The Weight of Want

Introduction:

Milan and Nevena were the kind of married couple who did everything right steady careers, quiet nights, careful love. But beneath the surface of their well kept life, a hunger festered. For years, Milan buried a fantasy he was too ashamed to name, the image of his wife with another man. Not in betrayal but in surrender. In worship.

When Nevena finally whispered the words that cracked open that forbidden door, everything changed.

What began as late night videos and whispered confessions soon spiraled into something far more real, far more dangerous. And when they found Stefan a guy who fits exactly into what they needed, Nevena didn't flinch. She leaned into the fire.

This is the story of what happens when love stops playing it safe.

Of a wife who discovered power in submission.

A husband who found freedom in watching her fall apart for someone else.

And a night that turned fantasy into something they could never take back.

.............................................................................................................................................................

He never had trouble with women.

At 22, he had already lived the kind of dating life most guys only fantasized about while doom scrolling Tinder in his boxers. Tall, athletic, with sharp Slavic features and a confident smirk that made girls swipe right before they even finished reading his bio "Just here for a good time, not a long text conversation."

It worked.

It always worked.

By now, Stefan had lost count of how many nights ended with messy hair, lipstick stains, and a satisfied grin as he pulled his clothes back on while some girl lay breathless in bed, already debating whether to text him again.

Tinder had been his playground since he turned eighteen.

A few good pictures shirtless at Ada Ciganlija, a candid smirk at a club, and that one obligatory gym mirror selfie and women practically lined up.

Most guys struggled with opening lines.

Stefan didn't need them.

Half the time, they messaged him first "You're trouble, aren't you?"

And they were right.

Hookups came easy too easy.

Casual drinks on Beton Hala, a shot or two of rakija to loosen things up, and by midnight, they'd be in the back of a taxi, her hand already sliding up his thigh.

The first time a girl saw what he was packing was unforgettable her wide eyes, the gasp, the way she bit her lip like she'd just discovered something forbidden.

Stefan learned quickly that his size wasn't just a biological gift it was a weapon.

He'd watch girls shift from playful flirtation to pure, submissive desire the moment his cock came into view. It became a pattern one he mastered.

There were plenty of wild nights.

Some girls begged for it rough, others wanted to "take it slow" but ended up screaming his name within minutes. There were adventurous types too girls who'd bring a friend along, whispering that they'd always wanted to try a threesome. Stefan never said no.

He'd even had a few couples slide into his DMs after spotting him on Tinder.

Usually bi curious girls and guys looking for a third Stefan had no problem being the guy they invited in. Those nights were fun, sure. Two bodies to enjoy instead of one. But it was always the same he'd fuck the girlfriend while her boyfriend joined in or watched awkwardly, pretending he was cool with it. Or some girls cheating and taking revenge i have done it all.

But lately?

It all felt... repetitive.

The same bars. The same flirtatious giggles. The same predictable way their eyes would widen when they saw his cock, followed by that breathless, almost scripted line:

"Oh my God, I've never had anyone this big."

At first, that reaction fed his ego gave him that rush of power.

Now?

It felt like he was stuck in a loop, playing out the same scene over and over again.

It was a random Thursday night when boredom hit the hardest.

No dates lined up not because he couldn't get one, but because Stefan had started ghosting girls before they even got the chance to bore him. The endless stream of matches, shallow conversations, and predictable "u up?" texts had lost their thrill months ago. He didn't need to chase anymore the chase was chasing him.

So there he was, stretched out on his bed in his modest Belgrade apartment, one arm behind his head, phone abandoned on the nightstand while his other hand lazily clicked through tabs on his laptop.

Porn wasn't a necessity for Stefan it was a distraction. Something to fill the void when real flesh and breathless moans weren't immediately available.

He scrolled through categories on autopilot.

Blonde.

Seen it.

Threesome.

Been there.

Amateur.

Half his Tinder hookups could've qualified.

He exhaled through his nose, smirking at how numb he'd become to things that used to get his blood pumping. His cock rested semi hard against his thigh not from excitement, but from pure muscle memory.

Then his cursor hovered over something unfamiliar. Or rather, something he'd always ignored Cuckold / Hotwife.

For a second, he almost skipped past it.

Some weird fantasy shit, he thought.

But boredom had a way of making even the unexpected seem interesting.

Curiosity piqued, he clicked.

The video started.

And within seconds, Stefan realized this wasn't what he thought it would be.

Sure, there was sex. A gorgeous woman, legs spread, moaning like her life depended on it. But it wasn't the typical porn scene. There was a story here. A dynamic.

His eyes were drawn to the guy the Bull. Confident. Calm. Moving like he owned not just the woman beneath him, but the entire room. He didn't sweet talk her. He didn't ask permission. He was there because he'd been invited because both husband and wife wanted him there.

And then there was the husband.

Sitting in the corner, small, pale, forgotten stroking his cock as he watched his wife get split open by a man who clearly outclassed him in every way. The look on the husband's face wasn't just jealousy it was worship. A sick mix of humiliation and arousal.

But Stefan didn't waste a second looking at him.

No his focus was entirely on the Bull.

That smirk. That relaxed dominance.

The way he grabbed the woman's hips like she was nothing more than something to enjoy, to use while she begged for more, her voice raw from moaning.

Stefan felt something stir.

Not just between his legs but deeper.

A sense of recognition. A thought that whispered:

That reminds me of me.

He shifted in bed, feeling his cock swell as the Bull whispered something filthy into the woman's ear, making her whimper and look back at her husband with glassy, fucked out eyes.

Stefan glanced down at himself, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he gave his thick shaft an idle stroke.

"Shit..." he muttered, amusement lacing his voice. "That could be me."

The thought lingered longer than he expected.

His mind drifted

Back to the endless parade of hookups that had blurred together over the years. But a few... a few still stood out.

Like that one girl from Tinder who was a foreigner visiting for the week, dark hair, fake shy, the kind who claimed she "wasn't that type of girl" in her bio but showed up to the bar wearing a dress that said otherwise. They barely made it through a single drink before she was pulling him by the hand, insisting they skip the small talk and head to her apartment in Dorćol.

The next morning, as she lay sprawled across her bed, sore but glowing, she confessed with a playful smirk,

"I told my friends I matched with you... We joked about how Serbian guys are supposed to be... you know..."

Her eyes had dropped to his cock, already half hard again beneath the sheets.

"Let's just say... you proved the stereotype."

Stefan had only laughed, brushing it off like it was nothing. But he remembered the way she looked at him after like she'd gotten more than she bargained for and loved every second of it.

Then there was the time those two roommates invited him over under the pretense of a "movie night." He wasn't naïve he could see the way they exchanged glances, biting back giggles as they poured drinks. By midnight, Netflix was long forgotten, and both girls were on their knees in front of him, eyes wide with a mix of awe and mischief.

They took turns, giggling like conspirators in some naughty game

"I can get deeper than you."

"No way, he twitched more when I did it."

Stefan remembered resting his hands behind his head, watching them struggle to fit him in their mouths, their lipstick smeared, eyes watering. One of them looked up at him with flushed cheeks and whispered:

"You're like something out of a porn video."

At the time, it was just another ego boost another story to file away under wild nights. He hadn't thought much of it. This was just how things were when you looked like him... when you were built like him.

But now

Watching the video play out on his screen, seeing the Bull take control of the room, of the woman, of the entire situation Stefan felt a shift.

It wasn't luck.

It wasn't random.

Those girls weren't just after a good time they were chasing the experience of being with a man who could dominate them physically, who didn't have to ask permission to take what was already being offered.

And sitting there, watching another man's wife writhe beneath the Bull's thick cock, Stefan couldn't help but recognize himself in every thrust, every smirk, every gasp the woman let out.

He wasn't just some guy getting lucky on Tinder.

He was made for this.

For being the one women craved and men invited in, knowing they could never satisfy her the way he could.

And for the first time in months, Stefan felt genuinely excited.

The next few days blurred into something new

Not just casual curiosity, but a sharp edged obsession.

What started as late night boredom became a deep dive into a world Stefan hadn't known existed outside of niche porn categories. But this wasn't about getting off anymore. Half the time, he'd watch with his cock untouched, more focused on the dynamics than the sex itself.

He was studying.

Video after video, he watched how the Bulls moved how they didn't chase, didn't beg, didn't ask. They simply took because they were invited to. Because everyone in that room knew what he needed to do.

It wasn't about being cocky for the sake of it.

It wasn't some cartoonish alpha act.

It was something deeper.

A quiet, undeniable confidence.

The kind that came from knowing really knowing that you offered something other men couldn't. That women didn't just want you... they needed you. And their husbands? They knew it too.

By the third night, Stefan wasn't just imagining himself in those roles he was analyzing every detail. How the Bulls spoke in low, commanding tones. How they kept eye contact with the wife while ignoring the husband, reducing him to background noise. How they dictated the pace, the positions, even when the husband was "allowed" to touch.

Stefan caught himself smirking more often, that familiar spark of ego reigniting but sharper now. More purposeful.

This wasn't like Tinder, where women gave it up easily because of his looks or his size.

This was about control. About being wanted on a level that had nothing to do with sweet talk or dates.

Late one night, with his room dimly lit by the glow of his laptop, Stefan watched yet another scene unfold

The Bull lazily thrusting into a wife who was a moaning mess beneath him, while her husband sat on a chair in the corner, jerking himself with that same pathetic mix of humiliation and arousal Stefan had seen a dozen times now.

But instead of focusing on the sex, Stefan's mind was already elsewhere.

Do people actually live like this?

Is this just porn or are there really couples out there waiting for someone like me?

His curiosity got the better of him.

He opened a new tab and started typing:

"Cuckold dating real life"

"Bull hotwife site Serbia"

"How to meet couples into cuckolding"

He expected nothing. Maybe some sketchy forums, or sites overloaded with ads and fake profiles.

But then he found it.

A niche European platform. Discreet. Clean interface.

Invitation only, but with a verification process for select newcomers especially Bulls.

Stefan's lips curled into a grin.

So this shit's real after all...

He clicked Register, his pulse steady, but his mind already racing with possibilities.

When the profile form popped up, he didn't oversell he didn't have to.

Age: 22

Build: Athletic

Size: BIG

"Open minded. Experienced. Here to give couples exactly what they crave."

He hovered over the "About Me" section, debating whether to mention his size outright in inches. But that felt cheap. Desperation wasn't his style.

Instead, he selected one of his favorite photos a casual shirtless pic taken after a gym session. Abs defined, shoulders broad, jeans slung low on his hips, hinting just enough to let imagination do the heavy lifting.

Confidence wasn't about showing everything.

It was about knowing they'd come begging to see more.

He hit Submit, closed his laptop, and forgot about it.

Or at least, he tried to.

By the next afternoon, his inbox pinged twice.

By the evening, five more messages.

Mostly older couples. Some too eager, throwing out words like "breed me" or "we worship Bulls". Others sent awkward, poorly lit photos that killed any interest Stefan might've had.

He wasn't desperate, and he sure as hell wasn't going to waste his first experience on people who treated this like cheap porn.

Two days passed.

Then

A notification.

A profile named "BelgradeLovers" had viewed him.

And unlike the rest, their message was simple. Controlled. Intriguing.

"Hi Stefan. We liked your profile. Maybe you're what we're looking for..."

Attached was a single photo.

Not explicit nothing crude. Just... tasteful.

A candid shot at a café. The woman caught his eye first dark hair, soft curves hugged by a summer dress, sunglasses pushed into her hair, revealing playful eyes and a smile that balanced between shy and inviting.

Beside her, the husband.

Average in every sense clean cut, polite looking. His smile wasn't confident. It was the kind of grin a man wore when he knew he was crossing a line he couldn't uncross but wanted to.

Stefan leaned back in his chair, studying the photo like a hunter sizing up prey.

His grin was slow, deliberate.

"Well, well..." he muttered, his fingers already itching to reply. "Let's see where this goes."

He hovered over the keyboard, crafting a response measured, confident, respectful but laced with unspoken dominance.

This wasn't Tinder anymore.

This was a different game entirely.

A game of patience, desire, and control.

And Stefan was ready to play.

Stefan didn't reply right away.

He wasn't some horny teenager eager to jump at the first offer.

No he understood instinctively that in this kind of game, patience was power.

Desperate men pounced.

Dominant men let others wait.

So, he closed the message, leaned back in his chair, and went about his day hit the gym, grabbed a late lunch at his usual spot in Vračar, and ignored the occasional buzz from his phone. He knew they'd be watching, waiting for that little "seen" notification to turn into something more.

A few hours later when the timing felt right he opened the app again.

Re read the message.

The simplicity of it told him everything he needed to know they were intrigued, but cautious. New to this world. Probably nervous, probably unsure how far they wanted to go... yet.

That was fine.

He'd guide them.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed, keeping his tone casual but with that unmistakable edge of quiet authority:

"Glad you reached out. I'm curious what exactly are you two looking for?"

