u/New-Star3382

Im 29M my wife 29F

Hello looking to find a man to share my wife with. Shes recently started having threesoms with her boyfriend and she has said she might want to try with me if i can find a third. I am if a cuck as well, enjoy watching her with someone so there is a chance I might not be able to fully arise to the occasion and jump in. If so the male would have to be okay going with my wife while I watch. If you wouldnt be okay with me watching then dont answer.

She has been recently been shared with her boyfriend's friends. Been trying to expand her options so like going to edmonton to meet thirds its easier to find people there.

I can send some pics of her with the photos mildly edited to not show anything that might reveal identity.

Thank you for responses.

Im 29M my wife 29F

Hello looking to find a man to share my wife with. Shes recently started having threesoms with her boyfriend and she has said she might want to try with me if i can find a third. I am if a cuck as well, enjoy watching her with someone so there is a chance I might not be able to fully arise to the occasion and jump in. If so the male would have to be okay going with my wife while I watch. If you wouldnt be okay with me watching then dont answer.

She has been recently been shared with her boyfriend's friends. Been trying to expand her options so like going to edmonton to meet thirds its easier to find people there.

I can send some pics of her with the photos mildly edited to not show anything that might reveal identity.

Thank you for responses.

I’m going to be telling this story from my wife’s perspective to help really immerse you in what she’s experiencing these nights. She gives me every filthy detail afterward. This is a true story about how her casually dating her old coworker has escalated into something way beyond what either of us expected. What started as secret meets, car fucks, and the occasional public date has turned into him coming over regularly, then bringing his friends along for hangouts right here in our house. Game nights. Movie nights. Evenings where she becomes the main entertainment, getting used by all of them while I stay back in the other room, just listening through the walls. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it all, but hearing her tell me the details later always leaves me in this strange, conflicted state.

It built up slowly after those first few times he started coming to our place. She said it felt so much hotter doing it here instead of sneaking around—knowing it was our furniture, our space, our home. I’d hear the sounds from down the hall: her loud moans, his grunts, the wet slapping of skin, sometimes the couch creaking like it was going to break. I’d tell myself it was just her thing, her fun, nothing more. But then he started suggesting bringing a couple buddies over for “casual hangouts.” At first it was just beers and talking after work. She’d dress a little sluttier each time—tight tops that showed off her cleavage, short skirts or yoga pants that hugged her ass perfectly. I’d watch her get ready, my cock already throbbing, but she’d usually push my hand away with a soft laugh. “He doesn’t like me showing up already wet from someone else,” she’d say, sometimes teasing me with her fingers or mouth but always stopping right before I could finish, leaving me aching while she waited for them.

The first real game night happened on a Friday. She spent extra time getting ready—full makeup, hair down the way he likes it, wearing a tiny black dress that barely covered her thighs and nothing underneath. She told me they were coming over for poker and to have some fun. I asked if I should head out somewhere but she shook her head. “Just stay in the back room. They’ll be in the living room and kitchen.” When they arrived—her boyfriend and two of his friends—I retreated to the bedroom down the hall, door cracked just enough to hear everything clearly.

From how she described it to me later, the night started out almost normal. They set up cards on the dining table, cracked open beers, laughing and trash-talking each other. She played the perfect hostess—bending over to deal cards or grab snacks, giving them teasing flashes up her dress. They switched to strip poker pretty quick, and it was obvious they were rigging it against her after the first couple hands. She lost the third round on purpose, slipping the straps of her dress down and letting her tits spill out. The guys whistled and cheered. Her boyfriend pulled her onto his lap right there at the table, his hands sliding straight up under the dress to find her already soaked. “Look how ready our little hostess is,” he told his friends, spreading her legs wide so they could all see.

The game kept going for a bit, but the cards became background noise fast. She lost another hand and they made her crawl under the table. She dropped to her knees without hesitation, unzipping her boyfriend first and taking his thick cock into her mouth right there while the others kept playing above her. She sucked him slow and deep, gagging softly when he pushed her head down harder. Then they passed her around like it was part of the rules—her lips stretching around the next guy, who was bigger and made her eyes water as she bobbed. Spit dripped down her chin onto the floor. “That’s a good little slut for the boys,” her boyfriend said, his voice casual like they were still just playing cards. “Keep sucking while we finish this hand.”

