Tom’s always been my wild card. Three years into our marriage, and he’s still the guy who gets me—really gets me. Our open marriage is proof of that. He’s fine with me hooking up with Black guys whenever the mood strikes; something about the contrast, the heat of it, sets me on fire. He loves hearing about it after, too, his eyes dark with that mix of pride and lust. But lately, I’ve been feeling like it’s time to balance the scales. He deserves a taste of freedom too. That’s where Crystal comes in.
Crystal and I were tight back in college. She’s this blonde knockout— perky boobs that strain against every top she wears, and an ass so round and firm it’s practically sculpted. I’ve seen Tom sneak glances at her before when she’d visit, his jaw tightening just a little, and I couldn’t blame him. She’s a fantasy on legs. So last week, I invited her to grab coffee at this little spot near my place, a cozy café with mismatched chairs and the smell of roasted beans in the air. We settled into a corner table, steaming mugs of latte between us, the foam on hers dusted with a little heart-shaped sprinkle of cinnamon.
I stirred my coffee, watching the cream swirl, and decided to just go for it. “So, what do you think of Tom?” I asked, keeping my tone light, like we were just gossiping about old crushes.
Crystal’s eyes lit up, her lips curling into a sly smile as she leaned in, blonde hair falling over one shoulder. “He’s fucking hot, Maya. Always has been,” she said, her voice low, like she was letting me in on a secret.
I grinned, feeling a spark of excitement ignite in my chest. I leaned closer, my voice dropping to match hers. “What if I let him fuck you? Open marriage perk,” I said, watching her face for any hint of hesitation.
There was none. Her eyes widened for a split second, then she broke into a huge smile, setting her mug down with a soft clink. “Hell yes. I’m so in,” she said, her voice practically vibrating with eagerness. She reached across the table, squeezing my hand, her nails painted a glossy red. “You’re serious, right? Because I’m not kidding—I’d be all over that.”
I laughed, the sound a little shaky with how fast my heart was racing. The excitement buzzed through me, electric and sharp, as I nodded. “Dead serious. Let’s make it happen.”
The night rolled around, and Crystal showed up at our place looking like sin in tight yoga pants that clung to her thighs and ass like a second skin, her top dipping low to show off that cleavage. Tom’s eyes practically burned holes through her when he let her in. We popped open a bottle of red wine—some cheap Pinot Noir we had lying around—and poured three glasses. The living room filled with that rich, tangy scent as we sipped and chatted, catching up on dumb college stories. But the tension was thick, electric, and I knew it wouldn’t stay tame for long.
About halfway through the bottle, Tom made his move. He leaned over on the couch, grabbed Crystal’s face, and kissed her passionately. It was raw, messy, tongues clashing, her hands fisting in his shirt like she couldn’t get close enough. I sank into the armchair across from them, wineglass in hand, my pulse thudding in my throat as I watched. They didn’t waste time. Tom yanked those yoga pants down, exposing her bare ass—smooth and perfect—and then he was on his knees, spreading her thighs, his mouth diving between her legs. He ate her out like a man possessed, his tongue working her clit.
Crystal’s head fell back, her fingers digging into the couch, gasping, “Fuck, Tom, yes!” She came hard, her body jerking, thighs trembling as she drenched his face.
I took a slow sip of wine, heat pooling low in my belly. Tom stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He bent her over the couch, her ass up, pussy glistening from her orgasm. No condom—just raw, primal need. He lined up that massive cock of his—thick, veined, the kind that stretches you to the edge—and slammed into her. Crystal’s cry was sharp, her body lurching forward as he buried himself balls-deep. I couldn’t look away. His shaft glistened with her juices, sliding out slow—every inch of him coated—then plunging back in, splitting her open. Her pussy lips gripped him tight, stretched wide around his girth, and the wet, filthy sound of him fucking her filled the room. He pounded her hard, relentless, his balls slapping her clit with every thrust, her ass jiggling from the force.
My mind was a mess watching it. He’s huge—bigger than I even remember sometimes. I could see her pussy clenching around him, taking every brutal inch, and I wondered how it felt for her, that mix of pain and pleasure as he stretched her to her limits. I shifted in my chair, thighs pressing together, my own arousal soaking through my panties. Part of me wanted to be her, to feel him splitting me like that again, but watching—fuck, it was hotter than I’d imagined. His cock disappeared into her over and over, slick and obscene, her moans turning into these desperate little whimpers. I could see the tension in his back, the way his hands gripped her hips, leaving red marks on her pale skin.
I leaned forward, wine sloshing in my glass. “You okay, Crystal?”
She didn’t answer—just turned her head, her face flushed, giving me this dazed look. Half smile, half grimace, like she was too far gone to speak. Tom didn’t slow down, his thrusts getting sloppy, deeper, and then he groaned loud, his hips jerking hard as he came inside her. I could picture it—his thick cum pumping into her, filling her up, no barrier between them. Jealousy stabbed me, sharp and quick—he’s mine—but it melted into this dark, thrilling heat that left me breathless.
We sat there after, panting, sipping wine like nothing wild had just happened. Crystal tugged her pants back on, her cheeks pink, and mumbled something about crashing in the guest room. Tom and I headed to our bedroom, and I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I was so turned on, so satisfied by the whole damn night, that I curled into his chest and crashed hard, his steady breathing pulling me under.
But sometime later, I woke up alone. The bed was empty, the sheets cold. I slipped out, barefoot, and followed the faint noises down the hall. The guest room door was ajar, and there they were—Tom and Crystal, at it again. She was on her back, legs hooked over his shoulders, and he was drilling into her, the headboard slamming the wall with every thrust. Thump-thump-thump. Her moans were loud, needy, his grunts raw and animalistic. I stood there, hidden in the dark, my heart pounding. His cock pistoned into her, wet and relentless, and I could hear the slick sound of her taking him, over and over. He came again, growling her name, his body shuddering as he emptied into her a second time.
I snuck back to bed, my mind spinning, body aching with want. When Tom slid in beside me later, he was hot, sweaty, his arm heavy as it draped over me. I pressed closer, breathing him in—sex and sweat and Crystal’s perfume clinging to his skin. That jealousy flickered again, but it was nothing next to the fire roaring through me. I wanted this again—needed it. The rawness, the thrill, the way it twisted me up inside. As I drifted off, I was already plotting the next time Crystal would come over, already imagining how we’d push it even further.
