Brad swallowed deeply. His eyes drifted back to the last image. Yes. Please.

He waited for the next photo, his two fingers and thumb jerking at his cock. Instead, another message appeared, and it made him moan in perverse decadence.

Say please send me more pictures of my wife dancing with another guy.

I thought you didn’t want me to remind you we’re married.

I do in this case.

Please send me more pictures of my wife dancing with another guy.

Brad’s movements on his dick gathered speed. The first photo saw both the stranger’s hands holding tight to Betsy’s hips, the space between them shrinking. The second closed the gap even more, Betsy’s palm on his chest, their eyes locked onto each other.

What do you think?

Oh my god, he typed out with one hand. She looks incredible.

THEY look incredible, Trish corrected. Go ahead and admit it. Admit how hot your wife looks dancing with another guy.

Arousal overtook every emotion in Brad’s head, smothering any sense of jealousy or confusion. Trish’s depraved demands, the power she was wielding over him, seeing his wife acting so unlike herself with a random guy that was feeding her drinks... it clouded his judgment and reasoning. Submitting to Trish became the right and only course of action. And by far the hottest.

My wife looks so hot dancing with another guy.

Betsy and the stranger’s bodies met, stomachs touching, her legs on either side of one of his, a brown hand on her lower back pulling her closer.

Now, she’s never as hot as this with you.

Trish kept ordering; Brad kept obeying; and more pictures rolled in of his wife surrendering to the touch of this tan-skinned seductor.

She’s never this hot with me.

Betsy’s back against his chest and her ass covering his hips; one of his hands around her waist, right under her boobs, and the other lower on her belly, right above her panty line.

They look much better together than we do.

Dress bunched up almost to the tops of her thighs, one of his hands creeping further around her hips, fingers pressing into the cheek of her wide rear.

She deserves someone hot and not an overweight loser like me.

The two of them back at the bar, sweaty and disheveled. Betsy leaning forward and waiting for the bartender, her lips slightly parted. The guy hugged against her from behind, his arms around her waist, where exactly his hands landed obscured by the darkness under the bar.

Our kids would look cuter if she had them with someone like him.

Betsy and the guy in a similar position but back on the dance floor. Her head was against his collarbone. One of his hands snaked around her body and cupped a low breast through her dress; her hand behind her back, disappearing between their bodies.

Panting with his cock and fingers covered in a slick sheen of precum, Brad waited for the next humiliating statement Trish wanted him to say. He couldn’t believe half the things that she had gotten him to repeat, especially the last one. That one was notably fucked up, but it was close to something he had heard her say to Betsy before, that she would have found their kids cuter if she had them with someone other than him. By all rights, Betsy should have been disgusted by that, kicked Trish out of the house, and never talk to her again. Instead, she just lightly and unenthusiastically scolded her. Trish had taken that as a victory.

If she had known that Brad had overheard her and later jacked off imagining her making Betsy repeat it to his face, she would have thrown a party in celebration.

He waited, but no further messages came in. Maybe she wanted him to come up with something on his own and take the initiative. She’d probably enjoy hearing him demean himself and their marriage without urging. She never should have married me, he texted.

A few agonizing seconds later, the three dots appeared.

You’re right. She shouldn’t have. She should be taking home guys like him instead of settling for your pathetic dick.

“Oh god,” Brad groaned, feeling his orgasm approaching. My wife should be out fucking hot guys like him not raising kids with me.

I’m glad you agree.

Again, nothing showed up. Aren’t you going to send another picture?

Sorry. I don’t have any more. That was the last one.

He swore in frustration, his cock letting out a pang of disappointment. All he needed was one more picture, one more image. Can’t you take another one? Just of her in the dress.

Those were all from a while ago. She isn’t wearing it anymore. We’re back home.

That gave Brad pause. If they were home, why was he still talking to Trish instead of his wife. You are? Then can I talk to Betsy?

She’s busy, Trish said. She’s in the guest room sucking that guy off.

Brad’s hand came to a screeching halt. That had to have been a joke. That had to have been Trish fucking with him. There was no way his wife would do something like that. Regardless of the cheating, he couldn’t imagine Betsy sleeping with someone she just met hours ago. That was nothing like her. Then again, he also couldn’t have imagined her going to a club, her drinking so much, her dancing so scandalously. The other thing he couldn’t have imagined was his reaction. Instead of ruining his erection, the sudden possibility of Trish telling the truth strengthened it.

No, she’s not. You’re lying to mess with me.

Three dots appeared. Not the ones letting you know someone was typing but an ellipsis. That was Trish’s response to his disbelief.

When she didn’t elaborate further, he started to type out another message but then a new image appeared and a jet of precum shot out of his tip and splashed onto his pudgy stomach. A naked man with brown skin sat on the edge of a bed, his hands bracing on the mattress behind him. The angle of the picture put his back and thighs mostly in frame, but there bent over his lap was a head of summery blonde locks.