Soon the table was completely forgotten. They bent her over it, dress hiked all the way up around her waist. Her boyfriend fucked her pussy first from behind, hard and deep, his hips slapping loud against her ass while she tried to keep sucking one of the friends. The whole table shook with every thrust. She told me how full and used she felt already, the way their dirty talk pushed her closer and closer—“Fuck, your girl’s pussy is gripping me so tight.” “This married whore loves getting passed around at home, doesn’t she?” She came hard the first time, moaning loud around the cock in her mouth, not holding anything back because she knew I could hear every single sound from the other room.

They rotated all night, taking turns in every hole. One would pound her pussy or ass while she jerked and sucked the others. They spanked her ass red, pulled her hair, made her thank them after each load—“Thank you for using my holes like this.” At one point they had her on her knees in the middle of the living room floor, taking turns face-fucking her while they talked about the next round of poker like she wasn’t even there except as a warm, wet hole. Cum leaked down her thighs and dripped onto the carpet. They made her crawl around later, licking up any spills while they sat back drinking and laughing. The degradation never stopped—“Our perfect little house slut.” “Bet your man has no idea how much you need this.”

I listened to the whole thing from the bedroom—every moan turning into a scream, every wet slap, every filthy command. It went on for hours. By the time they finally left, she was exhausted, covered in cum, glowing in that way she only does after they’ve really used her. I waited until the door closed and their car pulled away before I came out. The living room was a mess—cards scattered, couch cushions pushed aside, sticky spots everywhere. She was still catching her breath on the floor when I walked in.

These nights have only gotten more intense since then. Movie nights are even wilder because they pretend it’s just casual at first. Last weekend they planned a full marathon at our place—same three guys, maybe a fourth this time. She wore nothing but a sheer little robe when they showed up, popcorn already made like it was going to be a normal evening. They put on some loud action movie, but it turned into background noise almost immediately.

She described being sandwiched right in the middle of the big couch between her boyfriend and one friend from the start. Hands were all over her under the blanket—fingers sliding into her pussy, pinching her nipples, making her drip down her thighs. “Spread those legs wider for us,” they’d tell her casually while the opening credits rolled. She ended up stroking two cocks at once, slow and teasing, while trying to keep her eyes on the screen. Then the blanket got tossed aside and she was on her knees on the cushions, ass up toward one guy while she sucked her boyfriend deep into her throat.

They used her like that for most of the movie—passing her back and forth. One would fuck her from behind in long, hard strokes while she serviced the others with her mouth and hands. The contrast was insane, she said: the loud movie soundtrack mixed with the wet gagging sounds and their low, dirty comments. “Take it deeper, that’s it.” “Your wife’s pussy is so fucking tight even after we’ve all had her.” “Eyes on the screen, slut—watch the movie while we watch you get fucked.”

During a slower scene they made her ride one of them reverse cowgirl so she could “properly watch” the film. She ground down hard on his cock, bouncing while another friend fed her his dick, her tits jiggling with every movement. Her legs shook through another orgasm, and they all cheered like it was part of the show. When the action picked up on screen they got rougher to match—pulling her hair, spanking her ass bright red, face-fucking her until spit ran down her chin. They even double-penetrated her right there on the couch—one in her pussy, the other working into her ass after fingering her open with her own juices. The fullness made her scream, but she pushed back for more, loving how stretched and owned she felt while the movie kept playing.

They took her everywhere—bent over the coffee table during one scene, on her back on the floor with her legs over someone’s shoulders during another. Cum ended up inside her multiple times, on her tits and face, in her mouth. They made her swallow every drop while calling her their movie-night whore, their shared cum dump, the perfect married toy they could use whenever they wanted. She came so many times she lost count, squirting once all over the couch cushions, which they made her clean up later with her tongue while they relaxed and critiqued the plot.

By the time the credits finally rolled and they left, she was wrecked—makeup smeared, hair a mess, body covered in handprints and drying cum, legs shaky. But she looked happier and more satisfied than I’d seen her in a long time. I listened to every second of it from the other room, heart racing, cock throbbing even as I told myself this was still just her exploring, just her fun, nothing that defined us or what we have.

