Sharing is Caring

You wake still wearing the black tee that reads turning your wife into my slut.

The fabric is soft and slightly damp against your skin. Jamies is on his back beside you, one arm thrown over his head, the camo hat tilted on the nightstand. The vivid dreams from the night before—lesbian scenes, threesomes, married women on their knees for you and then for him—are still pulsing between your legs. You are already wet.

You shift under the sheet, crawl down his body, and take his soft cock into your mouth without a word. He hardens quickly against your tongue, a low sleepy groan leaving his throat as his hand finds the back of your head. You suck him slowly at first, then deeper, the bold white letters on the tee stretching every time you bob forward. When he is fully hard you pull off, straddle him, and sink down in one smooth motion.

“Morning,” you whisper, already riding him.

Jamies’s hands settle on your hips. His eyes open, dark with heat and surprise. You keep the black tee on the entire time, the words turning your wife into my slut bouncing with every roll of your hips. You come first, grinding down and shaking; he follows soon after, flooding you while you stay seated and clenched around him. You lean down, kiss him once, and murmur against his mouth,

“Go to work. I’ll handle breakfast later.”

He showers, dresses, and leaves with a slightly dazed smile and the taste of you still on his lips. The second the front door closes the new hunger from the dreams rises sharp and clear.

You stay in the black tee and nothing else while you open your laptop.

You search for her.

Greg’s new wife. The nineteen-year-old intern who became twenty by the time the divorce was final—the doppelgänger who looked enough like a younger version of you that it still stings if you let it. Her name is Brooke. Public profiles are easy enough to find. She posts often: coffee runs, gym selfies, the occasional soft smile that Greg used to get from you a decade ago. You stare at one photo longer than the others and feel the same electric want the dreams had given you last night.

You send a simple message from a new account.

Hey Brooke. This is Susie. I know it’s out of the blue, but I think we should talk. Coffee?

She answers within the hour. Curiosity wins. You set the meeting for a quiet café two neighborhoods over, then go get ready. You keep Jamies’s black turning your wife into my slut tee on under an open flannel, pair it with the soft pink SLUTTY MILF pants from the costume box, and leave the apartment with the taste of your husband still between your legs and the dream images still replaying behind your eyes.

Brooke is already at a corner table when you arrive. Twenty years old, dark hair, the same soft mouth you used to see in the mirror. She looks nervous and a little defiant. You sit across from her, order nothing, and get straight to the point.

“I’m not here to fight,” you say. “I’m here because I’ve been thinking about you. About us. About how much we actually have in common.”

The conversation starts careful and turns charged. You watch her eyes drop more than once to the bold letters visible where the flannel hangs open. You lean in, lower your voice, and tell her a carefully edited version of the dreams—women together, the freedom of not belonging to only one man, the idea of being shared and of sharing. Brooke’s breathing changes. Her knees press together under the table. When you finally rest your hand on her thigh she does not pull away.

An hour later you are in her car.

Twenty minutes after that you are kissing her in the front seat, the black tee bunched under her hands, her young mouth eager and curious. You make her come with your fingers right there in the parking garage, forehead pressed to hers, whispering how pretty she is and how much better it could feel at home with someone else watching.

You bring her back to the apartment.

Jamies’s car is still gone. You lead Brooke inside by the hand, close the door, and kiss her harder against it. The flannel comes off. The soft pink SLUTTY MILF pants end up around one of her ankles. You keep the black turning your wife into my slut tee on while you take her to the couch, spread her open, and return the favor with your mouth until she is shaking and pulling your hair. Then you switch, straddling her face so she can taste you while you reach back and finger her through a second orgasm.

You are still like that—Brooke’s young tongue inside you, your mouth shiny with her, the bold letters on the tee damp with sweat—when the front door opens.

Jamies steps in, keys still in his hand, and freezes.

You look up over your shoulder, smile the slow smile the dreams taught you, and say the only words that feel right.

“Come here, baby. I brought you something.”

Brooke’s eyes go wide, but she does not stop licking. You reach out with one hand, beckon your husband closer, and feel the last of the old life click quietly out of place.

Jamies drops his bag and walks toward the couch like a man in a dream.

