My cuck husband asked him to stop

“These are fucking nice,” Chandler chuckled. “And natural too? Un-fucking-believable!”

Chelsea gasped in his grasp, Chandler’s greedy hands fondling her oversized breasts like they were no more than fresh dough in need of kneading. He was doing it from behind, and they were both facing me. I was in a chair in the corner of the room, red in the face and borderline furious.

“I’m sorry little guy,” Chandler went on. “I know you had a strict rule against too much tit play but what I can say? I’m a sucker for nice knockers, especially ones as big and soft as your wife’s!”

His cruel hands came to Chelsea’s wide pale nipples, and he snatched them between thumbs and pointer fingers. He tugged and pulled them wide, the soft flesh of her breasts rippling outward.

“That’s enough,” I said sharply. “I told you I’m not OK with that!”

“But is Chelsea OK with it?” he grinned straight white teeth, his penetrating blue gaze never leaving me as he groped my wife.

Chelsea looked at me nervously, pouty lips parted and unsure how to answer. She grimaced a little when he pulled her nipples too roughly, but she sighed heavy and deep when he cupped her tits once more and pushed the ample white flesh between his fingers.

“That’s enough!” I said again, standing from my cuck chair. “I’m serious! Stop with the tits or I’m out!”

Don’t ask me why that of all things it was Chelsea’s tits that sent me over the edge. I don’t have an answer. My jealousy runs deep despite the fact I agreed to watch her fuck another man. And most of me was OK with it — but when it came to her perfect, luscious tits, I could not stand the idea of another man enjoying them. And that’s why I’d asked both of them to refrain from it. It was the one line I did not want to cross.

“The fuck you gonna do about it?” Chandler taunted me, lifting Chelsea’s tits high on her chest and rubbing the ball of his thumbs over her erect nipples. “If you can’t tell cuck boy, your wife fucking loves it. Ask her to tell me to stop and I’ll do it, how about that?”

My angry gaze fell on Chelsea. I plead to her with my eyes. When she said nothing, I spoke.

“Tell him, Chels…tell him to stop!”

Chelsea bit her bottom lip, sighing breathily. Chandler mushed her breasts together, rolling them around in the palms of his rough hands and then pulling them away from each other.

“I’m sorry baby,” she squeaked. “I don’t want him to stop. I’m sorry, really…ohhhh…”

My face dropped into agony and Chandler started laughing. He juggled her heavy knockers up and down, playfully slapping at them.

“You heard her loser,” he said. “It’s like I said. She doesn’t want me to stop. She loves how I handle her slutty ass. And just for your bad attitude, I’m gonna make it a point to keep at least one hand on these fat fuckin’ knockers the whole time. Strap in, bitch boy. It’s gonna be a long fucking night!”

Chelsea turned her head to the side and Chandler was there, their mouths met, and they kissed passionately. Lots of wet tongue and smacking lips. And true to his word, Chandler’s meaty hands never left her chest — constantly he pulled and prodded and squeezed and smacked. The milky white flesh of Chelsea’s tits was malleable in his grasp, and his fingertips dug deep as he had his way with her.

I turned to leave. I could take no more. And I didn’t know what was worse — Chandler taunting me while he felt my wife’s best asset…or how much Chelsea was enjoying it.

“Where are you going, baby?” Chelsea asked breathless, leaning back into his broad chest while he groped away. “I thought you wanted to watch?”

“I thought I did too,” I said, headed for the door. “But clearly you don’t give a damn how I feel!”

Chandler laughed then, an awful sound I’ll never forget. “Awww! Did the little beta cuck get his wittle feelings hurt? So sad…too fucking bad! Leave if you want but we’re about to get it the fuck on! And I’m gonna leave your girl’s tits so sore she can’t wear a fucking bra for a week!”

I left the room in anger, slamming the door so hard behind me that it bounced open again.

A few minutes later, as I sat in the living room drinking a beer to soothe my sick stomach, I heard them fucking. Chelsea’s moans came loud and high, and the squeak of my own bed indicated they were really going at it.

SMACK!

“OH!” Chelsea cried out.

I jumped from the couch. Was he smacking her ass? It made sense, sure…but it didn’t sound like her ass cheek. Something about it was more…I don’t know — heavy?

SMACK!

“OH FUCK!”

Compelled by curiosity — I had to know. I walked back down the hall. The door was open just a crack. I peered through with one eye and what I saw nearly sent me to my knees.

Chandler was on top of my wife, a hand around her fragile neck and choking, thrusting his powerful hips back and forth at her cunt. His heavy nutsack slapped at her asscrack, and Chelsea’s glassy eyes stared up at him with reverence.

Her left tit was red.

SMACK!

“OOOOOHHHH CHANDLER YES!” she wailed.

It was her breasts of course. That’s what he was beating on. And when he did it a fourth time I did fall to my knees. Each time his palm cracked off her supple melons the milky flesh went to jiggling and rippling, beautiful if it wasn’t for the violence of it all.

SMACK!

“I’M CUMMING OOOOHHHHH!” my wife wailed.

Chandler started laughing, and he leaned down and planted several wet kisses along the tit he’d been berating. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked at it.

And I, against my better judgement, reached into my pants and found that my body had betrayed my emotions.

I watched them till I came in my pants, and by the end of the night my wife’s tits were red all over.