These game nights and movie nights have become the new normal now. Every couple of weeks they’re back, turning our house into their personal playground. She’s always the center of it, getting used in ways that make her moan louder than I’ve ever managed. I stay back in the other room each time, listening to my wife get pleasured and degraded and passed around right here where we live. I keep telling myself it’s just a phase or her way of having some excitement. But hearing her scream their praises, beg for more, and thank them for treating her like their personal slut… it’s changing things in ways I’m not ready to fully admit yet.

After they leave she always comes to find me. She kisses me deep, letting me taste everything that happened, her body still sticky and marked. I pull her close, help her clean up the living room—the empty bottles, the displaced cushions, the evidence of how thoroughly they used her. I love her. This is our reality now, and somehow we keep going.

I’m going to be telling this story from my wife’s perspective to help really immerse you in what she’s experiencing these nights. She gives me every filthy detail afterward, sometimes while I’m still wiping up the sticky evidence they leave all over our living room and couch. This is a true story about how her casually dating her old coworker has escalated into something way beyond what either of us expected. What started as secret meets, car fucks, and the occasional public date has turned into him coming over regularly, then bringing his friends along for hangouts right here in our house. Game nights. Movie nights. Evenings where she becomes the main entertainment, getting used by all of them while I stay back in the other room, just listening through the walls. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it all, but hearing her tell me the details later always leaves me in this strange, conflicted state.

It built up slowly after those first few times he started coming to our place. She said it felt so much hotter doing it here instead of sneaking around—knowing it was our furniture, our space, our home. I’d hear the sounds from down the hall: her loud moans, his grunts, the wet slapping of skin, sometimes the couch creaking like it was going to break. I’d tell myself it was just her thing, her fun, nothing more. But then he started suggesting bringing a couple buddies over for “casual hangouts.” At first it was just beers and talking after work. She’d dress a little sluttier each time—tight tops that showed off her cleavage, short skirts or yoga pants that hugged her ass perfectly. I’d watch her get ready, my cock already throbbing, but she’d usually push my hand away with a soft laugh. “He doesn’t like me showing up already wet from someone else,” she’d say, sometimes teasing me with her fingers or mouth but always stopping right before I could finish, leaving me aching while she waited for them.

The first real game night happened on a Friday. She spent extra time getting ready—full makeup, hair down the way he likes it, wearing a tiny black dress that barely covered her thighs and nothing underneath. She told me they were coming over for poker and to have some fun. I asked if I should head out somewhere but she shook her head. “Just stay in the back room. They’ll be in the living room and kitchen.” When they arrived—her boyfriend and two of his friends—I retreated to the bedroom down the hall, door cracked just enough to hear everything clearly.

From how she described it to me later, the night started out almost normal. They set up cards on the dining table, cracked open beers, laughing and trash-talking each other. She played the perfect hostess—bending over to deal cards or grab snacks, giving them teasing flashes up her dress. They switched to strip poker pretty quick, and it was obvious they were rigging it against her after the first couple hands. She lost the third round on purpose, slipping the straps of her dress down and letting her tits spill out. The guys whistled and cheered. Her boyfriend pulled her onto his lap right there at the table, his hands sliding straight up under the dress to find her already soaked. “Look how ready our little hostess is,” he told his friends, spreading her legs wide so they could all see.

The game kept going for a bit, but the cards became background noise fast. She lost another hand and they made her crawl under the table. She dropped to her knees without hesitation, unzipping her boyfriend first and taking his thick cock into her mouth right there while the others kept playing above her. She sucked him slow and deep, gagging softly when he pushed her head down harder. Then they passed her around like it was part of the rules—her lips stretching around the next guy, who was bigger and made her eyes water as she bobbed. Spit dripped down her chin onto the floor. “That’s a good little slut for the boys,” her boyfriend said, his voice casual like they were still just playing cards. “Keep sucking while we finish this hand.”

Soon the table was completely forgotten. They bent her over it, dress hiked all the way up around her waist. Her boyfriend fucked her pussy first from behind, hard and deep, his hips slapping loud against her ass while she tried to keep sucking one of the friends. The whole table shook with every thrust. She told me how full and used she felt already, the way their dirty talk pushed her closer and closer—“Fuck, your girl’s pussy is gripping me so tight.” “This married whore loves getting passed around at home, doesn’t she?” She came hard the first time, moaning loud around the cock in her mouth, not holding anything back because she knew I could hear every single sound from the other room.

