Sit and Watch

"Sit & watch"

The lights were dimmed low, but not off.

She wanted him to see her. And more importantly - she wanted me to see her.

I sat in the corner chair, exactly where my wife Natasha told me to. Dressed only in boxers, hard already, hands flat on my thighs. I wasn't allowed to touch myself - not yet. Not until she gave the word.

That had been the rule from the beginning.

Natasha stood at the foot of the bed, back to me, hair curled in dark, glossy waves down her spine. A short silk robe clung to her, barely concealing the shape of her hips, the curve of her ass.

The doorbell rang.

She turned to me and smiled - a private, knowing little smile. "Don't move," she said.

And she went to let him in.

My heart thundered in my chest.

There was something so surreal about the moment. I'd watched her go out, heard her stories, licked her clean - but this was different. Live. Unfolding in front of me. Every sound, every breath, every moan - I'd be there for all of it.

I heard low voices in the hall. His voice was deeper than I expected--smooth, calm. Hers was playful. Teasing. Already turned on.

Then, footsteps. And he stepped into the room.

He was older, yes - late 40s, maybe 50. Salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, fitted shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Confident in the way that only men who had nothing to prove ever were.

He looked at me.

Nodded.

Not a challenge. Not approval. Just... acknowledgement. He knew why I was here.

"Nice place," he said, eyes flicking briefly to my wife.

"Thanks," she replied, already untying the sash of her robe.

The fabric fell.

Natasha wore nothing underneath.

His eyes moved over her body slowly, like he was memorizing it, and she stood there, unashamed, letting him. Her nipples were hard. Her thighs already glistened faintly in the soft light.

She turned toward me.

"Do you like watching me be wanted?" she asked.

I swallowed. "Yes."

"Then watch closely."

Natasha crossed to him, pressed her body against his, and kissed him.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't polite. It was hungry. Their mouths opened, tongues tangled. His hands moved to her ass, squeezing, lifting. She moaned into him, and I could see her hips grind against his leg, needing contact.

I shifted in my seat, aching.

She broke the kiss and turned her head toward me, lips swollen, breath shaky.

"I'm going to suck his cock now."

She dropped to her knees in front of him without waiting.

Unbuckled his belt. Unzipped. Pulled him free.

And looked at me the whole time.

Natasha wrapped her hand around his length first - slowly, confidently.

He was already hard. Thick. Longer than I expected. And the way she looked at it - like a gift she was about to unwrap with her mouth - made my chest tighten, made my cock throb.

She stroked him lazily, eyes flicking to mine.

"He's big," she whispered. "And you get to watch him disappear down my throat."

Then she opened her mouth and took him in.

No hesitation.

The sound he made - deep, surprised - told me she didn't tease at first. She swallowed him halfway in one smooth, wet pull. Her lips slid down his shaft with practiced ease, her tongue wrapping, her hand stroking what she couldn't reach.

Natasha moaned around him.

I could see her thighs press together as she sucked him - she was getting off on it.

He placed a hand on her head, gently guiding her pace. Not forceful, just steady. She let him. Took more. Gagged once, wet and real, then pushed deeper.

I shifted in my chair, painfully hard, eyes locked on the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her spit dripped from the corners of her lips. She was a vision - on her knees, full of another man, performing like she was made for this moment.

Natasha pulled off with a loud pop, panting, eyes shining.

"His cock tastes different," she said to me. "Want to try?"

My stomach twisted. I nodded, unable to speak.

She crawled toward me on hands and knees, then pressed her mouth to mine.

I tasted it immediately - him, thick and musky on her tongue. She kissed me hard, filthy and deep, moaning as our mouths mixed.

"Now you've had a taste too," she purred. "But I get the rest."

Natasha turned and crawled back to him, never breaking eye contact. Her ass swayed, and her wetness glistened between her legs. She wanted it. Badly.

He sat on the bed now, watching her.

"I want you on top," he said. His voice was calm. Commanding.

She straddled him, reached between them, and guided him to her entrance.

But before she slid down, she looked at me one more time.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

I couldn't breathe. "Yes."

Natasha smiled.

And lowered herself onto his cock.

She sank down onto his cock inch by inch, lips parted in a soft gasp.

I saw it all - the stretch of her, the way her body adjusted to him. The raw, intimate moment where she took him. Her nails dug lightly into his chest as she settled into his lap, completely filled.

"Ohhh..." she breathed, rolling her hips once, testing him.

His hands gripped her waist.

"You feel incredible," he said.

Natasha smiled - smug, glowing, in control - and began to move.

Slow at first. Just a gentle rise and fall, letting him feel every squeeze, every slick inch. Her breasts bounced softly with each motion, and her eyes stayed locked on me.

She was performing.

But this wasn't fake.

This was real.

She loved it.

"You watching, baby?" she asked, voice breathless, teasing. "Can you see how deep he is inside me?"

I could. Every time she lifted her hips, his cock glistened, soaked in her. And every time she dropped back down, a gasp escaped her throat - sharp, sweet, completely involuntary.

"He's thicker than you," she said, picking up the pace. "Slower too. He's taking his time..."

