We were done. Not relationship done, just done with decisions. Between work and moving and remodeling our new house, we were both just mentally drained. I wanted him, my husband, to fuck me. And he wanted me to fuck him. But neither of us wanted to have to do anything. We were just tired, so we did what companies do when they need something done but don’t want to do it; we outsourced the fucking.
I don’t even remember who brought it up, but I remember updating my long-forgotten Tinder profile. That night we had a match. His name was Ryan. And he looked just as delicious in person as in his online photos. Six-foot-three, tanned, toned but not overly muscular. In shape for sure. Smooth skin, well groomed, perfect blondish brown hair, 31 years old, and just the right amount of stubble to tickle my thighs. We chatted online that night, first just Ryan and I, and when we concluded that he just may be the one, we exchanged numbers and had a three-way texting session. The next night we met for drinks near his house. Drinks didn’t last long. But the fucking did.
I wore a short black pleated skirt with a white top that showed no cleavage but definitely accentuated my boobs. My husbands tried to play with me before I left, but I made him wait. “You were too tired to fuck me last night, so now another man will. And you will just have to watch.” He smiled and called me a naughty slut. That made my panties wet, as if they weren’t already by the thought of another guy about to be inside me. I’m wet just writing about it now. We followed Ryan to his place, his lips were on mine as he opened the door. He led me to the bedroom, my husband followed. His place was clean and nice. Smelled great, and perfectly decorated. We didn’t want a slob. We actually made him give us a tour via Facetime the night before. What he didn’t show us was the St Andrew’s cross in his bedroom. Maybe it was hidden during the video session. He pushed me against it. Within seconds I was down to my bra and panties.
We talked about consent during our texting session. Nothing was off limits until someone said the safe word. Then everything was to stop. We would regroup or quit altogether. No one ever used the safe word.
Ryan quickly bounded my wrists and ankles to the cross. “Kneel on the floor next to my slut,” he commanded my husband. “And undress.” Hubby did as he was told. His shirt, jeans, and boxers came off in a dizzying flash. And there he was, on his knees next to me. My slut. Fuck, those words have me tingling now as much as then. He didn’t refer to me as my husband’s wife, or lover, or even my husband’s slut. I was Ryan’s. Tied up in his room. On this X shaped cross wearing almost nothing. Fucking hot!
Ryan undressed to his boxers and then put his hand on my crotch. He felt the wetness through the lace. He rubbed me hard. Very hard. “You are nothing but a little slut, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes. A total slut. Your slut.”
He looked down at my husband. “Did you hear that? She is mine. Her body is all mine.” My husband looked up at him like a puppy dog, but I could tell he was getting turned on. “And I am going to use her like the dumb little cumslut that she is, and there is nothing you can do about it. Isn’t that right.”
“Yes,” my husband said. Eager to see what happened next.
[Click here](https://averymontgomery.medium.com/dominated-while-my-husband-watched-769a06738504) to see what happened next and just how much many times did I cum?
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/w45dup/dominated_by_another_man_while_my_husband_watched