They rotated all night, taking turns in every hole. One would pound her pussy or ass while she jerked and sucked the others. They spanked her ass red, pulled her hair, made her thank them after each load—“Thank you for using my holes like this.” At one point they had her on her knees in the middle of the living room floor, taking turns face-fucking her while they talked about the next round of poker like she wasn’t even there except as a warm, wet hole. Cum leaked down her thighs and dripped onto the carpet. They made her crawl around later, licking up any spills while they sat back drinking and laughing. The degradation never stopped—“Our perfect little house slut.” “Bet your man has no idea how much you need this.”

I listened to the whole thing from the bedroom—every moan turning into a scream, every wet slap, every filthy command. It went on for hours. By the time they finally left, she was exhausted, covered in cum, glowing in that way she only does after they’ve really used her. I waited until the door closed and their car pulled away before I came out. The living room was a mess—cards scattered, couch cushions pushed aside, sticky spots everywhere. She was still catching her breath on the floor when I walked in.

These nights have only gotten more intense since then. Movie nights are even wilder because they pretend it’s just casual at first. Last weekend they planned a full marathon at our place—same three guys, maybe a fourth this time. She wore nothing but a sheer little robe when they showed up, popcorn already made like it was going to be a normal evening. They put on some loud action movie, but it turned into background noise almost immediately.

She described being sandwiched right in the middle of the big couch between her boyfriend and one friend from the start. Hands were all over her under the blanket—fingers sliding into her pussy, pinching her nipples, making her drip down her thighs. “Spread those legs wider for us,” they’d tell her casually while the opening credits rolled. She ended up stroking two cocks at once, slow and teasing, while trying to keep her eyes on the screen. Then the blanket got tossed aside and she was on her knees on the cushions, ass up toward one guy while she sucked her boyfriend deep into her throat.

They used her like that for most of the movie—passing her back and forth. One would fuck her from behind in long, hard strokes while she serviced the others with her mouth and hands. The contrast was insane, she said: the loud movie soundtrack mixed with the wet gagging sounds and their low, dirty comments. “Take it deeper, that’s it.” “Your wife’s pussy is so fucking tight even after we’ve all had her.” “Eyes on the screen, slut—watch the movie while we watch you get fucked.”

During a slower scene they made her ride one of them reverse cowgirl so she could “properly watch” the film. She ground down hard on his cock, bouncing while another friend fed her his dick, her tits jiggling with every movement. Her legs shook through another orgasm, and they all cheered like it was part of the show. When the action picked up on screen they got rougher to match—pulling her hair, spanking her ass bright red, face-fucking her until spit ran down her chin. They even double-penetrated her right there on the couch—one in her pussy, the other working into her ass after fingering her open with her own juices. The fullness made her scream, but she pushed back for more, loving how stretched and owned she felt while the movie kept playing.

They took her everywhere—bent over the coffee table during one scene, on her back on the floor with her legs over someone’s shoulders during another. Cum ended up inside her multiple times, on her tits and face, in her mouth. They made her swallow every drop while calling her their movie-night whore, their shared cum dump, the perfect married toy they could use whenever they wanted. She came so many times she lost count, squirting once all over the couch cushions, which they made her clean up later with her tongue while they relaxed and critiqued the plot.

By the time the credits finally rolled and they left, she was wrecked—makeup smeared, hair a mess, body covered in handprints and drying cum, legs shaky. But she looked happier and more satisfied than I’d seen her in a long time. I listened to every second of it from the other room, heart racing, cock throbbing even as I told myself this was still just her exploring, just her fun, nothing that defined us or what we have.

These game nights and movie nights have become the new normal now. Every couple of weeks they’re back, turning our house into their personal playground. She’s always the center of it, getting used in ways that make her moan louder than I’ve ever managed. I stay back in the other room each time, listening to my wife get pleasured and degraded and passed around right here where we live. I keep telling myself it’s just a phase or her way of having some excitement. But hearing her scream their praises, beg for more, and thank them for treating her like their personal slut… it’s changing things in ways I’m not ready to fully admit yet.

