Free cuckold community
Sign up now!
New Year’s Night – Part 1
The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of music and the clink of glass. Midnight had come and gone. The glitter of celebration still lingered in the air, but the party itself had fizzled out—everyone had gone home hours ago.
Everyone but him.
One of my closest friends. The kind of guy I’ve trusted for years. Loyal. Chill. Safe.
But tonight, as he sat beside my fiancée on the loveseat, something in the air had shifted.
They’d been drinking wine together all night, talking about everything and nothing, laughing too easily. Her cheeks were flushed—half from the alcohol, half from the heat in the room. And she looked… good. Damn good. Her legs were curled under her, that little red throw blanket barely covering her thighs. Her dress had slipped just slightly, showing the barest hint of the top of her breasts. She was glowing.
And when she laughed, she’d rest her hand on his arm.
It didn’t look like much. Friendly. Innocent.
But I noticed it. And I couldn’t stop noticing it.
I sat across from them on the couch, legs spread, drink in my hand, but my focus was locked on her. On the way she tilted her head toward him. On the softness in her eyes when he spoke. On the subtle way she let her fingers linger on his sleeve just a second too long.
My mind drifted—twisted, heated thoughts. Fantasies we’d shared in bed before. Fantasies she’d teased me about, whispered in my ear while riding me, saying filthy things just to watch me unravel.
I pulled out my phone, pulse quickening, and typed out a message:
“What if…?”
I watched her screen light up in her lap. She glanced down, lips twitching into a slow, sly smile. My heart thumped.
Her reply came quick.
“He isn’t my type.”
Then, like a challenge:
“Don’t be bad…”
But she didn’t move her hand off him. She laughed at something he said, and her palm slid just a little farther up his arm. I swear I saw her squeeze.
And fuck… my cock stirred at the sight.
I stood and walked over to them, sitting down beside her on the other side. She leaned into me automatically, warm and relaxed. Her skin was soft against mine, her thigh pressing to my leg under the blanket. Her wine glass was still in her hand. Her lips were stained a little red. I couldn’t stop looking at them.
“She’s had too much wine,” I said, fingers brushing her knee.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she answered, smiling like she had a secret.
My friend chuckled. “You two are glowing.”
I looked at her, leaned in, and whispered in her ear. “You like how he looks at you.”
She raised an eyebrow, pretending to protest, but her smirk gave her away. “He’s just being sweet.”
I slid my hand slowly up her thigh. “He’s been looking at your legs all night. I don’t blame him.”
She didn’t answer that. But she didn’t stop me, either.
I turned to him. “You think she’s beautiful, don’t you?”
He hesitated for a second—just a second—then nodded. “I think you’re lucky as hell.”
And damn if that didn’t send a jolt of heat straight through me. Because he meant it. I saw it in his eyes.
And she saw it too.
The energy between us thickened—no longer friendly. No longer safe. Her hand found mine beneath the blanket, fingers threading between mine, then guiding it higher up her thigh. My breath caught as I felt the warmth between her legs. She wasn’t wearing panties.
She was wet.
I looked into her eyes, heart pounding.
“We don’t have to pretend anymore.”
She turned toward me, her face inches from mine. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want to see what happens,” I said. “If we stop pretending.”
The silence was deafening for a moment. I looked over and saw my friend staring—his jaw tight, eyes dark. He knew what I meant. He could feel it too.
She took a sip of her wine, then turned to him, voice low, trembling.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
And he didn’t even answer.
He leaned in.
And I watched her meet him halfway—her lips brushing his, soft and slow, before opening. Their tongues met, and she moaned quietly, the sound vibrating against his mouth. Her hand slid up his chest, fingers clutching his shirt.
It should’ve made me jealous. Maybe a part of me expected it to.
But all I felt was fucking fire.
Watching her kiss him like that—like she’d been holding it back all night—made my cock throb in my pants. She wasn’t just doing it for me. She wanted this. And that drove me insane.
She broke the kiss and turned to me, breathing hard.
“I want both of you,” she whispered. “Right now.”