No emojis. No over explaining.

Let them fill in the blanks.

The reply came faster than he expected within minutes.

They'd clearly been hovering over their phones, waiting for him to bite.

"We're new to this... but we want to explore. We need someone who understands discretion. Someone who can take control when needed."

Nevena & Milan

Stefan's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he read it.

Textbook.

The couple was dipping their toes in throwing out words like discretion and control, hoping to lure in the right man without sounding too eager. But Stefan could already see the cracks in their careful wording.

Who's really sending this?

Was Milan leading the charge, or was Nevena already fantasizing about being taken?

He decided to press subtly.

"I'm good at taking control. But I like to know who I'm dealing with. Is this Nevena or Milan messaging me?"

This was the first test.

Force them to drop the polite couple act and show who was really driving this conversation.

Minutes ticked by.

Five...

Ten...

Stefan didn't mind waiting it only confirmed what he suspected. They were probably sitting together, debating how to respond, the tension thick between them.

Finally, the message appeared:

"It's Nevena. But Milan is next to me, reading everything. He's... encouraging this."

Bingo.

Stefan's eyes gleamed with interest.

So Milan wanted to watch his wife flirt with another man already positioning himself in that quiet, voyeuristic role. And Nevena? She was the one typing, but clearly testing her own boundaries, seeing how far she could go with her husband's blessing.

Stefan leaned forward, feeling the shift the moment where curiosity turned into control.

Time to push. Just a little.

"Good. Because if we meet, I won't just be taking care of you, Nevena. I'll be showing Milan exactly how it's done."

He hit send and let the words hang in the air like a challenge.

For a moment, nothing.

Then, the familiar flicker of three little dots typing... stopping... typing again.

Stefan could picture it:

Nevena glancing at Milan, cheeks flushed, heart racing.

Milan trying to play it cool, but his cock probably already hard beneath his jeans, knowing exactly what kind of man they were inviting into their lives.

Finally, the reply came through simple, but telling.

"That's exactly what we're hoping for..."

Attached was a photo.

Not nudes not yet.

But something far more enticing.

Nevena, lounging on a couch. Legs tucked under her, wearing a loose tank top that dipped just enough to tease a hint of cleavage. No makeup, hair tousled like she'd been nervously running her fingers through it. The kind of effortless beauty that screamed real, not posed.

But what caught Stefan's attention wasn't just her looks.

It was the energy.

The unspoken tension behind the photo the way her lips curled in a shy, almost guilty smile, like she knew exactly what she was doing... and that her husband was probably watching her hit send.

Stefan felt his cock stir, pressing against his shorts not because she was showing skin, but because of the power dynamic wrapped up in that single image.

This wasn't some Tinder girl sending filtered selfies for validation.

This was a married woman offering a glimpse of herself to a man she barely knew because both she and her husband wanted her to.

And in that moment, Stefan made a decision.

This wasn't going to be just another notch on his bedpost.

This was going to be a game one he'd enjoy playing, at his own pace, on his own terms.

The next few days were a dance of words.

And Stefan led every step.

Nevena messaged like clockwork, always in the evenings.

It started innocently enough polite, almost formal, as if they were colleagues exchanging pleasantries.

"Hope your day was good, Stefan..."

At first, he'd match her tone short, confident replies that gave just enough attention to keep her hooked without ever seeming too eager. He could almost feel Milan beside her, reading over her shoulder, both of them pretending this was just casual conversation.

But Stefan knew better.

He could sense the anticipation behind every message.

And like any good predator, he let them come to him.

By the time midnight rolled around, the dynamic always shifted.

The polite small talk faded.

Nevena's messages grew longer... riskier.

Curiosity giving way to desire.

It started with harmless questions.

"What do you like in a woman?"

"Have you done this before?"

But it didn't take long before the mask slipped.

Soon, her texts came bolder dripping with barely contained arousal.

"What would you do if you were here right now?"

"Do you like taking control of someone else's wife?"

"How big are you really?"

Stefan never sent dick pics.

That was a move for desperate men and he was far from that.

Instead, he wielded his words like a weapon.

Describing himself in slow, deliberate detail not just his size, but how it felt when women tried to take him. How they gasped when they realized he wasn't done sliding in. How some couldn't even handle it all.

He painted pictures in Nevena's mind letting her imagination do what no photo ever could.

Her replies would slow down after that.

The pauses between messages stretching longer, until he was certain she wasn't just thinking she was touching.

One night, she confirmed it without meaning to.

"Milan says he wants to watch me touch myself while I read your messages..."

Stefan's reply was immediate, sharp and commanding

A flick of dominance that sent a clear message: You're mine now.

"Then be a good wife and do what he says. Tell me when your fingers are wet."

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly

Then stopped.

He pictured them on the couch or in bed Milan watching, probably already hard, while Nevena hesitated, her free hand sliding beneath whatever flimsy excuse for pajamas she was wearing.

When the next message finally arrived, it was short. Breathless.

"They already are."

Stefan leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his face.

There it was that perfect moment where control shifted entirely into his hands.

He wasn't just flirting anymore.

He was directing them.

Guiding Nevena into deeper waters, while Milan sat by and watched his wife get wetter at another man's words.

And the best part?

They both loved it.

For the first time in months, Stefan felt alive.

This wasn't some Tinder game where girls handed themselves over after two drinks and a compliment.

This was power.

The kind that seeped into their minds long before he ever touched their bodies.

Over the next few nights, the conversations grew filthier.

Nevena started asking for details positions, commands, how he'd make her husband watch.

Stefan never gave her everything at once. He teased, withheld, made her earn each reply.

He could practically hear Milan's breathing getting heavier in the background as Nevena typed out her fantasies, encouraged by a husband who secretly wanted to see just how far she'd go.

Then, one evening, the conversation took a turn.

Less teasing more intent.

Nevena's message came through, more carefully worded than usual.

He could tell they'd been discussing this offline, probably weighing nerves against excitement.

Nevena:

"We've been talking... Would you want to meet for a drink? No pressure. Just to see if there's chemistry in person."

Stefan didn't hesitate.

He didn't need to play coy he'd already won this game.

"Tell me where and when."

Within minutes, they agreed on a quiet bar tucked away in Dorćol.

Discreet. Cozy. The kind of place where conversations could linger heavy with unspoken desires, and no one would pay too much attention.

As Stefan closed the chat, he glanced down.

Hard again.

But this wasn't just arousal.

It was anticipation.

Control.

This wasn't a fantasy anymore.

This was happening.

Milan and Nevena's background story.

Milan was too young when he stumbled into the world that would quietly, insidiously shape him.

It wasn't curiosity not really. Just boredom, the kind that creeps in on a rainy afternoon when homework is ignored and childhood innocence is already fraying at the edges. His father's old computer sat in the corner of the living room like some forgotten relic beige, bulky, its tower humming like a restless beast whenever it was forced awake.

The internet was slow, unreliable a symphony of dial up screeches and static that made him glance nervously over his shoulder every time he connected. He hadn't been searching for that. A misspelled word here, a stray banner ad there, and suddenly there it was.

A window into a world he wasn't ready for.

The video stuttered as it loaded, pixels rearranging themselves into something barely coherent. But even through the grain and buffering pauses, Milan could see enough to feel his pulse quicken.

A woman naked. Vulnerable and powerful all at once. Her legs spread wide, her head tossed back in abandon, mouth open in a silent cry the speakers hadn't yet caught up to. Sweat gleamed on her skin, her breasts bouncing with every sharp thrust delivered by the man looming over her.

The man.

That's where Milan's eyes locked not at first, but inevitably. The woman's moans were hypnotic, yes, but it was the sheer presence of the man that burned itself into Milan's young mind. Broad shoulders flexing with dominance. Hands gripping her hips like he owned her. And between them a cock so thick, so impossibly long, it didn't seem real.

Milan didn't understand what arousal truly was until that moment when his body reacted before his mind could catch up. A rush of heat flooded low in his stomach, his heartbeat drumming in his ears as his small, trembling hand drifted beneath his waistband.

That first orgasm hit him like a lightning strike unexpected, overwhelming, and over far too soon. Shame followed almost instantly, sharp and cold, as if someone had walked in and caught him mid act.

His hands shook as he fumbled to close the window, panic rising as pop ups threatened to expose his secret. His cheeks burned with guilt he couldn't explain, and his heart raced for entirely different reasons now.

That night, Milan learned two things:

How to delete a browser history like his life depended on it.

And how intoxicating that fleeting release could be.

But what he didn't realize what no adolescent boy could've known was that he'd also planted the first seed of something far more enduring.

It became a ritual, as natural as brushing his teeth, but carried out in shadows.

When the apartment lights dimmed and his parents' door clicked shut, Milan transformed into a creature of habit and secrecy. Barefoot, silent, he'd creep through the darkened halls like a thief stealing something precious from the adult world.

The glow of the monitor became his lighthouse. The hiss of dial up his siren's song.

Headphones on. Volume low. Curtains drawn.

And there, in that dim cocoon of flickering light and pixelated pleasure, Milan found comfort. Control. The kind of escape that made the awkwardness of school, the sting of pimples, and the anxiety of growing up melt away if only for a few minutes.

At first, it was simple fascination.

Naked women, soft curves, eager mouths. The way they moaned like every touch was a gift, like every thrust filled some desperate need. Milan soaked it in, letting fantasy drown out reality.

But over time, fascination morphed.

His gaze began to wander not out of choice, but inevitability. Because the camera wanted him to see. It lingered not just on the women's gasping faces or bouncing breasts but lower. Always lower.

On them.

The men.

Every video became a showcase not of passion, but of size. Thick shafts glistening under studio lights, hands struggling to wrap fully around them. Women gasping, eyes wide in that now familiar expression of awe, sometimes fear, always desire.

Milan noticed. How could he not?

And once noticed, it couldn't be unseen.

After every hurried climax, after wiping himself clean with tissues stuffed hastily into drawers, he'd glance down at himself.

And that's when the whispers began.

Why don't I look like that?

He wasn't that small he knew that. But compared to them? The guys on the screen? He was just... so demotivated.

The poison of comparison didn't flood in all at once. It seeped quietly, persistently until every orgasm came with a bitter aftertaste. Until every session at his desk ended with his reflection in the blackened monitor, seeing not satisfaction, but insufficiency.

By his late teens, porn wasn't just a dirty secret.

It was home.

A place where he wasn't judged for finishing too quickly. Where women never rolled their eyes or faked a yawn. Where every moan was scripted, every cry of "You're so big!" delivered on cue.

Real sex couldn't compete.

The first time he fumbled with a girl's bra in the backseat of a car, his hands shaking with nerves, Milan realized that reality was messier. Slower. Filled with uncertainty.

When he finally pushed inside her with a condom on, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons it was over before it began he came to fast. The apologetic smile she gave him afterward haunted him more than any scream from a porn video ever could.

It became a pattern.

Every awkward hookup, every whispered reassurance of "It's okay, it happens to everyone", only drove him deeper into the comfort of his glowing screen.

There, women begged for men like them.

Not for boys like Milan.

And so, night after night, he retreated.

Into a world where he didn't have to measure up because he already knew he couldn't.

Into a world where dominance wasn't earned it was displayed in inches and girth.

Into a world where no one would ever sigh in quiet disappointment.

The cycle was endless.

Desire. Release. Shame. Escape.

Until Nevena.

Nevena was everything Milan never thought he'd be lucky enough to hold and everything he feared he'd eventually lose.

They met in the background two quiet souls drifting through Belgrade's louder, more chaotic social currents. While friends laughed too loud in smoky bars and chased nights they'd never remember, Milan and Nevena found each other in the spaces between where conversation didn't have to compete with music, and silences weren't awkward but comforting.

It was a friend's birthday party one of those overcrowded gatherings where strangers became temporary allies in the search for fresh air. Milan had stepped onto the balcony to escape the crush of bodies, nursing a drink he didn't really want, when he noticed her.

Nevena stood at the edge, arms resting on the railing, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the city lights reflecting off the Danube. Long dark hair spilled down her back in lazy waves, catching the faint scent of jasmine from whatever shampoo she used a detail that would later haunt Milan in the best way.

She glanced at him not with the sharp, assessing look so many women gave but with soft curiosity, like she was surprised someone else had chosen quiet over chaos.

Their first conversation wasn't electric. It wasn't cinematic.

It was... easy.

A shared distaste for crowded rooms. A laugh over mutual friends too drunk to stand. A gentle teasing about his choice of cheap beer.

And when she smiled really smiled it wasn't the practiced kind he'd seen on screens for years. It reached her eyes, crinkling at the corners, warm enough to melt defenses Milan didn't realize he'd built.

Days turned into weeks. Texts became late night phone calls. Coffee dates stretched into long walks along the river, where words flowed effortlessly, and silences felt like understanding rather than gaps to be filled.

