Our Hotwives

The first Time

It all began innocently enough. We were young, curious, and blissfully unaware of the deeper currents that would soon pull us into swinging, cuckolding, and ethical non-monogamy. All we knew was that we shared an insatiable appetite for adventure—both in life and in the bedroom. After a night of partying with friends, one of them, Tod, stayed over at our small but cozy apartment. Nothing happened that first night, but the next day he asked if he could stay with us for a while. Being the generous friends we were, we offered him the couch.

At first, our evenings were uneventful. But one night, as my wife and I lay in bed, lost in the heat of the moment, I whispered to her, “What do you think about bringing Tod into our bed?” Her eyes widened in surprise, but I could see a flicker of arousal behind them. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and excitement. I nodded, assuring her that if she was interested, she could go ask him.

Without hesitation, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the living room. I lay there, my heart pounding, listening intently as she approached Tod. Their whispers carried through the apartment, and I heard him ask, “Is this okay with him?” A moment later, a soft laugh escaped him. “Oh, you’re naked,” he murmured.

The room fell quiet, but soon the sounds of kissing and heavy breathing filled the air. The rustling of blankets and clothes followed, and then I heard her voice, breathless and trembling: “Oh my God, take it slow—that’s the biggest I’ve ever had.” Her moans grew louder, echoing through the apartment, and my heart raced with a mix of anticipation and exhilaration. I had orchestrated this taboo encounter, and now I was witnessing its unfolding.

For hours, their passionate cries and the rhythmic sounds of their lovemaking filled the space. When they finally finished, my wife called out to me, her voice sultry and inviting. She returned to the bedroom first, her body flushed and radiant, a quiet glow of satisfaction about her. Tod followed shyly, pausing at the doorway to ask if it was okay for him to join us.

With a mischievous grin, I teased, “No, no—how dare you make my wife lose herself like that?” We all laughed, breaking the tension, and Tod finally stepped inside. Without missing a beat, my wife climbed onto him, her desire reignited, and leaned over to kiss me passionately.

From that moment on, the night descended into pure, unbridled chaos. At first, it seemed like we were all equally involved, but it quickly became clear that my wife was utterly captivated by Tod’s presence and endurance. Compared to him, I felt a quiet inadequacy settle in, yet I couldn’t deny the thrill of watching her surrender to waves of pleasure she’d never quite reached with me. The three of us carried on until the early hours of the morning, with me mostly observing, kissing her, fetching drinks, and occasionally joining in while Tod took breaks.

That night was the first of many, and it marked the beginning of a weekend—and a lifestyle—that would forever change us.

After that Weekend

After that transformative weekend, Tod became a fixture in our home and our lives. What began as a daring experiment soon settled into a new rhythm, one where Kacy and Tod’s connection shone brightest. Most nights, the three of us would start tangled together in the bedroom, laughter and warmth giving way to heat. Yet the balance shifted quickly, and the spotlight found Kacy and Tod, their chemistry magnetic and effortless.

I didn’t merely accept it—I savored it. There was something spellbinding about watching Kacy bloom into a version of herself I’d never fully seen: confident, radiant, and entirely in command. When Tod paused to catch his breath, she’d turn to me with a playful glint in her eye. “Your turn,” she’d murmur, guiding me close with a gentle but unmistakable authority. Even then, the contrast was impossible to ignore—not just in physical presence, but in the way she moved, the way she owned every moment.

With Tod, Kacy was elemental. Her breath came quicker, her laughter deeper, her surrender more complete. At first she’d whisper for him to go slow, adjusting to the way he filled her. But soon her whispers became commands, her body arching to meet him. The sight of her lost in that intensity left me breathless, a quiet ache of awe and longing settling in my chest.

As weeks turned into routine, Kacy and Tod grew inseparable. They orbited each other with an ease that felt both natural and inevitable. Kacy never let me feel excluded—she’d check in, her hand on mine, her voice soft with reassurance. Yet there was no mistaking who set the tempo now. One evening, after another night of watching them together, we started talking as Tod went to rinse in the shower and I asked her how she felt; she sat me down, her gaze steady and commanding.

“Do you really want to know how I feel?” she asked. I nodded, pulse racing. She leaned in, her voice low and deliberate. “Tod is… bigger than you. Much bigger. He reaches places inside me that you never could. I didn’t even know those spots existed until he found them. The way he fills me, the way he makes me cum—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt with you.”

Her words landed like a soft blow—honest, unadorned, and laced with tenderness. She cupped my face, her thumb brushing my cheek. “You’re my husband. I love you. But this is different, and it’s mine to give. You’re part of it, but on my terms.”

