Watching My Wife Reagan Get Fucked by a Younger Stud

I watched Reagan spread wide while Peter pinned her to the mattress. He slid two fingers along her slit, smirking like he owned the place. I felt my pulse in my throat. Reagan arched up, tits bouncing as he pressed his thick cockhead against her pussy and drove inside with one easy thrust. She let out a little curse, then moaned like a slut who’d been dying for it. Peter wasn’t gentle. He gripped her hips, slammed in hard, and kept pace—wet slaps, creaky springs, her wedding ring glinting every time she clawed at the sheets. Reagan pulled her knees back, taking him deeper. Peter grinned at me, then spat on her clit and rubbed it while he fucked. My wife’s mouth fell open, eyes glassy, ass rippling every time his balls slapped against it. Peter leaned over, whispered filthy shit in her ear, and started pounding like he wanted to break her in half. Reagan came, cunt squeezing him, juices running down her crack. I stood there with a hard-on and an open beer, just listening to the slick sounds while Peter bred her. When he finally groaned, flexed, and unloaded, I watched every pulse through the veins on his shaft. Reagan’s cunt overflowed, a thick rivulet sliding out every time he shifted. She grinned up at me—sweaty, fucked-out, triumphant—and licked her lips. Peter pulled out slow, leaving her gaping, then slapped her thigh like she was his favorite toy. I took another sip. Told him good game.