I pulled up to the house, the engine humming softly as S leaned over for a quick kiss. She looked stunning in her short skirt and blouse that hugged her curves just right—beautiful, but with that edge that always drove me wild. “Have a good evening” I said, my voice a little dryer than usual. We both knew what this evening was about. This visit to J had been planned for months, and last night, in bed, we’d discussed our feelings . She was going to let it happen.

“Text me updates?” I asked, heart pounding.

She grinned mischievously. “Oh, definitely. You’ll know everything.”

I watched her ass sway as she walked up to the house. The door was opened and J greeted her with a smile and a kiss. She hammed it up and made a big play of kissing him seductively, then looked over her shoulder and waved me goodbye. I waved back, blew her a kiss then drove to the pub down the street.

Once I arrived I ordered myself a pint and settled into a corner booth, phone on the table like it was glued there.

The first text came ten minutes later: “In his lounge now. He’s pouring the wine. 😏”

My cock twitched because I knew she was probably opening the blouse for him to return to the treat of her exposed tits. I sipped my beer, imagining it.

Another ten minutes, a photo. S on her knees in  J’s lounge, her lips wrapped around his generously proportioned cock.

Caption: “Tasting him already. So thick.”

Fuck. I shifted in my seat, getting hard. Another buzz: “He just pulled my blouse open. Sucking my tits while I stroke him.”

I replied: “Tell me more.”

Then pictures: one of J’s hand up her skirt, fingers buried in her pussy. Another of her laying back on his sofa, skirt hiked up, legs apart and J knelt between them. His cockhead pressing against her pussy.

“He’s fucking me now,” the text read. “Bareback. Feels so good.”

I touched my cock through my jeans discreetly, hard at the thought of it.

Then: “we’ve moved upstairs. On the bed. He’s in me so deep.”

A video clip—short and blurred: obviously taken by J. S moaning loudly as he thrust into her from behind, her tits bouncing, his free hand gripping her hips. I heard her voice, barely audible “Yes, fuck me harder!”

Finally, after about an hour, another text: “He’s filled me with fresh cum. Come and pick me up in 10?”

I finished my pint and raced back, parking outside.

S emerged, hair ruffled, a satisfied glow on her face. She slid into the passenger seat, skirt riding up.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly, spreading her legs. Basque still unfastened at the crutch. Her pussy was red, swollen, glistening with fresh cum leaking out.

“Look,” she whispered, dipping fingers inside and pulling them out coated in thick white cum. J’s load, oozing from her well-fucked pussy.

I groaned, reaching over to touch. It was warm, sticky. She guided my hand, making me rub it over her clit.

“See how much he gave me? He came loads.”

That night, we chatted for ages, her telling every detail—how he bent her over the sofa, stretched her pussy and how she felt him grow wider as he fucked her. How she enjoyed knowing that I was waiting for updates and how she had looked forward to seeing me and telling me how it all went.  She wanked my stiff cock as we talked and I cum harder than I had for a long time, happy that we’d finally fulfilled my long held fantasy.