From that moment on, Kacy took full control. She would often direct me, telling me when to watch, when to join, and when to step back. “Stay in the living room,” she’d say, her voice firm as she led Tod to our bed, the door left ajar so I could hear every sound. Or she’d call out mid-embrace, “Get us drinks,” playful but unyielding while Tod took her from behind. She’d beckon me closer only when she chose, pulling me into a kiss while Tod thrust into her, her moans vibrating against my lips. “Do you see how he fucks me?” she’d whisper, eyes locked on mine. “Do you see how deep he goes?”

There were times when she compared us openly, her words both humbling and arousing. “Feel how wet I am for him,” she’d say, guiding my hand between her legs. “Do you feel how stretched I am? That’s what a real man does to me.” Her dominance was intoxicating, and I found myself craving her approval, her attention, even as she gave herself completely to Tod.

This was our new compass: Kacy’s desires charting the course, Tod’s presence amplifying them, and my devotion the quiet current beneath it all. And I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

As the weeks blurred into months, our life with Tod settled into its own unmistakable cadence. Our mismatched schedules—my night shifts, Kacy’s days off, Tod’s flexible hours—left them alone together more often than not. I’d come home to the low murmur of their voices, the creak of the bed, the unmistakable rhythm of their bodies moving in sync. It was a private concert I was invited to hear but rarely allowed to join.

The shower became their favorite stage. Tod’s height and reach let him lift Kacy against the tile in ways I never could; my stature and modest size simply didn’t fit the choreography. I’d pause outside the bathroom door, water drumming, her gasps rising above it. Early on I’d call in, “Need anything?”—a towel, a drink, a way to stay tethered. Kacy’s answer grew firmer: “We’re fine, honey. Wait in the living room.”

One evening as we were talking, I mentioned how our lives had changed and they were becoming more. Kacy smiled and went to the kitchen, her expression serious but with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Tod was there too, leaning casually against the wall, his presence looming and undeniable. She came back with a tape measure in her hand, patted the seat next to her, and I sat down, my heart racing as I wondered what she was about to say.

“I think it’s time we had an honest conversation,” she began, her voice calm but firm. “You’ve been so good about all of this, but I want to make sure you understand why things are the way they are. Why I need Tod in my life—in our life.”

She turned to me first. “Stand up, honey.” I obeyed, face burning as she tugged my pants and boxers down in one swift motion. My modest arousal sprang free, half-hard under her cool, appraising gaze. She wrapped the tape measure around me with deliberate precision, her fingers brushing me just enough to make me twitch.

“Almost five inches long,” she announced, letting the tape snap shut with a sharp click. “Four-point-six around. Honestly, it’s… almost cute.” She let out a low, throaty chuckle, shaking her head. “I’ve seen bigger on a middle schooler. It’s like a little toy.”

Then she turned to Tod. He stepped forward; she knelt, reverent, easing his pants down with worshipful slowness. The tape stretched. “Nine inches,” she breathed, voice thick with hunger. “Six around. My God, Tod, you’re massive.” She looked up at him, eyes shining, then back at me. “Do you see the difference, honey? This is why I crave him—why I cum for him. You’re my husband—I love you—but he makes me feel things you can't, he's in another league entirely.”

She cupped my burning face, thumb stroking my cheek. “This doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It just makes everything crystal clear. My pussy is his.”

From that point on, Kacy became even more assertive, more vocal, and more deliberate in her actions. When Tod was around, she would openly invite him to our bedroom, turning to me with a playful, wicked smile and saying, “You can wait in the living room, honey. We’ll call you if we need anything.” She left the door cracked open just enough for me to hear everything—her moans, her praises, her declarations of how much bigger he was, how much better he felt.

“Oh God, Tod,” she would cry out, her voice trembling with ecstasy. “You’re so much bigger than him. I can’t believe how deep you go. Don’t stop—don’t ever stop!”

When we did have sex, it was less about intimacy and more about her reminding me of my place. She knew exactly how much it turned me on to be humbled, and she embraced that power with a knowing smile, never holding back. There was a twisted trust between us—a mutual understanding that allowed her to be as blunt as she wanted, and for me to take it, no matter how much it humbled me.

She would lie there, her body relaxed and utterly unimpressed, her eyes locked onto mine with a mix of pity and amusement. Her lips would curl into a smirk as she delivered her cutting remarks, each one designed to remind me of my inadequacy.

