My wife traded me by the neighbor's son Ch. 06

I stepped into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind me with that same soft finality it always had. The living room was dim, lit only by the floor lamp’s warm glow and the blue flicker of the muted TV. The air hit me immediately—her vanilla lotion, mixed with something heavier, muskier, saltier. Sweat. Sex. The faint metallic edge of arousal that made my stomach clench before my brain even caught up.

They were right there.

Brad was sprawled across our couch like he’d been born on it—legs spread wide, black athletic shorts shoved down just enough to free his cock. Thick. Heavy. Veined. Glistening with her spit. Kristen was on her knees between his thighs, sundress bunched around her hips, black lace thong pulled to the side and soaked through. Her dark hair spilled over his lap, head moving in slow, deliberate rhythm. One hand braced on his muscular thigh for balance, the other wrapped around the thick base, stroking what her mouth couldn’t take. Obscene sucking sounds filled the quiet room—slow, greedy, unhurried. Gluck… gluck… gluck… each time she took him deeper, her throat working visibly.

I froze in the entryway. Keys still dangling from my fingers. Heart slamming so hard it hurt my ribs. Kristen saw me first. Her eyes snapped up—wide, panicked. She made a startled, choked sound around his cock, half-gasp, half-gag, and tried to pull off. A thick string of saliva stretched from her swollen lower lip to the glistening head, snapping when she jerked back.

Brad didn’t flinch. He simply turned his head toward me, calm as if I’d just walked in from grabbing the mail. His expression stayed relaxed, almost bored. One hand stayed possessively on the back of her head, fingers threaded loosely through her hair. He gave her a gentle but firm nudge downward, guiding her mouth right back onto him even as she whimpered in embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he murmured to her, voice low and soothing, like he was calming a startled animal. “It’s okay, baby. Keep going. Tim just got home. He needs to get used to this. It’s perfectly normal now.”

Kristen hesitated—eyes darting wildly between Brad’s face and mine—then obeyed. Her lips slid back down his shaft, slower this time, more self-conscious. Cheeks hollowing as she took him deeper. A soft, humiliated moan vibrated around him. Her free hand gripped his thigh tighter, nails digging into the muscle like she was anchoring herself against the shame.

Brad looked back at me, completely unruffled. His hips gave a small, lazy roll, feeding another inch into her mouth. She gagged softly, throat fluttering, but didn’t pull away.

“Almost done here, Timmy,” he said casually, like he was updating me on the score of a game I wasn’t watching. “She’s been working me real good tonight. Deep-throat game on point.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had leaked from the corner of her eye when she gagged again. “Go take a shower. By the time you’re out, I’ll probably be finishing in her mouth."

Kristen whimpered around him—humiliated, needy, torn—but her head kept moving. Lips stretched wide. Tongue swirling visibly along the underside every time she pulled back. Saliva dripped in thick strands down her chin, onto his balls, onto the couch cushion we used to watch movies on. The rhythmic slurp-slurp-slurp filled the silence between his words.

I stood there, rooted. Keys biting into my palm. Heart hammering. My cock—traitor that it was—twitched painfully against the front of my slacks, already half-hard from the sheer visual obscenity of it: my wife on her knees in our living room, dress hiked up, thong shoved aside, worshipping another man’s dick like it was the only thing that mattered.

Brad tilted his head slightly, studying me with mild curiosity. Kristen tried to pull off again—eyes pleading toward me, mascara starting to smudge—but Brad’s hand tightened just enough in her hair to keep her in place.

“Uh-uh,” he said gently to her. “Eyes on me, Kristit. Finish what you started. Tim’s a big boy. I'm sure he can handle seeing his wife suck another cock like a pro now.”

“You good, man?” he asked, almost politely. “You look a little pale. Long day?”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out at first. Just air. A dry, useless puff of breath. My keys were still clenched in my fist, metal biting into the skin so hard I felt the sting, but I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from the way her lips were stretched wide around him, the way saliva glistened on her chin and dripped in slow, shiny strands onto his balls every time she bobbed. The blowjob sound kept going, obscene and rhythmic, louder now that she was trying—and failing—to be quiet.

I swallowed. Tried again.

“I—I didn’t… I mean, I just got home,” I stammered, voice cracking like a teenager’s. “I didn’t know you were… I mean, I can come back later. Or—or go to the bedroom. I didn’t mean to… interrupt.”

The words tumbled out, weak and apologetic, like I was the one who’d walked in on something private. Like I was the intruder in my own living room.

Brad didn’t even laugh. He just tilted his head a fraction, still stroking Kristen’s cheek with his thumb while she kept sucking—slower now, more deliberate, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation but mouth still working obediently up and down his shaft.

