Martin had noticed we hadn’t been calling in the pub or seeing around town as often, the way things were before Doc came along. Looking back, I guess I was at a low ebb, feeling a bit sorry for myself. Although the affair between Sue and Doc had ended, there wasn't much going on between us—well, not in bed, at least. My GP said the erectile dysfunction was down to stress; he advised me to "back off" for a while. Trying and failing was adding to the stress, making things worse.

I couldn't even get enough of a stiffy for Sue to give me a hand job; her response to that was oiling me up with baby oil and then rubbing me as though I had a clitoral. That worked, but it was the only way that I could reach an orgasm. What the hell was I thinking when I told Martin about all this? He was a lifelong friend and our best man when we were married. If I couldn't trust him, who could I trust?

Martin invited us to call around when Sue wasn't around to have a few drinks with him and Elaine. We did that a couple of times, and that got us back into the routine of going out for a meal and a drink. That went on for a month or so—miserable months they were, though. Sue went through the motions, pretending to enjoy a night out, but she didn't have that spark anymore. When I asked, she'd just say she was tired due to the night shifts, but I could tell it was more than that.

It took me a while before I realized how Sue laughed at all of Martin's jokes and how she was listening more intently to him than to me. I didn't want to misjudge it, but when the little pieces of the jigsaw started to come together, I could see the bigger picture. I began to suspect that Martin was going to make a play for Sue. I could tell from the way he looked at her, the smiles traded between them, and how he always wanted to sit right opposite Sue. I was beginning to regret that I had so openly confided in him; he knew too much. By now he knew about Sue's affair; he knew the affair was over; he also knew I couldn't "raise a gallop." Maybe that was too much of a temptation for him.

Even though I’d picked up on the warning signs, I’d done nothing to dissuade him. The more he asked about Sue, the more it turned me on. Nothing more potent ever entered my head than seeing Sue being fucked by Doc, but that was over. I was already wondering how Sue and Martin would look together; being cuckolded blows the mind, but that's the only blow job a cuck gets.

By now, it had been close to six months since Sue's relationship with Doc ended, so it was exciting to think someone else might be taking an interest in Sue, and of all people, it was Martin, not just my best friend but my best man when we were married. Sue couldn't hide the glint in her eye or that wicked smile when I told her I suspected Martin was interested in her; she immediately wanted to hear more. Sue started to take even more interest in Martin; no doubt he noticed. How Elaine missed out on that I don't know; then again, maybe she knew, maybe she didn't care; like all couples, they'd had their share of problems.

I'm sure Martin was testing the ground, asking for more and more details. How long Sue's affair with Doc had gone on, asking how it felt knowing Sue was being fucked, often staying overnight with Doc, and how I felt when she would tease me by calling around midnight to say she wouldn't be home until morning—Martin wanted to know everything. At first, I thought he was just curious.

Martin followed up with, "What would you do if Sue had another affair?"

I told him, "I wouldn't be pleased, especially if I didn't know about it," to which Martin said, "What do you mean by that? What would you do if you knew?"

I said, "It would depend," a non-committal comment if ever there was one.

I have to say that such a direct question unsettled me if I said "no," but he suspected differently. What message would that send him? If I said "yes," what would Martin think of me? By now I was in panic mode, and I got the feeling that he knew no matter how I answered, it would be a "yes".

I'm sure that Martin knew he had me on the back foot; he was unnerving me, and I knew he fancied his chance of making a move on Sue. Maybe that's how bold, well-endowed men soften up a cuck; it was working on me. My mind was in a spin. How could a guy that I'd known for over twenty years be so bold to ask me about such intimate details of our relationship? Was he looking for a weakness in me? I was wondering if Sue had the upper hand in our marriage.

I'm sure there's a sixth sense between wife thieves and potential cucks. I've often felt it when we were out with other couples; the way guys would look at Sue, I'd weaken just from the thought of them fucking her. Men seemed to pick up on that. Maybe the word about Sue's affair with Doc had gotten out; maybe everyone knew that Sue was up for it.

I must have passed Martin's test; it got to the point where all we talked about was Sue every time we met up, in the pub or at a Bolton Wanderers match on Saturdays. I’m sure he insisted on picking me up just to get the chance to see her for a few minutes before we went to the game. It was odd how Martin hadn't ever asked so many sexually-oriented questions before, and even odder still that he'd never even flirted with Sue in all the years we had known him. Maybe knowing Sue had already "played away"?

