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Alina burst through the front door that evening, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with an energy I hadn’t seen in days. “Hey, love!” she called out, kicking off her shoes and practically skipping into the kitchen. She dropped her work bag on the counter and spun around to plant a quick kiss. “How was your day? Mine was amazing, boss gave me a shoutout in the team meeting!”
I smiled, stirring the pasta sauce on the stove while my mind raced. After this morning’s wild, unexpected sex and that humiliating run-in with Dion outside, I was still reeling. Part of me wanted to pull her aside and demand answers about the videos, about what really happened that night, but another part, the twisted aroused part, kept me silent. She seemed so… normal. Better than normal, even. No trace of the trauma she’d confessed to, no lingering shadows in her eyes. Had she really skipped the gym after work? She usually dragged herself home sweaty and exhausted from her routine.
“Tired from the day?” I asked casually, trying to gauge her.
“Nah, feeling too good for that,” she replied with a grin, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “Think I’ll do a quick session in the backyard instead. Fresh air will be perfect.” She winked and darted off toward the bedroom. What the hell was going on? My stomach twisted with confusion, a mix of relief and suspicion churning inside me.
A few minutes later, she emerged. She was wearing this new workout outfit. Tight black shorts that hugged every curve of her slim legs and ass, riding up just enough to tease. It was paired with a cropped sports bra that barely contained her perky tits, the fabric thin and clinging to her skin. It was sexier than anything she’d ever worn for exercise before, more like something out of a fantasy catalog. She tied her hair back into a ponytail, gave me a playful twirl, and headed out the sliding glass door to the backyard without a word.
I couldn’t help it. I turned off the stove and crept to the window, peering through the sheer curtains like some paranoid voyeur. The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over our small patch of grass, and there she was, starting her stretches. She bent at the waist, her ass pushing out toward the fence that separated our yard from Dion’s, legs straight and spread just a bit. Then she arched her back, arms reaching overhead, her chest thrusting forward as she twisted side to side. Every movement was deliberate, fluid, almost performative. Her body glistening faintly with the first hints of sweat, the outfit stretching taut over her skin. And her eyes… she kept glancing toward Dion’s house, a subtle smile playing on her lips, like she knew exactly who might be watching.
My heart pounded. What was she doing? Was this some kind of game? Or worse, was she… enjoying the attention after what happened? I scanned the neighboring porch, and there he was…..Dion, leaning against the railing with a beer in hand, his massive frame silhouetted against the light. His eyes were locked on her, unblinking, that predatory smirk I remembered from the videos curling his lips. He didn’t even try to hide it. He just stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her bend and stretch, her body on full display for him.
A tingle crept up my neck, hot and unwelcome. Rage bubbled up, but so did that sick thrill, the same one that had me stroking my cock to those clips. I gripped the windowsill, torn between storming out there and dragging her inside or staying hidden. My mind reeled as I stood there, frozen at the window, the steam from the forgotten pasta sauce still wafting faintly behind me. I remembered her words from that tear-streaked confession, her voice trembling as she clutched my shirt. “I’ll stay away from him. We can move if we have to.” Those promises had soothed the raw edges of my fury that night, even as I jerked off to the videos later, hating myself for it. But now? Now she was out there, parading her body like a goddamn invitation, every stretch and bend screaming for his eyes. What the fuck had changed?
Alina dropped into a deep lunge, her thighs flexing under the sheer black fabric, the leggings pulling tight enough to outline her pussy lips. She held the pose, rocking her hips forward and back in a slow, rhythmic grind against the air. Stretching her hamstrings, she called it, but it looked like she was fucking an invisible cock right there on the grass. Her ponytail swung as she switched legs, her ass cheeks clenching and releasing with each movement, the cropped top riding up to expose the soft dip of her lower back. Sweat beaded on her skin, trickling down between her breasts, making the sports bra cling transparently to her hardening nipples. And all the while, her gaze flicked toward Dion’s porch, lingering longer each time, that secretive smile deepening.
Dion hadn’t moved an inch. He took a long swig from his beer, his thick lips wrapping around the bottle neck in a way that made my stomach turn. His free hand dropped to adjust the front of his shorts, and even from here, I could see the bulge there, swelling as he stared. The man was built like a tank, his dark skin gleaming under the porch light that flicked on as dusk settled, muscles rippling across his arms and chest. He shifted his stance, spreading his legs wider, and I swear I saw him palm his cock through the fabric, giving it a squeeze while his eyes devoured her.
