The Cape Town summer night was thick with humidity as I checked into my Sea Point hotel, the ocean breeze doing little to cool the anticipation buzzing through me. We'd connected on Swinging Heaven just days earlier—me browsing the cuckold tag, them posting a discreet ad: "Experienced couple (mid-40s) seeking respectful bull for filmed session. Husband watches and records only. Discretion guaranteed." Her profile picture showed a stunning, curvy brunette in lingerie, all confidence and curves; his was a simple avatar, but the bio made it clear—he got off on capturing every gasp, every thrust, every moment his wife surrendered to someone else.

Their names were Lara and Pieter. She was 44, voluptuous with sun-kissed skin and dark eyes that promised mischief; he was 46, fit, quiet, and utterly devoted to orchestrating her pleasure while staying on the sidelines. After a few messages confirming boundaries—no touching between men, focus on her, filming for their private collection only—we settled on my hotel room for privacy and neutrality. "Bring your A-game," Lara texted. "Pieter's lens doesn't miss a thing."

They arrived just after 9 pm. Lara wore a simple black wrap dress that hugged her full breasts and wide hips, her heels clicking on the marble floor as she stepped inside. Pieter carried a small black camera bag and a tripod, his expression calm but his eyes already hungry. We exchanged polite hellos—handshakes, a quick hug from her that pressed her softness against me—then she poured us each a glass of the red I'd left breathing on the side table.

"Shall we?" she asked, voice low and teasing, already untying the wrap dress. It fell open to reveal black lace lingerie, garters framing her thighs, her nipples visible through the sheer cups. Pieter set up the camera in the corner, adjusting the angle so the bed was perfectly framed, the city lights glowing behind us like a backdrop. He gave a small nod. "Whenever you're ready."

I didn't waste time. I pulled Lara to me, kissing her deeply, tasting wine and desire as my hands roamed her curves. She moaned into my mouth, loud enough for the microphone to catch every note. I backed her toward the bed, peeling the dress off completely, then unhooked her bra so her heavy breasts spilled free. I sucked one nipple into my mouth, rolling the other between my fingers until she arched, glancing over at Pieter. "He's watching," she whispered, "and he's hard already."

Pieter stayed silent, only the soft whir of the camera and his steady breathing giving him away. I pushed Lara onto the bed, spreading her thighs wide. Her panties were soaked; I slid them aside and buried my face between her legs, licking slow circles around her clit while she gripped my hair and moaned my name for the recording. "Tell him how good it feels," I growled against her. She did—voice breathy and deliberate. "He's so much thicker than you, baby… stretching me already and he hasn't even fucked me yet."

I stood, stripping off my clothes while she watched, stroking herself lazily. When I freed my cock, hard and throbbing, she licked her lips. "Show him," she said, eyes flicking to the camera. I climbed over her, rubbing the head along her slick folds before pushing in slowly, inch by inch. She gasped, nails digging into my shoulders. "Fuck… yes… deeper." I started thrusting—long, deliberate strokes at first, then harder, faster, the bed creaking under us. Every time she came close, I'd slow down, making her beg, making sure Pieter caught every angle: her breasts bouncing, her face contorted in pleasure, my cock disappearing inside her over and over.

"Flip me," she panted. I turned her onto all fours, facing the camera so Pieter could see her expression as I entered her from behind. I gripped her hips, pounding deep, her ass jiggling with each thrust. "Tell him," I ordered again. "Tell your husband who's making you cum." She looked straight into the lens. "He's fucking me so good, Pieter… better than you ever could… I'm going to cum all over his cock." Her body shook as the orgasm hit, walls clenching tight around me, milking me until I couldn't hold back. I pulled out at the last second—per their request—and came hard across her back and ass, thick ropes that glistened under the room lights.

We collapsed, breathing heavy. Pieter finally spoke, voice rough. "Perfect take." He stopped the recording, a satisfied smile on his face as he packed up the gear. Lara turned to me, still flushed, and kissed me softly. "You're welcome back anytime the lens needs refilling."

They left quietly, leaving me alone with the scent of sex and the hum of the city outside. Swinging Heaven had delivered exactly what I'd craved—a night of raw, filmed ravaging, all under the watchful eye of a devoted cuckold husband.