After they leave she always comes to find me. She kisses me deep, letting me taste everything that happened, her body still sticky and marked. I pull her close, help her clean up the living room—the empty bottles, the displaced cushions, the evidence of how thoroughly they used her. I love her. This is our reality now, and somehow we keep going.

​

I’m going to be telling this story from my wife’s perspective to help really immerse you in what she’s experiencing these nights. She gives me every filthy detail afterward, sometimes while I’m still wiping up the sticky evidence they leave all over our living room and couch. This is a true story about how her casually dating her old coworker has escalated into something way beyond what either of us expected. What started as secret meets, car fucks, and the occasional public date has turned into him coming over regularly, then bringing his friends along for hangouts right here in our house. Game nights. Movie nights. Evenings where she becomes the main entertainment, getting used by all of them while I stay back in the other room, just listening through the walls. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it all, but hearing her tell me the details later always leaves me in this strange, conflicted state.

It built up slowly after those first few times he started coming to our place. She said it felt so much hotter doing it here instead of sneaking around—knowing it was our furniture, our space, our home. I’d hear the sounds from down the hall: her loud moans, his grunts, the wet slapping of skin, sometimes the couch creaking like it was going to break. I’d tell myself it was just her thing, her fun, nothing more. But then he started suggesting bringing a couple buddies over for “casual hangouts.” At first it was just beers and talking after work. She’d dress a little sluttier each time—tight tops that showed off her cleavage, short skirts or yoga pants that hugged her ass perfectly. I’d watch her get ready, my cock already throbbing, but she’d usually push my hand away with a soft laugh. “He doesn’t like me showing up already wet from someone else,” she’d say, sometimes teasing me with her fingers or mouth but always stopping right before I could finish, leaving me aching while she waited for them.

The first real game night happened on a Friday. She spent extra time getting ready—full makeup, hair down the way he likes it, wearing a tiny black dress that barely covered her thighs and nothing underneath. She told me they were coming over for poker and to have some fun. I asked if I should head out somewhere but she shook her head. “Just stay in the back room. They’ll be in the living room and kitchen.” When they arrived—her boyfriend and two of his friends—I retreated to the bedroom down the hall, door cracked just enough to hear everything clearly.

From how she described it to me later, the night started out almost normal. They set up cards on the dining table, cracked open beers, laughing and trash-talking each other. She played the perfect hostess—bending over to deal cards or grab snacks, giving them teasing flashes up her dress. They switched to strip poker pretty quick, and it was obvious they were rigging it against her after the first couple hands. She lost the third round on purpose, slipping the straps of her dress down and letting her tits spill out. The guys whistled and cheered. Her boyfriend pulled her onto his lap right there at the table, his hands sliding straight up under the dress to find her already soaked. “Look how ready our little hostess is,” he told his friends, spreading her legs wide so they could all see.

The game kept going for a bit, but the cards became background noise fast. She lost another hand and they made her crawl under the table. She dropped to her knees without hesitation, unzipping her boyfriend first and taking his thick cock into her mouth right there while the others kept playing above her. She sucked him slow and deep, gagging softly when he pushed her head down harder. Then they passed her around like it was part of the rules—her lips stretching around the next guy, who was bigger and made her eyes water as she bobbed. Spit dripped down her chin onto the floor. “That’s a good little slut for the boys,” her boyfriend said, his voice casual like they were still just playing cards. “Keep sucking while we finish this hand.”

Soon the table was completely forgotten. They bent her over it, dress hiked all the way up around her waist. Her boyfriend fucked her pussy first from behind, hard and deep, his hips slapping loud against her ass while she tried to keep sucking one of the friends. The whole table shook with every thrust. She told me how full and used she felt already, the way their dirty talk pushed her closer and closer—“Fuck, your girl’s pussy is gripping me so tight.” “This married whore loves getting passed around at home, doesn’t she?” She came hard the first time, moaning loud around the cock in her mouth, not holding anything back because she knew I could hear every single sound from the other room.

