Chapter 3: Cuckolding the Star
The shower ran for fifteen minutes. Ritchie lay where she'd left him, still dizzy, his softened cock glistening on his belly, his thighs tacky with the evidence of what she'd done to him. When the water finally shut off, he heard her humming in the bathroom, light and tuneless, as if she'd just had the best day of her life.
She came back in a cloud of steam and hotel lotion, her hair damp, wearing nothing but one of his old dress shirts she'd found in the closet, unbuttoned down to her navel. She had her phone in her hand and a look on her face that made his stomach drop.
"Get comfortable, baby," she said. "We're about to have an audience."
"What do you mean?"
She didn't answer. She propped the phone against the water glass on his nightstand, angled it at the bed, and tapped the screen. Tom Holland's face filled it, tight and expectant, still in his tux from the gala, a champagne flute in his hand somewhere off camera.
"Hi, honey," Zendaya said, waving sweetly at the screen. "How's the party?"
"Z, what's going on? You said you'd FaceTime when you got home, it's barely ten, why do you look..." Tom stopped. His eyes shifted past her shoulder. Past her, to the bed, to the shirtless boy lying in the warm light with a fat, half-hard cock draped over his thigh. "Oh. Oh, God. Is that..."
"That's Ritchie," she said warmly, climbing onto the mattress. "Your nephew. The one I was asked to check on tonight. And let me tell you, Tom, he needed a lot of checking." Tom's voice cracked. "Your parents are going to kill us. That's Naomi's son."
"That's exactly right," she purred. "That's Naomi's little boy. And I just took him up my ass about an hour ago. He's got the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life. Bigger than yours, baby. So much bigger. Now be good and watch."
She reached across and turned the phone slightly, adjusting the angle, so Ritchie's whole body was framed in the shot, his cock plain and unmistakable. Then she turned back to him, gripped his shaft in her small hand, and began to stroke him back to hardness with slow, practiced pulls of his foreskin over the slick head.
"Look at me, not him," she said into the phone, wicked. "You wanted to watch your wife with a superior man. You floated that idea for two years, Tommy. You jerking off into my panties while I slept. Remember? This is that. Except it's real, and it's enormous."
Ritchie's face burned. He'd never been an exhibitionist in his life. He was shy in gym class. But with her hand working him and the phone staring, his cock swelled to its full eleven inches, thick and heavy, the foreskin pulled taut around the purple head, pre-cum already leaking in a fat bead.
Tom made a small, strangled noise. On the screen his hand had drifted down off camera, and his face had gone red.
"Oh my God," Tom whispered. "That's not... Z, that can't be real. Nobody's that size."
"You're about to watch it disappear down my throat," she said. "Tell him what you're doing with your hand, baby. Go on. Be honest for once."
There was a long pause. Then, low and ashamed: "I'm touching myself."
"Say the whole thing."
"I'm stroking my dick. Okay? Happy?"
"Delightful." She turned to Ritchie, smiled that slow predator's smile, and bent over his lap. "Now watch this, Tommy."
She went down on him in front of the camera without a flicker of hesitation. Her lips stretched around the head, her cheeks hollowing, her throat bulging as she forced herself down inch by inch. The wet sounds filled the room, slick and gagging and obscene. She got halfway, choked, came up gasping with strands of saliva swinging from her chin to his shaft, and went right back down. On the third plunge she gagged hard, a wet retch, and held herself there with her eyes watering, letting him feel her throat spasm around him.
"Fuck," Ritchie groaned, his broken hands useless at his sides, knuckles locked in their splints.
"That's it, baby," she gasped, pulling off, drool and pre-cum smeared across her lips. "Throat fuck me when I gag. Use me."
He couldn't grab her head. His hands were shattered. She knew it, and she did the work for him, gripping the base with both hands and slamming her own face down onto his cock, gagging rhythmically, her mascara streaking down her cheeks while Tom watched in silence, his breathing audible through the phone's tiny speaker.
"You hearing this, Tom?" she said, coming up for air, her voice ruined. "You hear how wet your wife is choking on your nephew's cock? Your four inches never made me make a sound like this. Four inches, everybody. That's my husband. Cute as a button and small as a hamster."
"Z, come on," Tom said, his voice thin, though his hand hadn't stopped.
"Sorry. Is that mean? Should I stop?" She stroked Ritchie slowly, admiring him. "I don't want to stop. I want to show you something else now. Something I've never done for you. Not once in our whole marriage."
She crawled up Ritchie's body, turned him gently onto his side toward the camera, and pushed his top leg back against his chest, baring his ass to the lens. Then she spat into the cleft of it, spread him with her thumbs, and lowered her face between his cheeks.
Ritchie made a sound he'd never made before, a strangled moan from deep in his chest. Her tongue touched his hole, soft and wet, and then she pressed in, and then she was kissing it. Not a lick, not a quick pass. She kissed his asshole the way she'd kissed him at the airport, open-mouthed and hungry, her lips sealed around the pucker, her tongue worming inside, her nose pressed into the weight of his balls. She made love sounds into him, low muffled whimpers, like a woman being kissed properly for the first time in years.
"Oh my God," Tom said. "You never... you told me that was gross."
She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips shiny. "It was gross with you. Look at me now, baby. I'm making out with an sixteen-year-old's asshole and I've never been wetter in my life. Feel that, Ritchie? Feel how hard I'm sucking on you?"
"Yes," Ritchie gasped. "Oh fuck, yes."
She dove back in, tongue-fucking him in earnest now, two dainty hands wrapped around his cock pumping him in long dual strokes, her nose crushed against his heavy balls, breathing him in. The camera caught all of it, the celebrity wife of one of the most famous men in the world on her knees with her face buried in her nephew's ass while her husband watched, her hips rocking against nothing, her pussy dripping onto the sheets beneath her.