Add to that, knowing I was impotent made him think Sue was "ripe for the plucking," or should that be "ripe for a fucking"? It got to the point where every time we met in the pub, all he wanted to do was talk about her in increasingly intimate terms, "What sort of sex does Sue like?" and so on. You don't ask a buddy that unless you're moving in on his wife. These warm-up talks were becoming addictive for both of us; we were both getting turned on talking about my Sue.

Martin's questioning continued. One night in the pub, Martin asked, "Did you always know about Doc?"

I told him I'd known practically from day one and how I'd just gone along with it. It wasn't a secret between us; Sue wasn't cheating on me. I told him that being cuckolded had become an incredibly erotic addiction for me. Looking back, maybe I was saying all the wrong things.

By 10 pm, we were worse for wear; we'd had a couple of pints when Martin point-blank asked me, "How would you feel if I wanted to fuck Susan? Would it bother you? Would it affect our friendship?"

I told him it wouldn't offend me if he fucked Sue, but it would be Sue's decision, not mine.

Martin said, "Tell her tonight that I want to fuck her."

And that's how it went. When we went to bed that night, I told Sue what Martin had said—that Martin wanted to fuck her. Sue thought it was just pillow talk, but I remember how it sparked her up. From that point on, we were all pushing towards the inevitable. A couple of days later, I was back at the pub. Martin had called to ask if I'd be in there, so off I went. Martin got me a pint, but before it was even placed on the bar, he asked...

"Did you tell Sue?"

I acted dumb and said, "Tell her what?"

"Did you tell her that I want to fuck her?!"

He just couldn't wait for the answer. I told him that I'd mentioned it.

"What did she say?"

I told him she laughed and said she'd think about it; that tormented him, but the truth of it was, as I was telling Sue what Martin had said, her fingers were slowly stroking her white cotton pants, and it wasn't long before her wetness was starting to come through. I wasn't going to tell Martin that; he would have left his pint and headed straight to our place and fucked Sue there and then. It was obvious Martin was aroused; I was excited too, but I'd given no response where it mattered.

I felt like a 5th columnist; it was obvious Martin wanted to fuck my wife. I was encouraging him to make a play for her. I was getting desperate, wanting to see him fuck her. It's a potent addiction when you've watched your wife being fucked—that look on her face as she's getting ravaged.

I'd seen what Martin was packing, and all I could think of was that I wanted it for Sue. Martin was a step up from Doc. He was 8” semi-erect; I could only guess that if he were fully erect, he would be a full and thick 9". In better days, I was 5” or slightly less, but that was when I could get an erection. But it was the impressive girth that Martin had; it was awesome and thicker than Doc. I wasn’t jealous; I just wanted his dick for her. I remember telling Sue how huge Martin was. I don’t think she believed me, but I could see the thought of being fucked by such a monster was turning her on again. By now Martin had the "go-ahead" from us both; talking wasn’t enough; it was time for action, and he knew I wouldn’t stand in his way.

Sue's birthday was coming up, and I remember mentioning we’d be booking a meal in Bolton that night. Martin said, “If you aren’t taking the car, I could drop by later and then take you guys home; that would save you the taxi fare." Weeks later, he told me he wanted to test Sue's vibes; he was eager to check her out, but he wasn't sure if all the talk was just me winding him up.

I remember when he picked us up and how he rushed to open the car door for Sue. As she hopped into the back, I noticed how Martin turned the rearview mirror around so that he could check Sue out. They were eyeing each other up all the way home. Martin got the vibe he was looking for. Martin needed to figure out if Sue was up for a fuck. That's why he was keen on picking us up that night; he was intent on letting Sue know he wanted to fuck her. That look she gave him in the rear-view mirror must have blown his mind. Sue certainly wasn’t shying away from his attention.

From that moment on, Martin started to up his game. Just days later, he told me that, after dropping us off that night, he parked up in the Dog & Pheasant car park (half a mile away) and wanked himself off thinking about fucking Sue.

Martin told me, "You're a lucky guy!"!

How the hell can it be "lucky" to be impotent, unable to do anything for Sue or any woman?

Martin told me, "Sue is sexy, really sexy; more than that, she's fucking red hot.”

It’s an odd feeling when your best friend tells you he thinks your wife is “red hot” and that he’d wanked himself off thinking of fucking her. No doubt he was looking for how I would respond, knowing he needed to fuck her.