“Interrupt?” he repeated, almost amused. “Nah, Timmy. You’re not interrupting. You live here. This is your house. You get to see whatever happens in it.” He gave a small upward thrust of his hips, making Kristen gag softly around him. She whimpered, the sound muffled but didn’t stop. “Besides, she’s almost got me there. You walked in at a good time. Prime viewing spot.”

I felt my face burn so hot it hurt. My eyes flicked down—couldn’t help it—watching the way her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock every time she pulled back, the way her cheeks hollowed when she sucked harder, the way her throat visibly bulged when she forced herself deeper. A fresh bead of spit rolled down and dripped onto the floor between her knees. Her sundress was still bunched around her waist, thong pulled aside, and I could see how horny she was—glistening, swollen, thighs trembling slightly like she was aching from being ignored down there.

Kristen’s eyes cracked open again, meeting mine for half a second. Shame flooded her face—real, burning shame—but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Brad’s hand in her hair kept the rhythm steady, guiding her like she was an instrument he was playing.

“Well, you know what? Maybe you should stay right there,” Brad cut in, calm but firm. “Watch your wife finish what she started. It’s polite. She worked hard for this load.”

Kristen moaned around him—low, needy, humiliated—and the vibration made Brad groan softly, thighs tensing under her hands.

“See?” he said to me, eyes never leaving Kristen’s face. “She likes it when you watch. Makes her clit throb. Isn’t that right, baby?”

She nodded as best she could with her mouth full, a muffled “mm-hmm” vibrating down his length. Her hips rocked forward once, unconsciously, seeking friction against nothing. The thong was soaked through now, clinging transparently to her folds.

I stood there, frozen, keys still in my hand, cock throbbing painfully against my slacks even as my stomach churned with shame. I wanted to turn away. Wanted to run. Wanted to yell. But my feet wouldn’t move. My mouth wouldn’t form anything stronger than another weak, fumbling apology.

“I—I’m sorry,” I whispered again, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to… walk in on you like this.”

Brad gave me a small, almost kind smile.

“No need to apologize, Timmy,” he said gently. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

He looked back down at Kristen, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek.

“Almost there, good girl,” he murmured to her. “Keep sucking. Show him how pretty you look with my cock down your throat.”

Kristen whimpered again—desperate, broken—and redoubled her efforts, head moving faster, sloppier. The sounds filled the room: soft gags, her needy little moans every time he bottomed out. Her mascara was starting to streak down her cheeks in thin black lines, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Brad’s hand stayed loose but unyielding in her hair, guiding the pace like he was steering a car he knew would never crash.

Brad looked back at me again, completely casual, like we were two guys standing at a bar shooting the shit after a long day. He even leaned his head back against the couch cushion for a second, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, before speaking.

“So how was work today, Timmy?” he asked, voice low and relaxed, hips giving a small, lazy roll that made Kristen choke softly around him. “Kristen was telling me earlier your boss has been riding you pretty hard lately. Carlos, right? Sounds like a real prick.”

I blinked. My brain short-circuited for a second. He was asking about my day. While my wife was on her knees sucking his cock in our living room. The absurdity of it hit me like a slap, but my mouth moved before I could stop it.

“I… yeah,” I stammered, still standing there like an idiot with my keys in my hand. “He’s… been on me all week. Made me stay late again yesterday fixing reports he already approved. Then today he called me into his office in front of everyone and said my numbers were ‘embarrassing’ for someone who’s been there as long as I have. Said if I can’t handle basic Excel maybe I should go back to data entry.”

The words came out automatically, weak and whiny, like I was complaining to a coworker over lunch. Brad nodded slowly, like he was actually listening, while Kristen kept working with her tongue on his balls.

“Damn,” Brad said, almost sympathetic. “That’s rough, man. Sounds like he’s just taking his own stress out on you. Classic middle-manager bullshit. You don’t deserve that.”

Kristen made a muffled sound around him—half-moan, half-agreement—like she was trying to comfort me even with her mouth full. Brad gave her hair a gentle pat.

“See? Even Kristit agrees. She hates when they treat you like that. She told me all about it this afternoon while she was riding my fingers on the couch. Said it makes her feel bad for you.”

My face burned hotter. I couldn’t look away from her—couldn’t stop watching the way her throat worked every time she took him deep, the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her hips kept rocking forward like she was humping the air, desperate for friction.

Brad groaned low in his throat, thighs tensing under her hands.

“Fuck… she’s close to getting me there,” he said conversationally, like he was commenting on the weather. Then he looked straight at me again, eyes steady, almost friendly. “Hey, Timmy. I’ve got an idea.”