You stay exactly where you are—straddling Brooke’s face, the black turning your wife into my slut tee still on, your thighs bracketing her head—while your younger husband stares at the twenty-year-old doppelgänger currently licking your cunt. Brooke’s eyes are wide and dark with arousal and nerves, but she does not stop. You reach out, take Jamies’s hand, and guide it to her bare breast.

“She’s Greg’s new wife,” you tell him softly. “I brought her home for us. For you. For me. The shirt made me do it… and I’m not sorry.”

Jamies’s cock is already hard and tenting his work slacks. You free it with one hand while you keep grinding on Brooke’s mouth. He steps closer. You lean down and take him between your lips, tasting the day on his skin while the younger woman beneath you moans into your cunt. The three of you find a rhythm quickly—Brooke’s tongue working you, your mouth working him, his hand alternating between your ass and Brooke’s soft, young tits.

You come first, thighs shaking around Brooke’s head, the bold white letters on the tee stretching as you arch. The second the orgasm fades you lift off her face, turn, and kiss her deeply so Jamies can watch her taste you on her own tongue. Then you guide Brooke onto her hands and knees on the couch, peel the soft pink SLUTTY MILF pants the rest of the way off her, and look at your husband.

“Fuck her. I want to watch.”

Jamies does not need to be told twice. He kneels behind Brooke, rubs the head of his cock through her soaked folds, and pushes in with a low groan. Brooke’s mouth falls open. You sit on the arm of the couch, one hand in her dark hair, and watch every inch of your younger husband disappear inside the girl who looks like a twenty-year-old version of you. The sight sends a fresh pulse of heat between your legs so strong you have to touch yourself.

“She’s tight,” Jamies pants, already thrusting. “Fuck, Susie… she feels—”

“I know,” you finish for him, voice thick. “Now make her come while I watch.”

He does. He fucks Brooke in steady, deep strokes while you hold her hair and whisper filthy encouragement. You tell her how pretty she looks taking your husband’s cock. You tell her she belongs here with the two of you now. You lean down and kiss her while she comes around him, moaning into your mouth. Jamies lasts longer than usual—driven by the visual of the two of you together—but when he finally pulls out you are ready.

You push him onto his back on the couch, straddle him, and sink down onto the cock still slick with Brooke’s wetness. At the same time you pull Brooke forward so she can sit on his face. The three of you lock together perfectly: you riding your husband’s cock, Brooke riding his tongue, the two of you leaning in to make out above him. The black tee stays on. The words turning your wife into my slut are damp with sweat and right in Brooke’s face every time the two of you kiss.

Jamies comes hard inside you with a muffled groan. You keep riding him through it, then lift off so Brooke can see the mess. She does not hesitate—she slides down, takes him in her mouth, and cleans every drop while you stroke her hair and tell her what a good girl she is. When he is soft and sensitive you pull her up and kiss her again, tasting your husband and yourself mixed on her tongue.

You are not finished.

You move the two of them to the bedroom. The black tee finally comes off only long enough for Brooke to pull it on herself; the sight of Greg’s young wife wearing turning your wife into my slut across her chest makes both you and Jamies groan. You take turns with her—Jamies fucking her while you sit on her face, then you riding her mouth while he takes her from behind, then both of you focused on her until she is shaking and begging and coming again. At one point you and Brooke end up scissoring while Jamies strokes himself and watches, the camo hat somehow back on his head. Later you hold her legs open so he can drive into her one more time while you whisper in her ear how much better this is than anything Greg ever gave either of you.

By the time the three of you collapse in a sweaty, cum-streaked tangle the light outside the window has gone soft and gold. Brooke is in the middle, still wearing the black tee, her young body marked with both of your mouths and hands. You are on one side, Jamies on the other, both of you tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

No one speaks for a long time.

Then Brooke’s quiet voice breaks the silence, small and already addicted.

“Can I stay for dinner?”

You smile against her shoulder, meet Jamies’s eyes over her head, and feel the last of the old boundaries dissolve completely.

“You’re staying longer than dinner, baby,” you tell her. “The shirt already decided.”

Outside, the afternoon keeps moving.

Inside, the first woman the dreams demanded is sticky, satisfied, and exactly where the black tee wanted her—between you and your husband, already halfway to belonging to both of you.

And the night is still young..