By now, Martin had the nerve to tell me things like that; he could see that as he got bolder, I was becoming more and more subdued. He wanted Sue but still wasn't sure how she would respond, and neither was I. That's why I pillow-talked her so often; it got to the point where just the mention of his name made her stroke herself. She couldn't get enough of it. I'd tell her Martin was wanking himself off all the time, thinking of her.

Between knowing that and frigging me, it must have been intense for her. When a woman is frigging herself thinking about a man, she wants him badly.

Back at the pub, Martin could see that what he was telling me wasn't causing me a problem—quite the opposite. He couldn't even talk about Sue without it showing in his pants, making sure I noticed. He would be 80% erect, and I’d be soft, not that much bigger than Sue's clitoral area. Martin was by now bossing me; the trouble was, I was liking it, wondering what Sue would look like sucking his dick.

Talking about Sue was turning him on; he was constantly telling me how size matters—why bother? He knew about my problem, but he still wanted to intimidate me. He knew if he could get his hands on Sue, she'd be impressed with what he had. Martin knew his 8” plus would laugh at what I had; no doubt that excited him; all he needed to do was show it to Sue. A well-proportioned cock is erotic; his bell end has a pronounced ridge; that's what women like to feel on the backstroke.

It was as though we were playing a game, a game where my wife was the prize. The thought of Martin seducing and then fucking Sue was intense. The understanding was that he wouldn’t fuck her behind my back, but fucking her behind her back was on his menu. No matter what concerns I had, they were overwhelmed by the thought of Martin fucking Sue; it was intoxicating. I just had to trust him. I was in too deep, but it wasn't long before Martin was in deeper than I’d ever been.

The "shock and awe" came the following Friday afternoon when I caught Sue running to his house. It turns out that both of them were going behind my back. I'd no idea that Martin had been calling around, paying Sue daytime visits while I was at work, kissing her, frigging her, or that she's been giving him blow jobs or wanking him off for the last couple of weeks. Or that he had already "taken" her; he'd had enough of Sue wanking him off; he'd made his mind up; he was going to have her.

When Sue opened the door, he pushed her onto the stairs. He pulled her tights and pants down to her ankles, stepping between her legs. Sue couldn't move. Martin was having his way with her, kissing her and telling her, "You're mine now; I'll fuck you when I feel like it." Sue didn't struggle much, just enough to excite him.

Weeks later, Martin told me it started with Sue saying, "Don't...Stop... Don't... Stop... as he slid into her "soaking wet" cunt. He said once he got into a rhythm, her tune changed to "Don't Stop, Don't Stop!" A bad girl, hey, bad enough to let him shoot his load into her, even though she wasn't on the pill. Martin didn't even think of pulling out; he would have been over the moon if he'd made her pregnant.

Sue kept that event a secret, as did Martin; he hadn't even hinted that things were already underway between them. Not even that he had been up her skirt regularly frigging her while she was wanking him off, or that Martin frigged her one afternoon as they sat in his car, in broad daylight, on our driveway! But that's as far as it got before Martin decided he was going to have her. Come what may, that Wednesday.

How do you think I felt, finding out days later that Martin had already fucked her on the stairs and how easily his monster slid into her because she was "soaking wet" when he fucked on the stairs? She knew he would be "visiting" that day, so she was wet waiting for him to greet her; little did she know what he had in mind for her.

Sue said nothing about this event—well, not at the time. All she did that night was get me to ejaculate on the lips of her cunt; she knew Martin's little swimmers would be hell-bent on making her pregnant. But in my state, the only way my cum could get into her cunt would be on a spoon. If she'd fallen pregnant, it wouldn't have been; it couldn't have been mine. I thought I was having a special treat, but Sue was just playing it safe, just in case Martin had knocked her up. If he had, I would have had to live with it. Maybe that made Sue think again; she went on the pill a month later.

I wonder how I'd have reacted if I'd known why her cunt was "soaking wet" and dripping on me. I could feel her pushing something out; it was all over my bell end. I thought I’d got her excited, frigging her, only to find the next morning that her cunt was still full of his cum! Mine hadn't even gotten past her lips; she'd wiped mine off anyway. Looking back, that was naughty—very naughty, but nice.

Anyway, back to Friday, days after Sue was play-raped on the stairs.

I saw her running up Leigh Road. I knew where she was going and what she was going for. To be fucked, why else would she be running? I didn't know what to do; I wanted Martin to fuck her. I thought this must be his plan to get her into his bed. Martin hadn't even hinted that he'd had her already. Maybe he thought I'd pull her back at the last moment; he didn't want that to happen.