"Tommy," she slurred, surfacing, her whole face slick. "Do you want to watch me put it in my ass again? I did it once already tonight. I'm going to do it again either way. But I'd love for my husband to see it. Would you like to watch your wife's little asshole stretch around this huge cock?"
"Yes," Tom breathed. There was no hesitation at all this time. "Yes, please. Show me."
"That's my good boy." She kissed Ritchie's hole one last tender time, then stood him up against the headboard, propping pillows behind him. She straddled him facing the camera, her back to his chest, so the phone could see everything. She reached back, spread her cheeks with both hands, and guided the thick head to her still-slick pucker.
"Watch the stretch," she said to the phone. "Watch it, Tommy."
The head pressed in. Her ring flowered open around it, tight pink skin dragged white, and she moaned like she was being split in half. She sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch, her asshole stretched obscenely wide around his girth, and the camera captured every millimeter of it.
"Look at it," she gasped. "Look how big it is in me. I can feel him in my gut, Tom. Four inches never touched the walls deep enough to make me shake. This does. This makes me shake."
She began to bounce. The slap of her cheeks against his thighs filled the room, her ass rippling on every impact, his cock vanishing and reappearing, glistening, her hole clinging to him on every upstroke. Tom's ragged breathing on the phone quickened into a rhythm she recognized instantly.
"You're close already?" she laughed. "You just started. You pathetic little thing. Keep stroking it. Don't you dare stop watching."
She reached down and moved her hand, and Ritchie felt the moment she shifted, felt the angle change, felt herself lift off him and hover, and then the scalding grip of something different. Her pussy. She sank down onto him bare, no barrier between them, and both of them shuddered at the wet heat of it.
"Oops," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Slipped. It just slipped from my ass into my pussy, Tommy. Your nephew's bare cock is inside your wife's pussy right now. No condom. Nothing. You can see it on camera. You can see how wet I am around him."
Tom moaned aloud.
"That's so wrong," he said, and his voice was wrecked, and he was pumping faster.
"Mm. It is wrong. And now I have a very important question, and I want you to think carefully before you answer." She began riding again, slow and deep, grinding her hips in circles, her clit mashed against Ritchie's root. "If he cums inside me right now, I'll get pregnant. I'm ovulating, Tommy. I checked the app this morning before I came over. Can he cum in my pussy? Do I have your permission to let your nephew cum in my womb?"
"Z..." Tom's voice shook.
"Answer me. Do you want me to pull off him? Or do you want to watch him flood your wife's fertile little pussy with cum? Nod or say no. Take your time. You've got about a minute before I stop being able to ask."
"I..." Tom was pumping his little dick frantically, his face blotchy, his tux pants shoved down around his knees on some hotel bed somewhere. "Is it really... would you really..."
"Say what you want, Tom. Beg me if you have to."
"Let him," Tom gasped. "Let him cum inside you. I want to see it. Please, Z, please let him cum in you."
"And if I get pregnant?" she breathed, riding harder now, her breasts bouncing, her whole body flushing. "Whose baby would it be, Tommy? Who would I be carrying? If it's his, if it's Ritchie's baby growing in me, would you raise it? Would you hold my hand in the delivery room knowing your wife gave birth to another man's child? Your nephew's child? Would you be a daddy to Naomi's grandbaby?"
"Yes," Tom sobbed. "Yes, I'd raise it, I swear, I'd raise the baby, I don't care, please, Z, I'm going to..."
"Cum for me, little husband. Cum watching your wife take her nephew's bare cock."
Tom came on camera, arching, a thin weak spray splattering his own shirt, his face crumpling in humiliation and ecstasy, moaning her name. She watched him the whole time, drinking in his ruin, and then she turned back to Ritchie with the filthiest smile he'd ever seen.
"He came," she announced. "He came all over himself. That was a yes, baby. That was a yes to everything. He wants you to breed me. He wants to raise your baby." She leaned back against Ritchie's chest, turning her cheek to kiss his jaw, and started riding him in earnest, hard and grinding, her pussy a soaked vise around him. "So breed me. Fill me up. Pump that fat cock off inside my womb and give my husband something to raise."
Ritchie was past words. The filthy litany, the squeeze of her cunt, the knowledge that her husband was still watching, glassy-eyed, spent, and unable to look away, all of it coiled in his balls like a lit fuse.
"I'm close," he groaned. "Zendaya, I'm gonna..."
"Cum in my pussy. Right now. Dump it in me, baby. Flood your auntie's womb."
He thrust up off the pillows with everything his hips had and erupted. The first rope of cum hit the deepest part of her and she screamed, a real scream, loud enough that Tom flinched on the screen. Ritchie pumped rope after thick rope into her, his cock pulsing, his vision whiting out, filling her until it started to leak out around his shaft with every spasm, white foam frothing at her stretched entrance.
Zendaya came apart on top of him, grinding down to the root, her clit pinned against him, her whole body convulsing as her orgasm tore through her in long rolling waves. She rode him through it, milking him, taking every drop, moaning into his neck, until finally she collapsed against his chest, boneless, both of them gasping.
The room went quiet except for their breathing and the faint crackle of the phone. On the screen, Tom sat slumped, shirt soaked, staring at his wife with a look of shattered awe.
She lifted her head, looked into the camera, and smiled.
"Clean up, baby," she said gently. " I'm staying the night." She starts slowly rolling her hips, his semi-hard cock still in her pussy. “I think i should introduce his mommy to this big cock.”