Heat flooded my face, a toxic cocktail of jealousy and something darker. Seeing her tease him like this, it was happening again. My pulse quickened, cock hardening against my will. I pressed closer to the glass, breath fogging it up, torn between bursting out there to yell at her and staying put, letting the voyeur in me feast on the show.
She transitioned to downward dog, ass high in the air, legs spread shoulder-width, her pussy mound pressing boldly against the leggings. The seam ran right up the center, and as she wiggled to deepen the stretch. It looked like she was grinding down on it, humping the fabric for friction. Dion stepped closer to the railing, pulling aside his shorts without a shred of shame. His hand pulled out that monster. Already half-hard and growing as he stroked it slowly, base to tip, foreskin sliding back to reveal the huge head.
Alina’s head turned fully now, her eyes locking onto him, onto his exposed cock. She didn’t gasp or look away. She held the pose, ass up, watching him pump his fist. My heart slammed against my ribs. Was she turned on? After everything? Or was this revenge, some twisted way to reclaim power? But the way her chest heaved, nipples poking like diamonds through her top, told a different story. She pushed her hips higher, almost presenting herself, and Dion grinned wider, his strokes picking up speed.
I couldn’t take it anymore. My hand fumbled with my belt, freeing my aching cock. It throbbed in my grip, as I matched his rhythm, staring at her body while he jerked off to it. Shame burned through me, but the arousal won out, pulling me deeper into the filth. What if she saw me too? What if she came inside and dropped to her knees, her mouth on me while replaying this in her head? Or worse, what if she wanted him again? The thought made me stroke faster, tension coiling tight in my gut as the scene unfolded outside.
Just as I got close, my hand pumping furiously, my other hand gripping onto the windowsill. Alina rose from her pose with fluid grace, her body glistening with sweat, nipples still straining against the damp fabric of her sports bra. She shook out her legs, ponytail whipping side to side, and without a backward glance at Dion. She turned and sauntered toward our back door. The sway of her hips was hypnotic, ass cheeks flexing under the tight leggings, the seam still wedged teasingly between them like an afterthought of her earlier grind.
Dion didn’t stop. His hand kept sliding up and down that thick black cock. He locked eyes with me through the glass, or at least it felt like it, his gaze piercing right into my hiding spot. A low, rumbling laugh escaped him, and he mouthed something I couldn’t make out.
I shoved my cock back into my jeans, wincing at the ache, zipping up just as the door creaked open behind me. The kitchen filled with the scent of her, sweat and that faint floral body wash she used, mixed with something more primal. I spun around, heart hammering, trying to school my face into something normal, but my flushed cheeks and ragged breathing gave me away.
Alina stepped inside, kicking off her sneakers by the door, her bare feet padding softly on the tile. Up close, she looked even more alive than from the window. Her cheeks pink, eyes bright with that post-workout glow, a sheen of perspiration making her skin shimmer. The cropped top clung to her flat stomach, and as she stretched her arms overhead, it lifted higher, flashing the underside of her breasts. “Hey, babe,” she said leaning in to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. Her lips were warm, tasting salty, and she lingered just a second too long, her hand brushing my arm.
I swallowed hard, the taste of shame bitter on my tongue. “Hey. Good… workout?” My voice cracked, glancing past her toward the window where Dion’s porch light still burned. Had she seen him out there, stroking himself to her? Did she know I’d been doing the same, hidden like a pervert in my own kitchen?
She laughed softly, a sound that sent a fresh jolt to my groin, and peeled off her top right there, tossing it onto the counter. Her sports bra followed, freeing her perky tits, nipples dark and erect from the cool air or the thrill, I couldn’t tell. They bounced slightly as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings, shimmying them down her hips. No panties underneath. Her pussy was bare, lips puffy and a hint of wetness glistening on her inner thighs. She stepped out of them casually, naked now except for the ponytail, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, chugging it down while streams trickled over her chin and down her chest, tracing paths between her breasts.
“Yeah, it felt amazing,” she replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes sparkling as they met mine. “You should’ve joined me.” She set the bottle down, pressing her body against mine. Her hard nipples poking my shirt, the heat of her core radiating through my jeans. Her hand slid down my side, fingers grazing the bulge I couldn’t hide. “Looks like you’re already worked up. Watching me out there?”
She knew. Of course she did, Alina always read me like a book. But the way she said it, playful yet edged with something bolder, made my cock throb painfully against my jeans. “I… yeah. You looked… intense.” Images flooded back of Dion’s hand on his dick, my own hand mirroring it. Guilt twisted in my gut, but so did desire, hot and insistent.