Martin was desperate to fuck her, Sue was desperate to be fucked, and I just didn't know he had already been at her. It was gut-wrenching for me to see her running to his house to give the game away. What were the chances that I'd be driving down Leigh Road at 12:55 that day to see my wife running to his house? Women don't run, but Sue was running. Sue was lucky that it was me finishing work early and not Elaine; that would have been a catfight.

When I caught up with her, I could see on her face that she was flustered. The last thing she expected was to see me heading home early from work; that "coincidence" must have been written in the stars! A minute earlier or later, I wouldn't have seen her. But what should I do? I knew if she entered his house, she wouldn't get out without being fucked and tormented as I was. I let her go to her fate; she knew I would let her go.

I parked up just down the road, where I could see the house. It was an odd feeling sitting in the car watching the house. Less than 5 minutes had passed by before I saw Sue walk past the front bedroom window. I gave it a few minutes before I got out of the car and crossed the road. I walked down the garden path and looked through the front window. There was no one in the front room, so I went around the back of the house. There was no one in the kitchen either; both of them must be upstairs.

I went back to the front door. In their haste, the front door had been left slightly open; it hadn't locked! I gently pushed the door open and quietly stepped in—no one downstairs, but voices upstairs. I managed to quietly get upstairs without any of the stairs creaking.

I stood there for a few moments, listening to both of them talk. I couldn't quite hear what was being said. So I took a quick look into the bedroom; all I could see was his back to me and Sue's legs wrapped around him, ankles locked.

She eventually told how Martin had practically ripped her clothes off, but he kept his blue shirt on, open, so you could see his chest, while still wearing his shirt. Blue shirts have been a trigger for Sue ever since.

Thankfully, his shirt stopped Sue from seeing me as I watched from the bedroom door. He was on top of her, his hands on her hands, holding her down. It gutted me to see Sue's fingers intertwined with his. The angst I felt seeing her wedding ring as he was fucking her. That became something special and totally erotic for me to see a wedding ring on a woman being fucked; we all know it's not her husband. I can't watch porn now unless the woman is wearing a wedding ring.

I didn't know what to do; I wanted to watch him until he was "on the vinegar strokes" cumming in her. I was going to take a few photos on my cell phone, but the damned thing will "flash" when it takes a photo indoors, so I switched to video. No worries about flash there; I took a couple of minutes of video as proof in case Sue denied it. I didn't know how long they'd been shagging or how long Martin could stay; it's better to get out before that happens. I thought if Sue saw me, heard me, or, in some way, sensed I was there, Sue would be mad as hell, angry with me, to cover what she was doing or what he was doing to her.

I didn't want to chance it; it was better to leave and let her enjoy what was going on. Sue has said that it was the most erotic experience she ever had, with Martin fucking her when she suspected I was probably still around. It would have been hellish in more ways than one if she knew I wasn't just in the house; I was watching her, videoing her being fucked, and recording the little whimpers she was making. I didn't want her to know I was there; her anger would have spoiled it for me and ruined it for Martin. I didn't want that, so I crept back down the stairs and left, closing the front door as I left them to it.

It was a weird feeling going back out through the front door, knowing if I closed the door, the lock would click and I wouldn't be able to get back in. But what would be the point? I knew he was fucking her; it was too late to stop that, even if I wanted to stop it, but that's not what I wanted. It excited me knowing Martin's 8" plus heavy-duty shaft was plowing into her. I knew he would be able to satisfy Sue; her whimpering and groaning told me that. Martin was making her feel every inch of his throbbing shaft, which turned me on.

After 30 minutes or so, there was still no movement downstairs; they must have been at it for 40 minutes or so. I was starting to get worried, wondering if Martin might still be fucking her or holding her in an intimate embrace that was getting at me. I was anxious rather than jealous; I just had to get her out of his bed, out of his arms, and away from his kisses.

That's where the trouble starts; women fall in love all too easily under the embrace of a skilled lover. I'd seen it happen when Sue fell in love with Doc, but it was his cock she was in love with, for good reason. Add to that, losing her innocence to Doc changed her life and mine; we are both addicted now, but in different ways.

There still wasn't any movement downstairs, so I knocked on the door to hear Martin coming down the stairs. I heard him shout, "It's Jeff."