He leaned up, captured one of her nipples with his mouth, sucking hard. She moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, grinding down onto him as her back arched.

I sat frozen, desperate, straining against the edge of my seat and the ache in my boxers. My hands clenched the arms of the chair, white-knuckled.

"Please..." I whispered.

Natasha turned to me, lips slick, eyes wild. "Please what?"

"I need to touch myself."

She laughed, low and wicked. "Not yet."

Then she started riding him harder.

The slap of her skin on his. The wet, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding. His hands on her ass, pulling her cheeks apart exposing her anus, guiding her rhythm. Her gasps turning to cries.

And the whole time - her eyes on me.

"You wanted this," she moaned. "You begged for this..."

She was close again. I could see it. Feel it. Her thighs trembling, her rhythm losing control.

He grunted beneath her, thrusting up now, matching her movements.

She threw her head back.

"I'm going to cum again," she gasped. "On his cock - right in front of you."

She ground down on him, hard and fast, riding the wave. Her cry was high, helpless, almost broken. Her whole-body shook. And I watched -- helplessly - as she came for him.

As she came for us.

Natasha was still trembling in his lap, flushed and panting from her orgasm, when he grabbed her waist -- hard - and flipped her onto her back.

She gasped, surprised, excited.

He didn't give her time to recover.

He climbed between her thighs, pushed them wide, and thrust back inside her in one smooth, brutal stroke.

Her scream was raw, broken in half between pain and pleasure.

"Fuck," she cried. "Oh my god -"

I sat forward instinctively, my whole body tight, eyes wide as I watched him take her now- no hesitation, no gentleness. Just need. Just power.

He gripped her thighs, pinned them open, and drove into her hard and fast, his hips slapping against her soaked skin with every savage thrust.

Her hands gripped the sheets, her mouth open in a silent cry, body jolting with each stroke.

"That's it," he growled. "Take it. You wanted this."

She nodded wildly, moaning. "Yes - yes - don't stop - fuck, I want all of it -"

I'd never seen her like that.

Used. Ruined. Wrecked.

And it wasn't just about him - it was about the show. She wanted me to see her like this. To know she wasn't holding anything back.

Her eyes locked onto mine, wide and gleaming with lust.

"You watching him fuck your wife?" she gasped. "Can you see how deep he is?"

I could. Every thrust buried him to the hilt, her body arching beneath him, accepting him, milking him.

"I'm going to cum inside her," he grunted, pace brutal now. "I'm going to fill your wife up -right in front of you."

I whimpered. My cock twitched uselessly in my boxers, untouched, leaking.

"Yes," she moaned. "Do it. Fill me. Give it to me."

He growled, slammed into her one last time - and stayed there.

His whole body tensed. His hands gripped her thighs like he was anchoring himself. He let out a broken, primal sound as he came.

I watched it - his cock buried deep, her body accepting all of him, her nails digging into his back as his warmth flooded her.

And then -

Silence.

Just her gasps. His panting. My racing heartbeat.

Natasha reached for me then, her voice soft and sinful.

"Come here."

"Come here," she said again - softer this time, but no less commanding.

My legs barely obeyed me.

I stood slowly, cock aching, still untouched, and walked across the room. Every step was electric. My whole body throbbed with tension. And as I reached the bed, I looked down at her - legs still open, skin flushed, sweat glistening across her chest.

His cock had just slipped out of her.

And now she was dripping.

Her folds were swollen and red below her dark triangle of pubic hair, glistening with sweat and his cum. It was thick, raw, fresh - spilling from her in slow, creamy trails. The scent was strong. The heat of her was radiating. And my place in the world was never clearer than it was in that moment.

"Kneel," she whispered.

I dropped without question.

Natasha looked over at him, lazily satisfied, before tilting her head toward me. "He's going to clean me up now," she told him. "Every drop."

Then her eyes came back to me.

"You wanted this, didn't you?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Show me."

I leaned forward.

The first taste was hot and salty - his cum, still fresh inside her, mixed with her slick, coating her completely. My tongue slid along her folds slowly, reverently. I moaned against her, the taste overpowering, the act overwhelming.

She sighed, long and low, her fingers sliding through my hair.

"Good boy."

I licked her deeper. Pressed my tongue inside, gathering him, her, everything. I didn't stop. I didn't hesitate. My lips wrapped around her clit, suckling softly while my tongue lapped the mess from her entrance.

I could feel him still inside her - his release thick, clinging to her walls.

And I devoured it.

She gasped softly, twitching under my mouth. Not from arousal - she was spent - but from the intimacy of it. The totality of my surrender.

"You taste so filthy," I whispered against her. "So perfect."

"I know," she murmured. "You love it."

I nodded again, licking her until nothing remained but the pulse of her body and the slickness of my devotion.

When I finally pulled back, my lips were wet, chin shining, cock still painfully hard.

Natasha sat up, kissed me deeply, tasting the mess she'd made of me.

And then she looked between us - me on my knees, him watching from the bed, satisfied.

"This," she said, smiling wickedly. "This is what we are now."

And I knew she was right.