She bit her lip, glancing toward the window with a secretive look before turning back to me. Her fingers unbuckled my belt, tugging my jeans open. “Intense is good. Makes everything feel… alive.” My cock sprang free as she shoved my pants down, her small hand wrapping around it, stroking from base to tip with a firm grip that made me groan. She dropped to her knees right there on the kitchen floor, her face inches from my leaking cock, breath hot on it. “Let me take care of this for you, you’ve been so tense lately.”
Before I could protest, or beg, her tongue flicking out to lap at the pre-cum beading at my slit. Her mouth was hot, wet, enveloping the head as she sucked gently. I threaded my fingers through her ponytail, hips bucking involuntarily as she took more, bobbing her head, lips stretching around my girth. My mind raced to Dion, had she done this for him before? Swallowed his cum after he’d pounded her raw? The thought should repulse me, but it only made me thrust deeper into her throat, her gags music to my twisted ears.
She pulled back, strings of saliva connecting her lips to my cock, and looked up at me with those wide, innocent eyes that hid so much now. She stood up, hopped onto the counter, spreading her legs wide, feet planted on the edge. Her pussy parted slightly, pink and inviting, clit peeking out swollen. “Fuck me!”
I hesitated, cock twitching in the air, but the invitation was too much. I stepped between her thighs, gripping her hips, and lined up, pushing in with one slow thrust. She was soaked, walls clenching around me like a vice. She moaned loud, head falling back, tits jiggling as I started pumping, the slap of skin echoing in the kitchen. “Harder,” she gasped, nails digging into my shoulders. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
I did, slamming into her, watching her body jolt with each impact, her pussy juices coating my shaft and balls. But through the haze, I caught movement outside. Dion, stepping off his porch, heading our way? No, just a shadow, but the paranoia spiked my arousal, making me pound her relentlessly until she cried out, orgasming around me, milking my cock until my cum flooding her in hot spurts. We panted together after, her arms around my neck, but as I pulled out, watching my seed leak from her stretched hole, doubt crept in again. Was this for me… or practice for him?
She slid off the counter with a satisfied sigh, my cum still trickling down her thigh as she grabbed her discarded clothes and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower quick, babe.,” she called over her shoulder, her ass swaying with each step, ponytail bouncing. The door clicked shut behind her, and soon the sound of running water filled the house, steam already seeping under the frame.
I slumped onto the couch, cock softening against my thigh, sticky with our mixed fluids. My chest heaved, mind a whirlwind. Relief from the orgasm clashing with the gnawing suspicion that had been building all evening. That look in her eyes when she sucked me off, the way she spread her legs so eagerly… it felt too practiced. Like she’d been rehearsing for someone else. Dion’s shadow loomed in my thoughts, his taunting words from earlier echoing. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images wouldn’t fade. The videos I’d jerked to in secret, her body arched under his massive frame, screams turning to moans as he split her open.
The shower hummed on, giving me a window. My eyes drifted to the kitchen counter, where her phone lay face down, screen dark but unlocked as always. She trusted me that much, or maybe she had nothing to hide now. Heart pounding, I crossed the room, fingers trembling as I picked it up. The weight felt heavier than usual, loaded with secrets. I swiped it open. First, the gallery app, nothing there. She must have deleted them. I started searching, swiping through apps and folders. It seemed as if they were gone but doubt gnawed at me. Just before I was ready to give up, I uncovered the hidden “Private Gallery” app, buried in her apps. Punching in our ATM pin, it unlocked, revealing the thumbnails I’d dreaded. Why keep them stashed away like this? Had she watched them too, her hand slipping between her thighs to chase that thrill? Or was it evidence, locked up tight? I scrolled past the thumbnails and my fingers froze. There were more than three thumbnails. But it wasn’t just the videos. Scrolling further, ten photos loaded one by one, each a punch to the gut. Different black cocks, veined and thick, some solo shots posing hard and glistening with precum, others buried balls-deep in slick pussies. Tight lips gripping the dark shafts, white cream oozing out around the bases. A few weren’t dicks at all. Sexy black men mid-workout, sweat-slicked muscles bulging as they lifted weights or ran, their powerful bodies on full display. One guy flexed in a gym mirror, abs rippling, a bulge straining against his shorts that looked all too familiar in size to Dion’s.
Why? My mind reeled. Were these from before? Fantasies she’d hidden even from me? Or trophies from that night, snapped in the haze? The images seared into me, those cocks, so much bigger than mine. My own dick twitched in my pants, hardening against my will as I zoomed in on one photo. A fat black shaft sliding into a shaved pussy, the woman’s pussy parting wide, juices dripping down. It could have been Alina’s, the angle teasingly similar. My dick hardened, guilt surging as I locked it back and set the phone back down in the kitchen. Had she been collecting these, fantasizing about more? Or were they from that night, snapped as souvenirs?
