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Plugged by the plug
Now that Gabbys a hotwife she’s changed a little. Her attitude has shifted she’s become more confident. Being with all these hot hung men lit a fire in her that she couldn’t put out. She was getting everything she wanted. Life became so easy once she figured out flirting. It started with free drinks but then we’d go to the movies and she’d talk her way into seeing it for free or at the very least get free popcorn.
So when she ran out of weed she thought up a way to get some for free. Gabby decided to reach back out to her old plug she had in college. He replied fast. Gabbys Snapchat was full of thirst traps. They chatted and planned a meet up. I still follow the guy as well. He’s always posting tons of weed to his stories I really don’t know how he isn’t banned… or arrested. Anyway we pull up to our old high school and wait for him. He shows up 20 minutes late and I’m not sure what happened next but Gabby got out to sit in his car. I could see him showing her weed but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. After a couple mins Gabby rolled the window down. She explained that he has better stuff at his house, he even has shrooms and to follow them. It didnt take long for me to realize why she rode with him and not me. As I followed I could see her head appear and disappear. She was giving him road head something she hasn’t given me in months. We arrive at his house. They sat in the car for a couple minutes I assume they were finishing what she started earlier. I could only get a glimpse of what was happening but the moonlight was shining bright off his huge pale cock. It wasn’t thick but it was long as shit. They get out and Gabby says to wait in the car and she’ll be right out. Well 5 minutes turned to 10 and 10 turned to 30. I was becoming restless bored of going through every app on my phone not knowing what was going on. Eventually I saw his story pop up on Instagram and it was an ass with weed on it. IT was Gabbys ass! I couldn’t believe it. I got out and tried to get a peak of what was happening. I couldn’t imagine what happened next.
As I approached the house, my heart pounded like a drum in my chest, each beat echoing the mix of dread and twisted excitement that had become all too familiar since Gabby embraced her hotwife lifestyle. The night was cool, the moonlight casting long shadows across the unkempt lawn of the dealer’s rundown house. I crept closer, sticking to the shadows, my sneakers silent on the cracked pavement. The windows were grimy, but a faint glow spilled out from what I assumed was the living room. I needed to see what was happening, even if every fiber of my being screamed to turn back.
I found a spot near a side window, partially obscured by overgrown bushes. The glass was foggy, but I could make out shapes moving inside. My breath caught as I recognized Gabby’s silhouette—her curves unmistakable even in the dim light. She was on a couch, her top discarded, her skirt hiked up around her waist. The dealer, a lanky guy with a cocky grin was looming over her. His pants were around his ankles, and that long, pale cock I’d glimpsed in the car was now fully in view, glistening under the cheap fluorescent light.
Gabby’s hands were on him, guiding him as she leaned back, her legs spread wide. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut, but my body betrayed me, a familiar heat stirring below my waist. I hated how much this turned me on, watching her give herself to him so effortlessly, so eagerly. She was in control, her confidence radiating as she whispered something that made him groan. I couldn’t hear the words, but her sultry tone carried through the thin walls, teasing me from a distance.
I shifted closer, my face nearly pressed against the glass, desperate for a clearer view. Gabby had flipped over now, on her knees, her ass arched high—likely the same pose from his Instagram story, though the weed was nowhere in sight now. He was behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair. The rhythm of their movements was unmistakable, raw and unrelenting. Gabby’s moans filtered through the window, each one a dagger and a drug, slicing through my pride while fueling my perverse fascination. She was getting exactly what she wanted, just like she always did.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he thrust into her, his long cock disappearing inside her with a precision that made my stomach twist. Gabby’s head tilted back, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. I knew that look—she was lost in it, consumed by the moment, the same way she’d been with the other guys she’d taken since we opened this Pandora’s box. But this felt different, dirtier somehow, maybe because it was her old college plug, someone we both knew from a past life. It made it more real, more intimate.
The dealer leaned down, muttering something in her ear, and she laughed—a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. She reached back, grabbing his thigh, urging him deeper. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. I wanted to barge in, to stop it, to claim her back—but I didn’t. I never did. This was the deal, the twisted agreement we’d stumbled into when Gabby realized how much power her sexuality gave her. She thrived on it, and I… I let it happen, caught in the humiliating thrill of being the bystander to her pleasure.
Minutes stretched on, each one an eternity. I could see the sweat on her skin, the way her body rocked with his rhythm. The dealer was relentless, his stamina matching the arrogance he flaunted online. Gabby’s moans grew louder, more desperate, and I knew she was close. I’d seen it before, with others, but never like this—never so raw, so unapologetic. When she finally came, her cry was sharp, echoing in the quiet night, and I felt it in my bones. He followed soon after, his body tensing as he gripped her hips, finishing with a low grunt.
They collapsed onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing. I ducked back, my heart racing, unsure if I’d been seen. The window was too grimy for them to notice me, but the paranoia gnawed at me. I retreated to the car, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—anger, arousal, shame, and something else I couldn’t name. I sat there, staring at the dashboard, trying to process what I’d just witnessed. My phone buzzed, another notification from his Instagram story. I didn’t open it. I didn’t need to. I already knew what I’d see.