“Are you even in yet?” she’d ask, her voice dripping with mock confusion. She’d glance down between us, feigning surprise. “Oh, wait, there you are. Barely past my outer lips. God, it’s so tiny. I can’t even tell if you’re actually inside me or just rubbing against me. Maybe you should try pushing harder. Oh, wait—that is you pushing harder, isn’t it? Pathetic.”

Her hands would rest on my hips, not to guide or encourage, but to emphasize how little she needed to do. “You like this, don’t you?” she’d whisper, her tone teasing and knowing. “You love how humiliating this is. Admit it. You love knowing that your little dick can’t even reach halfway, let alone fill me up like Tod does. I can still feel him, you know. He stretches me so much that I barely even notice you’re here. It’s like trying to feel a toothpick in a canyon.”

She’d tilt her head, her smile widening as she delivered the final blow. “It’s almost cute, though, in a sad, pathetic way. Watching you try so hard with that tiny thing. Do you even know what it feels like to really satisfy a woman? Of course you don’t. How could you? You barely make it past the entrance. But don’t worry—just let me know when you’re done, okay? I’ll try not to laugh too loud.”

Her words were relentless, each one a calculated strike designed to remind me of my inadequacy. She knew exactly how to twist the knife, how to make me feel both aroused and utterly humbled at the same time. And the worst part was, she was right—it did turn me on. The way she mocked me, the way she compared me to Tod, the way she made it clear how inadequate I was… it was humiliating, degrading, and yet I couldn’t get enough.

But she never let me forget the truth: no matter how much I enjoyed it, my modest size would never be enough for her. And she made sure I knew it, every single time.

Her words drove me wild, and the more she teased, the faster I came. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she reveled in it. Afterward, she would call Tod into the room, and the contrast was stark. With him, she was loud, uninhibited, and utterly consumed by pleasure. She would look at me with that same playful smile, her eyes glinting with mischief, before eventually telling me to leave the room.

“You can watch for a little while,” she would say, her tone dripping with condescension. “But don’t get too excited. This is for him, not you.”

Weekends became their domain. They would spend hours—sometimes entire days—lost in each other, their passion unrelenting. When I worked nights, Kacy would call me, her voice breathless and sultry, to let me know she was thinking of me. “Tod’s here,” she would say, her tone dripping with implication. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And when I returned, I would often find them still entwined, their bodies moving together as if they had never stopped. They even set alarms to make sure they were still going when I walked in, a deliberate act that underscored their connection and my role in this new dynamic.

One morning, I came home to find them in the kitchen. Kacy was bent over the counter, her hands gripping the edge as Tod thrust into her from behind. She turned her head to look at me, her face flushed with pleasure. “Good morning, honey,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tod’s just helping me start the day right. Why don’t you make us some coffee?”

I obeyed, my hands trembling as I prepared the coffee, the sounds of their passion filling the room. When I brought them their cups, Kacy took a sip and smiled at me. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said, her tone patronizing. “You’re such a good cuck.”

This was our life now—a delicate balance of love, desire, and submission. Kacy was in control, and I was learning to embrace my place in this uncharted territory. It was thrilling, humbling, and endlessly complex, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I love the narratives that start with how it all started. Please keep going. How long ago was this?

How long did things last with Tod or is he still in the picture?

The start was 27 years ago. Will post the other stories soon. Those were last month. I will attempt to close the gap between then and now as I go.

Thanks for sharing the start of kacy, tod and your journey. Love the descriptions and details. Hope to read more…

venus-can99 wrote: ↑

Thu Nov 13, 2025 9:16 pm

Thanks for sharing the start of kacy, tod and your journey. Love the descriptions and details. Hope to read more…

2026 should be an even bigger shift for us. We are talking with a few solid guys and she wants to make something more regular like what we had a long time ago. For now I'm transferring the stories from my blib back to here

The living room carried the warm haze of red wine, garlic bread, and the lingering citrus of Jess’s perfume. The TV flickered in soft blues and golds, the movie’s dialogue a lazy undercurrent. Empty bottles clinked when Liam reached for the last pour. Jess’s bare foot brushed mine under the coffee table, playful, wine-warm.

Kacy yawned first, slow and feline. “I’m done,” she murmured, voice soft, almost shy. She rose, the hem of her oversized T-shirt brushing mid-thigh. “Night, guys.” A sleepy half-smile, a flick of dark hair, and she padded down the short hallway. The floorboards sighed once, then nothing.

Tod stayed put in the corner lounge chair, half-shadowed, nursing his beer. Jess laughed at a line on screen. Liam refilled her glass. I sat in the armchair, pulse already ticking.

Five minutes. Tod set his bottle down, stretched. “Gonna crash,” he said, casual, scratching the back of his neck. He rose, disappeared down the hall. No one looked up. Two bedrooms—one ours, one his. Logical.

