Meet My Work Wife

My girlfriend Gal Ritchie leans in, eyes shining. "I have an idea," she says, her voice low. She talks about her coworker Kylie Rocket—her "work wife." Kylie is beautiful, she insists, and she knows I’d notice. The plan is simple: I sit back, watch them fuck, nothing else required. The thought makes her wet already. She messages Kylie before my answer cools. Hours later Kylie steps through the front door with a sly smile for both of us. We move to the bedroom. I settle into the chair they set for me. Gal and Kylie undress each other like it’s choreography they’ve practiced for years. Their mouths meet—hungry, wet, unhurried—then they sink onto the sheets. Gal slides two fingers into Kylie’s cunt; Kylie gasps and opens wider, hips twitching. Soon they flip, thighs around each other’s faces, licking and sucking in a deep 69. The only sound in the room is skin and breath and the soft, desperate rhythm they make. I stay still, hard, watching everything they want me to see.