Biggest Dick Gets the Attention: Part 2

The bedroom door clicked shut.

I sat there on the couch, pants still down around my thighs, dick still stiff in my hand, and her taste—his taste—still thick on my tongue. It was warm, wet, unmistakable. The kiss Amanda had given me wasn’t just a gesture. It was a brand. A signature. A transfer of ownership.

And Roman had signed it.

I don’t even know how it happened so fast. One second we were watching soccer, the next… my wife was on her knees in front of my best friend, lips wrapped around his cock, while I watched—like a guest in my own marriage. Not just a guest… a witness. A submissive. A spectator.

And the worst part?

I liked it.

No… I loved it.

Every detail replayed in my mind with sharp clarity. Her casual shrug—“a game is a game.” The way she looked at me when she said, “you’re turned on by how much bigger he is, aren’t you?” The slight smirk on Roman’s face when he said, “Come kiss her. I want you to taste me on your wife’s lips.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.

And I obeyed.

That kiss… it broke something open inside me. A dam, maybe. A wall. I didn’t just taste him—I felt him. Felt the power shift. Felt the way Amanda’s mouth had worked for him. Felt how thick and dominant he was, how easily he’d taken control of the moment, of her, of me. Like it was nothing. Like it was always meant to be this way.

Roman had cucked me. Right there. In my own living room.

And she let him.

No—she wanted it.

I leaned back into the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling like it could give me answers. But all it gave me was the muffled sound of a bed creaking through the wall. Then a soft gasp. Her gasp. Amanda.

My wife.

Being fucked by another man in the next room.

Roman’s voice rumbled low, barely audible. Amanda giggled, then moaned louder. The rhythm picked up.

My cock throbbed.

I started stroking again, slowly, ashamedly, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My fingers trembled around my shaft, slick with pre-cum and guilt. My heart pounded, not with jealousy but with pure need. I could still taste him—salty, bitter, dominating—and I realized something I hadn’t fully accepted until now.

Roman didn’t just win the game.

He won her.

And I let him.

I didn’t protect her. I didn’t compete. I didn’t fight back.

I surrendered.

And somehow, that made me feel closer to her than I had in months. My wife had just been claimed by a man who didn’t hesitate—and now she was in our bed, giving herself to him fully while I sat here, quietly worshiping from the sidelines. Stroking my dick like a pathetic little fanboy while the real MVP took his prize.

I heard her moan again. Higher now. Sharper. The kind of sound she only makes when she’s being filled deep. The kind of sound she never made with me.

Tears stung the edges of my eyes, but I wasn’t sad. I was humbled. Stripped bare. Made to watch and feel. Every thrust of Roman’s hips was a message: She’s mine right now. Not yours. Mine.

And I wasn’t mad at him.

I admired him.

He was bigger. Bolder. Stronger. More confident. And he didn’t just take what he wanted—he made her want it too. That was real power. That was ownership.

And me?

I was the cuckold now.

No pretending. No fantasy. No playing.

This was real.

She had chosen to serve his pleasure, to share herself fully, to let me see it. Not because she didn’t love me, but because she knew I needed this. Because she knew I needed her—all of her. Even the parts that didn’t belong to me anymore.

Another moan. Louder. Rhythmic slapping of skin against skin. Roman grunting low and rough.

I stroked faster.

I was completely alone, in the next room over from my own wife, as she got railed by a man who outclassed me in every way. And I couldn’t stop jerking off to it. Couldn’t stop imagining her back arched, her eyes rolling, her fingers digging into the sheets while he pumped into her over and over. Couldn’t stop seeing his cock disappearing inside her—deeper than mine had ever gone.

I was humiliated.

And I was alive.

I came harder than I ever had in my life—shuddering, gasping, desperate—and it didn’t even feel like mine. It felt like his. Like Roman had reached into my body and pulled the orgasm out of me just by fucking my wife.

As the sounds quieted and the creaking slowed, I wiped myself off with a nearby towel and stared at the ceiling again.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

This was the beginning of something new.

And I was ready for it.

Tora

I’m Tora, a Japanese-American trans woman who channels my journey and passions into writing erotic stories. Born in Tokyo and now living in Seattle, I blend the vibrant culture with eclectic energy of my new home. My writing explores themes of identity, desire, and empowerment, inviting readers into bold, sensual worlds full of authentic passion.