Ten minutes. The apartment swallowed sound. The movie rolled on.

Fifteen minutes. A single, muffled rustle—sheets sliding. A breath held too long. Then the faintest thump —a knee on mattress. Another. A whisper so quiet it could’ve been the fridge cycling on.

Twenty minutes. The rhythm began—slow, careful, almost polite. A soft shhh of fabric. A hushed exhale. The mattress gave a low, cautious groan, like someone trying not to disturb the neighbors. A pause. Another groan, deeper, as weight shifted.

Jess’s brow lifted. She set her glass down, curiosity flickering. “Hold on,” she whispered, slipping off the couch. Bare feet silent on the hardwood, she padded down the hall. A pause. Then the soft creak of Tod’s bedroom door—open. She peeked in, lingered a beat, and returned. Her eyes locked on mine, wide, knowing. A slow, loaded smile. She said nothing, just reclaimed her spot beside Liam, thigh pressed to his.

Twenty-five minutes. The caution frayed. A sharper creak. A stifled gasp—Kacy’s—cut short, as if a hand had clapped over her mouth. Then another, longer, trembling at the edges. The rhythm settled in: creak… pause… creak… —steady, but still hushed. The wet slide of skin on skin, faint, almost swallowed by the movie’s soundtrack.

Thirty minutes. The truth crystallized. The mattress found its voice—steady, insistent, no longer polite. Kacy’s breath came in soft, frantic bursts, each one a little louder. The sheets rustled faster. A slick, rhythmic sound—bodies meeting, parting, meeting again.

Jess’s hand tightened on Liam’s knee. “They’re in your room,” she breathed, half-laugh, half-awe.

Forty minutes. We turned the volume up, just a notch. Jess and Liam exchanged glances, the air thickening with wine and the unmistakable scent of sex seeping under the door.

Fifty minutes. The sounds ebbed—slowed, softened. A long pause. We thought they’d drifted off. Then: a wet, slurping sound—Kacy’s mouth on Tod, slow and worshipful. A low groan from him. The mattress creaked again, gentler now. Tod’s turn—muffled, rhythmic, Kacy’s breath hitching in soft, stifled gasps.

One hour. The passion reignited. The mattress groaned louder. Kacy’s voice, breathy, pleading: “ Harder, Tod… please… ”

The rhythm surged. The slick sounds grew wetter, more urgent. The air smelled of sex now, thick and heady.

One hour, ten minutes. Jess stood. “Smoke?” she asked, voice tight. Liam nodded. I followed them out to the balcony, the cool night air a shock against flushed skin. Inside, the muffled sounds continued—Kacy’s moans rising, falling, rising again.

One hour, twenty minutes. We lingered outside, cigarettes glowing. The balcony door was cracked; every sound carried. Kacy’s voice, clearer now: “ Fuck me harder… don’t stop… ”

Jess exhaled smoke, eyes on the dark. “They’re not even trying to be quiet anymore.”

One hour, thirty minutes. We came back in. The living room felt warmer, heavier. The movie had ended; the screen glowed blue. The sounds from our bedroom were raw now—Kacy’s cries sharp, desperate, Tod’s grunts deep and commanding.

“ Tell them, ” Tod growled, voice thick. “ Tell them what I do to you. ”

Kacy’s reply—shattered, lust-drunk: “ You own me… you stretch me… John never could… never made me cum like this…”

One hour, forty-five minutes. Another lull. Silence. Then: the wet, rhythmic sound of Kacy sucking him again—slow, deliberate, hungry. A low moan from Tod. The mattress creaked as he flipped her, the sounds shifting—his mouth on her now, her breath hitching in sharp, stifled sobs.

Two hours. The passion flared again. Kacy’s voice, raw and pleading: “ Fuck me… please … harder …”

The rhythm was relentless now—wet, slick, loud . The air smelled of sweat, sex, wine. Jess’s hand found Liam’s thigh. Her breathing was shallow.

Two hours, ten minutes. Jess stood again. “I can’t…” she whispered. She looked at me—eyes dark, lips parted. “Tod’s room,” she said to Liam, voice husky. “ Now. ”

Liam rose, pulling her with him. They disappeared down the hall, the door to Tod’s bedroom clicking shut behind them. I stayed on the sofa, the cushions still warm from their bodies.

Moments later, the second storm began. The guest mattress creaked—different rhythm, but just as hungry. Jess’s first moan drifted through the wall, soft, then louder, deliberate, echoing Kacy’s cadence.

