”

She listened again, nodding slowly even though he couldn’t see it. Her voice stayed small, submissive, almost childlike.

“I know. I know you’re allowed to see whoever you want. I never want to make you feel trapped or guilty. That’s not fair to you. You’ve been so good to me… so patient. I should be grateful, not whining. I’m really sorry, Brad. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be chill. I’ll be your good girl.”

Another pause. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, like she was drinking in whatever he was saying. “Yeah… I did send you a lot tonight. I was trying to make up for being a brat earlier. Did you like them? I was so nervous taking them… I kept thinking about how you’d look at them while you were out. I hoped it would make you smile. Or… make you hard. I wanted you to think about me even if you were with someone else.”

She laughed softly — a nervous, breathy sound — then bit her lip. “I’m glad. That makes me so happy. I was scared you’d be mad at me forever. I kept checking my phone like every ten seconds. When it didn’t buzz I thought… I thought maybe I ruined everything. But you’re calling now. That means I didn’t, right? That means you still want me?”

Her voice cracked just a little on the last word, but she recovered quickly, forcing brightness back into it. "Yeah, of course. I promise I won’t do it again. No more jealousy. No more drama. Just… whatever you want. Whenever you want. I’m here. Always.”

She listened for a long stretch, nodding again, expression melting into pure relief and adoration.

“Yeah… I know. I’m lucky you even give me the time of day. You could have anyone. Girls who don’t complain. Girls who don’t get clingy. But you still call me. You still want me. That means everything.”

Another pause. Her free hand slipped under the hem of the T-shirt, fingers idly tracing circles on her thigh like she couldn’t sit still.

“Mmm… I can hear that you’re still out. Sounds like you’re having fun. That’s good. You deserve it. You work hard. You make me feel so good… you should feel good too.”

She laughed again — lighter this time, almost flirtatious.

“I know. I can tell by your voice. You sound… relaxed. Happy. That makes me happy too. Even if it’s not with me tonight.” A shorter pause. Her smile faltered just a fraction.

“Oh…” she said quietly, the word small and disappointed but quickly covered with **** cheer. “You’re still with Karen. Okay. Yeah… that’s fine. I get it. She probably has… a lot to offer too, I guess...”

There was a short pause on the line. Brad’s voice came back, low and casual, like he was asking for something as simple as passing the salt. “Hey, Kristit… can you open your video camera for me real quick?”

Kristen’s eyes widened for half a second, surprise flashing across her face. She sat up straighter on the couch, still holding the phone to her ear, her free hand smoothing nervously over her thigh.

“Yes… of course,” she answered immediately, voice soft and eager. Then, a little hesitant: “But… you’re still with Karen, right? Why do you want video now?”

Brad chuckled — low, amused, completely unhurried. “Yeah, I’m still with her. Already fucked her once tonight. She’s on her knees again right now, mouth full. But I had an idea. I want to cum in her mouth while I watch you touch yourself on camera. You get to watch everything too. Her sucking me, me finishing on her tongue… all while you rub that pretty pussy for me.”

Kristen’s breath caught audibly. Her cheeks flushed deeper, eyes darting to me for the first time since the call started. Shock flickered across her face — genuine, wide-eyed surprise — then something hotter, darker, took its place.

I felt my own stomach drop. The room tilted. I opened my mouth to say something — anything — “Kristen, no,” or “hang up,” or just her name — but before a single sound could escape, she raised a finger to her lips and shushed me sharply.

“Shhh,” she whispered, eyes locking on mine for a split second, firm and unyielding. Then she turned her attention back to the phone, voice softening again into that sweet, submissive tone she used only for him.

“Okay…” she said slowly, almost testing the words. “Of course. That sounds… hot. What exactly do you want me to do?”

Brad’s voice filtered through the speaker, calm and commanding, loud enough for me to hear every word even though she had the phone pressed to her ear.

“Position the phone so I can see everything. Prop it up on the coffee table or something — wide angle. I want a clear view of that pussy while you play with it. Spread your legs nice and wide. And I want your cute little face in frame too. Don’t look away from the screen for a single second. The whole point is you touching yourself while you watch another woman suck my dick. Watch her take every inch, watch her gag, watch me cum all over her tongue. And you keep rubbing that clit the whole time. Don’t stop until I say. Got it?”

Kristen swallowed visibly. Her breathing had already turned shallow, quick little inhales through parted lips. She nodded even though he couldn’t see it.

“Got it,” she whispered. “I’ll set it up right now.”

Kristen lowered the phone for a second, eyes flicking around the living room as she tried to figure out the best angle. She stood up from the couch, still in just the oversized T-shirt, and looked at the coffee table, then at the shelves, clearly searching for something stable to prop the phone against. After a moment she frowned, realizing the books she’d grabbed earlier weren’t quite tall enough for the wide shot Brad had described.

She glanced at me, hesitating for the first time since the call started. Her cheeks were already flushed, but now there was a small, almost sheepish edge to her expression.

“Babe…” she said softly, voice a little uncertain. “Can you… help me set this up? The phone keeps falling over. I need it higher and steady so Brad can see everything the way he wants. Please?”

I stared at her, throat tight. My mind screamed at me to say no, to grab the phone and end the call, to tell her this had gone far enough. But the words wouldn’t come. My body felt heavy, locked in place. I gave a small, jerky nod before I could stop myself.

Kristen smiled — relieved, grateful — and handed me her phone. “Thank you. Just… hold it for me? I tried propping it but it keeps falling. Brad wants the angle steady — he said it has to be perfect so he can see everything exactly how he asked. Please, babe? Just hold it right here in front of me while I sit back. That’s the only way it’ll stay framed the way he wants.”

