Cuckquean Chronicles Pt. 03

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She came over one day. My boyfriend wanted to cuck me in person, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted that or not, but I also knew I wanted it really badly. It was a strange dichotomy that left me silent when she appeared on my porch.

Kylie had an ashen, sepia skin tone and was a tiny slip of a woman with little breasts and slim hips. Her lips came together in a little bow. Her arms were full of goodies – weed and alcohol – and I knew deep down she was prepping me for what she was about to do to my boyfriend in front of me. It was a sick game, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. Her beauty was disarming and made me feel frumpy next to her. I busied myself cleaning the kitchen, pretending I wasn’t being awkward. I wiped down the stovetop and pretended this whole thing didn’t hinge on me. I noticed glances between them and burned deep inside the cavern of my cervix, feeling my pussy awash with juices.

The night went fairly regularly honestly. We all drank, and I cooked brownies for us. We got a little tipsy, slurring our words and dipping our heads to the tune of a song that wasn’t playing. She rubbed on his arm a little. He returned in kind, placing a hand on her thigh in front of me. I averted my eyes. It felt private. I wanted nothing more than to watch, but it also gave me an anxiety I couldn’t quell. I was torn between what my clit wanted and what my heart wanted. My clit wanted him to slip a finger up her skirt, to massage her lips in front of me, to tell me to go away so he could ravish her right then. My heart wanted him to be shocked I’d ever think he could do such a thing.

I was starting to grow restless watching their flirting.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I announced.

“Okay, baby,” he responded, but his blue eyes and her brown eyes were locked on each other. He was calling me baby while undressing her with his eyes. It sounds cliché, but I swear I could see him taking her shirt off, pulling her skirt down, slipping her panties around her ankles and throwing them to the side, all with his eyes. Her eyes sucked his cock.

With the warm water running down my face and chest, I could istanbul seks hikayeleri hear them outside the door. I couldn’t quite tell, but it sounded like they were using the opportunity of me disappearing to kiss. I could hear a smacking sound and little coos of delight. I slipped a finger in-between my lips and into my slippery hole. I couldn’t believe I could get wet so quickly. I heard them make their way up the stairs, and when I could hear the squeaking above me on the ceiling, I twisted the showerhead and toweled myself dry.

I did something sneaky, maybe even a weird. I tiptoed up the stairs, and I listened to them fuck from the stairwell. She was loud, just like he’d promised, and she was scream-moaning to a beat that I knew was his pounding inside her. I scared myself, knowing how close I was to their debauchery, and snuck back downstairs on tiptoe. I knew I couldn’t stay downstairs forever; soon, they’d be wondering where I was, why I wasn’t joining. And so, like the sick cuck I was realizing that I was, I settled myself into the folds of the couch, and I spread my legs to pleasure myself to the sounds of her moaning. I wanted it to last for a minute at least, but I’d barely touched my pearl before I was springing away from my touch, waves of intensity coursing through my body. The ceiling squeaked above me, her moans were ghostly as they bounced off the walls, and from my sweaty spot on the couch, I sat up and slowly made my way back up the stairs.

What I saw stopped me in my tracks. She was bent over, her perfect little ass in the air, while he pumped in and out of her. He was facing the door and when he saw me appear, he smiled over the top of her back and spanked her ass in front of me. She clutched the sheets in front of her as he jutted inside of her. Little squeals emanated from her, and I could imagine the sensation she was feeling, the way his thick cock was spreading her open and filling her in that moment. I got onto the bed and started to suck her nipples, letting my tongue play across and around them. She sighed with contentment as I did so, and I put myself in her place, the place where everyone in the room existed for your pleasure and your pleasure alone. I wasn’t in that place in reality. In reality, I was only there because I deserved this — it was my job to watch her enjoy herself, not to enjoy myself. She was rocking in motion with his hips, and they fit perfectly together. I felt a twinge of envy and anger, but I pushed it down into my toes and started to touch her clit. He was right; it was big. It was almost an inch and tinged with purple, swollen with luxury at the moment. I wanted so badly to suck it while he fucked her, to help him help her get where she needed to get. I rubbed it in circles, and as I did, I could feel his swollen member rub up against my palm. A moan escaped me, and I laid back and started to touch myself again, watching them together on the side of my bed, the mattress we had bought together, shared together. It would never stop being the bed we shared, and it would never stop being a bed desecrated by his sexual desires. Her sweat was mingled in my sweat now. Now, it was a place for affairs.

I noticed instantly that neither of them was interested in me, and it made me feel pathetic, like a disgusting little whore that only got to watch. Neither of them tried to touch me or reached out to lick me. They kissed each other deeply. It was all my worst fears about a threesome laid out in front of me, and there was nothing to do but embrace them, to touch myself unabashedly. His grunting picked up speed, and he pulled out and adjusted himself to cum on my bare chest in front of her, humiliating me just a little more. I couldn’t stop myself from rubbing the cum into my breasts, wanting her to know that I really did exist to be used by him, that I felt nonexistent without that worthlessness.

We all slept together that night. She cuddled him, and he cuddled me, and I tried to relax my breathing, even though I was aching internally. I felt so strange, knowing we’d crossed a line we could never uncross. As my eyes were closed tight, I felt movement behind my spine and realized with a deep shame that she was stroking his penis, thinking I was asleep. He kissed behind my ear and then rolled over to kiss her on the mouth, his penis hard in her hand. I felt him beside me touching her, too, and they started to moan into each other’s mouths and rattle the bed a bit beneath me. I stayed still as I felt her start to move down to suck him off. He stopped her and opted to crawl down and lick between her legs instead, and she still wasn’t as quiet as she was maybe trying to be, her breathing labored and thick. Maybe she wasn’t trying at all. Maybe she wanted me to know she was being fingered by him next to my quiet body.

They slid off the bed and went into the room next to us, where we had a couch. I heard the couch squeaking a bit as they settled and then slowly it turned into her little sighs and squeals of delight with the squeaking combined. I got out of bed and cracked the door, trying to remain as quiet as possible. I saw her naked underneath him, her legs and mouth wide and open, her eyes closed as she enjoyed my boyfriend’s beautiful penis once again. I felt a shame realizing I was a peeping tom and that they hadn’t invited me to their romp. I doubted very much they’d even cared if I joined the first one.

I closed the door and laid on the bed again, finding my button and once again touching myself like a pathetic little pervert as I listened to the sounds of their screwing. Her moans grew in intensity; she no longer cared if I could hear her delights. She was just like me — happy to be fucked. I knew she wasn’t really just like me. The difference was she was being fucked, and I was lying there, silently touching myself to a song I’d orchestrated.

The door opened quietly, and they shushed each other, giggling, as they crawled into bed. I let out a little breath as I stopped circling my clit, and I pretended to breathe deeply, fast asleep.

The next morning, I woke up to them cuddling, and when I walked downstairs to make myself coffee, I saw the wet, creamy spots on the couch. I tried getting them out with soap and with vinegar, but they had staying power, their stickiness hardening the velvet. I gave up. It wasn’t the first time. I knew I’d be giving up a little bit over and over again. I wondered if there would be anything left of me by the end.

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