“ Fuck , Liam— yes —let the cuck hear …”

The apartment became a cathedral of sound: Kacy and Tod in our bedroom—once discreet, now shameless ; Jess and Liam in Tod’s room—performative, hungry. Two storms of pleasure, one born of secrecy, one of exposure, both centered on my absence.

I lay back on the sofa, the air thick with garlic, wine, and the unmistakable scent of sex seeping under both doors. Every moan was a brand. Every cry a coronation. My cock ached. My heart raced. I was utterly, deliciously outed .

I stayed on the sofa, the cushions still dented from Jess and Liam’s bodies. The TV flickered to life again, volume low, just enough to mask the occasional creak of floorboards, but not enough to drown out the twin symphonies of pleasure now pulsing through the walls.

2:15 a.m.

From our bedroom: the mattress groaning in a relentless, wet rhythm. Kacy’s voice, raw and pleading, slipped through the crack in the door like smoke:

“Harder, Tod… please… I need to feel you all the way… John never got this deep…”

A low, possessive growl from Tod. The slick slap of skin on skin quickened, louder, shameless. The air smelled of sweat and sex, thick enough to taste.

2:30 a.m.

From Tod’s room: Jess’s laugh, breathless and wicked.

“Listen to her,” she called, loud enough to carry. “That’s what a real cock sounds like, cuck.”

Liam’s grunt. The guest mattress creaked in counterpoint. Jess’s moans rose, deliberate, performative:

“Fuck me like he’s fucking her… yes… let him hear what he can’t do…”

2:45 a.m.

Silence from our room—just long enough for my pulse to slow. Then: the wet, rhythmic sound of Kacy’s mouth on Tod again, slow and worshipful. A low moan from him. The mattress creaked as he flipped her. His mouth on her now—her breath hitching in sharp, stifled sobs that weren’t stifled at all.

3:00 a.m.

Both rooms flared again. Kacy’s voice cracked open:

“You own me… ruin me for him… please…”

Jess answered, breathless, laughing:

“Hear that, John? She’s begging for it. Your little dick never made her beg.”

3:15 a.m.

The rhythm in our room surged—wet, slick, loud. Kacy’s cries turned to broken sobs:

“I’m gonna cum again… fuck… only you…”

Tod’s voice, thick with triumph:

“Louder, baby. Let your cuck count your orgasms.”

3:30 a.m.

Tod’s room joined in perfect sync. Jess’s voice, sharp and cruel:

“Count them, John. Count how many times real men make us cum.”

3:45 a.m.

Another lull. Then: the unmistakable sound of Kacy riding Tod—slow, grinding, the mattress groaning under her weight. Her voice, soft and shattered:

“I can feel you in my throat… fuck… he never reached past my lips…”

4:00 a.m.

The final crescendo. Both rooms hit a fever pitch. Kacy’s scream—raw, animal—ripped through the walls:

“YES—fill me—mark me—he’ll never be enough…”

Jess’s laugh, breathless and cruel:

“Hear that, cuck? She’s marked. You’re just the cleanup crew.”

The apartment fell silent at last, save for the low hum of the TV and the soft, satisfied sighs drifting through the walls. I lay on the sofa, cock aching, heart racing, every moan still echoing in my skull.

I was utterly, deliciously, humiliated. And I wouldn’t have traded a single second.

Love to read about your encounters. It's very 'stimulating'
Thank you for making the effort
Kind regards and best wishes Handye

The New Rhythm

Now that Jess and Liam were in on our little secret, it seemed like they were over at our apartment more often than not. They had even helped us move into a bigger place—three bedrooms, a spacious living room, and enough privacy for Kacy and Tod to explore their relationship without feeling cramped. But privacy was a relative term in our world. With Jess and Liam around, the walls seemed thinner, the sounds louder, and the tension thicker.

Tod and Kacy’s relationship had evolved into something deeper, something that felt more than just physical. There was a level of intimacy between them that I couldn’t ignore, a connection that went beyond sex. It was love, or at least something close to it. And as much as it humbled me, it also excited me in ways I couldn’t fully explain.

Jess and Liam had become regular fixtures in our lives, and their presence only amplified the dynamic. Kacy no longer felt the need to retreat to the bedroom with Tod. Their encounters happened wherever and whenever the mood struck—on the couch, in the kitchen, even in the hallway. Jess would sometimes complain, half-jokingly, that Kacy was always with Tod and not spending enough time with her. But even Jess couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between Kacy and Tod.

