The first time I shared her, what stayed with me wasn’t what I expected. Not the act itself, and not even seeing another man’s hands on her body. It was how normal it felt in the moment. Nothing about it felt forced. It honestly felt like her body already knew where it wanted to turn before anything even happened.
Everything shifted when she started talking. She wasn’t narrating or putting on a performance. She was just speaking in that slow voice, fully aware of what it was doing to me while I watched. I remember how she turned toward him without any hesitation. No drama, no show. Just instinct. Her posture relaxed as she stood naked in front of him, the second his mouth found hers and his hands started moving over her.
She opened up for him when he grabbed her ass and kneaded it hard. When he squeezed her tits and brushed her clit with his thumb — slow at first, then rougher — pulling gasps out of her that she didn’t even try to hide. Her thighs parted on their own when his fingers slipped into her pussy. Her body reacted before she even had time to think about it. That soft sound she made stuck with me, the way she arched into his hand like she needed it. She wasn’t acting. She wanted it.
“Don’t stop looking,” she said. “Watch how horny he makes me.” Her voice was calm when she said it. “Keep wanking for me. I love knowing you’re watching while I get fucked, baby.”
That’s when it hit me. It wasn’t jealousy or fear. It felt like permission. Watching her let him touch her, letting another man focus on her while she was still mine, did something to me right away. I felt it in my gut before I even had time to process it. My dick got hard in seconds. My breathing changed and my pulse picked up. It didn’t hit all at once, but it stayed there the whole time.
What really messed with me was how badly I wanted to see it happen in front of me. Not just knowing it was happening. Actually watch it. Her face changing as he fucked her tight pussy, her jaw tightening, the way she kissed him harder when he picked up the pace. There was a clear moment when she stopped thinking and just felt it. You could see how exposed she was and how much she liked it. Her breathing changed, her posture changed, and moans slipped out before she could stop them.
Another man was learning her body in real time while I already knew exactly how she sounded when she finally came. I watched everything. The way she opened her legs for his massive cock, how she dug her nails into his back, lost in the heat and in the way he made her feel. How she arched and pushed her ass back, adjusting on all fours until she found the angle that worked for her.
I watched her take him deep into her throat, sucking hungrily, lips stretched, tongue dragging over the head — her eyes never leaving mine. She didn’t look away for a second. She wanted to make sure I was watching. That I saw everything. That I knew she was doing it for me.
And instead of jealousy, I got hard again. I didn’t feel replaced. I felt switched on. The sounds of them, the way her body reacted to him, the way she swallowed him with that tension in her throat — just holding that image in my head made my hands shake.
Because in that moment, I wasn’t watching her being taken. I was watching her choose. And it only made me want her more. To take her back afterwards and make her mine again.
That’s when it clicked for me. This wasn’t about losing her. It was about how I reacted to her desire. And my reaction was obvious. The clearer the image got in my head, the harder I got. I couldn’t stop touching myself. I came so hard it knocked the breath out of me, like my body and my head finally lined up at the same time.
Seeing her like that didn’t push me away from her. If anything, it pulled me closer.