He paused, letting Kristen bob a few more times—wet, sloppy, urgent—before continuing.

“I’m about to cum. Real soon. And I figured… why don’t you pick where it goes? You’re her husband. Seems fair. Mouth? Tits? Face? Ass? Wherever you want. I don’t choose. I’ll just cum all over your wife. You tell me the spot.”

Kristen whimpered again—high and needy—the sound vibrating straight down his shaft. Her eyes flicked up to me for half a second, wide and glassy, pleading and humiliated and turned on all at once. She didn’t stop sucking. Didn’t dare. Just kept going, lips sliding up and down, tongue working the head every time she pulled back.

Brad’s breathing was getting rougher now, hips giving small, shallow thrusts into her mouth.

“Come on, Timmy,” he said, voice still calm but tighter. “Pick a spot. She’s earned it. Been such a good little cocksucker all afternoon. Mouth’s already full of spit and pre-cum… tits are right there under that dress… face would look real pretty painted white… ass if you want to see it drip down her crack later. Your call.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out at first. My throat was dry. My cock was throbbing so hard it hurt, leaking into my boxers. I hated myself for it. Hated how the words were already forming behind my teeth.

Kristen moaned around him again—long, desperate—like she was begging me to answer.

Brad groaned, low and pleased.

“Clock’s ticking, man,” he said. “She’s got me right on the edge. Better choose quick or I’m just gonna unload wherever feels best.”

My voice came out small. Broken. Barely audible over the loud sucking sounds.

“Face,” I whispered. Brad’s eyes lit up—just a flicker of satisfaction.

“Good choice,” he said softly. He looked down at Kristen, thumb brushing her cheek again.

“You heard him, baby. Face it is.”

He tightened his grip in her hair, pulled her off with a wet pop. Kristen gasped, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock for a second before snapping. She looked up at him—eyes wide, lips swollen, chin dripping—then at me, shame and lust warring across her face.

Brad stroked himself once, twice—fast, slick—then aimed.

“Open wide, Kristit,” he murmured. “Tongue out. Show your husband how pretty you look when you take a real man’s load.”

Kristen obeyed instantly—mouth open, tongue extended, eyes locked on his.

Brad groaned deep in his chest.

“Fuck… here it comes…”

The first thick rope hit her tongue, then her cheek, then streaked across her nose and forehead. She flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. One pulse landed on her upper lip. Another across her closed eyelids. White, hot, heavy. She moaned softly—broken, needy—as it kept coming, painting her face in messy, glistening streaks.

Brad milked the last few drops onto her waiting tongue.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Swallow what’s in your mouth. Leave the rest.”

Kristen closed her lips, swallowed with an audible gulp, then opened again—tongue clean, face a beautiful, ruined mess. Brad looked at me one last time, calm, satisfied.

“See? Told you it’s normal now.” He tucked himself back into his shorts, gave Kristen’s hair one last affectionate pat, then stood up. “I’ll let myself out,” he said casually. “Catch you later, Timmy. Thanks for the hospitality.”

He walked past me toward the door—same easy swagger—opened it, and left without looking back. Kristen stayed on her knees, messy face, eyes locked on mine.

Kristen stayed on her knees in the middle of the living room floor, exactly where she’d been when Brad finished. Her sundress was still bunched around her waist, black lace thong pulled to the side and soaked dark with her own arousal. Her face was a beautiful, obscene mess—thick white streaks of Brad’s cum painted across her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, driving slowly from her chin in lazy, glistening trails. One heavy rope had landed across her closed right eye, forcing it shut; another clung to her upper lip like obscene gloss. She was breathing hard through her mouth, chest rising and falling, makeup tracks running down her face in thin black rivers.

She looked up at me slowly.

Her good eye—the one not glued shut—widened when she noticed the obvious bulge straining against the front of my slacks. Her swollen, cum-smeared lips parted in surprise, then curved into the softest, most delighted smile I’d ever seen on her face. Like I’d just told her the best news of her entire life.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, voice hoarse and thick from the throat-fucking she’d just taken. “Timmy… you’re hard.”

She sounded genuinely thrilled—almost giddy. Like catching me with an erection after watching another man paint her face was the sweetest, most adorable thing she could imagine.

I swallowed hard, throat clicking dryly. My voice came out small, cracked, barely above a whisper.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” I started, fumbling, eyes darting from her ruined face to the wet spot on the carpet where her knees had been grinding. “I just… walked in. I didn’t know he was still here. I thought… I thought he left earlier.”