When Jess and Liam stayed over, they took the second bedroom, and I was relegated to the couch. Most nights, I lay there, listening to the symphony of pleasure coming from both rooms. Kacy and Tod in the master, Jess and Liam in the second, their moans and cries intertwining in a competitive dance of passion. It was humbling, yes, but also strangely exhilarating. I was the outsider, the observer, the cuckold. And as much as it burned, I couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of pride in my role.

The Evening That Shifted

One evening, after Kacy and Tod had vanished into the master—leaving the living room warm with the echo of her laughter and the faint scent of her skin—Jess lounged on the couch, wineglass catching the lamplight.

Jess, soft, almost fond: “She glows with him, doesn’t she?”

Liam’s gaze lingered on the hallway. “Like she’s lit from the inside.”

Jess turned to Liam, voice velvet. “Imagine sharing that light. You and Tod with her. I’ll keep John company on the sofa—make sure he feels every note.”

Liam’s smile was slow, hungry. “You’d let me taste what makes her sing?”

Jess’s fingers traced his jaw. “Only if I get to feel what makes him growl.”

They looked at me then, eyes soft with mischief and something gentler.

Jess: “Think the couch can hold all that music?”

I swallowed. “It already does.”

The Night Unfolded

Later, when the lights dimmed and the apartment settled into its familiar hush, the master came alive first. Kacy rose, barefoot, silk slip sliding over her hips. She caught Liam’s eye, then Tod’s, a slow smile curving her lips. Without a word, she led them both down the hall. The door closed with a soft click, not quite latching.

Jess stretched beside me on the sofa, wineglass cradled against her chest.

Jess, voice low, amused: “Looks like the boys are sharing tonight.”

From the master, the first sounds were gentle, exploratory: the rustle of sheets, the hush of breath, Kacy’s quiet laugh melting into a sigh. Then the rhythm found itself—slow, deliberate, three bodies learning the same language. The mattress gave a low, steady groan; the air carried the soft warmth of mouths, Kacy’s voice rising in a trembling arc.

Jess’s fingers brushed my wrist, light, grounding.

Jess: “Listen to her. She’s radiant.”

For three hours the master breathed with them. No clocks, no hurry. Just the rise and fall of Kacy’s pleasure, Liam’s low murmurs, Tod’s deeper growl, an intimate, unbroken cadence that pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat.

Near two, the door opened. Tod stepped out, shirtless, skin sheened with sweat, eyes dark with satisfaction. He crossed to Jess, offered a hand.

Tod, quiet: “Your turn.”

Jess rose without hesitation, silk sliding over her hips. She glanced back at me, smile soft.

Jess: “Stay warm, love.”

They disappeared into the second bedroom. The door shut. Moments later, the mattress there joined the song, Jess’s laugh turning to a gasp, Tod’s voice a low, steady anchor.

The master quieted, then reignited: Kacy’s breath catching again, Liam’s name on her lips, softer now, closer, theirs alone.

I stayed on the sofa, TV flickering low, volume barely a whisper. The apartment breathed around me: two rooms alive with shared heat, the third untouched, the living room a quiet harbor.

Every sigh, every creak, every murmured endearment drifted through the walls, sensual, unhurried, complete. I watched the screen without seeing it, heart full, the night’s music wrapping around me like silk.

Kacy: Hey cucky, just leaving Ned’s place. 🥵 Oh my God, I don’t even know where to start. Today was… unreal.

John: Hey baby, glad you had a good time. You sound like you’re still catching your breath. What happened?

Kacy: What didn’t happen? Ned was… well, you know how he is. He’s just so big. Even after 3 months, I still have to adjust to him every time. It’s like my body forgets just how massive he is until he’s right there, and then it’s like, “Oh, right, this.”

John: Haha, I can only imagine. How long were you two… you know…

Kacy: Three and a half hours, cucky. Three. And. A. Half. Hours. 🥵 And he didn’t stop the entire time. I lost count of how many times I came. It’s like he knows exactly how to hit every single spot inside me. I swear, he’s not human.

John: Wow, that’s… impressive. I’m glad he takes such good care of you, baby.

Kacy: He really does, honey. He’s so attentive, you know? Like, he always makes sure I’m comfortable, even though he’s so big. He takes his time, stretches me out slowly, and then… oh God, it’s like nothing else in the world exists when he’s inside me.

John: Sounds like you had an amazing time babe. I’m happy for you.

Kacy: I did, pookie. I really did. And you know what? It just makes me even more grateful for you.

John: Really? Why’s that?

Kacy: Because you’re the one who makes all of this possible. You’re the one who supports me, who encourages me, who lets me explore this side of myself, and you love me. And that means everything to me.

John: Thanks, honey. That means a lot. I just want you to be happy, you know?