Nevena wasn't a fantasy.

She didn't wear heavy makeup or dress to turn heads. Her curves weren't exaggerated they were soft, inviting, real. She didn't flirt to get something; she listened, asked questions, made Milan feel like every word he offered was worth hearing.

For the first time in his life, Milan wasn't pretending.

With Nevena, he didn't have to puff out his chest or fake confidence he didn't feel. She never made him feel small not with her words, not with her touch, and certainly not in the bedroom.

The first time they undressed each other, Milan's hands shook not from lust, but from fear. That same fear that had followed him into every intimate moment before her.

What if I disappoint her?

But Nevena didn't rush. She didn't tease when he fumbled with the clasp of her bra or when he hesitated, staring at the body offered so openly to him. She guided him with soft kisses, grounding touches, and a patience that made his chest ache.

When he came too quickly because of course he did she didn't sigh or roll away like others had. Instead, she smiled, pressed her forehead to his, and whispered words that felt like balm to old wounds.

"It's okay, Milan... we have all night."

And she meant it.

In those moments, tangled in her sheets with his heart still racing and his pride bruised, Milan believed almost that he could outrun the shadows of his past. That with Nevena's warmth wrapped around him, the ghosts of flickering screens and impossible comparisons would finally fade.

They fell fast. Hard.

Within months, they weren't just dating they were partners. Sharing meals, lazy Sundays, whispered secrets beneath blankets. Nevena made life feel lighter, like the weight Milan carried wasn't solely his anymore.

When he proposed two years later nervous hands clutching a simple ring, voice cracking as he asked the question Nevena didn't hesitate. Her yes was breathless, tearful, and filled with the kind of love Milan still didn't fully believe he deserved.

Marriage suited them.

It wasn't grand gestures or passionate fights like the movies promised. It was quiet mornings with coffee mugs warming their hands. It was grocery shopping together and laughing at inside jokes no one else would understand. It was a steady, comforting rhythm a life built on trust, patience, and genuine affection.

But insecurities don't vanish.

They don't dissolve in the warmth of a lover's embrace or disappear beneath wedding vows. They linger, silent and patient, waiting for the lights to dim and the doubts to creep back in.

Milan tried. God, he tried.

He loved Nevena with everything he had. Every smile she gave him still made his chest tighten. Every time she curled against him in bed, bare legs tangling with his, desire flared just as hot as it had in the beginning.

But it wasn't about wanting her.

It was about deserving her.

And when that old, familiar voice whispered in his ear. She could have more. Better. Milan found himself slipping.

Back into habit. Back into the cold glow of his phone screen when the world went quiet.

Not because Nevena wasn't enough.

But because he wasn't.

At first, he told himself it was harmless. A release. Every man did it, right? But deep down, Milan knew it wasn't just lust that drove him to those late night sessions it was escape. Control. The ability to indulge in fantasies where inadequacy didn't exist because he wasn't expected to be the man on screen he could just watch.

Nevena noticed.

Of course she did.

She felt it in the way he'd shift away from her under the covers, the faint glow of his phone lighting up the darkness. She heard the subtle change in his breathing the quiet, restrained cadence of a man chasing solitude in pleasure.

At first, she let it slide.

She loved Milan. Trusted him. Told herself that it was normal that a few late night indulgences didn't mean anything.

But as nights blurred into weeks, and weeks into months, something heavier settled in her chest.

Not jealousy Nevena wasn't naive.

It was worry. A quiet ache that whispered, Why does he need that... when I'm right here?

She didn't want to accuse him, didn't want to shame him into pretending.

But Nevena had never been the type to let silence fester into distance.

So, one night when the clock ticked past midnight and she felt him shift away again she rolled over, her voice soft but slicing through the dark like a blade of light.

"... Milan. Why don't you just wake me up instead?"

Fourteen words.

That's all it took to make his heart stop mid beat.

His hand froze beneath the sheets, phone slipping from his grasp like it had burned him. Guilt washed over him in a cold, suffocating wave as his mind scrambled for excuses he knew would sound hollow.

"I... I didn't want to bother you," he muttered, throat tight, shame thick in his voice.

Nevena pushed herself up on one elbow, hair tousled around her face, eyes glinting in the faint light.

"You'd rather watch strangers than touch your wife?"

There was no anger. No bitterness.

Just quiet hurt.

And that made it worse.

Milan sat up, burying his face in his hands as years of shame clawed their way to the surface. His chest heaved with the weight of secrets he'd carried alone for too long.

"I'm sorry..." His voice cracked. "It's not you. It's... me. I've " He swallowed hard, the words catching like splinters in his throat. "I've had this... thing. Since I was a kid."

Nevena reached for him without hesitation her fingers lacing through his, grounding him with that same steady warmth she'd always offered.

"Talk to me," she whispered, her voice a mixture of love and quiet command.

Milan exhaled shakily, forcing himself to meet her gaze. His heart pounded against his ribs as he peeled back layers he never thought he'd expose.

"I watch porn because... I can't stop thinking I'm not enough for you."

The confession hung heavy between them.

Nevena's eyes softened, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as she processed the weight of his words not with judgment, but with a deep, aching empathy.

"Milan..." she breathed, her chest tightening. "Why would you ever think that?"

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Because I know what I see. What I've always seen. Those men... those big fat cocks... and then I look at myself, and " His voice faltered, shame turning his cheeks crimson. "I just know."

Nevena's heart ached not because of what he said, but because of how deeply he believed it.

She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That she loved every inch of him that no screen could ever compete with the way he made her feel.

But she also knew words like that wouldn't erase years of poison.

So she did what she always did.

She held him tighter.

But Milan wasn't done.

"There's more..." he whispered, barely audible like saying it too loud would break whatever fragile trust remained.

Nevena stayed silent, waiting offering him space to step fully into the light.

When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. Exposed.

"I... I don't just watch regular porn anymore."

His gaze dropped, unable to meet hers as the darkest truth spilled free.

"I watch cuckolding videos."

The word felt like a slap to his own face a brand of deviance he'd never dared say aloud.

He braced for it for the disgust, the recoil, the inevitable questions about what was wrong with him.

But Nevena didn't flinch.

Her brows lifted in surprise, yes but beneath it, something else flickered in her eyes. Not fear.

Curiosity.

A flush crept up her neck not from embarrassment, but from something darker. Something unspoken and thrilling.

And that was when everything began to change.

The weeks that followed Milan's confession didn't unfold the way he feared they unfolded in ways he never could have imagined.

He'd expected distance. Awkward silences. The slow erosion of intimacy as Nevena processed the darkest corner of his desires.

But instead... something shifted.

It began with curiosity tentative, fragile, but undeniably present. The kind of curiosity that simmered beneath Nevena's calm exterior, revealing itself in the quiet moments between them. A glance that lingered too long. A touch that felt more deliberate. Questions, soft and dangerous, whispered into the dark when they were tangled beneath the sheets.

At first, Milan thought he was imagining it that his confession had merely planted a seed she'd ignore until it withered away.

But Nevena wasn't ignoring anything.

She was watering it.

One night, as they lay in bed, her head resting on his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns across his skin, she asked the first question that made his pulse stutter.

"... What kind of man do you picture?"

Her voice was casual too casual. Like she was asking about a movie plot or what he wanted for breakfast. But Milan felt the weight beneath it. The invitation.

His throat went dry.

He hesitated, staring at the ceiling, heart thudding loud enough that he was sure she could hear it. For a moment, he considered deflecting laughing it off, pretending the conversation didn't exist.

But Nevena's fingers didn't stop moving, those soft circles across his ribs grounding him, coaxing him.

"... Tall," he finally murmured, voice rough with nerves. "Confident. The kind of man who walks into a room and knows he can take whatever he wants."

Nevena hummed thoughtfully against his chest, as if he'd just confirmed something she suspected.

"Older?" she asked, her breath warm on his skin.

Milan swallowed hard. "... Maybe. Someone experienced. Someone who's... used to women giving in."

The words tasted forbidden, but once spoken, they loosened something inside him.

That night, they didn't take it further. But the spark had been lit.

And it didn't die.

If anything, it grew feeding off every late night conversation that blurred the line between curiosity and desire.

A few days later, her hand slid beneath the sheets, lazily wrapping around him as they lay in the quiet afterglow of an ordinary evening. Her lips brushed his ear, and she whispered the next question that would haunt him in the best way.

"Would you really want to watch me?"

Milan's entire body tensed beneath her touch cock twitching in her palm as his mind spiraled into dangerous territory.

"... Yes," he breathed, too quickly, too honestly.

Nevena smiled against his neck, her hand tightening just enough to make him groan. She didn't tease didn't mock the vulnerability in his voice. Instead, she kissed his jaw and let silence settle, knowing exactly what kind of storm she'd stirred inside him.

But it was the third question the one she saved for a week later that truly undid him.

They were sitting on the couch, a bottle of red wine between them, the city lights of Belgrade flickering beyond the window. The TV played something neither of them were watching, and Nevena's bare feet rested in Milan's lap, her toes idly pressing against the growing bulge in his jeans.

She didn't look at him when she asked it like her words were just floating into the space between them, innocent and offhand.

"... Would it bother you if I liked it?"

Milan's breath caught mid sip, wine burning his throat as he choked down more than just the drink.

His cock hardened instantly, pressing painfully against his zipper as his mind painted vivid, torturous images.

Nevena naked, flushed, moaning beneath a stranger. Her nails digging into broad shoulders that weren't his. Her voice breaking as she begged for more, completely lost in the overwhelming stretch of a cock that put his to shame.

Loving it.

For a moment, Milan couldn't speak. His hand gripped her ankle tightly, as if anchoring himself to reality.

"... No," he finally rasped, voice thick with arousal and something darker. "It wouldn't bother me."

It would destroy him and he'd crave every second of it.

Nevena finally glanced at him then, her lips curling into a knowing smile when she saw the heat in his eyes the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand twitched in his lap like he was resisting the urge to touch himself right there.

She didn't press further that night. She didn't have to.

The air between them was charged thick with unspoken fantasies and the thrill of a shared secret that no longer felt like just his.

Days passed, but the tension didn't ease.

If anything, it bled into everything they did. A brush of hands in public felt more intimate. A kiss goodbye lingered just a little too long. Even mundane conversations carried an undercurrent of something wicked, both of them aware that they were tiptoeing along the edge of a precipice.

Then came the night everything changed.

A quiet Saturday. Rain tapping against the windows. A second bottle of wine uncorked, the kind that left Nevena's cheeks flushed and her inhibitions pleasantly blurred.

They were in bed, the glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across her bare thighs as she scrolled idly through her phone. Milan sat beside her, heart pounding for reasons he couldn't explain not until Nevena set her phone down and turned to him with a look that made his stomach flip.

There was mischief in her eyes but also something deeper. Trust. Excitement. A decision already made.

Without a word, she reached across him, fingers brushing his as she pulled the laptop from the nightstand.

Milan's breath hitched. "Nevena...?"

She didn't answer not right away. She flipped open the laptop with calm precision, her gaze flicking to him with a playful challenge.

"Show me."

Two words but they landed like a spark in dry grass.

Milan's throat went dry. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, nerves and arousal warring in his chest as he hesitated.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice barely audible.

Nevena's lips curled into a soft smile the kind that made his cock throb before he even touched himself.

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

That was all the permission he needed and yet, his hands still trembled as he navigated to the folder he'd kept hidden for years. The one filled with videos he only dared watch alone, in the dark, with guilt gnawing at him after every climax.

He clicked on a familiar title one he'd watched more times than he cared to admit.

The screen filled with the opening scene a couple, nervous but excited, introducing the Bull. The man was everything Milan had described in those late night whispers tall, broad shouldered, exuding effortless dominance. The wife, petite and eager, already flushed before a single piece of clothing was removed.

Milan risked a glance at Nevena.

She was leaning back against the pillows, legs crossed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her eyes tracked every movement on screen. There was no judgment in her gaze only fascination. A hunger she hadn't yet put into words.

As the Bull stripped the wife bare, Nevena's breathing grew shallow.

When the man's big cock came into view thick, heavy, almost obscene in size Milan saw her thighs press together instinctively, her fingers twitching against the sheets.

His own cock strained painfully against his boxers, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

Watching Nevena watch seeing the flush creep down her neck, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips was more intoxicating than the video itself.

By the time the wife on screen was moaning, stretched wide and gasping for breath as the Bull thrust into her with relentless force, Nevena's hand had drifted beneath the waistband of her panties.

Her fingers moved slowly at first almost absentminded but Milan could see the glaze in her eyes, the way her hips subtly rocked in rhythm with the scene playing out before them.

He couldn't help himself.

His hand found his own cock, already slick with pre cum as he stroked himself in time with her movements.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn't need to.