I finished getting dinner ready and Alina emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. We sat down to dinner like any ordinary evening, the steam rising from our plates of pasta and veggies as Alina twirled her fork with that easy smile, chatting about her office drama while her bare foot playfully nudged mine under the table. I nodded along, forcing laughs at the right moments, but my mind replayed the phone’s secrets. She seemed oblivious, her t-shirt riding up to flash a glimpse of thigh, nipples perking against the fabric in the cool air. When we finished, she cleared the dishes with a yawn, we headed down the hallway to the bedroom. In bed, she stripped naked and curled against me, her warm skin pressing close, hand resting innocently on my chest as her breathing slowed into sleep. I lay awake, arm around her, the scent of her clean body a stark contrast to the musky memories haunting me, rage and arousal twisting tighter in the dark.
The next morning unfolded like any other, the sun filtering through our curtains as Alina kissed me goodbye and headed off to her job, her hips swaying in those tight jeans that hugged her ass just right. I settled at my laptop in the living room, fingers tapping away at emails, but my mind was elsewhere. Needing air, I stepped outside to clear my head and haul some boxes from the garage, but there he was. Dion, lounging on his porch, that smug grin splitting his dark face as he waved at me, slow and mocking, like he owned the damn street.
I must’ve looked like thunder, my jaw clenched tight, because as I stormed over, he chuckled deep in his chest and drawled, “Damn boy, why you lookin so serious all the time?” Fury boiled up in me, I was seconds from unleashing a torrent of curses, telling him to stay the fuck away from my fiancée, but then he hit me with something that knocked the wind out. “Look, man, for real though, I gotta say… I respect you.”
My brain short-circuited. Respect? From this brute who’d fucked her, who’d turned my world upside down? I stammered, words tumbling out in a garbled mess, barely coherent. He just nodded, his eyes gleaming with that predatory amusement. “Yeah, I seen how you treat your lady. Real cool, keepin her happy like that.” Then, casual as hell, he jerked his thumb toward his house. “Come on in, let’s talk.” I hesitated, every instinct screaming to bolt, but he barked a laugh and added, “Oh, don’t worry, you ain’t gettin the same treatment your girl did… maybe not, anyway.” His booming voice echoed, pulling me in despite myself.
Inside, the place smelled of sweat and cheap cologne, walls lined with posters that made my stomach twist. White women in skimpy bikinis, their pale skin glistening, tits spilling out, asses arched invitingly. He led me to his bedroom, and there it was, a collage of them, frozen in provocative poses. My eyes snagged on one. Alina, oblivious in the shallow water during our lake trip last summer, her bikini top slipping just enough to show the curve of her breast, water droplets tracing down her thighs. She’d been laughing, splashing around like the carefree klutz she is.
He caught my stare and grinned wider. “Ain’t sure why, but I always been hooked on white girls like that. Love breedin em, dominatin em, pumpin my seed deep till they swell with my kid.” He jabbed a thick finger at Alina’s photo. “Yep, that’s your fiancée, she gave me that pic last month.” “First time I laid eyes on her, I knew right then, her sweet little pussy was made to slide down my cock. He turned to me, his smile turning feral. “And no matter what, it’s happenin again. You know she craves it. Hell, you want it too, watchin her get ruined by a real man.”
I stood there, frozen, cock twitching in my pants at the raw truth in his words. After a heavy silence, I muttered, voice hoarse, “If… if it’s gotta happen, then it’s just you. No one else fuckin’ her.” He nodded, eyes narrowing with satisfaction. Of course, Jay. But it’ll be on my terms, my rules, my setup.” Before I could process, he closed the distance, his massive hands clamping around my waist, yanking my belt open and shoving my pants and boxers down in one rough pull. My cock sprang free, hard from the tension, bobbing in the cool air. I jolted back, heart slamming, but he gripped my shoulder. “Easy now.”
He whistled low, eyeing my exposed dick like it was a prize. “Damn, son, that’s a rhino horn you packin. Your girl’s one lucky slut to have that stretchin her out.” His palm wrapped around my shaft, squeezing firm, sending a jolt of humiliated heat through me as he stroked once, twice, making me throb against his hold. Then he stepped back, unzipping his own jeans and letting them drop. His enormous black cock flopped out, thick as my wrist, veins pulsing, the head already glistening with pre-cum, dwarfing mine in every way. It hung heavy between his muscular thighs, a weapon built for breaking women like Alina.
