In the early years, we were all a little wild. Nights out often ended in wild stories, and there was always an unspoken competition to outdo each other.

Will and I both had long-term girlfriends—gorgeous blondes with tight, irresistible bodies. We had swapped stories of our bedroom adventures, but Will and Laura’s sex life was on another level.

One night, after a few drinks, Will confided in me about one of their most thrilling fantasies—being watched.

"You should come down sometime and watch through the window. If you want to come in, I think Laura would be into it."

I was stunned. Was he serious? The idea sent a shiver through me.

"Alright, you're on," I said, calling his bluff.

Weeks passed, and then, after a wild night out, Will gave me a knowing look.

"Tonight's the night."

My heart pounded when the text came through. I hesitated—this was wrong, but undeniably thrilling.

Slipping into their yard under the cover of darkness, I saw the open blinds. Inside, Laura and Will were tangled on the bed, half-dressed and teasing each other.

My pulse raced. Did she know? Had he told her?

Then it got serious. Laura peeled off her top, revealing her perfect, perky breasts, her nipples already stiff with arousal. She straddled Will, teasing him as he took each nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling them, sucking hard. The sight alone sent a pulse of heat through me, my cock twitching in my jeans.

And then, she moved lower. Will’s boxers came off, and his thick, hard cock sprang free. Laura flicked her hair back and descended on him, her lips wrapping around his shaft with expert precision, her tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep into her throat.

My breath hitched. Was she playing for an audience? Her eyes flickered toward the window more than once, and I knew she saw me.

I couldn’t resist anymore. My hand drifted to my jeans, freeing my growing erection. I stroked myself slowly, matching her rhythm as she sucked him greedily, moaning around his length.

She took him deep, gagging slightly, saliva dripping down her chin as she worked him with her mouth, her hands, her tongue. Then, without hesitation, she climbed atop him, lowering herself onto his slick, throbbing length. Her tight, wet pussy swallowed him inch by inch, her head falling back in pleasure as she began to ride him.

She moved with wild abandon, grinding her hips, rolling them, fucking him hard. Will gripped her hips, guiding her as she bounced on his cock, her moans getting louder. They switched positions, and he flipped her onto all fours, his hands gripping her ass as he slammed into her from behind.

Her moans broke through the windowpane, sending a fresh wave of arousal through me. My hand wrapped around my cock, stroking as I watched her ass bounce with every thrust. Her pussy stretched around him, glistening with her juices as he fucked her harder.

Then, the moment shifted—Will pulled out and beckoned her to the floor. She obeyed eagerly, kneeling before him, her tongue flicking over his swollen tip as he stroked himself furiously.

The tension was unbearable.

With a deep groan, Will climaxed, his thick ropes of cum spilling over her face, her breasts, her waiting tongue. She moaned, licking her lips, savoring every drop, rubbing his seed into her tits like it was the finest lotion.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. My own release hit me hard, my cum spilling over my hand as I watched her shudder with her own orgasm, fingers buried deep inside herself.

And then, as if she had known all along, she glanced toward the window with a teasing smile before reaching up and closing the blinds.

The walk away was a blur, my heart still racing from what I had just witnessed.

Later, Will played it coy. "We were drunk," he said, "but you should have come in. You were welcome."

I told myself I was glad I stayed loyal to my girlfriend—now my wife.

But the thought never truly left me.

Years passed, and the conversations with Will continued. He was drawn to my wife—her curves, her confidence. He wanted to know what she liked, what turned her on.

One night, drunk and playful, we came close to another moment. My wife, lounging in just her lingerie, climbed into bed, her body on full display.

Will, emboldened by alcohol, slid in beside her. His hand traced the curve of her ass, his fingers grazing her lace panties. She stirred but didn’t protest. The heat between us was palpable.

Later, he confessed he had touched the soft tuft of hair between her legs—just for a moment, but enough to send a jolt through him.

We never crossed the line, but the tension remained.

Years later, I gave him a small taste of what he wanted. A single photo—my wife’s perfect, round tits, exposed just for him.

He used it to get off, begging me for more.

He still asks. And sometimes, I consider it.

After all, she is one sexy, insatiable bitch.