The only sounds in the room were the filthy echoes from the laptop speakers the wet slap of skin, the wife's high pitched cries and the soft, ragged breaths they both struggled to contain.

When the video reached its peak when the wife screamed, her body trembling as the Bull filled her with a final, brutal thrust Nevena's back arched off the bed, her fingers buried deep between her thighs as a quiet, desperate moan slipped from her lips.

That was all it took for Milan to spill over his own hand, groaning through clenched teeth as the fantasy consumed him entirely.

But they weren't done.

As the screen dimmed, Nevena turned to him her cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with lingering desire.

Without a word, she climbed onto his lap, straddling him, grinding against his softening cock with renewed hunger.

When they fucked that night, it wasn't the gentle rhythm of married lovers.

It was raw. Urgent.

Nevena rode him like she needed to prove something hips snapping forward, nails raking down his chest as she whispered filth into his ear.

"You'd love to see me like that, wouldn't you? Watch me get fucked by a man who is two times bigger then you. Watch me cum all over his fat cock because my body can't handle it."

Milan could barely breathe, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he nodded, lost in the haze of arousal.

"To see me stretched open... begging for more..."

Every word pushed him closer to the edge closer to the realization that this wasn't just his fantasy anymore.

Nevena was owning it. Fueling it.

When she finally came shaking, gasping his name it wasn't just release.

It was a promise.

A door had been opened that night.

And neither of them had any intention of closing it.

Milan had never been the man who commanded a room.

He wasn't the one people noticed first or second. He wasn't the loudest, the boldest, or the kind of man who walked with the quiet arrogance of someone who knew they could have anything, anyone.

No, Milan was the dependable one.

Steady. Safe.

The man who paid his bills on time, remembered anniversaries, and made love with care never too rough, never too selfish. A man who prided himself on being respectful, attentive... but deep down, always wondered if that was just another way of saying forgettable.

For years, he carried that weight in silence.

A quiet ache that festered in the shadow of every porn clip he watched alone watching other men take what they wanted without hesitation, while he sat in the dark, stroking himself to fantasies he was too ashamed to admit even existed.

Until Nevena whispered those words the ones that didn't just open a door, but shattered the walls he'd built around himself.

"If this is something we can explore together... let's do it."

It wasn't pity.

It wasn't indulgence.

It was genuine. The gleam in her eyes when she said it told him everything Nevena wasn't offering herself as a sacrifice to his kink. She was curious. Excited, even.

And for the first time in his life, Milan felt something close to... freedom.

The kind of freedom that comes when someone sees every dark, twisted corner of you and doesn't flinch.

They started slow.

Careful conversations in the safety of their bedroom. Whispered questions that made his cock stir and her cheeks flush. Watching videos together became a ritual not just a thrill, but a form of trust. A way to peel back layers they hadn't known existed between them.

But Milan quickly realized... fantasy had its limits.

It wasn't enough to watch anymore.

Not when Nevena's breathing hitched every time the Bull appeared on screen not when her hand would slip between her thighs before the wife in the video even let out her first moan.

And certainly not when Milan felt his heart race, not just from arousal but from the raw, aching need to see her like that. To see her taken, stretched, undone by someone who embodied everything he wasn't.

Yet, what surprised him most wasn't the jealousy he thought he'd feel.

It was the pride.

The way his chest tightened not with fear but with something dangerously close to worship at the idea of Nevena being so desired, so irresistible that another man couldn't help but claim her.

And when they watched those videos together, Milan found himself confessing more than he ever intended.

It happened one night rain tapping against their windows, the city of Belgrade muted beyond the glass. They were both half naked, the sheets tangled around their legs, laptop balanced on Milan's thighs as another video loaded onto the screen.

Nevena was already flushed, her fingers teasing the edge of her panties, anticipation darkening her gaze as the familiar scene began to play.

The Bull tall, confident, radiating dominance stepped into frame. The wife, already breathless before he even touched her. The husband, watching helplessly, cock hard but untouched.

Milan felt his hand wrap around himself, slow strokes syncing with the rhythm of the scene.

Nevena noticed of course she did. Her lips parted, her gaze flicking between the screen and her husband, sensing there was more he wasn't saying.

So she asked voice low, sultry, but edged with genuine curiosity.

"What do you really think about when we watch this?"

Milan's hand faltered for a second, his jaw tightening as he debated whether to bury the truth or let it spill out.

But Nevena's hand slid over his wrist, guiding his strokes silent encouragement wrapped in warmth and trust.

So he let go.

"... When I watch him fuck her," Milan began, his voice rough with arousal and vulnerability, "I don't just imagine him taking you..."

He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the screen where the Bull was already pushing the wife down onto the bed, positioning her like she was his to use.

"... I imagine that every thrust he gives her... it's me. Every time he drives into her, it's like my cock is buried inside you... but through him."

Nevena's breath hitched, her fingers pressing harder against her clit as those words wrapped around her like silk and steel.

Milan's gaze darkened, the confession pouring out now unstoppable.

"I picture you moaning for him but feeling like it's me making you scream. Like I can give you everything you deserve... just by watching someone else do it."

He groaned, his hand moving faster now, synced perfectly with the brutal pace the Bull set on screen each thrust mirrored by Milan's stroke, as if he could feel what the man felt.

"And when he stretches her... when she cries out because he's too big... I think about how full you'd feel. How much more you'd take from him than you ever could from me."

Nevena let out a soft whimper, her hips bucking against her own hand, eyes glazed over with lust and something deeper something dangerously close to obsession.

Milan turned to look at her then, his chest heaving, cock throbbing in his grip.

"I get off on it, Nevena," he growled, his voice laced with a mixture of shame and raw hunger. "Knowing that someone else could ruin you for me... but you'd still come back. You'd still be mine."

Her orgasm hit her like a wave sharp, sudden her back arching off the bed as a cry tore from her throat. The image of her husband beside her, stroking himself to the thought of her being taken by another man, sent her spiraling.

Milan wasn't far behind.

With a guttural groan, he spilled over his hand, his vision blurring as the screen showed the Bull filling the wife with one final, devastating thrust.

They collapsed beside each other, chests rising and falling in uneven gasps, the room thick with the scent of sex and the weight of what they'd just shared.

But as the afterglow settled over them, Milan felt something unexpected.

Not guilt.

Not shame.

But clarity.

Nevena wasn't just accepting this part of him she was feeding it, shaping it into something neither of them could have predicted. She wasn't playing a role. She wasn't humoring his fantasies out of love alone.

She wanted this too.

And for the first time, Milan understood that giving Nevena "more" didn't mean he was failing her. It wasn't a concession it was trust. The ultimate surrender.

Because true dominance wasn't always about control.

Sometimes, it was about knowing when to let go when to hand over the reins and watch the person you love become limitless.

And true love?

It wasn't about keeping each other safe in the light.

It was about daring to explore the dark together.

Where fantasies weren't secrets anymore.

Where surrender wasn't weakness.

It was devotion.

And Milan, for the first time in his life, wasn't afraid of what came next.

He was ready for it.

The night when they meet Stefan.

Milan watched from the doorway, heart pounding, as Nevena stood in front of the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time adjusting, smoothing, second guessing every detail of her appearance.

She wore that dress.

The one tucked away in her closet for special occasions but never like this.

It wasn't vulgar. It wasn't the kind of dress that screamed for attention in a crowded bar. No, it was far more dangerous than that classy, with just enough sin woven between the stitches to make any man's imagination run wild.

The soft black fabric clung to her curves like it had been sewn onto her body. The neckline dipped low enough to hint at the swell of her breasts an invitation without being obvious. The hemline hovered precariously mid thigh, swaying ever so slightly as she moved, threatening to reveal more with a single careless step.

Milan's throat went dry.

He'd seen Nevena dressed up before plenty of times. But tonight, everything felt different. Charged. Every adjustment she made wasn't for him it was for him. For Stefan.

And that realization sent a shiver straight to his cock.

"You look... amazing," Milan finally managed, his voice tighter than he intended.

Nevena met his gaze in the mirror, her lips curving into a soft, almost shy smile. But behind that smile was something else anticipation. A glint in her eyes that Milan hadn't seen before. The kind of spark a woman has when she knows she's desirable and knows exactly who she wants to notice.

"Is it too much?" she asked, smoothing her palms down her hips, her voice light, playful but with a nervous undertone, as if daring him to say yes.

Milan's eyes roamed her body, lingering on the curve of her thighs, the delicate line of her collarbone.

Too much?

Maybe for a husband trying to pretend this was just an innocent night out.

But for a man who'd spent weeks fantasizing about watching his wife tempt another it was perfect.

He swallowed hard, adjusting his stance to hide the growing tension in his pants.

"No," he said, after a beat too long. "It's perfect."

Nevena turned slightly, reaching for her perfume the subtle, floral scent she always wore when she wanted to feel feminine, seductive. Milan watched her dab it behind her ears, then along the curve of her neck. Every small movement was hypnotic.

His mind raced with images Stefan sitting across from them, watching Nevena shift in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Noticing the same details Milan was noticing now. The soft flush in her cheeks. The way her dress hugged her ass when she walked. The hint of cleavage when she leaned forward to sip her drink.

This wasn't just theory anymore.

In less than an hour, his wife his Nevena would be sitting in front of another man. A man they both knew wasn't coming for polite conversation.

Milan's stomach twisted a chaotic mix of jealousy, fear... and overwhelming arousal.

He could already picture it.

The way Stefan's eyes would roam over her body without shame. The way Nevena would blush, then smile, secretly enjoying every second of being desired like that.

As Nevena grabbed her purse, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, Milan's heart hammered harder.

This was the moment.

The point where fantasy met reality and there was no turning back.

He cleared his throat, voice cracking slightly under the weight of everything pressing down on him.

"Before we go..."

Nevena paused in the doorway, glancing back at him her expression innocent, but her eyes betraying the excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

She knew exactly what was coming.

"We should set some rules."

Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to tease him but instead, she simply nodded, stepping closer, fingers playing with the thin strap of her bag.

"Okay," she said softly, letting him have this moment of control.

Milan drew in a shaky breath, searching for the right words searching for boundaries that might protect him from the storm he'd willingly walked into.

"First..." He hesitated, trying to sound firmer than he felt. "No going back to his place. If anything happens... it happens with both of us there. Together."

Nevena's lashes fluttered, her expression thoughtful but she nodded again, biting down on her bottom lip to suppress the faint smile threatening to escape.

Milan pressed on.

"Second... no kissing on the lips."

Even as the words left his mouth, they sounded absurd. Childish, almost.

Like limiting where Stefan's lips landed would somehow make it less intimate when his cock was buried deep inside her.

But Milan needed to say it.

He needed to believe there were still lines that couldn't be crossed even if, deep down, he suspected those lines would blur the moment Stefan laid a hand on her.

Nevena tilted her head, amusement flickering across her features but she didn't argue.

And then came the hardest rule of all.

"And third..."

His voice faltered, pride and desire waging war inside his chest.

"We take it slow. Tonight is just drinks. No rushing into anything."

Silence settled between them for a moment heavy, loaded.

Then Nevena stepped forward, closing the distance, her hand sliding up his chest with gentle affection. She rose onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek the kind of kiss that said thank you for trying, even if they both knew it was futile.

"Of course, ljubavi," she whispered sweetly, her breath warm against his ear.

"We'll follow the rules."

But as she turned away, grabbing her coat and glancing at herself once more in the mirror, Milan caught the subtle curve of her lips the sly, knowing smile she couldn't quite hide.

It wasn't defiance. It wasn't mockery.

It was the smile of a woman who knew exactly where this night was headed.

And as Milan stood frozen in the doorway, watching her walk toward the front door, he realized the truth:

The rules were already broken in his mind.

The bar in Dorćol was exactly as Milan hoped dimly lit, tucked between narrow streets where the cobblestones whispered stories of secrets better left unspoken. A place where shadows softened the edges of bold decisions, and glances carried more weight than words.

As they stepped inside, Milan felt the heavy bass of slow, sultry music vibrating through the air low enough to talk over, but deep enough to settle in his chest like a second heartbeat.

His hand rested on the small of Nevena's back, guiding her through the softly murmuring crowd, though he wasn't sure if he was leading her or holding onto her before he lost control of what tonight would become.

Then his gaze locked onto him.

Stefan.

Seated in a corner booth chilling to the music.

A simple white t shirt stretched across his broad chest, sleeves tight around biceps. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers toying with his glass of rakija, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of a candle flickering on the table.

That smirk relaxed, confident, predatory told Milan everything he needed to know.

Stefan wasn't wondering if something would happen tonight.

He was simply deciding when.

Beside him, Nevena's steps faltered not enough for anyone else to notice, but Milan felt it. The slight tension in her arm. The sharp inhale she tried to disguise as steady breathing.

Her eyes were fixed on Stefan, lips parted ever so slightly. A flush crept into her cheeks, equal parts nerves and something far more dangerous desire.

