r/ShareSexStories

The clinic results sat on the kitchen table like a quiet execution order. Ethan’s count was so low the doctor had used the phrase “functionally infertile.” Claire had cried in the car. Ethan had driven with one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh, already feeling like he had failed her in the most basic way a husband could.

They wanted a child. Not a syringe. Not a sterile room. Claire needed the heat and the risk and the claiming. Ethan needed something he had jerked off to for years in secret: watching another man take her, fill her, use her. The infertility diagnosis simply gave them permission.

That night he said it into the dark.

“What if we did it the old way. Just not with me.”

He laid it out carefully. Eight to ten vetted men. Full panels. Contracts. No names. No faces. Claire blindfolded the entire time so the biological father would stay anonymous. They would tell both families it was a clinic donation—race didn’t matter, only a healthy baby. Ethan would be right there the whole time, watching, directing, encouraging.

Claire was silent for a long time. Then she asked the only question that mattered.

“Would you really be okay watching another man fuck me?”

Ethan’s voice was rough. “I’ve wanted it for years. This just gives us a reason that isn’t only about my cock.”

She kissed him hard.

“Okay. But I want it to feel like a ritual.”

The night arrived on a cool September Friday. The bedroom was low light and black sheets. Claire wore only a black robe. Ethan’s hands were steady when he tied the silk blindfold behind her head.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

He opened the robe and guided her onto the bed, spreading her thighs. She was already wet. He could smell her.

The first man entered—a tall Black man with a heavy, thick cock that hung half-hard between his thighs. He undressed without speaking. Ethan watched him stroke himself once, then nodded.

“Get him hard for me, baby,” Ethan said quietly. “Use your mouth.”

Claire’s breath caught. She opened her mouth obediently. The man stepped closer and guided the thick head between her lips. She moaned around him as she took him in, tongue working the underside, saliva already slicking the shaft. The contrast of his dark skin against her pale lips made Ethan’s cock throb.

God, that’s not Ethan.

The thought hit her hard as the heavy cock pushed deeper, stretching her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, tasting clean skin and the first salty drop of precum.

Ethan stroked himself through his jeans, voice low and rough.

“That’s it. Get that big Black cock nice and hard so he can breed you. Such a good girl.”

The man groaned and thickened fully against her tongue. When he pulled free, a string of spit connected her bottom lip to the swollen head. He climbed between her thighs and pushed into her in one slow, heavy stroke—missionary, deep and deliberate.

Claire cried out—loud, unrestrained.

“Fuck—he’s so thick—”

Ethan leaned forward.

“Does that cock feel good in your tight little pussy? Is he stretching you open?”

“Yes—god, yes—he’s stretching me—” Her moans turned continuous as the man started fucking her in deep, measured thrusts. Wet sounds filled the room.

The man above her chuckled darkly. “Married pussy feels even better when it’s this wet. Listen to that cunt.”

Claire’s thighs started to shake.

“Ethan—he’s going to make me come—I’m close—”

“Good girl. Come on his cock. Let him feel it.”

She broke with a loud, broken cry, hips jerking up to meet every thrust. The man buried himself deep and came hard, pulsing thick ropes inside her. When he pulled out, a heavy trickle of come followed.

The second man was Hispanic—shorter, powerfully built, with a thick, slightly curved cock. Ethan didn’t make her suck this one first. Instead he stood, stripped, and climbed onto the bed beside her head.

“Open,” he ordered.

Claire opened her mouth. Ethan slid his cock between her lips just as the Hispanic man flipped her onto her hands and knees. He pushed into her from behind in one smooth stroke—doggy style—gripping her hips and driving deep.

The dual sensation ripped a filthy moan out of her throat that vibrated around Ethan’s shaft.

Two cocks. One in my mouth, one stretching my pussy from behind. I’m being used like a toy and I love it.

Ethan fucked her mouth in slow, shallow strokes while the man behind her slammed into her harder, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the room.

“Look at you,” Ethan growled. “Taking cock in both ends. Such a perfect little breeding slut. Does that thick Hispanic cock feel good while you suck your husband’s dick?”

Claire moaned loudly around him, drool running down her chin. The man fucking her gripped her hips tighter and started pounding deeper.

“She’s a screamer even with a cock in her mouth,” the man muttered. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”

Claire pulled off Ethan just long enough to gasp,

“Ethan—he’s going to make me come—fuck—I’m right there—”

“Come. Loud. I want to hear it even with my cock in your throat.”

He pushed back into her mouth as she shattered, screaming around him, body convulsing. The Hispanic man cursed and slammed deep, flooding her with another thick load.

