Krissy Lynn

You've known she's stepping out. Could've sworn it. You just wanted proof. Today you catch the black guy walking out your front door like he owns the place. Some modem repair story you've never heard before. You duck low, creep to the side window, heart pounding like a rookie at his first game. Peek inside and there's two more black studs already inside, one with his jeans down, cock slapping against your wife's thigh in the damn kitchen. She laughs low. The other guy slides two fingers straight up her skirt from behind. You watch her push her hips back into his hand and you don't move a muscle to stop any of it. The three of them migrate to the sitting room, clothes coming off like they're racing. First stud lines his thick black dick up, pushes in slow, makes her moan louder than she's ever sounded with you. She grips the couch cushions, biting the fabric, back arched while he pounds her harder than you knew she could take. Second guy feeds her his cock, and she sucks it like she's starving for it. You see her get flipped on all fours in the family room—your carpet, your TV flickering—while they tag her, one stretching her pussy, the other sliding into her ass. She's leaking, sweating, taking dick that puts yours to shame and begging for more. You stay glued to that window. You see your wife's wedding ring flash every time she grips a new cock, guiding it back inside her. She tells the guys your name once and they laugh. Then they wreck her until she's shaking and cumming so hard her legs buckle. When it's finally over, you see her straighten her hair in the hall mirror, smiling at the fresh creampie sliding down her thigh. You duck away. Later she lies to your face about the gym. You nod and smile because you already know the truth: you're the cuckold who pays the bills and watches the real men take turns on your wife in every room of your own goddamn house.