We were at my best friend’s cramped studio apartment, the three of us unwinding with drinks and smoking some weed. As the night wore on, our inhibitions faded along with our sobriety. Eventually, my friend suggested we stay over instead of heading home, offering the sparse floor as a makeshift bed.
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Even then, we stayed up late. He put on a movie and poured a few more shots. My wife soon drifted off, curled up beside me, while my friend and I kept drinking until exhaustion finally claimed me.
But sleep was short-lived. Stirred awake by muffled sounds, I strained to listen. My wife’s soft grunts and quiet pleas pierced the darkness. At first, I was confused, unsure of what I was hearing. I lay motionless, feigning sleep, but soon the reality settled in. I heard her gasping, telling him, “No, please stop,” and softly calling his name, “Manuel, please don’t.”
My body betrayed me instantly, stirring beneath the blanket. Through half-closed eyes, I took in the scene: my friend kneeling over her, one hand silencing her mouth while the other explored her intimate folds. She tried to pull away, but her intoxicated state left her helpless against his touch.
As my arousal swelled, I slowly began pleasuring myself beneath the covers, pretending to snooze. My wife struggled to free herself, her protests fading as Manuel’s fingers edged deeper inside her. She whispered, “Stop, Manuel, please,” but the resistance weakened. Soon, she stopped pushing him away, her legs parted willingly, inviting him.
His other hand dropped his boxers, revealing a shaft twice the size of mine. She murmured warnings, “Please don’t, Manuel,” reminding him she wasn’t on birth control and he wasn’t wearing protection. Yet, her wetness glistened, betraying her growing desire. He slid inside her with force, her startled yelp filling the room.
Despite her protests, Manuel thrust relentlessly, his grunts mixing with her moans. Watching this intimate betrayal ignited something primal within me. I climaxed three times as I stroked beneath the blanket, mesmerized by her submission.
My wife’s moans grew louder, begging him to “pull out,” her voice pleading for mercy. Manuel commanded, “Beg for me, bitch. Call me daddy.” That next whispered name sent me over the edge once again as she breathed, “Daddy, oh god, you feel so good. Please don’t cum inside me.”
Her transformation into this uninhibited, eager woman fueled me, and I came hard again. Manuel’s pounding never slowed. He flipped her onto all fours, exploring places I was never allowed—his thumb pressed against her most taboo spot, driving her wild. She screamed his name, lost in waves of ecstasy.
With one final thrust, Manuel emptied himself deep inside her fertile depths. I climaxed under the blanket once more, the sounds of their passion echoing in my ears. As he collapsed beside her, spent, I feigned sleep, my wife lying silently beside me, the weight of the night settling over us all.
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