By the fourth man—an East Asian man with a long, elegant cock that curved upward—Claire was already a loud, dripping mess. Ethan made her suck him hard first. She took him deep, gagging softly when he hit the back of her throat, saliva running down her chin and onto her breasts.

“Get him ready,” Ethan murmured, stroking her hair. “He’s going to breed that used little pussy next.”

The man lay back on the bed. Ethan guided Claire to straddle him. She sank down slowly onto the long, upward-curving cock—cowgirl—moaning the entire way as it dragged against her front wall.

“Oh fuck—he’s hitting it perfectly—Ethan—”

“Is he stretching you out, baby? Can you feel how full you already are?”

“Yes—yes—I’m so full of come and he’s still pushing deeper—”

She started riding him, hands braced on his chest, belly and breasts moving with every bounce. The man gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her. Claire’s voice climbed higher.

“Ethan—he’s going to make me come—I can’t stop it—”

“Don’t stop it. Come for him. Make a mess.”

She screamed through the orgasm, thighs shaking violently as she ground down hard. The man groaned and buried himself to the hilt, adding his load to the growing flood inside her.

By the seventh she was wrecked and glowing. Come coated her thighs and the sheets. Every new cock forced more of it out in filthy squelches. Ethan alternated between watching and using her mouth while she got pounded in different positions.

One of the later men—a second Black man, even thicker than the first—bent her over the edge of the bed. He pushed into her from behind while Ethan stood in front of her and fed his cock back into her mouth.

“That’s it,” Ethan praised, voice tight with arousal. “Suck my cock while he stretches that married cunt. You’re doing so fucking well. Such a good girl for me.”

Claire moaned continuously around him, loud and broken, spit-slick and desperate. When the man hit a particularly deep spot she pulled off just long enough to cry out,

“Ethan—he’s going to make me come again—please—”

“Come. Let him feel that tight pussy milking him.”

She did—screaming, body locking up—while the man flooded her and Ethan held her hair, watching every second.

Another man took her in prone bone, pressing her flat into the mattress and grinding deep while she clawed at the sheets and told Ethan exactly how close she was.

It was during the next round—Claire on her back again, legs hooked over a strong pair of arms, a thick cock driving into her without pause—that Ethan leaned in close.

“How do you feel right now?” he asked, voice low enough that only she could hear.

Claire’s answer came out soft, almost careful between moans.

“I feel… good. Really good.”

Ethan smiled. He knew that tone. Safe. Polite. Holding back.

The man fucking her shifted angle and started hitting deeper. Claire’s breath hitched. Her thighs began to tremble. Another orgasm was building fast.

Ethan pressed harder, voice turning rougher, dirtier.

“Don’t give me the nice answer. You’re blindfolded, full of strangers’ come, getting fucked like a toy in our bed while I watch. Tell me how you really feel. Right now. While he’s stretching that married pussy.”

Claire’s moans grew louder, more desperate. The edge was right there.

“Ethan—”

“Admit it,” he ordered, close to her ear. “Say it.”

Her voice cracked into a raw, shameless moan as the orgasm crashed over her.

“I feel like a slut—!”

The man above her groaned and kept thrusting through her climax, forcing the words out of her in broken gasps.

Ethan stroked her cheek, still relentless.

“Do you like it? Being a slut for all these men? Getting bred while your husband watches?”

Claire was panting, shaking, completely gone.

“Yes—yes, I do—I like it—fuck, I like it so much—”

The confession seemed to push the man over the edge. He slammed deep and came hard, adding another thick load to the mess already pouring out of her.

The tenth and final man was in a category of his own.

He was tall, broad, and silent. When he stepped into the light and dropped his pants, even Ethan’s breath caught. The cock that hung between his legs was enormous—easily nine or ten inches long, and so thick that the girth was slightly larger than a can of Red Bull. Heavy veins ran along the shaft. The head was flared and already dark with blood.

Claire, still blindfolded, had no idea what was coming until Ethan guided her to her knees and said quietly,

“Open. This one’s… special. Get him as hard as you can.”

She opened her mouth. The moment the massive head pushed between her lips she made a startled, muffled sound. She could barely stretch wide enough. Saliva poured down her chin as she tried to take even a few inches. Her jaw ached almost immediately.

Jesus Christ—what is that?

Ethan stroked her hair, voice low and reverent.

“That’s it. Suck what you can. He’s going to ruin that little pussy for me.”

When the man finally pulled free, the head glistened with her spit. He turned her onto her back, hooked her knees over his elbows, and lined up. The blunt, oversized head pressed against her come-slick entrance. Claire whimpered as he started to push.

The stretch was brutal.