Milan's throat tightened.

As they reached the booth, Stefan stood rising to his full height, easily towering over Milan, he barely reaching his shoulder height. His handshake was firm, but casual, like greeting an old friend instead of the husband whose wife he'd been seducing through a screen.

"Milan," Stefan said, his voice smooth as silk, laced with quiet dominance.

Then his attention shifted fully to Nevena.

And Milan watched, powerless, as Stefan's gaze roamed over her body with the kind of deliberate slowness that made it clear he wasn't admiring he was claiming.

"And you must be Nevena."

Her name rolled off his tongue like a promise.

Nevena's blush deepened. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear a nervous habit Milan knew all too well and offered Stefan a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was too much heat in her gaze now. Too much awareness of the way Stefan's eyes devoured her curves.

"It's nice to meet you, Stefan."

They slid into the booth Milan on one side, Nevena in the middle, as if she could act as a buffer. But Milan knew better. She wasn't a barrier between two men. She was the reason they were both there.

The air between them was thick charged with unspoken intentions that no amount of small talk could disguise.

They ordered drinks.

They talked about meaningless things jobs, favorite spots in Belgrade, casual jokes that none of them really cared about.

But Milan noticed everything.

He saw the way Stefan's gaze rarely drifted from Nevena, how his eyes followed the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers traced the rim of her wine glass when she got nervous or excited.

And worse, Milan noticed how Nevena changed.

Her posture straightened, shoulders back, chest subtly pushed forward as if drawn toward Stefan by some invisible force. Her legs crossed beneath the table, then uncrossed, only to cross again each movement more deliberate, more teasing.

It was like watching his wife slowly awaken into a version of herself Milan had only ever glimpsed in their dirtiest fantasies.

Then Stefan leaned forward elbows on the table, his voice dropping low enough that Milan felt it more than heard it.

"So... you two have been thinking about this for a while?"

His eyes never left Nevena, even though the question was clearly meant for both of them.

Nevena's breath hitched. She glanced at Milan almost out of habit, like she needed silent approval but her answer was already forming.

"Yes... we've talked about it."

Her voice was soft. Too soft.

Stefan's lips curled into that same knowing smile the one that said talking time was over.

"And now that I'm here..." he murmured, his tone laced with challenge, "are you still just talking about it?"

Milan's pulse pounded in his ears. His fingers tightened around his glass, the condensation slick against his palm.

Nevena didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached for her wine, taking a slow sip buying time, or perhaps savoring the moment where she let herself feel the weight of Stefan's attention.

Stefan didn't press. He didn't have to.

The balance of power had already shifted and they all knew it.

A few more drinks followed. The conversation grew looser, laughter slipping more easily from Nevena's lips, her hand occasionally brushing Stefan's arm in those casual, innocent touches that were anything but innocent.

Then Stefan's eyes flicked toward the small dance floor a dimly lit space where couples swayed to the sensual rhythm humming through the bar.

He stood, offering his hand to Nevena.

"Dance with me."

It wasn't a question. It was a quiet command wrapped in charm.

Nevena hesitated for only a heartbeat before placing her hand in his, sliding out of the booth with a glance at Milan half apology, half thrill.

Milan forced a tight smile, nodding because what else could he do?

He watched them walk toward the dance floor, Stefan's hand resting possessively on the small of Nevena's back, guiding her through the crowd like she already belonged to him.

Milan's chest tightened as the music shifted low, sultry beats that made bodies move closer.

They started slow Nevena's arms draping around Stefan's neck, his hands settling on her hips. But it didn't stay innocent for long.

Milan's breath caught as he watched his wife begin to sway against Stefan hips rolling in time with the music, her body pressing closer, until there was no space left between them.

Stefan's hands slid lower, fingers splaying across Nevena's ass, pulling her tighter as she began to grind against him subtle at first, then bolder when she realized no one was stopping her.

Milan's throat was dry. His cock strained against his pants, painfully hard as jealousy and arousal tangled inside him like barbed wire.

He could see it the way Nevena's head tipped back, a soft smile playing on her lips as Stefan leaned down to murmur something in her ear. Whatever he said made her shiver, her hands tightening around his shoulders.

It was surreal.

Watching the woman he loved grind against another man in a dark bar her dress riding up just enough to tease the edge of indecency, Stefan's hands exploring her body like he'd done it a hundred times before.

Milan gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, every instinct screaming at him to do something.

But instead... he watched.

Because this was what he asked for.

This was what they both craved.

And when Nevena's eyes fluttered open locking onto Milan's from across the room he saw it.

Not guilt. Not hesitation.

But pure, unfiltered desire.

The music slowed, but neither of them moved away from each other. Stefan's hand trailed up Nevena's thigh, disappearing beneath the hem of her dress for a daring second before retreating like a silent promise of what was to come.

When they finally returned to the table, Nevena's cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as if catching her breath.

Stefan didn't bother sitting across from them this time.

He slid in right beside Nevena his thigh pressing against hers, his arm draping casually along the back of the booth, fingers brushing the bare skin of her shoulder.

Milan swallowed hard, realizing the night had only just begun and whatever rules they'd set back home were nothing but distant echoes now.

An hour passed too quickly, too dangerously.

More drinks.

More lingering touches that blurred the lines between playful flirtation and something far more reckless.

At one point, Stefan's knee brushed against Nevena's under the table.

She didn't move away.

If anything, Milan noticed how her leg subtly shifted pressing back, as if inviting more.

Every glance Stefan gave her was heavy with intent, every compliment wrapped in a tone that made Nevena's cheeks flush and her lips part like she needed to catch her breath.

Milan sat there, heart pounding in his chest, watching his wife unravel under another man's gaze.

The rules he'd so carefully laid out before leaving the apartment echoed faintly in his mind.

Just drinks.

No kissing.

Take it slow.

But those words felt childish now naïve, even as he watched Nevena lean in closer to Stefan with every passing minute. Her laughter softer, more intimate. Her thighs pressed tightly together beneath the table, a subtle giveaway that only Milan would notice after years of knowing her body.

And when Stefan finally leaned back, his arm casually draped along the booth behind Nevena, he spoke with a smirk that sealed their fate.

"Why don't we head somewhere a bit more private?"

He glanced at Milan not asking permission, but daring him to refuse.

"Just to keep talking, of course."

That wink.

Milan could have said no. Should have, maybe.

But instead, he nodded because deep down, where logic held no power, he wanted this.

He wanted to see how far Nevena would fall once there were no more crowds, no more polite excuses.

And he wanted to watch every second of it.

The taxi ride was suffocating in the best and worst ways.

All three of them crammed into the backseat Nevena in the middle, the heat of two very different men pressing in on either side of her.

Outside, Belgrade's streets blurred past in streaks of amber light, but inside the cab, time slowed to a crawl.

The air was thick charged with everything they weren't saying.

Nevena sat perfectly still, her hands folded neatly in her lap like a good girl, but Milan could see the subtle rise and fall of her chest, faster than normal. He could feel the tension radiating from her skin, the way her thighs shifted slightly, as if trying to relieve a pressure building between them.

Stefan, by contrast, was pure composure.

His thigh pressed lazily against Nevena's, his body relaxed like this was just another casual ride home after a night out. But Milan wasn't fooled not when he saw the glint in Stefan's eyes every time he glanced down at Nevena's bare legs.

Then Stefan pulled out his phone.

The screen lit up, and Milan caught a brief glimpse notifications flooding in.

Messages. Pictures.

Stefan's thumb casually scrolled through them, smirking faintly.

Nevena's curiosity got the better of her.

She leaned ever so slightly toward Stefan, pretending to adjust her dress, but her eyes flicked to his phone.

Milan followed her gaze and what he saw made his pulse spike.

On the screen were photos women posing in lingerie, some topless, some fully nude. Messages begging for Stefan's attention.

"When can I see you again?"

"I can still feel you inside me..."

"Please, Stefan... I need more."

Stefan tilted the screen just enough for Nevena to read, fully aware of her wandering eyes. His smirk deepened, but he said nothing letting the images and words speak for themselves.

Nevena's lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't comment. Didn't scold him. She just stared soaking in the undeniable proof of the kind of man sitting beside her.

A man women chased.

A man they begged for.

Milan saw it all the way Nevena's thighs pressed tighter together, the way her fingers twitched in her lap like she was fighting the urge to reach out, to touch, to test if Stefan was as hard as she imagined.

Stefan locked eyes with her for a brief second, his expression pure tease as if daring her to react.

Nevena quickly looked away, cheeks flushed, but the damage was done.

The tension in that taxi was suffocating.

Milan tried to focus on the small talk asking Stefan about his gym routine, discussing random nightlife spots but none of them cared about the words being exchanged.

Their thoughts were far louder than anything spoken aloud.

Milan's mind raced:

How far will this go? Will she stop? Do I even want her to?

His cock throbbed painfully against his zipper, betraying any illusion of control.

Nevena's thoughts were a whirlwind:

Is this really me? Why does this feel so exciting?

Her heart pounded, heat pooling between her legs every time Stefan's thigh shifted against hers.

And Stefan?

Stefan was already imagining how Nevena would sound moaning his name wondering if Milan would have the guts to watch up close or sit quietly in the corner like so many husbands before him.

The cab turned onto their street, headlights sweeping across familiar buildings.

Milan swallowed hard as the car slowed to a stop.

This wasn't a fantasy anymore.

This wasn't whispered dirty talk in bed or harmless messages exchanged behind screens.

This was real.

As Stefan stepped out first, offering a hand to Nevena like a gentleman like a man about to ruin her Milan felt his legs grow heavy.

Nevena took Stefan's hand without hesitation, her eyes flickering with something between nerves and uncontrollable desire.

Milan followed them up the stairs to the apartment, his heart thudding louder with every step.

By the time they reached the door, his hands were trembling not from fear...

... but from anticipation.

When they reached the apartment, Milan's fingers fumbled with the keys, the metal slipping once before he managed to unlock the door. His palms were damp whether from nerves or anticipation, he wasn't sure anymore.

Nevena stood beside him, unusually quiet.

But her silence wasn't hesitation.

Her eyes gave her away wide, shimmering with a dangerous cocktail of excitement and nervous energy. She wasn't second guessing this. If anything, she looked like a woman holding back from leaping headfirst into temptation.

As they stepped inside, Stefan followed with the same calm swagger he'd carried all night. But something shifted the moment he crossed the threshold.

Milan could feel it.

This wasn't just an apartment anymore.

Stefan's slow, deliberate gaze swept over the living room the framed photos, the neatly arranged furniture, the little touches of a life Milan and Nevena had built together.

But the way Stefan stood there, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, it felt like he wasn't visiting...

It felt like he knew whats waiting.

"Nice place," Stefan said casually, his deep voice resonating in the too quiet room. There was no politeness in the compliment it was the tone of a man who already pictured Nevena spread out across every surface.

"Thanks," Milan replied, his voice tight as he shut the door behind them sealing in the tension that had been simmering for weeks.

For a moment, the three of them stood in a charged silence.

No instructions. No polite conversation left to hide behind.

Just the heavy reality of what was about to unfold.

It was Nevena who cracked first her voice light, almost shaky.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" she offered, retreating to the only safe script she knew.

But Stefan wasn't interested in distractions.

He moved slow, deliberate closing the distance between them until Nevena was forced to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't come here for a drink," he murmured, his voice like velvet wrapping around steel.

His fingers reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Nevena's ear.

A simple touch but Milan saw the way her body reacted, a visible shiver cascading down her spine.

Milan's throat tightened as he stood near the door, watching his wife respond to another man's touch like she was already his.

Stefan didn't look at Milan not yet. His full attention was on Nevena, studying her face, the flush in her cheeks, the way her lips parted in anticipation.

And then he kissed her.

Not rushed. Not greedy.

It was controlled. Confident.

A kiss that spoke of ownership not asking, but taking.

Nevena melted into it within seconds.

Her hands slid up Stefan's chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, her body pressing closer like she couldn't help herself.

Milan's heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears.

It was surreal watching the woman he loved kiss someone else.

But what hit harder was how much she wanted it. How natural it looked.

When Stefan finally pulled back, Nevena was breathless her pupils blown wide, her chest rising and falling in shallow, needy breaths.

Only then did Stefan glance over at Milan finally acknowledging the husband in the room.

Their eyes locked.

And in that moment, Milan didn't see mockery in Stefan's gaze.

He saw control and something unexpected.

A silent reassurance.

Not pity. Not kindness.

But a wordless promise that this would go exactly as Milan had fantasized in the darkest corners of his mind.

"You good, Milan?" Stefan asked, his tone calm but there was an undeniable edge of dominance beneath it. A reminder of who was leading this now. Stefan said, don't worry i will fulfill your fantasy and she will thank you for it later.

Milan's mouth was dry, but he managed a stiff nod.

