The final straw to help Richard get his ex back

Richard's ex-wife, with a surge of newfound energy, grabbed his cock, her grip firm and demanding. She didn't try to take him for herself. Instead, she pushed him towards Harry, her actions a bizarre mix of sacrifice and strategy.

"Fuck her," she commanded, her voice a raw, desperate plea. "Fuck her hard. And while you do, you'll look at me. And you'll remember who taught you everything you know."

It was a masterstroke of manipulation. She was giving him what he wanted, but on her terms. She was turning Harry into a living, breathing monument to their shared past.

Richard, caught in the crossfire of their rivalry, was powerless to resist. He positioned himself behind Harry, his cock pressing against her entrance. He looked at his ex-wife, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Fuck her," the ex-wife repeated, her voice a husky whisper. "And I'll watch. I'll watch you fill her up, and she’ll remember what it felt like to be fuck by a real man that she’ll never fuck again."

With a groan, Richard thrust into Harry, burying himself to the hilt. Harry cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that was designed to provoke. She pushed back against him, her body a demanding, insistent force, taking him deeper, harder. He look over at his ex wife while fucking Harry.

As Richard set a punishing rhythm, his gaze remained locked on his ex-wife. He watched her face, the way her lips parted, the way her breath hitched, the way her hands clenched into fists at her sides. He saw the pain, the longing, the twisted pleasure in her eyes.

He was fucking Harry, but he was making love to the memory of his ex-wife. Every thrust was a question, a challenge, a desperate attempt to recapture a feeling he thought he'd lost.

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