We decided to do it again.
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The second time felt different. There was no shock, no hesitation. I picked out the lingerie again — sheer red lace that hugged her ass and left almost nothing to the imagination. I made her stand in front of me while I chose the heels. Told her how I wanted her to wear her hair. Even picked the exact shade of gloss for her lips.
She smiled, looking into the mirror. She wasn’t just my girlfriend anymore. She was my gift — and tonight, I was lending her out.
Before she left, I pulled her close and whispered:
“You’re gonna let him use you again. But he’s not the one who made you look this good. I did.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
?
She called me again when she got there. Set the phone down on the table.
He greeted her like before, clearly expecting more of what he’d already had — like she was his toy now. But the second he saw her in that outfit, he couldn’t hide it.
“Damn…” he muttered. “This for me?”
“Mmm… yeah,” she said, teasing him. “Well, kind of for you. My boyfriend picked it.”
Silence.
I heard it — that awkward pause. His ego cracked. Just a little. But enough.
“Wait… what?” he said, slower this time.
“Yeah,” she laughed softly. “He helped me get ready tonight. Told me exactly how to look for you. Even picked this thong. You like it?”
More silence.
That’s when I knew — he didn’t just want her body anymore. He wanted her away from me. The fact that I was part of this, that she was enjoying this with me, broke him.
But it didn’t stop him.
He still pulled her into his lap. Still kissed her neck. Still unwrapped her like a present.
?
She was extra loud that night.
She got on her knees, looked up at him with those same fucked-out eyes, and whispered into the phone so I could hear:
“He’s still mad I said it… that you dressed me. I think he’s jealous. But that makes it even hotter.”
Then I heard the zipper.
She sucked his dick with full intention. No mercy. Sloppy, wet, messy. Spit dripping. Gagging on purpose. She moaned with him in her throat, humming while her lips slid all the way to the base.
“You like knowing I’m still his, don’t you?” she said to him between sucks.
“You’re just borrowing me…”
He grunted, frustrated — like he didn’t want to hear that. But she didn’t stop.
She climbed on top of him and started riding hard. Like she was trying to break his dick. Her ass clapped down with every bounce, moaning into his ear:
“Think he’s listening? I hope he hears how deep you are inside me…”
She said everything — moaned his name, called him daddy, told him she missed his cock. But even then, she kept circling back:
“He dressed me like a slut just to let you use me. Isn’t that crazy?”
That broke him.
He flipped her over. Fucked her rough, almost angry. I heard her cry out, choking on her moans. The bed creaked. The walls hit. The claps echoed. She begged him to cum inside her again — even whispered:
“You’re not the first to fill me tonight…”
He came. But it wasn’t the same this time.
?
Later, she came home. Her makeup was ruined. Her thighs still shaking. And her first words to me?
“I think I broke him.”
She laughed while she undressed. I could still smell him on her. She crawled into my lap and whispered:
“He didn’t like being second. But I did.”
That night, she was mine in a way she never was before.
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