His cock was already painfully hard, throbbing against his pants as jealousy and arousal twisted together into something addictive.

Stefan's lips curled into that signature smirk.

"Good," he said smoothly, his hand still resting possessively on Nevena's hip.

"Because your wife's already forgetting you're in the room."

Nevena let out a shaky breath half laugh, half moan as if Stefan's words unlocked something primal inside her. Her hand stayed on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric like she needed to hold onto him to stay grounded.

Slowly, she turned her head those dark, glistening eyes finding Milan across the room.

"Milan..." she whispered, voice trembling not with fear, but with overwhelming desire.

It wasn't really a question.

It wasn't even asking for permission anymore.

It was an acknowledgment that final moment where fantasy tipped into reality.

Milan's chest tightened, emotions warring inside him love, lust, jealousy, pride, fear.

But beneath it all was that same dark thrill that had brought them here in the first place.

His voice came out rough, barely more than a breath.

"Go ahead."

The words tasted dangerous on his tongue.

Nevena's lips parted, a soft gasp escaping her as if releasing every ounce of restraint she had left.

Stefan didn't hesitate.

And Milan realized there was no turning back.

Stefan wasted no time but he didn't rush either.

It was the confidence that made every movement feel inevitable.

With a firm grip, he took Nevena's hand, guiding her toward the couch like he'd done this a hundred times before. She followed without hesitation, her breathing already uneven, her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and disbelief at how easily she was giving in.

Stefan sat down, wide legged and relaxed, then pulled Nevena onto his lap like she weighed nothing more than a doll meant to be played with. She let out a soft gasp as she settled against him, her thighs straddling one of his, the thin fabric of her dress riding higher with every shift of her hips.

Milan trailed after them, his legs feeling heavy, his mind spinning.

He dropped into the armchair opposite his chair, the one he always claimed after work, where Nevena would curl up next to him during quiet evenings.

Now, he sat there powerless, watching his wife draped over another man.

His pulse hammered in his ears as Stefan's hands roamed Nevena's body possessive, unhurried strokes that made her squirm against him. One hand gripped her waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind her who was in control. The other slid up her spine, drawing goosebumps in its wake before tangling in her hair.

Then Stefan's lips found her neck soft at first, then nipping just enough to pull a breathless moan from Nevena's lips.

Milan's mouth went dry.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of his wife her head tilted back, her eyelids fluttering, her hips grinding slowly against Stefan's muscular thigh, completely unaware of how wanton she looked.

Or maybe she was aware... and she loved it.

Milan felt the growing ache in his jeans, his cock straining against the fabric. Almost without thinking, his hand drifted down, palming himself through the denim, feeling the pulse of his own arousal as he watched Nevena come undone for another man.

Then came the moment the one Milan knew was inevitable, but still hit like a punch to the gut.

Stefan's hand slid down Nevena's thigh, his fingers curling under the hem of her dress. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed it higher... and higher... until the soft black lace of her panties was fully exposed.

Milan's breath caught in his throat.

Nevena whimpered softly, her legs parting just enough to invite Stefan's touch her body betraying any pretense of modesty.

Stefan glanced over at Milan then, his lips curling into a cocky, knowing grin. His fingers traced the edge of Nevena's panties, feeling the damp heat radiating through the delicate fabric.

"She's already soaked," Stefan drawled, his voice thick with amusement and dominance. His eyes locked onto Milan's, challenging him. "You've been keeping this all to yourself?"

Milan's cheeks burned not just from humiliation, but from the raw, undeniable arousal flooding his system. His fingers tightened over his crotch, feeling how painfully hard he was how wrong it felt, and yet how desperately he wanted more.

Nevena's soft gasp pulled his attention back.

Her body tensed, hips lifting slightly as Stefan's fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding her slick folds with practiced ease.

"Milan..." she whimpered, her voice shaky high with need, not guilt.

But Milan knew.

She wasn't asking if this was okay.

She wasn't seeking reassurance.

She was telling him.

This is happening.

Her head fell forward, forehead resting against Stefan's shoulder as the Bull's fingers teased her circling her clit, dipping inside her just enough to make her legs tremble.

Milan's chest tightened, a knot of jealousy twisting deep inside but beneath it, darker and stronger, was the thrill that had haunted his fantasies for years.

After a few minutes of slow torment drawing soft, breathy moans from Nevena, Stefan withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening in the low light.

Without shame, he brought them to Nevena's lips.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a quiet growl.

Nevena obeyed instantly, her tongue flicking out to taste herself, cheeks flushed crimson at how filthy it felt and how much it excited her.

Milan nearly came in his pants.

Then, with the same effortless strength, Stefan stood lifting Nevena into his arms like she was nothing more than a prize he'd just claimed.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered things Milan couldn't hear things that made Stefan smirk as he carried her down the hall.

Milan followed, his legs moving on autopilot, his heart slamming against his ribs.

When he stepped into the bedroom, the sight stole the breath from his lungs.

Nevena was already sprawled on the bed her dress bunched around her waist, her panties discarded on the floor like an afterthought. Her skin glowed in the dim light, her chest rising and falling in anticipation, her thighs slick and glistening with need.

Stefan stood at the edge of the bed, peeling off his shirt in one smooth motion.

Milan felt his stomach twist with envy and awe.

Stefan's body was nothing short of intimidating. Broad shoulders, defined abs, every muscle carved. The kind of physique Milan had only ever seen on movie posters or fitness ads.

But it wasn't the muscles that made Milan's breath hitch.

It was what came next.

The moment that would burn itself into Milan's memory forever sharp, humiliating, exhilarating.

Stefan's fingers moved with casual confidence, unbuckling his belt the soft clink of metal slicing through the charged silence like a starting gun. Every second stretched, unbearably tense, as Milan watched the inevitable unfold.

The jeans slid down Stefan's hips, pooling at his feet.

Then the boxers followed.

And Milan's world tilted.

His breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a groan as his eyes dropped to the thick, heavy length swaying between Stefan's thighs.

Even half hard, it was obscene.

A monster of flesh veins snaking along the shaft, the head flushed dark, fat and menacing. It hung there, unapologetic, like gravity itself struggled to handle the sheer weight of it.

Milan's stomach twisted into knots cold dread and molten heat warring inside him. His cock throbbed in his pants, painfully aware of its own inadequacy in that moment.

Because this wasn't a screen.

This wasn't some distant Bull in a video.

This was real.

And Stefan... Stefan looked exactly like the men Milan had spent years comparing himself to those impossibly endowed gods of dominance that haunted his late night fantasies.

But nothing nothing hit harder than Nevena's reaction.

He felt her body tense beside him, heard the sharp inhale she couldn't suppress. When he glanced at her, it was like watching innocence shatter.

Her lips parted, eyes wide and locked onto Stefan's cock like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Awe, shock... and unmistakable arousal washed over her delicate features.

"Oh my God..."

Her voice was barely a whisper but every word dripped with raw, unfiltered desire. It wasn't forced. It wasn't playful teasing.

It was real.

Milan's chest tightened painfully.

He wanted to look away wanted to shield himself from the sight of his wife utterly transfixed by another man's cock. But he couldn't. His eyes flicked between Stefan's size and Nevena's expression, every second driving the knife deeper.

She's comparing.

The thought echoed, bitter and electric.

How could she not?

Milan knew exactly what was running through her mind because it was the same thought that had haunted him for years. How will I handle this?

Nevena's pulse pounded in her ears, her cheeks flushed deep crimson as her gaze traced every intimidating inch of Stefan's cock. A part of her shy, reserved screamed that this was insane.

How is this going to fit?

But beneath that flicker of apprehension was something darker, something she never knew she craved until now.

I want to try.

And then, as if pulled by a magnetic force stronger than reason, her hand moved hesitant at first, trembling with anticipation and guilt. But when her fingers wrapped around Stefan's shaft, her breath hitched again.

It's so... heavy.

Her hand barely closed around it, the thick heat of him throbbing against her palm. The contrast was overwhelming her mind raced not just with how he felt, but with how Milan must be seeing this.

For a split second, guilt flashed through her. She glanced sideways at Milan, heart pounding.

His face was unreadable eyes dark, lips pressed in a tight line but his arousal was impossible to miss. The bulge straining against his pants betrayed him, even as his pride withered under the weight of comparison.

She must be thinking it too, Milan thought bitterly, his throat dry.

How small I must seem now...

He could almost hear the unspoken words in Nevena's mind. This is what a real man looks like.

The humiliation burned. But right beneath it, like gasoline on an open flame, was pure, uncut desire. His cock throbbed with a pulse that felt almost painful, trapped between jealousy and the sick thrill of seeing his deepest fantasy manifest before his eyes.

Then Stefan's voice cut through the tension low, rough, laced with cocky amusement.

"So, Nevena..." he drawled, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips, "how do I compare next to Milan over there?"

Nevena froze her cheeks blazing, her hand still wrapped around Stefan's cock. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, embarrassment flooding her like ice and fire all at once.

Milan felt his heart hammering against his ribs, every muscle in his body coiled tight. He didn't know if he wanted to crawl out of his skin or stroke himself to the sound of her answer.

Stefan chuckled darkly, stepping in closer, the weight of his cock pressing into Nevena's palm as he leaned down to whisper but loud enough for Milan to hear every word.

"Come on... be honest," he coaxed, his tone dripping with sin. "Tell Milan how it feels in your hand. And then tell me how it feels when you touch him. What's the difference?"

Nevena's eyes darted to Milan wide, searching for what, she didn't know. Permission? Forgiveness? Or maybe just confirmation that this was really happening.

Her lips quivered as she swallowed hard, the heat between her legs now unbearable. She wanted to look away, to hide from the raw vulnerability of the moment but Stefan's cock throbbed in her grasp, grounding her in the reality of what they were doing.

And Milan...

Milan couldn't breathe.

His wife his Nevena stood there, blushing, trembling, her delicate fingers wrapped around another man's cock, seconds away from saying the words that would strip him bare.

But this was what he wanted.

This was the fantasy brought to life ugly, beautiful, intoxicating.

And as Nevena's lips parted to speak, Milan felt everything inside him collapse and ignite at the same time.

Jealousy. Humiliation. Pride. Desire.

And beneath it all, the sick, addictive thrill of knowing

There was no going back now.

Nevena's throat felt tight, her pulse roaring in her ears as both men waited one with smug confidence, the other with silent, tortured arousal.

Her fingers flexed instinctively around Stefan's cock, feeling the heat, the weight, the impossible girth pressing against her palm. It was one thing to imagine this moment during their late night whispers. It was another to stand here, flushed and trembling, with undeniable proof of Milan's darkest fantasy and her own blooming curiosity wrapped in her hand.

She dared another glance at Milan.

His eyes were locked on her dark, glassy, his jaw tense like he was holding his breath. There was no anger. No resentment.

Just that look.

A mixture of humiliation, hunger... and desperate permission.

Nevena's lips parted, words fumbling on her tongue before finally spilling out soft, shaky, but honest.

"... It's so much bigger than I expected."

Her voice cracked on the last word, cheeks blazing red. She felt Stefan's cock twitch in response, a deep, satisfied chuckle rumbling from his chest.

Milan swallowed hard, his heart thudding painfully. Hearing her say it admit it sent a shiver down his spine that landed straight in his cock. It ached against his zipper, throbbing with every pulse of blood fueled by her confession.

Of course it is, he thought bitterly, but the sting only fed the fire.

Stefan wasn't done.

"Show him," he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a low command that brooked no argument. "Let Milan see the difference."

Nevena's breath caught. Her gaze flicked nervously between the two men, but her body moved on instinct arousal clouding hesitation. Slowly, almost reverently, she guided Stefan's cock closer to Milan's line of sight, angling it so there was no denying the obscene contrast.

Milan's chest tightened as he looked down.

The thick shaft in Nevena's delicate hand dwarfed anything he could offer. Even soft, Stefan was thicker than Milan at full hardness. The sight was brutal unforgiving in its honesty.

And yet... Milan couldn't look away.

Nevena hesitated, then, as if to twist the knife or perhaps to soothe it she reached out with her other hand. Her fingers found Milan's bulge, stroking him gently through his pants, grounding them both in the surreal intimacy of the moment.

Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with embarrassment and something darker.

"... You feel so different."

Milan let out a shaky breath, leaning into her touch even as his pride withered under the weight of comparison.

Stefan smirked, watching the couple with predatory amusement.

"Tell him how," he pressed, his tone playful but edged with dominance. "Tell your husband what it's like to hold me."

Nevena whimpered softly, torn between shame and the wicked thrill curling deep in her belly. She could barely process the whirlwind of emotions guilt, excitement, fear, and a twisted kind of exhilaration that made her thighs clench.

Her hand squeezed around Stefan's shaft again, feeling its heat, the pulse beneath the skin.

"... It's so thick," she whispered, almost as if confessing a sin. "It's... heavy. I can't even... wrap my fingers all the way around it."

