My Slut Wife’s Bull Fucks Her While I Watch, Begging for Her Leftovers

I’m bent over the kitchen counter, my ass in the air, as he slams into me from behind. Her moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain. ‘Is this what you wanted, you little slut?’ he growls, his hands gripping my hips so tight it hurts. I can feel every inch of him, stretching me, owning me. Her eyes meet mine in the reflection of the window, a mix of lust and triumph. ‘You’re such a good little cuck,’ she whispers, her voice dripping with satisfaction. I’m just a toy for them, a plaything to use and abuse. And I fucking love it. The counter digs into my skin, marking me, claiming me. I’m their property, their whore, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Her fingers find my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts, pushing me closer to the edge. I’m a mess of sensations, a puppet to their desires. And when I come, it’s with a scream that echoes through the house, a testament to my submission, my devotion. I’m just a fantasy, a dirty little secret they share. And I’m okay with that. More than okay. I’m fucking ecstatic.