Rob’s a fucking asshole, but God, that dick—nine inches of t..

Rob’s a fucking asshole, but God, that dick—nine inches of thick, veiny perfection swinging between his legs like a cum cannon. He’s good-looking, built, and cocky, but the moment he opens his mouth, you want to slap him. Loud and crude, obnoxious as hell—except when he’s got me pinned down, and that fat cock is splitting me open. Then…I don’t give a shit what he says. He knows how to use it, and that’s what keeps me coming back. He’s got this swagger, this way of moving that cock inside me—slow at first, teasing, then hard and deep until I’m a moaning, dripping wreck. It’s like his dick’s got a mind of its own, overriding every annoying word that fly’s out of his mouth, and I’m hooked, married or not. My boyfriend Jake makes me want to avoid Rob, but my pussy overrides that decision every time.

Rob loves that I’m Scott’s wife—loves the thrill of disrespecting him right by using his wife as a cum sponge for his dick. “Your husband’s a loser,” he growled into my ear as he was bending me over the couch, yanking my shorts down while I was soaking wet from thinking about that massive rod. He spread my ass cheek, popped out my butt plug, and spit on my hole. He lined his dick up and slipped that fat head in my ass, and he leaned over and said in my ear, “I’m going to grease your colon, slut.” And like that was the magic phrase, it’s like my asshole just lubed itself up, and he was in—pushing past the tight ring, stretching my asshole wide, making me gasp and claw at the cushions. It felt deliciously filthy and intense, that fat cock filling me up, sliding deeper until I feel him in my gut, every inch penetrating my body. He fucks me like he owns me, grunting, slapping my ass, telling me, “Scott can’t do this—can’t make you scream like a bitch in heat.” And I do scream, my pussy dripping even as my ass takes the pounding because he’s right—Scott’s got nothing on this.

Rob cums like a fucking animal—deep, hard spurts, unloading right inside my asshole until it’s a hot, sticky mess. “There’s my grease job,” he laughs, pulling out slowly so I feel every inch drag, his cum leaking out, slicking my thighs. I let him do it—let him flood my colon—because that dick’s worth it. He’ll grab my hair after, smirking, and say, “Tell Scott how I painted your guts, huh? Tell him his wife’s a cum-dump for a real man.” It’s disrespectful as hell, and he gets off on it—on knowing he’s marking me in ways Scott can’t touch. I put up with his shit, his loudmouth attitude because when that nine-inch monster’s slipping inside me—ass or pussy, it doesn’t matter—I’m lost, panting, willing to take every obnoxious jab just to feel him stretch me again.

And then there’s the best part that lights me up inside. I love going home to Scott, my ass still pumped full of Rob’s sperm, that hot, sloppy mess sloshing in my colon with every step. I walk through the door, thighs slick, my hole throbbing and oozing, and I can feel it—another man’s thick, slimy load, fresh from his balls, sitting heavy inside me. It’s a mental high like nothing else—knowing I let Rob unload his testicles into my holes that I spread myself wide for him and took every drop while Scott sits at home wondering what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. I’ll sit across from my husband, smirking, my ass clenching around that cum, imagining it dripping out onto the chair as I look at him. I said, “Well, I had a good night,” thinking how Rob fucked me raw, shot his seed so deep I’m still carrying it, and he will never measure up. It’s filthy, it’s wrong, and it gets me wet all over again—this power, this rush of owning Scott with every sticky trace of Rob inside me. I love him, my sweet, cuck husband, but God, I love this more—coming home wrecked, claimed, my ass a dripping trophy of another man’s balls emptied into me.