As I sat in the car, the glow of my phone screen felt like a taunt, the dealer’s Snapchat story notifications piling up like punches I couldn’t dodge. My stomach churned, a mix of dread and that sick, undeniable pull that kept me glued to this twisted game Gabby and I were playing. The first story had already seared itself into my brain—Gabby’s bare ass, arched high, a scattering of weed buds artfully arranged across her skin like some provocative photoshoot. The image was bold, shameless, captioned with a winking emoji and “Top shelf product ?.” I hadn’t wanted to see it, but I did, and now the notifications kept coming, each one a dare to look again, to see how much further this would go. I knew I shouldn’t, but my thumb betrayed me, tapping the screen as my heart raced.
The second story loaded, and my breath caught. It was a close-up of Gabby’s torso, her skirt bunched around her waist, her skin glistening with sweat under the dim light of his living room. The dealer’s hand was in the frame, his fingers splayed possessively across her lower back, a joint dangling between them. The camera lingered on the curve of her hip, the way her body seemed to melt under his touch. No face, just enough to make it clear who she was to anyone who knew her curves as well as I did. The caption read, “Quality check passed ?,” with a slow-motion effect that made the image feel like a deliberate taunt. My grip tightened on the phone, jealousy and arousal warring in my chest. I wanted to stop, but the next story was already loading.
The third post was bolder, riskier. It was a short video clip, maybe five seconds long, but it felt like an eternity. Gabby was on her knees on the couch, her head tilted back, her mouth parted in a moan I could almost hear through the screen. The dealer’s hand was tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to make her arch further, her breasts bouncing slightly with each of his thrusts from behind. The camera angle was low, catching the motion of his hips, that long, pale cock I’d glimpsed earlier now fully in action, sliding in and out with a rhythm that matched the thumping bass of some trap song he’d layered over the clip. The story was tagged with “#PremiumVibes” and a string of fire emojis. My face burned, my pulse hammering as the video looped once before fading to black. I knew I should close the app, but my finger was already hovering over the next notification.
The fourth story pushed it even further, crossing a line I didn’t think he’d dare. It was another video, this time longer—ten seconds of pure, unfiltered debauchery. Gabby was on her back now, legs spread wide, one hand gripping the couch cushion while the other reached up to touch the dealer’s chest. The camera was positioned above her, capturing her face this time, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, her lips curled in that confident, sultry smirk she wore when she knew she was in control. The dealer’s voice was audible, low and smug, saying, “Tell ‘em who’s got the best plug, baby.” Gabby’s laugh, throaty and unapologetic, cut through the audio before she gasped, “You do.” The camera panned down briefly, showing his cock buried deep, her body rocking with each thrust. The caption was simple: “Satisfied customer ?.” My throat tightened, my body reacting even as my mind screamed to look away. She was performing for him, for his followers, and I was just another viewer, powerless and enthralled.
The fifth and final story was the most brazen yet, a line crossed into territory that felt like a public claiming. It was a photo again, but this one was staged like a trophy shot. Gabby was sitting on his lap, her back to his chest, her head tilted to one side as he kissed her neck. Her top was still off, her breasts partially covered by his arm, but the implication was clear. A baggie of weed and a few capsules—likely the shrooms she’d mentioned—were balanced on her thigh, a blatant advertisement of his “services.” His free hand rested on her inner thigh, fingers dangerously close to where her skirt barely covered her. The caption read, “Come get yours. Best in town ???,” with a poll asking, “Who’s next? ?.” The audacity of it, the way he was flaunting her like a prize, made my blood boil, but my body was traitorously alive, caught in the humiliating thrill of it all.
I closed the app, my hands shaking as I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. The notifications stopped, but the images were burned into my mind, each one more risqué than the last.
Gabby emerged twenty minutes later, her hair slightly messed up but her confidence unshaken. She carried a small baggie of weed and a few capsules that I assumed were the shrooms she’d mentioned. She slid into the passenger seat, her skirt still riding up slightly, her lips curved in a satisfied smirk. “Got what I wanted,” she said casually, tossing the baggie into my lap. “And then some.”
I didn’t respond, my throat tight. She leaned over, her hand resting on my thigh, her touch both comforting and taunting. “You okay, babe?” she asked, her voice sweet but laced with that knowing edge, the one that reminded me she was in charge now.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “Just… waiting.”
She chuckled, leaning back in her seat. “You’re so good to me,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or genuinely grateful. Maybe it was both. She lit a joint from the baggie, the sweet, skunky smell filling the car as she took a long drag. “He’s got good stuff,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Worth the trip.”
I started the car, my hands gripping the wheel too tightly. “What happened in there?” I asked, even though I already knew. I needed to hear her say it, to make it real.
She turned to me, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “What do you think happened?” she teased, taking another drag. “He showed me his stash, we had some fun, and I got us a deal. You saw his story, didn’t you?”
I nodded, unable to meet her gaze. She reached over, tilting my chin toward her. “You love this,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
I didn’t argue. What was the point? She was right, in her own way. The humiliation, the jealousy, the sick thrill of watching her with someone else—it was a drug I couldn’t quit, no matter how much it tore me apart. We drove home in silence, the joint’s ember glowing in the dark, her hand occasionally brushing against mine as if to remind me she was still mine, even if only in name.
When we got home, she didn’t hesitate. She led me to the bedroom, her confidence unshaken, her body still carrying the scent of him. She pushed me onto the bed, straddling me, her eyes locked on mine. “You want to hear about it?” she asked, her voice a sultry challenge. I nodded, unable to resist, and she began to recount every detail—his hands, his cock, the way he made her feel. Each word was a knife, but I drank it in, letting her words and her touch consume me.
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