He locked eyes with me, voice dropping to a growl that sealed my fate. “I’m gonna flood that tight white pussy with my load, plant a baby in her belly. And from that second on, I own her, and you. Don’t you fuckin forget it.” His hand dipped lower, cupping my balls and squeezing hard enough to make me gasp, pain mixing with that dark, unwanted spark of arousal. Then he released me, zipping up with a wink. “Now get the hell out.”
I bolted, pants flapping as I sprinted back to our house, slamming the door and leaning against it, breath ragged. My cock was rock-hard now, leaking from his touch, his threats echoing in my skull. Images of him pinning Alina down, thrusting deep, her cries filling the air as he claimed her womb. What the fuck was wrong with me? This degradation, this utter emasculation. It burned, but god, it ignited something twisted inside, leaving me shaking with rage and a hunger I couldn’t name. Damn it all to hell. I pulled out my cock and grabbed it hard like he had. It hit me like a freight train, barely a minute in, my body betraying me with how edged I already was from his grip, his taunts. I groaned low, hips bucking into my palm as cum erupted from my cock in hot spurts, splattering the floorboards and my knuckles. Thick white strands shot out, one hitting the wall with a soft splat, my knees nearly buckling from the intensity. I milked every drop, shuddering, hating how good it felt.
Panting, I slid down the wall to sit in the mess, staring at my spent dick softening in my lap. What the hell was I becoming? Alina would be home soon, oblivious or not, and I’d have to face her with this secret shame dripping from my skin. But even as guilt clawed at me, my mind wandered back to Dion’s promise, and a traitorous twitch stirred in my groin again.
What did he mean that she had given him a photo of herself? He must have taken it off the internet, did I post that on social media? My mind raced. I couldn’t shake it off, the way Dion’s grip had felt on me, the cum still sticky on my thigh from my pathetic quick release. But worse was the gnawing doubt twisting in my gut about Alina. She’d come home all smiles and energy, teasing me with her body like nothing had shattered us. But now, after his threats, I wondered if she was playing me too. Was she really the victim, or had she wanted that black cock splitting her open? The thought made my stomach churn and my dick twitch again, even as fresh shame burned my cheeks.
I bolted from the hallway, yanking up my pants as I stumbled to the living room where my laptop sat open on the desk. The screen saver danced mockingly, but I slammed the spacebar to wake it, fingers trembling as I pulled up the email again. Those three videos, I clicked the first one. My heart hammered as the footage started, the sounds of flesh slapping and her muffled cries filling the room through the tinny speakers.
This time, I forced myself to ignore the action below her waist. No staring at her shaved pussy lips gripping that veiny monster as it plunged in and out. Instead, I zoomed in on her face, rewinding and pausing every few seconds, hunting for truth in her expressions.
At first, it looked like the videos I’d obsessed over before. Her mouth hung open, body jolting with each thrust, but her eyes… they darted, not just in pain? I opened the second video and same, no telling expressions. Feeling a little better, I opened the third video. I scrubbed forward, breath held, until the part where she was on all fours. Dion says “Watch this, man, “I’m gonna wreck her again.” He lined up behind her, slapping his slick cock against her ass cheeks before driving back into her pussy in one brutal shove. She gasped, head dropping forward, hair cascading over her face. But then, there it was. As he gripped her hips and started thrusting again, deep and relentless, she lifted her head. Turned it just enough to glance back over her shoulder at him.
And she smiled. Not a grimace or a pained twitch. A real, sly curve of her lips, eyes sparkling with something wicked, like she was daring him to fuck her harder. It lasted barely a second before her face twisted back into the pillow, but it was there. Undeniable.
I jammed the pause button, freezing the frame right on that look. Her eyes locked on the camera, or on him. Cheeks flushed, a bead of sweat on her upper lip, that smile pulling at the corner of her mouth even as her body rocked from his pounding. What the fuck? Drugged and coerced, she’d said. Forced. But that smile… it screamed she was in on it, craving every inch of that domination.
Leaning back my chair, I stared at the paused screen, her face frozen in that moment of secret thrill. Part of me wanted to confront her when she got home, demand answers while pinning her down and fucking her myself to reclaim what was mine. But another part, the dark, twisted one, imagined showing her this, watching her squirm, maybe even begging Dion to do it again while I watched. My hand drifted to my zipper, but I stopped, balls still sore from earlier. No, not yet. I needed to think, to dig deeper into those pics maybe, see if there were more clues to her betrayal.