Kacy: I know. And you make me so happy. 🥰 But let’s be real, denying you for the past year was the best decision we ever made.

John: Haha, yeah, I guess it was. I mean, it’s not like my little… you know… was doing much for you anyway.

Kacy: Oh, don’t say that. It’s not about what you can’t do—it’s about what you can do. And you’re amazing at so many things. Like, seriously, you’re the best husband I could ever ask for.

John: Thanks, baby. But let’s be honest, Ned’s… well, he’s on a whole other level, isn’t he?

Kacy: Oh, honey, there’s no comparison. I mean, you’ve got your 2 inches, and he’s got… well, let’s just say he’s almost 10 inches and thick as a soda can. It’s like comparing a toothpick to a tree trunk.

John: LOL, fair point. I guess I’m just glad I can still contribute in my own way.

Kacy: And you do, pookie. You really do. 🥰 Like, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re my rock, my partner, my best friend. And you’re so good at taking care of me after Ned.

John: Haha, well, I aim to please, mistress. Speaking of which, when are you getting home? I’ve got my ‘cleaning supplies’ ready.

Kacy: LOL, you’re such a dork. I’ll be home in about 20 minutes. And don’t worry, there’s plenty for you to clean up. Ned made sure of that.

John: Can’t wait, baby. I’ll be ready and waiting.

Kacy: Such a good boy. I love you, cucky.

John: Love you too, mistress. See you soon.

The cuck event

Friday: Arrival and the Pool

The drive from San Diego to Palm Springs unfolded like a slow, sun-drenched promise. Kacy drove, one hand on the wheel, the other idly twirling the key to my cage on its chain between her breasts. Every so often she’d brush the tiny pink plastic prison around my 2.5-inch erection and smile when it pulsed.

“Three years since this sweet little thing has been inside me,” she said, sliding two fingers into her bare pussy and tracing them across my lips. “Tonight you’ll taste men who make it feel like a delicate whisper.”

We arrived at the mansion as dusk painted the sky violet. Thirteen black bulls lounged around the glowing pool, each one a sculpted tower of muscle and easy confidence. Nine cuck couples mingled, wives radiant, husbands collared or caged with quiet pride. I carried the bags while Kacy walked ahead in her short skirt, no panties, the soft light kissing the curve of her hips.

Mike, the host, greeted us at the door. Six-foot-five, shoulders like gentle hills, he wrapped Kacy in a warm hug that lifted her off her feet. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back; my cage gave a soft, grateful throb.

“Room’s all set,” he said, voice deep and kind. “Take your time. When you’re ready, join us by the pool. We’ll make proper introductions.”

Kacy changed in thirty seconds—nothing but skin. She clipped the cage key on a thin gold chain around her waist, letting it rest against her hip like a shared secret. I followed her out, naked except for the cage. Every bull turned with appreciative smiles, eyes tracing her graceful sway.

The Pool Conversation

We slipped into the pool’s warm embrace, water lapping at our waists. Kacy floated between Steve and Mike, their easy laughter mingling with the soft splash of water. I hovered nearby, cage bobbing gently, content to listen.

Steve leaned back, arms spread along the pool’s edge. “First time here?” he asked Kacy, voice warm.

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “First time letting go like this. John’s been my rock for years.” She reached out, fingers brushing my arm. “He loves seeing me happy.”

Mike smiled, genuine. “That’s the heart of it. Trust and joy.” He glanced at me. “You’re a lucky man.”

We talked for hours—stories of past weekends, gentle teasing about cage sizes, shared laughs over first-time nerves. Kacy’s hand rested on Steve’s thigh, then Mike’s, casual but electric. The other wives drifted over, offering soft encouragement. The bulls were all warmth—no posturing, just open curiosity and respect.

The Disappearance

Eventually, Kacy’s glass ran dry. “Drinks?” she asked, tilting her head toward the bar. I nodded, eager to serve, and paddled to the steps.

“Be right back,” I said, climbing out, water streaming off me.

I padded inside, cage glinting under the fairy lights, and mixed two margaritas with care—salt rims perfect, lime wedges balanced. When I returned, the pool was quieter. The other wives exchanged knowing smiles.

“She’s with Steve,” one murmured, nodding toward Room 3. “Curtain’s open if you want to see.”

The First

I approached the sliding glass door. Kacy lay on her back, legs relaxed, Steve’s tongue tracing slow, reverent circles. She sensed me—eyes fluttered open, met mine, and she smiled with tender mischief. Steve rose, his cock a sleek, impressive length—11 inches, thick but welcoming. He eased the head along her folds once, twice, then slid in with patient care. Kacy’s breath caught in a soft, wondering sigh as the first inches settled. Another gentle push—six, eight. Her back arched in quiet rapture. At the hilt she looked at me and mouthed: See.