They rotated all night, taking turns in every hole. One would pound her pussy or ass while she jerked and sucked the others. They spanked her ass red, pulled her hair, made her thank them after each load—“Thank you for using my holes like this.” At one point they had her on her knees in the middle of the living room floor, taking turns face-fucking her while they talked about the next round of poker like she wasn’t even there except as a warm, wet hole. Cum leaked down her thighs and dripped onto the carpet. They made her crawl around later, licking up any spills while they sat back drinking and laughing. The degradation never stopped—“Our perfect little house slut.” “Bet your man has no idea how much you need this.”

I listened to the whole thing from the bedroom—every moan turning into a scream, every wet slap, every filthy command. It went on for hours. By the time they finally left, she was exhausted, covered in cum, glowing in that way she only does after they’ve really used her. I waited until the door closed and their car pulled away before I came out. The living room was a mess—cards scattered, couch cushions pushed aside, sticky spots everywhere. She was still catching her breath on the floor when I walked in.

These nights have only gotten more intense since then. Movie nights are even wilder because they pretend it’s just casual at first. Last weekend they planned a full marathon at our place—same three guys, maybe a fourth this time. She wore nothing but a sheer little robe when they showed up, popcorn already made like it was going to be a normal evening. They put on some loud action movie, but it turned into background noise almost immediately.

She described being sandwiched right in the middle of the big couch between her boyfriend and one friend from the start. Hands were all over her under the blanket—fingers sliding into her pussy, pinching her nipples, making her drip down her thighs. “Spread those legs wider for us,” they’d tell her casually while the opening credits rolled. She ended up stroking two cocks at once, slow and teasing, while trying to keep her eyes on the screen. Then the blanket got tossed aside and she was on her knees on the cushions, ass up toward one guy while she sucked her boyfriend deep into her throat.

They used her like that for most of the movie—passing her back and forth. One would fuck her from behind in long, hard strokes while she serviced the others with her mouth and hands. The contrast was insane, she said: the loud movie soundtrack mixed with the wet gagging sounds and their low, dirty comments. “Take it deeper, that’s it.” “Your wife’s pussy is so fucking tight even after we’ve all had her.” “Eyes on the screen, slut—watch the movie while we watch you get fucked.”

During a slower scene they made her ride one of them reverse cowgirl so she could “properly watch” the film. She ground down hard on his cock, bouncing while another friend fed her his dick, her tits jiggling with every movement. Her legs shook through another orgasm, and they all cheered like it was part of the show. When the action picked up on screen they got rougher to match—pulling her hair, spanking her ass bright red, face-fucking her until spit ran down her chin. They even double-penetrated her right there on the couch—one in her pussy, the other working into her ass after fingering her open with her own juices. The fullness made her scream, but she pushed back for more, loving how stretched and owned she felt while the movie kept playing.

They took her everywhere—bent over the coffee table during one scene, on her back on the floor with her legs over someone’s shoulders during another. Cum ended up inside her multiple times, on her tits and face, in her mouth. They made her swallow every drop while calling her their movie-night whore, their shared cum dump, the perfect married toy they could use whenever they wanted. She came so many times she lost count, squirting once all over the couch cushions, which they made her clean up later with her tongue while they relaxed and critiqued the plot.

By the time the credits finally rolled and they left, she was wrecked—makeup smeared, hair a mess, body covered in handprints and drying cum, legs shaky. But she looked happier and more satisfied than I’d seen her in a long time. I listened to every second of it from the other room, heart racing, cock throbbing even as I told myself this was still just her exploring, just her fun, nothing that defined us or what we have.

These game nights and movie nights have become the new normal now. Every couple of weeks they’re back, turning our house into their personal playground. She’s always the center of it, getting used in ways that make her moan louder than I’ve ever managed. I stay back in the other room each time, listening to my wife get pleasured and degraded and passed around right here where we live. I keep telling myself it’s just a phase or her way of having some excitement. But hearing her scream their praises, beg for more, and thank them for treating her like their personal slut… it’s changing things in ways I’m not ready to fully admit yet.

After they leave she always comes to find me. She kisses me deep, letting me taste everything that happened, her body still sticky and marked. I pull her close, help her clean up the living room—the empty bottles, the displaced cushions, the evidence of how thoroughly they used her. I love her. This is our reality now, and somehow we keep going.