Milan's cock throbbed violently at her words, precum dampening his boxers.

Nevena's touch on him became more affectionate, as if to soothe the storm she knew her words would stir.

Her gaze softened when it met Milan's eyes wide, shimmering with guilt and arousal.

"But I love how you feel too," she added quickly, her voice thick with emotion, needing him to know it wasn't just about size it was about them. About trust. About this shared descent into something neither of them could have predicted.

Stefan chuckled darkly, clearly entertained by the raw vulnerability playing out before him.

"Well, we'll see how you feel once I'm inside you," he muttered, his words a spark tossed onto an already raging fire.

Nevena's breath hitched sharply, her knees threatening to buckle at the sheer audacity of it.

Milan felt like his brain short circuited.

That image the thought of Stefan stretching Nevena open, of her gasping at the fullness, of him watching every second flooded his senses until he could barely think straight.

Nevena bit her lip, her hand still trembling around Stefan's cock as she stole one last glance at Milan searching his face, looking for reassurance, for something to anchor her as the reality of what they were about to do settled in.

Milan met her gaze, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

He gave the faintest nod.

Permission. Surrender. Desire.

Stefan backed up to take off the rest of his clothes.

Milan also went back a few steps.

And then.

Stefan glanced over his shoulder at Milan, that trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips a look that oozed confidence, dominance, and just enough mockery to make Milan's stomach twist.

"Hope you brought condoms," Stefan drawled, his voice thick with amusement. The way he said it made it clear he already knew what kind of problem they were about to face.

Milan's throat tightened as he scrambled to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with shaky hands. He grabbed the familiar box the same one he and Nevena had barely touched in months and tossed it toward Stefan.

Stefan caught it effortlessly, flipping the box in his hand like it weighed nothing before pulling out a single condom. He held it up, unrolling it slightly between his fingers. The latex looked thin. Small durex.

Too small.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from Stefan's chest as he glanced between the condom and his own growing length.

"These are cute," he said, his tone laced with playful cruelty as he held it up for Milan to see like he was showing off a toy meant for someone else entirely. "But this isn't going to cut it."

Milan's cheeks burned with a mixture of humiliation and arousal. He couldn't argue not when Stefan's cock was already hanging heavy between his legs, thick and intimidating even before fully hard.

On the bed, Nevena let out a breathless, nervous laugh her cheeks flushed deep crimson, her thighs shifting restlessly as her eyes flicked between the two men. She was too far gone now, her body humming with need, to care about awkward details like this. If anything, the sight of Stefan holding that useless condom only seemed to make her wetter.

Stefan, ever the problem solver, reached back into the drawer and rummaged around. His fingers brushed past Milan's collection of forgotten odds and ends before pulling out a single foil packet different brand, different color.

Milan's heart sank.

The XL condom.

He'd bought it months ago, on a whim half curiosity, half wishful thinking after one too many porn videos had made him feel inadequate. It had sat untouched ever since, buried at the bottom of the drawer like a quiet reminder of fantasies he'd never fulfill.

Stefan raised an eyebrow at the find, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

"Now we're talking," he murmured, tearing open the packet with his teeth.

Milan watched with a knot in his stomach as Stefan rolled the condom down his shaft only to see the latex stretch impossibly tight around the thick crown... and stop.

Halfway down.

Stefan tugged slightly, but it was no use. The condom strained against him, barely covering half his length before refusing to go any further.

With a low sigh that sounded far too amused, Stefan looked down at himself then back at Milan.

"Well," he said, letting the half rolled condom snap back slightly, the image both absurd and utterly intimidating, "this is about as good as it's going to get. Hope you don't mind it she might feel some of my skin if i go too deep."

Nevena's breath hitched, her eyes locked onto the exposed inches of Stefan that the condom couldn't contain. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her legs parting instinctively as if her body had already decided for her.

Milan's heart pounded in his chest, every rational thought screaming about risks, consequences but those warnings were drowned out by the rush of blood to his cock and the look on Nevena's face.

She wasn't hesitating.

She wanted this needed it.

He could see it in the way her hips shifted toward Stefan, in the desperate glint in her eyes as she stared at the thick, barely covered shaft inches from her soaked folds.

Milan swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper.

"Just... pull out at the end," he managed to say, his voice rough and unconvincing even to his own ears.

Stefan's grin widened, pure mischief and dominance radiating from him as he crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between Nevena's eager thighs.

"No promises," he teased, his voice a low growl that made Nevena shiver beneath him.

Milan stumbled back toward the chair, his hands already moving to his zipper, his cock throbbing painfully as he sank into the seat.

His eyes stayed locked on the sight before him his wife, legs spread wide, welcoming another man without hesitation. Stefan's broad frame hovered over her, the sheer size of him making Nevena look smaller, more delicate like she was meant to be taken by someone like him.

As Milan wrapped his hand around his aching length, the weight of the moment hit him fully.

This wasn't just a fantasy whispered in the dark anymore.

It was real.

And it was only just beginning.

The sound of Nevena's breathless moan cut through the thick air, a soft, needy sound that made Milan's stomach twist and his cock throb painfully in his hand.

Stefan's lips were a breath away from her inner thigh, teasing her with nothing but hot air and the faintest brush of his stubble. His hands so much larger than Milan's gripped Nevena's legs firmly, spreading her wider, as if reminding both husband and wife who was in control now.

Milan sat rigid in the chair by the bed, his palm slick with pre cum as he slowly stroked himself. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears as his gaze stayed locked on the sight before him his beautiful wife, flushed and panting, her dress hiked around her waist, lace panties discarded and forgotten on the floor. She was exposed. Open. Not for him but for Stefan.

And God, she looked gorgeous like this.

Stefan didn't rush. No, he savored the moment like a man unwrapping a gift he already knew belonged to him.

His dark eyes flicked up Nevena's body, watching the way her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. A smug grin tugged at his lips before he finally dipped his head lower his mouth finding the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Nevena gasped, her fingers clutching at the sheets as Stefan's tongue traced lazy patterns along her skin, purposefully avoiding where she needed him most. The anticipation alone had her squirming, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea.

Milan's throat was dry, his emotions warring inside him jealousy, humiliation... but overshadowing it all was pure, unbearable arousal. His cock throbbed in his grip as he watched his wife offer herself so willingly, her body betraying every ounce of modesty she once held.

Then Stefan moved.

With a confident tilt of his head, he dragged his tongue through Nevena's soaked folds slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to make her lose her mind. Stefan said" I have to make sure you are wet enough and relaxed enough to take me."

The reaction was instant.

Nevena cried out, her back arching off the bed as her hands flew to Stefan's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands to pull him closer. Her thighs trembled, already slick with arousal and now glistening with Stefan's saliva.

"Oh fuck..." she whimpered, her voice high and breathless nothing like the soft moans Milan was used to hearing in their bedroom. This was raw. Unfiltered. A sound pulled from deep within her.

Milan's chest tightened painfully at the sound but instead of looking away, he stroked himself harder, hypnotized by the sight of Stefan devouring his wife like she was his favorite meal.

Stefan's hands roamed Nevena's hips, holding her down when she tried to writhe away from the overwhelming pleasure. His tongue worked her expertly broad, slow licks that left her gasping, followed by sharp, teasing flicks over her swollen clit that made her whimper his name like a prayer.

Every moan, every shudder from Nevena sent a jolt straight to Milan's cock.

Then Stefan lifted his head just enough to speak his lips glistening with Nevena's arousal, his voice thick and taunting.

"She tastes sweet," he murmured, locking eyes with Milan across the room. The smirk that followed wasn't just cocky it was possessive. Like he was reminding Milan exactly who was making his wife fall apart.

Before Milan could respond not that he had words Stefan dove back in, this time with more intensity. His tongue circled Nevena's clit before sucking it between his lips, drawing a sharp, desperate cry from her throat.

"God Stefan..." Nevena gasped, her thighs clamping around his head as her body trembled violently.

Milan watched, breath hitching, as his wife completely surrendered her hips grinding against Stefan's face, chasing every wave of pleasure he gave her. The way she moved, the sounds spilling from her lips... Milan had never seen her like this. Never heard her beg like this.

His hand moved faster, his knuckles turning white as he gripped himself tighter, the wet sounds of Stefan's tongue working between Nevena's legs filling the room like a filthy symphony.

And in that moment, Milan realized something that made his cock throb even harder.

This wasn't just Stefan taking his wife.

This was Nevena giving herself to him.

Willingly. Eagerly.

And Milan could do nothing but watch aching, breathless as his wife's moans grew louder, her body edging closer to a climax that wasn't his to give.

It was Stefan's.

And Milan had never been so turned on in his life.

It didn't take long before Nevena was panting, her body taut like a bowstring, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

"Stefan... I I'm gonna..." she gasped, her voice breaking as the first orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave.

Her back arched off the bed, toes curling, a raw cry ripping from her throat louder, more desperate than Milan had ever heard. It wasn't the soft, polite moans she gave him during their tender nights. This was wild. Unrestrained. A woman completely undone by a man who knew exactly how to take her apart.

But Stefan didn't stop.

If anything, he doubled down holding her hips firmly in place, his tongue merciless as he dragged out every last shudder, every whimper of overstimulation until Nevena was writhing beneath him, her hands weakly pushing at his head.

Only when her thighs twitched from exhaustion did Stefan finally pull back, lips and chin glistening with her arousal. He wiped his mouth lazily with the back of his hand, a satisfied gleam in his eyes like a predator who'd just tasted blood and knew he wasn't finished hunting.

Nevena collapsed against the sheets, her chest heaving, hair fanned out around her flushed face. Her eyes were half lidded, pupils blown wide with lust, lips parted as if still chasing breath.

Milan sat frozen, his cock throbbing in his grip, chest tight with a twisted mix of pride, jealousy... and helpless arousal. His wife had just been devoured in front of him and she looked more beautiful, more alive, than he'd ever seen her.

But Stefan wasn't done.

Not even close.

Veins bulged along the length, the latex stretched tight over his girth, the head flaring angrily as it throbbed with pent up need. It was the kind of cock Milan had only seen in the darkest corners of his porn habits never in real life.

And now, his wife was reaching for it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Nevena's slender fingers wrapped around Stefan's shaft both hands, and still, a good portion of him jutted out beyond her grasp. Her lips parted in a breathless, almost reverent whisper.

"It's so... big... andd hard now"

The awe in her voice wasn't exaggerated. It was genuine. A raw, instinctive reaction that made Milan's pulse race and his pride shrink all at once.

Stefan let out a low chuckle, his hand threading through Nevena's messy hair as he guided her closer.

"You can handle it," he murmured with a smirk, his voice dripping with confidence the kind that came from knowing no woman ever truly forgot him once he was inside them.

Nevena hesitated for only a heartbeat, her cheeks flushed, eyes flicking briefly to Milan.

That look half guilty, half exhilarated was a dagger straight to Milan's chest... and his cock twitched at the sight of it.

Without another word, Nevena leaned in, her lips brushing against the latex covered tip in a soft kiss, almost like she was worshipping it. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the faint bitterness of the condom mixed with Stefan's arousal.

Milan watched, breath caught in his throat, as his wife began to drag her tongue along the thick vein running down the underside slow, deliberate licks like she was savoring a decadent dessert.

When she finally tried to take him into her mouth, she barely managed the head before her jaw stretched wide, her lips straining around his girth.

A soft gag escaped as she pushed further, determination etched across her flushed face.

Stefan groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair, controlling her pace.

"That's it... Good girl..." he rumbled, his tone both praising and commanding. "Get it nice and wet for me."

Spit began to drip from Nevena's lips, trailing down Stefan's shaft as she bobbed her head her hand working what her mouth couldn't manage. Her eyes watered from the effort, mascara smudging slightly, giving her a messy, ruined look that made Milan's cock pulse in his hand.

He could barely believe the sight before him his elegant, loyal wife on her knees, gagging softly on another man's cock, eyes fluttering every time Stefan pushed a little deeper.

This wasn't some fantasy on a screen. This wasn't a dirty thought whispered in the dark.

This was real.

And the most intoxicating part?

Nevena wasn't being forced. She wasn't doing this for Milan's sake.

She wanted it.

The way her thighs rubbed together, the way her fingers dug into Stefan's hips for balance it was clear. She was enjoying this. Thriving on it.

Stefan glanced down at her with that same cocky grin, his abs flexing as he gently thrust into her mouth.

"She's a natural," he muttered, shooting Milan a glance that was equal parts smug and taunting.

Milan could only nod weakly, his fist moving faster now, his breath ragged as he teetered on the edge of humiliation and ecstasy.

And as Nevena pulled back, gasping for air her chin slick with spit, strings of saliva connecting her lips to Stefan's cock she looked over at Milan with glazed, lust filled eyes.

Her voice was hoarse, but her words were clear.