Her voice was soft, almost pleading, but there was an undercurrent of excitement that made my stomach twist. I stared at the phone in her outstretched hand, warm from her grip, the screen still showing Brad’s face in the video call. My throat closed. Every instinct screamed at me to drop it, to end the call, to tell her no.

But my hand moved before my brain could catch up. I took the phone from her. My fingers closed around it automatically, like they belonged to someone else.

Kristen sat back on the couch, knees already parting slowly. She tugged the oversized T-shirt up around her waist, exposing the black lace thong still clinging to her. She looked up at me once — brief, almost apologetic — then reached out and guided my hand, positioning the phone exactly where she needed it: held steady in front of her lap, angled down so the camera captured her from the waist down when she spread her legs, but tilted up just enough to frame her face and upper body too.

“There…” she said into the speaker, voice trembling with nerves and excitement. “Can you see everything now? My pussy… my face… all of it? Tim’s holding the phone so it’s steady for you.”

Brad’s voice came back, satisfied and low. “Perfect. Legs wider. Pull the thong to the side. Show me how wet you are already.”

Kristen obeyed instantly, fingers shaking as she hooked the lace aside, exposing her glistening folds. She was soaked — visibly swollen, slick, still puffy from earlier. She let out a shaky breath.

“I’m so wet… just from hearing you talk about her sucking you…”

“Good girl,” Brad murmured. “Start rubbing. Slow circles on your clit. And don’t look away from the screen. Watch her take me. Watch me fuck her mouth while you play with that needy little pussy. Tim — hold it steady. Don’t shake. I want to see every detail.”

My arm locked in place. I held the phone exactly as she had positioned it, inches from her open thighs, the camera capturing everything: her fingers circling her clit in slow, deliberate loops, her folds parting slickly with each pass, the way her hips twitched involuntarily when she brushed her most sensitive spot.

Kristen’s eyes stayed glued to the phone screen, wide and glassy, watching whatever Brad was showing her. Her breathing hitched immediately.

“Oh god…” she whispered. “She’s… she’s really deep. Her lips are stretched so much around you… fuck, Brad, you’re so thick… I can see her throat working to take all of you…”

Brad groaned on the other end. “Yeah… she’s gagging on it. Look at her eyes watering. You like watching that? Knowing I’m using her throat while you rub yourself for me? Keep those circles going. Nice and slow. Let me see how your clit swells when you watch me get sucked.”

Kristen moaned softly, fingers speeding up just a little despite his instruction. “Yes… I like it… it’s so fucking hot… her mouth looks so full… I wish I was there… I wish I could taste you too… I can see the spit dripping down her chin…”

“Keep watching,” Brad ordered. “Watch me fuck her face. Watch her **** on every inch. And keep those fingers moving. Tell me how wet you are right now.”

“So wet…” Kristen whimpered. “It’s dripping down my thighs… I can hear her gagging… fuck, Brad… you’re gonna cum soon, aren’t you? I can see your balls tightening…”

“Yeah… real soon. Keep rubbing. Don’t stop. I want you right on the edge when I finish on her tongue. Look at her tongue swirling around the head… fuck, she’s good. But you’re better. You always are.”

Kristen’s hips started rocking against her hand, small, **** movements. Her breathing turned ragged, moans slipping out louder now, impossible to suppress.

“I’m close… Brad… I’m so close just watching her suck you… her cheeks are hollowing… she’s taking you so deep… oh god, I can see you throbbing…”

“Not yet,” he growled. “Wait for me. Watch me cum. Watch me fill her mouth. Then you can cum. Hold it. Be my good girl.”

Kristen whined — a needy, frustrated sound — but obeyed. Her fingers slowed again, teasing, circling, keeping herself right on the edge while she stared at the screen.

Brad’s breathing grew heavier on the line. “Here it comes… fuck… watch this… watch me cum all over her tongue…”

A long, low groan from him echoed through the speaker. Kristen’s eyes went impossibly wide, glued to the screen.

“Oh my god… there’s so much… she’s swallowing it all… fuck, Brad… I can see it dripping down her chin… she’s licking you clean…”

“Now,” he commanded. “Cum for me. Right now. While you watch her swallow my load.”

Kristen’s body jerked violently. A sharp, broken cry tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her — hips bucking hard against her hand, thighs trembling uncontrollably, back arching off the couch cushions. She kept her eyes locked on the screen the entire time, watching Brad finish in another woman’s mouth while wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her. Her fingers never stopped moving, drawing out every shudder, every aftershock, until she was gasping, spent, trembling.

When it finally passed, she collapsed back against the cushions, chest heaving, phone still held steady in my hand, camera capturing every quiver of her body.

Brad’s voice came back, satisfied and lazy.

“Good girl. Clean your fingers. Taste yourself while you think about her tasting me.”

Kristen obeyed instantly, bringing her slick, trembling fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean with a soft, needy moan.

“Mmm… I taste good… but I bet she tastes better with your cum all over her tongue…”

Brad chuckled, low and pleased. “Probably. I’ll let you know next time. Night, Kristit. Sweet dreams.”

The call ended. Kristen let out a long, shaky exhale. She sat there for a long moment, breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with afterglow.

Then she looked at me — really looked — for the first time since the call started. Her expression was soft again, almost guilty, but still glowing with satisfaction. “I’m sorry you had to hold the phone for that,” she whispered. “But… I needed it. I needed him.”

She reached out, touched my arm lightly — the same arm that had just held the phone steady while she came watching another woman swallow Brad’s cum.“I still love you,” she said again, like it was the most important thing she could offer me.

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