I often wondered how Sue felt at that time. When Martin opened the door, he looked very nervous. Sue was still upstairs, and I heard her say, "Don't let him in yet." She was rushing to get dressed, but I was back in the house.

I can still see her as she cluttered down the stairs. How was she going to explain why she was upstairs, coming down partially clothed? She must have panicked, rushing to get her clothes on. When she came downstairs, she was barefoot; she hadn't had time to put her tights back on, just her wraparound skirt, her bra (not fixed properly), and her blouse.

Without any regard to how she looked, Sue wasn't embarrassed; having been fucked by Martin had emboldened her, or was she still high on arousal? Standing in front of me, no tights, bare feet—was I not supposed to notice how she'd rushed down and left her strappy sandals in his bedroom?

But there were more important things for Sue to attend to: were we going to fight? Sue stepped between me and the guy who had just fucked her! I'll never forget the look on her face. Sue has a temper at times; she could tell I knew that. Martin had just fucked her, so she went on the attack. Sue stood there, facing me down. I couldn't help looking down and seeing her bare feet. How do you explain that to your husband? She tried to say she'd been upstairs ironing a couple of shirts for Martin. WTF? How the hell does that work? Do women take their tights off to iron a couple of shirts?

There was nothing I could do about it; the deed had been done, as had Sue; that was obvious. It was a clock I couldn't turn back, even if I wanted to. All I wanted in those unsettling moments was some reassurance, some affection, maybe a touch in the groin (or a knee in it) from Sue to let me know, "Don't worry, we're fine," something, anything to assure me that fucking Martin won't cum between us.

I wasn't just anxious; I'd been left out; it hadn't gone according to plan—well, not according to my plan. Martin was supposed to give me a heads-up about where and when he planned to fuck her. I was pissed off at him, and he knew it. I felt betrayed, or worse, humiliated, more so seeing Martin smirking at me, hiding behind Sue. She was protecting her lover from any angry response I might have.

The humiliation I felt, that aggressive look on Sue's face, was a clear message: "So what? What are you going to do about it? You're too late. Martin has fucked me, and you encouraged him." As angry as her face was, there was an undercurrent too; it felt like she was close to laughing at me, or maybe slapping my face. I was melting in submission to her.

While all this was going on, unbeknownst to me, she was dripping with his cum again! I found out later, when she came home, that this wasn't the first time he'd fucked her. Sue admitted Martin had been at her house two days earlier, on the stairs, fucking her like a rag doll; her words are now mine. She told me that was the first time Martin had been at her.

I couldn't play fuck with her or even look at her; everything she said in her defense about how we all wanted it and how we all planned it was true.

Martin could see that Sue was getting off on it; that was bad enough. Martin knew—I knew—that he had fucked my wife; he was smirking. What was going on between me and Sue was getting him aroused, watching her in her bare feet, facing me down, humiliating me. It was a huge turn-on for Martin to have shagged his best friend's wife. More so, as he knew how wet Sue was every time he got his frigging hands on her and how Sue had opened up for him when he was entering her.

Back to what he was always saying: "Size does matter." If a size 9 guy is a regular visitor to a size 7 cunt, he will stretch her until she becomes comfortably fit for her size 9 lover. The problem is, I'm a size 3 now; I used to be a 5, but I wasn't even touching the sides when Sue was a 7. What am I going to do now? Sue has been stretched to size 9, six sizes too big for me; that's what caused the ED problem I have now. I could see he wanted to fuck Sue again; worse still, I thought she would be up for it.

All I could think was, do I want him to fuck her again, or should I do the caveman thing and drag her out of here by the hair to show that "I'm her man"? But that wouldn't go well, certainly not with Sue.

Martin must have been staggered to see me walk out of the house, leaving Sue with him! I'd be amazed if he didn't fuck her again. There and then, maybe he did. That's one thing Sue never admitted to, and I wonder why. She would have had to go back upstairs to get her tights and shoes. I'm sure Martin would have followed her and fucked her again, and maybe again—what else were they doing for the next four hours?

Odd how I wasn’t raging about it when Sue came home; four hours later, there was no point fighting over spilled milk that Martin had spilled inside her. I'd calmed down by the time Sue came home. All I could think about was whether he had fucked her again. Had I made a big mistake by leaving her with him? Why did I do that? What were they doing for four hours before Sue came home?

But I'd calmed down after rubbing myself to a climax thinking about Martin shagging her. Cocaine couldn't have gotten me higher that afternoon. I'd been teased and tormented that day and every day since. That gave Sue absolute power and control over me.