She cried out—loud, raw, almost disbelieving—as inch after thick inch forced its way inside her. Her belly tensed. Her hands flew to his forearms.

“Ethan—oh my god—he’s huge—he’s splitting me open—”

“I know, baby. Breathe. You’re taking it so well. Such a good girl.”

The man kept going until he was fully seated, his heavy balls resting against her. Claire was shaking, mouth open, moaning on every exhale. He started to fuck her in long, powerful strokes that moved her entire body up the bed. The wet, obscene sound of her overstretched cunt taking that girth filled the room.

Ethan leaned in close, stroking himself.

“Does that enormous cock feel good in your tight little married pussy? Can you feel him rearranging you?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—it’s so deep—I can feel him in my stomach—” Her moans had gone completely shameless, loud enough to echo. “Ethan—he’s going to make me come—I can’t hold it—he’s too big—”

“Don’t hold it. Come on that monster cock. Let him feel you.”

She shattered with a raw, broken scream, body convulsing around the impossible stretch. The man growled, slammed as deep as he could go, and came hard—thick, heavy pulses that had nowhere to go but out around his shaft in messy overflows.

When he finally pulled free, Claire’s cunt stayed open for a moment, a wide, glistening gape that slowly fluttered shut as a massive flood of combined come poured out of her and soaked the sheets.

The room went quiet except for Claire’s ragged breathing.

Ethan removed the blindfold carefully. Claire’s eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and shiny. She looked completely ruined and completely blissful.

“How many?” she whispered.

“Ten.”

She reached between her legs, felt the slick, overflowing mess, and shivered.

“Your turn,” she said. “Even if it’s just for show.”

Ethan pushed into her easily. She was so open and full and filthy that the slide was almost effortless. He fucked her slowly at first, then harder, chasing his own release while he watched her face.

Claire moaned for him too—softer now, but still loud enough to fill the room.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her mouth. “Take my cock after all of them. Such a good girl.”

When he came it was with a broken groan, adding his negligible contribution to the mess already inside her.

Afterward he cleaned her gently, kissing the marks on her hips and the soft insides of her thighs. Claire dozed against him, sticky and sated, still twitching with aftershocks.

Three weeks later the test was positive.

The pregnancy changed everything—and nothing.

Claire glowed. By the end of the first trimester the soft curve of her belly was already visible, and by five months it had become a proud, rounded statement beneath every dress she wore. Her skin looked luminous. Her hair grew thicker. Her eyes stayed bright. And her sex drive, already healthy, became almost feral.

She woke him with her mouth more mornings than not. She pulled him into the shower, onto the kitchen counter, against the wall in the hallway the second the front door closed. She rode him slow and deep while her belly rested against his stomach, whispering filthy reminders of the night that had put the baby there. Sometimes she asked him to talk about it—how she had looked with another man’s cock stretching her, how much come had leaked out of her, how hard he had gotten watching. Ethan never refused. The memory had become their private language, a shared heat that kept the marriage feeling brand-new.

They were more open about everything now. Sex. Fantasies. The future. Arguments that used to linger for days dissolved in an afternoon. It felt like the honeymoon phase had simply never ended; it had only deepened.

By the first day of summer she was five and a half months along.

The house was full—both sets of parents, siblings, aunts, cousins, the long table crowded with food and laughter. Claire moved through it all like she belonged on a postcard. She wore a soft cream sundress that skimmed her belly and fell to mid-calf, pearl earrings, her hair loose and shining. The women clustered around her in the living room, hands resting on the curve of her stomach, asking about the nursery, the kicks, the due date. She smiled and answered every question with easy warmth, the perfect picture of a glowing, proper expectant mother.

Ethan stood near the doorway with a glass of wine he wasn’t really drinking, watching her.

She laughed at something her sister said, one hand absently stroking the side of her belly. The cream fabric caught the light. She looked almost angelic—soft, radiant, untouchable.

And all he could see was the opposite.

He saw her the way she would look in a few hours: the dress on the floor, her body flushed and sweating, thighs shiny, come streaked across her skin and leaking down between her legs. He saw her on her knees or on her back, moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors, telling him exactly how full she still felt when she remembered that night. He saw the way her pregnant body would move under him, heavier, softer, hungrier than ever.

His cock stirred against his zipper. He shifted his weight and took a slow sip of wine to hide the smile that pulled at his mouth.

Claire glanced over at that exact moment, caught his eyes, and gave him the smallest private look—knowing, wicked, full of promise. Then she turned back to the circle of women and continued the conversation as if nothing in the world existed beyond casserole recipes and baby names.

Ethan exhaled, content.

He couldn’t wait to get her home.

The End?