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It all started one evening when she told me she had opened Bumble again and gotten a few matches. She walked me through them—who they were, what they looked like. For some context: it had been a while since she’d used a dating app. We’d talked for years about her going on dates, even fantasized about her sharing pictures or videos while it was happening—if the guy would be into it. But it never really happened. Most guys ruined it by being too pushy.
This time, though, there was one who stood out. Tall, blonde, innocent-looking. Exactly her type.
They talked all week. He was in an open relationship and had experience with threesomes, which instantly made it feel more comfortable. He understood the dynamic. Their conversations started innocent—jobs, hobbies, relationships—but slowly drifted into sex. They shared experiences, what they liked, favorite positions.
At some point, she asked me if I was okay with her sending him nudes. I didn’t hesitate. I was more than okay with it—I wanted it.
I even offered to take the pictures myself. I set up the lighting, adjusted her poses, made sure every angle showed her off perfectly. When she told him I was the one taking them, he loved it. Said he thought it was hot how involved I was. Later, I found out he had jerked off to them, imagining how her ass would look and feel in his hands.
That alone pushed things further.
Then she asked him how he felt about filming during sex. Pictures, videos. He didn’t hesitate. He was into it. When she asked if he’d be okay with sharing them with me, he said, “I actually love that idea.”
This fantasy we’d been building for years was finally about to happen.
All week, the tension between us kept building. We edged each other over and over. I told her she wasn’t allowed to cum until the date—that the first person fucking her would be him. Even the day before, when she was begging me to fuck her, I told her no. Told her to be a good girl and wait. She clenched her jaw and agreed.
On the night of the date, as she was getting ready, I pulled out a small bag and pushed it toward her. She lit up immediately. Inside was new lingerie. “Try it on,” I said. “He’ll love the view.”
She slipped it on quickly—a thin blue thong. It hugged her curves perfectly, showing off the full curve of her ass. I could already picture him standing behind her, pulling it down, getting that exact view.
She was excited. A little nervous. Hoping he’d be chill. Curious about what would happen.
Before she left, she locked me up in the cage. Just as she walked out the door, I ran to the bedroom, grabbed a couple condoms, and pressed them into her hand.
It felt so fucking dirty—sending her out like that. Dressed up, wearing something I picked out, condoms in her pocket, ready to be fucked by someone else.
After she left, I tried to distract myself. Cleaned a bit. Ate. Showered. But I couldn’t focus. My mind kept drifting back to her.
20:19 — “I’m at the bar.”
I stared at the message, already wondering. How was it going? Was there tension? Were they flirting? Touching?
I didn’t message much. I had told her to just enjoy herself.
22:10 — “Still at the bar. Not much sexual vibe yet. But it’ll come.”
I felt restless. Horny. On edge. I posted something online, chatted with a few people, but I couldn’t sit still. I just kept thinking—what if he backed out? What if nothing happened?
23:16 — “At his place.”
My heart started pounding.
This was it.
I imagined everything—her on her knees, him grabbing her hair, slapping her ass, pushing his cock into her mouth. But I had no idea what was actually happening.
00:27 — I was on the toilet as I saw a message came in from her. A video. 28 seconds.
My breath stopped. I had to fight the urge to immediately open it.
I knew exactly what it was. There’s only one first time seeing something like this. My mind was racing—wanting it, but also wondering if I could handle it.
I went back to the couch, turned the volume all the way up, brightness max, put my earphones in and pressed play.
He was filming, she was on her knees in doggy in front of him. His cock buried deep inside her, the condom tight around it as he fucked her hard. Her ass bounced with every thrust. He slapped one cheek, then the other, grabbing her hips and pulling her back onto him, slamming deeper.
She was moaning—loud, real, exactly how I knew she sounded when she was getting fucked properly. He wasn’t shy anymore. He was fucking her like he owned her.
I didn’t even realize I was just staring at the screen, mouth slightly open, barely breathing. My dick straining uselessly in the cage. It was real. I watched it again. And again. And again.
Her moans filled my ears. Knowing that this was just a short clip—that he was probably still inside her right now, still fucking her—drove me insane.
I texted back: “Fuck, that’s so hot.”
00:56 — She texted again. They had just finished the first round. Might go for a second. She sent the address. I asked if I should already come. She said I could. I told her not to rush. To take her time. To enjoy it. Then I got in the car.
01:39 — I parked around the corner. Sat there, looking up at the building, seeing whether any of the apartments have the lights on. Imagining her inside. On her knees again. Wet. Used. Getting fucked properly.
Later, she told me I was right. That at that exact moment, he was fucking her again. Hard. Deep. Rhythmic. Until he suddenly pulled out, ripped off the condom, and she jerked him until he came all over himself.
She said she felt completely relaxed. Safe. Knowing I was waiting for her. That she didn’t have to rush. That she could just enjoy it. That made her even hornier. Exactly how I wanted her to feel.
02:12 — She came down. Got into the car. We kissed. I could smell her. She looked exhausted, but glowing.
On the drive back, she told me everything. How the date started slow—him shy, sitting far away. How he gradually opened up. How, once things started, he couldn’t get enough of her.
She rode him first. Cowgirl. Then reverse, showing off her ass. He kept showing praise —couldn’t stop complimenting her body. Her skin. Her ass. Her tight pussy. Then doggy on the couch. That’s when she asked him to film. They moved to the bed. That’s where the video came from. They kept going. Different positions. More intensity. Until they finished the first round.
Then the second. More touching. Him eating her out. Her sucking him off. They made more videos. And he fucked her hard.
When we got home, we went straight to the bedroom. I pushed her onto the bed and buried my face between her legs, tasting her, licking her deeply. She was still sensitive, feeling used. She moaned, but stopped me before she could cum—too exhausted to keep going. She made herself cum with her toy instead, while I had to wait.
The next morning, I woke up rock hard. Still aching. We talked through everything again. Watching the videos. Hearing her describe how he fucked her. How sore she was. It only made me harder. I ate her out again. She was already wet just from talking about it.
We watched the clips together while she jerked me off. She told me how powerful she felt—going out, getting fucked exactly how she wanted, then coming home to me. That was it for me. I needed to fuck her.
I pushed into her slowly at first, feeling how wet and stretched she still was. But I knew I wouldn’t last. So I flipped her over into doggy, grabbed her phone, and started recording.
I asked her if her pussy was still sore. It was.
If he fucked her like this. He did.
If he fucked her good. He definitely did.
If she moaned for him like this. She absolutely did.
We sent it to him.
And not long after, I lost control—finally cumming inside her, days of tension releasing all at once as I filled her up, groaning hard as everything caught up to me.
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