It took me a week before I had the nerve to speak to Martin again, but the dust had settled by then. I'd talked it over with Sue; I wanted him back on Sue as much as she did. I met Martin in the pub; it was an awkward moment at first, until I told him I was OK with it. That got things back on track for us all. The thing is, I'm addicted to the raw excitement I feel now watching Martin fucking Sue.

Cuckolding is kind of like cocaine, for everyone involved. The lover is turned on by fucking someone's wife, more so if she's a friend's wife. The wife gets a huge rush from it, a power play that she wins every time, taking a lover when she wants a lover. Way more exciting than cheating, taking a lover is one thing, and being fucked in front of her husband is empowering. Cucks get pleasure from watching their wives being fucked by a bigger, bolder man, a man who can easily outgun the cuck. It's a mind-blowing, intense experience to see her being pounded, seeing the lips of your wife's cunt clinging to Martin's dick as he slides in and out of her.

The throbbing and pulsing as he cums in her, watching it leak from her, seeing the cum-filled cavern he's made of her cunt when he finally pulls out—it looks like you could put your head in there, tongue first!

It's been two years now, but still, the thought of Martin fucking Sue excites me. The only fear I had was that he'd get inside her head from repeatedly shagging her (once or twice a week now). I know he likes to make Sue cum when he fingers her; that's his specialty, weakening her before he fucks her through one orgasm after another. He's a better lover than Doc ever was. Martin frigs her hard and fast until she is nearly senseless, but when he's in her, he becomes a softer lover. They kissed a lot. He makes Sue look into his eyes when he's shaging her; it's mind-blowing watching them; we have over fifty hours of them fucking each other—something for me to keep me entertained when they go out on a date night.

Shagging can become an erotic addiction. Women do fall for lovers; the excitement of getting another man's attention seduces her mind, especially when she gets to know the taste of her lover. It's hard for a woman to come back to reality when a man's dick gets into her head, and I'm not talking about a blowjob; it's the only thing she sees when she closes her eyes. I didn't think that would happen to us, and it hasn't, but it did worry me at the time. Oddly enough, the worry added to my erotic excitement. It’s wild watching his 8” plus thick cock pulsing in and out of Sue.

It wasn't long before Martin fucked her ass. The first time was in his car when Sue was drunk. She didn't mention that either; she denied it at first, but Martin took pleasure in telling me how tight her ass was. The thing is, Sue never let me (or Doc) fuck her ass. I couldn't do it now, but there was a time when I could get an erection when I tried for her ass, but she always wriggled away. Now she likes it! It's all too late for me, though; I'm not able to fuck anything these days, let alone her ass.

We are two years or so into this now, and it’s still as hot for me as the first time Sue let me watch Martin fuck her in our bed. There's something special about watching another man on your wife's bed, having his way with her as she turns to smile at you. Or on their date nights, waiting for Sue to come home with him, wondering if she would decide to walk past me, leading Martin upstairs to fuck him in our bed, leaving his cum stains and her wetness on our bedsheets.

There’s nothing that excites me more than watching Martin shagging Sue. Maybe he has other things in mind; maybe their relationship is cooling off. Martin has hinted that he would like to spit-roast Sue. I wish I could help. Maybe after two years, he's looking to spice things up; he even mentioned pairing Sue up with a young black guy who works for him, but he's just a kid, ten years younger than Sue; maybe she likes the idea of a young black guy.

Nothing turns me on more than what Sue has done to me; it turns me on being teased, tormented, humiliated, slapped, choked, golden-showered, and cucked by her. Fucking other men puts me completely under her control. Who knows what she saw in me before we got married—a cuckold in the making, maybe?

Three years ago, I thought these things would be just wild pillow talk. Look where we are now. The boot is on the other foot now, and Sue does most of the talking as she oil rubs me to an orgasm.

I almost forgot that wedding ring fetish. When I mentioned it to Sue, it became a fetish for her too. She's left-handed. Sue tells me she likes wanking Martin off, making sure he can feel her wedding ring against his shaft, and letting his cum flow all over her wedding ring. The same ring that Martin had in his pocket to hand to me to put on Sue's finger. It turns her on now to know that ring now gets covered in Martin's cum.

Martin took over where Doc left off; who would have thought he would do a better job? I've had no complaints about being under Sue’s control. I just wonder “who’s next” and when, not if; maybe Sue is already tiring of Martin; two years is a long time to keep the heat of an affair going.