Part 2
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Holy fuck, you guys loving my stories is setting me on fire—thanks! I’m spilling every twisted detail of this crazy life with Andrea, and there’s a shitload. I’m still answering your questions and craving your cuck tales. After her motel fuck with Carlos, I’m deep in this cuckold life, heart pounding, cock hard just thinking about my girl. But this time, shit got wilder, riskier, and what went down at Carlos’s house left me shaking with jealousy and horniness. Buckle up, this third chapter is pure poison.
After those motel videos, I couldn’t stop jerking off to them. Andrea was my personal porn star: sucking Carlos’s cock with devotion, letting him use her like a slut, moaning like she was his. She was our whore, and I was hooked. Barely a week passed before Carlos was texting her again, hunting her to fuck her senseless, like back in the day. It drove me nuts that he thought I was clueless, sneaking behind my back. I didn’t tell Andrea, but I got off hard on him thinking humiliating shit about me, like I was some dumbass. She told me he was seeing another chick, and I thought that’d slow her down, but fuck no—it turned her on more, knowing he had another woman yet still craved her as his fucktoy. She showed me his texts: “I need you, gonna make you mine again.” Every word got me rock hard. No way I could stop them from hooking up again. But this time, I wanted it rawer, riskier. I told her to meet him at his house, where he lives with his brothers. The thought of him fucking her with his family nearby, maybe hearing her moans, drove me insane.
I planned every detail, starting with her outfit. I bought her white lace lingerie, so sheer it showed her tits and ass, and she got her toenails painted white, knowing my foot fetish would lose it. When she tried it on, fuck, she was a goddess slut. I was dressing my girl to hand her to Carlos, and that thought had me on edge. I told her I wanted him to see her as a total whore, to give herself to him completely, to humiliate me with every dirty thing she let him do. “Be his slut, don’t say no to anything, and record it all,” I said. She nodded, with that half-innocent, half-filthy smile, and said, “I’ll record videos that’ll make you cum without touching.” She flashed her white-painted toes and added, “These are for both of you.” My cock was already throbbing.
Friday afternoon, Carlos texted he was free at 9 p.m. I helped her get ready: tight black dress, white lace lingerie underneath, open-toe heels showing off her white-painted toes. She looked spectacular, a slut ready to be used. Before she left, we went over everything. “I don’t wanna overwhelm you,” I said, “just be his whore, humiliate me, let him do anything, and record it.” She kissed me and whispered, “I love you, but tonight I’m his.” At 9, she left for her bull, leaving me with my heart in my throat.
I stayed home, glued to my phone, adrenaline pumping. She texted: “I’m arriving, call me.” I did, and as Carlos opened the door, she answered, faking a call with a friend like always: “Hey, Dayana, I’m here, talk later.” I heard Carlos’s deep voice: “Come in, my queen.” The thrill was unbearable, knowing she was in his house, his brothers nearby, where her moans could echo. She hung up, and my mind exploded imagining her in his room, ready to get fucked. Five minutes later, another text: “Thanks for letting me come, he’s fucking me so hard.” Fuck, I nearly came just reading it. I replied, “Enjoy it, slut, record everything.” I wanted to jerk off, but I knew I’d blow in seconds.
Twenty minutes later, the first video hit. My hands shook as I opened it, and it was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen. Andrea was on her knees on Carlos’s bed, him towering over her, rubbing his massive cock on her face. It covered her, like he was claiming her. She stuck out her tongue, and he slapped her mouth with his cock, humiliating her. Her bare feet were in the frame, white nails gleaming, as she moaned like she loved being his toy. “More, please,” I texted. “Where’s he gonna cum?” I couldn’t stop imagining what he was doing to my girl.
Ten minutes later, she called. I answered, and fuck, she was moaning like she didn’t care I could hear. No words, just her loud moans, and in the background, Carlos’s thrusts, growling, “Like that, slut, like that.” Suddenly, he grabbed the phone and snarled, “So you’re the cuck who lets her come, huh? I’m keeping her, dumbass.” He hung up. That was too much. I was trembling, cock throbbing, humiliated and hornier than ever. Knowing Carlos now knew I’m a cuck hit me like a punch, but got me so fucking hard. The thought of his brothers hearing her moans pushed me to the edge.
An hour later, another video came. Andrea riding him, her white lingerie torn to the side, her feet in the air as he gripped her ankles, saying, “These feet are mine, slut.” Then he flipped her to all fours and came in her mouth, his load dripping down her chin as she looked at the camera like a satisfied whore. When she got home, she was wrecked: makeup smeared, hair a mess, reeking of sex and his cheap cologne. I kissed her; her lips tasted like him. I threw her on the bed, ripped off what was left of her lingerie, and ate her pussy, knowing he’d been there. She was soaked. She told me he fucked her with the door half-open, and one of his brothers walked by, probably hearing her scream. “I told him you’re a cuck who lets me do this,” she confessed, and it drove me wild. I fucked her while watching the video, calling her a whore, asking how his cum tasted. “Sweet, thicker than yours,” she said, and I exploded, filling her like never before.
But the real kicker came after. As we lay there, she showed me Carlos’s latest text: “Now that I know your boyfriend’s a cuck, this doesn’t stop. I’m fucking you every week, and he’s gonna hear about it.” Andrea looked at me, smirking: “He’s not gonna let me go. What do we do now?” I’m fucked, torn between fear, jealousy, and a horniness I can’t control. Carlos knows I’m a cuck, and he’s not backing off. What the hell happens next?