Wife’s Secret Cock Hungry Boss Sessions

So I’ve been meaning to tell you about this, but the bisexual male energy I picked up on that afternoon honestly rearranged something in my brain. You know my wife, she can be this total switch—sweet one minute, then she’s walking around like she owns the room and everyone in it. So she tells me her boss is gonna come by to grab some files, but when I open the door to find this guy—real cocky smile, arms crossed, holding his laptop against his chest—my wife’s already standing behind me in this laced bodysuit, saying “honey, meet my favorite headache trainer.” He looks at me dead in the eyes while she locks the door, and I feel that low pull in my gut, that nervous thrill when you realize the lines are completely blurred. There’s this unspoken game as we move to the living room—someone starts touching an ankle, then a wrist, and before I know it, we’re a tangle of limbs on the sectional, her moaning into his ear while he lingers kisses down my neck. He flicks a glance at her, and she nods—that quick permission that flipped me hard. We traded places slower than time, his stubble scraping my thighs while she scratched at my back, her boss’s dirty whispers mixing with her giggles, all hot breath and soft bites. It wasn’t performative or rushed—just us three muddling through every awkward giggle and tangling grasp, ending tangled in damp sheets, panting, exchanging winks. And the secret afterwards? She breast whispers you gave me, you sided with me—yeah, that feeling is moody addictive. Let it fall from mouth to mouth without shock. Might need another glass before we talk again, but now you catch uh of the dirty detail line​.