He moved with steady, loving rhythm—long, measured strokes, hips meeting hers in a quiet dance. Each glide drew a delicate, wet sound from her. I could hear her through the glass: “Deeper—yes—show him how beautifully you fit.” Steve glanced over, offered a warm nod, and continued with care. After ten minutes he stilled, buried deep, and released in slow, pulsing waves. Kacy’s climax rippled around him, a gentle fountain that soaked the sheets.

She lifted two fingers in a soft later—a promise, not a dismissal. I returned to the pool, cage glistening, heart full.

An hour later Steve strolled out, towel draped loosely, cock relaxed and shining. “She’s resting, but she’d love your company.”

I found her sprawled across the bed, thighs trembling, pussy softly swollen, a slow pearl of cum tracing her inner thigh.

“Come here, love,” she murmured. “Taste what he left.”

I settled between her legs. She guided my head with gentle hands. A warm flood of Steve’s release met my tongue—rich, intimate. I swallowed slowly, savoring the gift.

“That’s it,” she whispered, stroking my hair. “Three years since you were inside. Three minutes since he filled me so perfectly. Feel the difference.”

I lapped deeper, tongue tracing every fold, my nose brushing her clit. Every swallow was reverence; every sigh from her a quiet thank-you.

The Jacuzzi

Later, in the jacuzzi—10 p.m., steam curling like incense—Kacy sat beside Steve, his fingers gliding lazily inside her. They rocked in slow harmony, water lapping.

“Drinks, sweetheart,” she said softly. I padded across the deck, cage bobbing, and returned with two glasses. She accepted hers with a grateful smile, then lifted just enough to show me the gentle shine on Steve’s fingers.

“Sit with us. Watch. Learn.”

Steve guided her onto his lap facing me. She reached down, aligned him, and sank with exquisite slowness—inch by inch—until she rested fully, his length cradled deep. Water kissed their joined bodies.

“Look at him, John,” she breathed between gentle rolls. “Eleven inches—home—while your sweet cage keeps you safe. Tell him thank you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, voice steady with awe.

Steve smiled warmly. “She’s a treasure. Honored to share.”

The Shared Evening

Mike and Aaron—both generously endowed—slid into the jacuzzi, cocks rising with easy grace. Steve murmured something; Kacy nodded, eyes bright. She rose from him and settled onto Mike with a soft sigh, welcoming his width. Aaron stood on the ledge; she took him in her mouth with tender enthusiasm, cheeks hollowing.

Mike moved with patient power, water swirling. When he came he lifted her gently, still joined, and released in slow pulses. A warm river traced her thighs.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Kacy said softly. I knelt, mouth open. Mike eased out; a gentle flow met my tongue. I swallowed with gratitude while they watched with kind smiles.

Aaron followed—shorter, thicker, a perfect contrast. He lasted five tender minutes, then added his gift. Another gentle offering for me to receive.

The All-Night Harmony

Steve rose. “Shall we continue inside?”

Kacy kissed me—lips still warm with shared pleasure—and whispered, “Wait here, love. Listen to your wife be cherished.”

They guided her to our room. The door closed with a soft click. The headboard began a steady, loving rhythm—thud-thud-thud—Kacy’s sighs rising in sweet crescendo. I curled up on the deck chair, naked, cocooned in starlight, cage pulsing with quiet joy. From midnight to 3 a.m. the soundtrack was a gentle symphony: bedsprings, soft gasps, her murmured “yes—more—thank you”—woven with deep, appreciative male voices. At 5 a.m. it resumed, softer, slower. By 8 a.m. Steve opened the door, cum glistening like morning dew.

“She’s glowing. Come share the afterglow.”

The room smelled of warm skin and shared intimacy. Kacy lay spread-eagle, cum tracing delicate paths across her breasts, thighs, a gentle pool beneath her. Her pussy was softly swollen, flushed rose, a slow pearl of mixed release tracing her folds.

“Gentle, darling,” she whispered, voice husky with happiness. “They took turns loving me all night. I lost count of the gifts.”

I settled between her legs. The taste was layered—three different men, hours of devotion, rich and warm. I lapped slowly, reverently, cleaning her with quiet adoration. She stroked my hair, murmuring:

“Day one, love. Four more to go. By Sunday you’ll have tasted a river of their care, and I’ll walk with the sweetest ache. And you’ll thank every gentleman for cherishing the pussy we both treasure.”

She was right. That was only Friday.