Kristen shifted forward on her knees, ignoring the cum running onto her chest and the carpet, and reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing the front of my slacks where the fabric was tented painfully.

“Is your little pee-pee hard right now?” she asked, voice soft and wonder-filled, like she was talking to a shy child who’d just shown her a drawing. Her smile grew wider, eyes sparkling through the mess on her face. “Is it? Oh baby… that’s so cute. That’s the cutest thing ever.”

My face burned. I took half a step back, keys still clenched in my fist.

“What… what did you just call it?” I stammered, voice shaking. “Pee-pee? Kristen, come on… that’s… that’s not…”

She looked up at me with those big, glassy eyes—one still half-closed under drying cum—and her smile turned shy, almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, wiping a streak of cum from her lip with the back of her hand only to smear it further across her cheek. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just… Brad told me I should start calling it that. Your… pee-pee.” She said the word gently, carefully, like she was handling something fragile. “He said it’s not really comparable to a real dick—like his—so it shouldn’t get the same name. He said it’s cuter this way. Makes it sound smaller… sweeter. He said you’d probably like it once you got used to it. That it would feel more honest.”

She paused, tilting her head, studying my face like she was waiting for me to understand.

“And… he was right,” she whispered. “Look at you. So hard just from watching me suck him. From watching him cum all over my face. Your little pee-pee likes it, doesn’t it? It’s twitching right now, I can see it through your pants.”

Her fingers traced the outline of me through the fabric—light, teasing, reverent. I sucked in a sharp breath, hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“I—I don’t…” I tried again, voice breaking. “Kristen, please… this is… this is humiliating. I just walked in on my wife… on her knees… with his… his cum all over her face. And you’re… you’re smiling like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened.”

Her expression softened even more—pure tenderness now, mixed with that strange, affectionate delight.

“It is the best thing,” she said quietly, almost reverently. “My husband came home and got hard watching me get used. Watching another man finish on my face. That’s… that’s so sweet, Timmy. It means you still want me. Even like this. Even covered in him. Your little pee-pee doesn’t lie.”

She leaned forward and pressed a soft, cum-smeared kiss to the front of my slacks—right over the head of my aching cock—leaving a sticky print of her lips and Brad’s load on the gray fabric.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she murmured against me. “It’s okay. I think it’s the cutest thing in the world. My husband’s little dick getting so hard because his wife just swallowed another man’s cum. Because she looks like this for him.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at me again, face still dripping, smile radiant through the mess.

“Do you want me to take care of it?” she asked softly. “Right here? While his cum is still warm on my face? I can be gentle. I can use my hand… or my mouth… whatever my sweet boy needs.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. My voice came out barely audible, trembling.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I whispered. “This is… this is insane. You’re… you’re covered in his... and you’re calling my… my dick… that. And you’re happy about it!”

Kristen’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew warmer, more loving.

“I am happy,” she said simply. “Because you’re still here. Because you didn’t run. Because you’re hard for me even now. That means everything, Timmy. Let me take care of my sweet boy’s little pee-pee. Please? Let me make you feel good too.”

I jerked back a step, my hand shooting out to stop hers. My voice came out sharper than I meant, but it still sounded weak.

“No,” I said. “No… I don’t want that.” Kristen froze, fingers hovering inches from my zipper. The bright, delighted smile on her cum-streaked face faltered for the first time.

“Timmy…?” she asked softly, confused.

I shook my head, cheeks burning, cock still painfully hard and throbbing in my slacks. “No,” I repeated, louder this time, though my voice cracked halfway through. “I’m not… I’m not doing this. Not right now. Not while you’re… like this.” I gestured vaguely at her ruined face, at the thick ropes of Brad’s cum still there on her chin and eyelashes. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I turned away from her, legs stiff, and started walking down the hallway.

“You should take one too,” I muttered over my shoulder, the words coming out bitter and small. “You’re… covered in him.”

I just pushed into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it for a moment, breathing hard. My hands were shaking as I stripped. Shirt, pants, boxers—all of it hitting the floor in a heap. When I finally stepped in front of the mirror, I froze.

There I was. Naked. Hard. My cock stood straight out—stiff, throbbing, the head flushed dark and leaking a clear bead of pre-cum that slowly rolled down the underside. It looked so small. So pathetic. Especially after what I’d just watched. After seeing Brad’s thick, heavy cock stretching my wife’s mouth and painting her face. I stared at it for a long second, shame flooding through me like ice water.

“Shit…” I murmured under my breath, voice barely audible, full of quiet humiliation.

--

Want the best experience of your life? Read my others chapters and stories! Check on: patreon.com/queensarah