"I need him inside me..."

Milan's heart stopped and then pounded harder than ever.

Because hearing his wife beg for another man's cock wasn't just the climax of a fantasy.

It was the point of no return.

And he was powerless to stop it.

"Enough teasing," Stefan growled, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down both their spines.

With effortless strength, he pushed Nevena back onto the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows, her chest rising and falling in anticipation. Her thighs parted willingly, the slick heat between them glistening under the dim light.

Stefan climbed over her, settling between her legs like he belonged there because tonight, he did.

The thick, latex covered head of his cock pressed against her soaked entrance, sliding along her folds, teasing her swollen clit just enough to make her whimper.

Milan sat frozen in the chair, his hand wrapped tightly around his aching cock, heart hammering in his chest. The sight before him was surreal like his deepest, darkest fantasy had come alive, only more intense... more real.

Stefan didn't move right away.

Instead, he looked down at Nevena, his hand gripping her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me what you want," he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

Nevena's lips trembled, her eyes glazed over with lust and just a hint of shame. She flicked her gaze toward Milan her husband, sitting there hard and breathless, watching her like he couldn't decide if he was about to come or lose his mind.

"Baby... what now?" she asked softly, her voice shaking, needing that final push needing Milan to say it.

Milan swallowed hard, his throat dry, his cock twitching in his hand.

"Now... I want to see him fuck you," he croaked, his voice barely recognizable raw with desire and surrender.

Stefan's smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

"Good choice," he muttered.

Then, without hesitation, he pushed forward slow and deliberate.

Nevena's mouth fell open in a silent gasp, her back arching as inch after thick inch stretched her beyond anything she'd ever experienced. Her hands flew to Stefan's biceps, nails digging into his skin as her body trembled beneath him.

"F fuck..." she whimpered, her voice breaking. "You're so fucking... big..."

Stefan grunted, savoring the tight, wet heat wrapped around him.

"Goddamn..." he growled, looking over at Milan with a glint of amusement. "Your wife's pussy feels incredible tight as fuck, but she's welcoming me in like she's been waiting for this."

Milan let out a shaky breath, his fist stroking slowly as he watched his wife's pussy struggle to accommodate Stefan's girth the latex sheen of the condom making every stretch, every glide, even more obscene.

Stefan stayed buried deep for a moment, enjoying the way Nevena squirmed beneath him, her hips instinctively rolling, needing more.

Then, he pulled back just enough to thrust forward again, a little harder this time.

Nevena cried out, her legs wrapping around Stefan's waist, pulling him deeper with desperate need.

Her moans filled the room raw, unfiltered pleasure echoing off the walls.

Stefan glanced at Milan again, his smirk turning downright wicked.

"I bet you love this view, huh? Watching your pretty wife get fucked properly..." He thrust harder, making Nevena gasp. "I can see how hard you are, Milan. Don't be shy jerk off. That's why you called me, isn't it?"

Milan's hand moved on instinct, stroking faster now, his eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.

Stefan leaned down, his lips brushing against Nevena's ear as he pounded into her with slow, powerful thrusts that made the bed creak.

"While you're sitting there with your hand around your little cock," Stefan continued, his voice dripping with dominance, "I'm using your wife to jerk off mine."

He emphasized his words with a deep, brutal thrust that made Nevena scream a sound Milan had never heard from her before.

"We all get to have fun," Stefan chuckled darkly, his pace increasing, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room like music to Milan's ears.

Nevena was lost in it now her head thrown back, eyes rolling, her voice a chorus of broken moans and desperate pleas.

"Yes... yes, Stefan! Don't stop! You're stretching me so good..." she cried, her nails raking down his back.

Milan couldn't tear his eyes away.

The sight of his wife completely at the mercy of another man's cock, begging for more, her body quivering with every thrust was the most humiliating, exhilarating thing he'd ever experienced.

Stefan was relentless now, driving into her with a force Milan knew he could never match. Every thrust sent shockwaves through Nevena's body, her breasts bouncing, her cries getting louder, more desperate.

"Take it, Nevena," Stefan growled, sweat glistening on his muscles. "Show your husband how much you love getting fucked by me."

Nevena's answer was a scream of pure pleasure, her heels digging into Stefan's back, urging him deeper, harder.

Milan felt his orgasm building, his hand a blur as he watched Stefan dominate his wife turning her into a moaning, writhing mess beneath him.

And in that moment, as Nevena begged for every inch and Stefan filled her like no man ever had, Milan realized this wasn't just a fantasy fulfilled.

This was addiction.

Stefan growled deep in his chest, his hands gripping Nevena's hips like handles as he flipped her onto her stomach in one swift, dominant motion. She gasped, her cheek pressed against the sheets, her ass instinctively rising offering herself to him without hesitation.

Milan sat breathless in the chair, his cock slick with pre cum, eyes wide as he watched Stefan line himself up again thick, glistening, still sheathed in latex and slam back into his wife with a force that made the bed jolt against the wall.

"Fuck!" Nevena cried out, her fingers clawing at the sheets for stability as her body rocked forward with every brutal thrust. Her ass rippled with each impact, the sound of Stefan's hips slapping against her echoing through the room like a filthy rhythm.

Stefan's hand came down hard on her ass, a sharp smack leaving a red imprint.

"Does Milan ever fuck you like this?" Stefan sneered, his voice rough and taunting as he pounded into her mercilessly.

"N no!" Nevena sobbed, her voice high pitched and wrecked by pleasure. "Only you... oh God, only you!"

Milan groaned, his hand working faster, precum dripping onto his thigh as he watched his wife completely submit her body bouncing helplessly under Stefan's relentless assault.

Stefan leaned over her, grabbing a fistful of Nevena's hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to arch.

"Look at your husband," he growled into her ear. "Let him see how much you love this cock."

Nevena's teary eyes met Milan's glazed over, pupils blown wide with lust. Her lips parted in a delirious smile, pleasure and devotion mixing in her expression.

"You see me, baby?" she panted, her voice trembling. "I love this... I love you... I'll do anything for you..."

Milan felt his chest tighten, pride and humiliation twisting together in a cocktail of unbearable arousal. His beautiful, loyal wife now a moaning mess for another man's cock all because he wanted this.

Stefan's pace turned savage, his hips pistoning forward with brutal precision, heavy balls slapping against Nevena's soaked pussy. The condom stretched thin over his girth, barely holding as her tightness gripped him like a vice.

"You're fucking made for this," Stefan snarled, sweat dripping down his body. "Your pussy's choking my cock, Nevena. I bet Milan's never seen you like this begging, drooling, taking it like a pornstar in his videos."

Nevena's cries grew frantic, her hands uselessly clutching the sheets as her body tensed.

"I'm gonna cum... oh fuck, Stefan... I'm cumming again!" she screamed, her voice breaking as her entire body convulsed beneath him her pussy clamping down in a violent orgasm that had her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Milan's jaw dropped, his hand flying over his cock as he watched his wife unravel louder, wetter, more alive than he'd ever seen her.

Stefan grunted, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper harder.

"Fuck... I'm close," he growled, glancing at Milan with that same cocky grin that said he owned them both. "What do you think, Milan? Should I pull out? Or do you want to watch me fill your wife?"

Before Milan could even process the question, Nevena still trembling from her orgasm shook her head weakly, lost in the haze of lust.

"Inside..." she whimpered, barely able to form words. "Please... fill me..."

Milan's heart stopped. His cock twitched violently in his hand, a fresh wave of pre cum spilling over his fingers at his wife's shameless plea.

Stefan let out a dark chuckle, slamming into her with punishing force.

And that's when it happened.

A sharp snap barely audible over the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

The condom gave way, splitting under the relentless pounding and Stefan's big size.

Stefan felt it instantly the raw heat of Nevena's pussy wrapping around his bare cock, no barrier left.

"Well, shit..." he groaned, his voice thick with feral need. "Too late now..."

He didn't stop in fact, he fucked her harder, reveling in the feeling of her tight, soaked walls milking him bare.

Milan couldn't hold back any longer. The sight of Stefan's bare cock disappearing into his wife, the risk, the rawness it pushed him over the edge.

"Oh fuck..." Milan gasped, his body tensing as his orgasm ripped through him, hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach. His vision blurred, his head falling back as he let out a shaky moan.

Two minutes passed in a haze of overstimulation.

Milan sat there, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his cum soaked hand, barely able to keep his eyes open.

And that's when Stefan's deep, guttural growl filled the room.

"Fuck take it, Nevena..." he snarled, slamming into her one final time, his hips pressed flush against her ass as his cock throbbed violently.

Nevena let out a broken, breathless moan her body going limp beneath him as she felt Stefan's hot seed flood her unprotected, pulse after pulse.

Milan watched, dazed, as a trickle of cum began to seep out around Stefan's thick shaft, dripping down Nevena's thighs.

The room was silent now except for the sound of heavy breathing, the air thick with sweat, sex, and something far more dangerous.

Satisfaction.

Stefan finally pulled out slowly, his cock glistening, coated in a mix of cum and Nevena's juices.

He looked over at Milan, smirking as if to say, This is what you wanted.

And as Milan sat there cum drying on his hand, his wife lying wrecked and filled on the bed he realized one undeniable truth.

There was no going back.

For a long moment, the room was thick with silence just the sound of ragged breathing, the faint creak of the bed, and the obscene drip of Stefan's cum sliding from Nevena's swollen, thoroughly used pussy onto the sheets.

Stefan finally eased back, glancing down at the mess he'd made. His cock, still heavy and slick, glistened in the low light as he reached for his jeans.

His usual cocky smirk softened as he looked over at Milan, who was still sitting, dazed, in the chair cum drying on his hand, his eyes flicking between his ruined wife and the man who had just bred her.

Stefan ran a hand through his hair and let out a low breath, his tone surprisingly genuine as he spoke.

"Look... Milan," he started, adjusting his jeans. "About the condom..." His eyes met Milan's with a rare flicker of sincerity. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It was too small from the start, but I thought it'd hold. Guess I underestimated myself."

He smirked briefly but quickly let it fade, sensing the weight of the moment.

"Seriously though I get tested regularly. Clean bill of health. You don't have to worry about that."

Milan swallowed hard, nodding slowly. His emotions were a whirlwind arousal, jealousy, pride, and now... relief. The knot in his stomach loosened slightly at Stefan's reassurance, though the sight of his wife lying there, dripping with another man's cum, kept his heart pounding for very different reasons.

Stefan grabbed his shirt, slinging it over his shoulder as he headed toward the door. He paused, glancing back at the scene one last time Nevena still sprawled out, her body glistening with sweat and satisfaction, Milan standing beside the bed, clearly still processing everything.

"I'll let you two... recover," Stefan said with a knowing grin. "But something tells me this won't be a one time thing."

With a wink, he disappeared into the night, leaving the apartment thick with the scent of sex and something far more intoxicating temptation.

Milan stood there, staring at the closed door for a long moment before finally turning back to Nevena.

She was watching him now her cheeks flushed, hair a tangled mess, thighs still trembling slightly from the sheer intensity of what had just happened.

Her eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of regret, anger... anything.

But Milan surprised her.

He sat down beside her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead before leaning in to kiss her soft, lingering, full of love rather than lust.

"Are you okay?" he whispered against her lips.

Nevena nodded, her voice barely audible. "I am... Are you?"

Milan let out a shaky breath, his hand resting on her stomach, feeling the aftershocks of her trembling beneath his palm.

"I think so," he murmured, his eyes drifting down to where Stefan's cum still leaked from between her thighs. The sight made his cock twitch, even in its spent state.

Nevena followed his gaze, her cheeks darkening with both embarrassment and arousal.

"I'll... take the pill. Just in case," she said softly, breaking the silence. "We'll be careful."

Milan nodded, his chest tightening not with fear, but with a strange sense of pride. Pride that his wife trusted him enough to explore this. Pride that she'd surrendered so completely, knowing it was his fantasy too.

Nevena nestled closer, her head resting against his shoulder, her body still warm and sensitive from being thoroughly used.

Her thoughts swirled in a haze of satisfaction and disbelief. She never imagined she'd be capable of something like this of letting another man take her while her husband watched. And yet... she'd never felt more alive. More desired. More wanted.

She could still feel Stefan's weight, his size, the stretch that left her pussy aching in the best way.

But more than that she felt Milan's arms around her now. His acceptance. His love.

"I meant what I said," she whispered after a while, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

"About what?" Milan asked, his voice low.

"I'd do anything for you," she murmured, tilting her head to look up at him. "This wasn't just for me... it was for us."

Milan's throat tightened, emotion swelling beneath the lingering arousal. He kissed her again deeper this time pouring every ounce of gratitude, love, and desire into it.

As they lay there in the aftermath bodies tangled together, sheets ruined they both understood something unspoken.

This wasn't the end.

It was the beginning of a darker, thrilling journey they'd only just dared to start.