Brad frantically zoomed in. His heart pounded in his chest. The details were hard to make out, and only the girl’s hair and a bit of her face was visible. It could be the same guy. It could be his wife. But he wasn’t certain. Maybe that was what Trish was going for. That’s not proof. That could be anyone. I still don’t believe you.

Jesus Christ. Okay, fine. How about this then. Send me a picture of your cock. I know it’s out. I know you’ve been jerking off to Betsy and that guy this whole time. Send me a picture of it and say you have a tiny dick and I’ll give you your proof.

It took a lot of effort for Brad not to cum as he snapped a photo of his hard and wet prick, typed out, I have a really small and pathetic dick, and hit send. He watched the photo upload, the sad state of his gut making the three-and-a-half-inch member appear even more pitiful.

Fuck you are small, Trish texted with a laughing face emoji. Betsy told me you were when you started dating but my god. You’re even smaller than she said. Ugh. Hang on.

Brad lay there and let his mind wander, hoping to ease his aching prick so he didn’t instantly erupt when the evidence arrived. The knowledge that his wife lied about his dick size, still acknowledging his diminutiveness but obviously embarrassed about how miniscule it really was, flipped his stomach and churned his nuts. When a video came in, he was glad he took the moment because if he hadn’t, the bed would have been covered in his seed.

It started in first-person with Trish walking toward a cracked open door. She pushed it open and sauntered into what appeared to be the guest room. First, she focused the camera on the floor, where the familiar dress lay crumbled in a pile along with a pair of pink panties. Then, she turned the lens upward, bringing into view his wife sitting on her haunches, her head bobbing up and down the guy’s lap. The view was from the back, but the deliciously wet sucking sounds confirmed she was in the middle of blowing him.

Trish flipped the camera to selfie mode. Her pretty face came on screen, dark hair messy, and eyeliner a little smudged. From her bare shoulders and the mirror in the background reflecting her toned ass, he knew she was completely naked. She shifted her position and then angled the phone so he could see over her shoulder — to the profile of his wife whose lips energetically slid up and down five inches of the stranger’s nine-inch brown cock.

Trish smirked and ended the video.

Brad replayed it again, watching the reveal of the dress and Betsy’s back over and over. Her blonde head bounced rhythmically, her bare shoulder hunched slightly, and her wide flat ass sat on her calves and feet. She looked dick-achingly sexy like this: naked, kneeling, and sucking cock. Sucking someone else’s cock. The disparity of her softness, like the small curve of her love handles, to the hard muscles of the guy’s chest and abs was depravity exemplified. He continued until the video arrived at the profile view of her mouth, plump lips encircling the tanned shaft. Like the previous segment, Brad played and replayed the scene of his wife’s depraved act of wanton sexual deviancy.

After ten minutes, his entire groin and fist were soaked in slippery precum. He had kept bringing himself to the edge and backing away, fighting between succumbing to what he had and wanting to know more — to see how much further she’d gone.

Not bothering with a text, he video-called his wife’s phone.

“What?” Trish panted, her blissful face coming on screen. For a second, Brad was taken aback. Trish’s toned and naked body straddled her husband’s as she energetically fucked herself onto his massive and thick cock. Her jiggling boobs were smaller than Betsy’s but much perkier, with pale pink nipples that contrasted his wife’s darker ones. But the differences didn’t stop there, extending to defined abdominals, tight hard-at-work thigh muscles, and a fully shaved slit. “I’m busy.”

“Sorry, I...” Brad gathered his thoughts, forcing his eyes and ears to ignore and drown out the sight and sounds of Trish and Dale fucking. “Please, I have to... can I please talk to Betsy?”

“Talk to her or watch her, ungh, finally get fucked by a real cock?” Brad stayed quiet but it was obvious from the wet faps of his jerking fist which one he really meant. “Mmm... that’s what I thought. Admit it, you baby-dicked loser. I want to hear you admit that you want to see your wife getting railed by a dick that puts your pathetic pecker to shame.”

“I want it,” Brad groaned.

“More!"

“I want to see my wife fucking a real cock.”

“Keep going.”

“I’m a small-dicked failure whose wife deserves better than he can give.”

“Fuck, yes!"

“She should have cheated on me years ago for being such an overweight loser with a baby-dick.”

“Ah! Ah! Fuck! Nngh!” The muscles of Trish’s trim body tightened, abs clenching and thighs straining, as she tensed and scowled and came. Her orgasm was fast, powerful, and intense, and she snapped open her still-blazing eyes once it passed, meeting Brad’s through the phone.

“Come on, Dale,” she said and dismounted her husband with a grunt. “Let’s show this loser how a real cock fucks his wife.”