Eye contact is key for a cuckold

"Fuck, look at me when he's doing that to me." The words come out thick around her tongue because her mouth's open, she's breathing hard, and that guy behind her hasn't slowed down once. You can see the whole thing from where you're sitting, the edge of the bed, hands resting on your knees like you're just an audience. Her hair's half across her face, blonde strands stuck to the corner of her lip where the gloss has smeared. That little patterned top's slid halfway down one shoulder and the straps are digging in, like nobody bothered to take it off all the way. She's braced on her elbows in the white comforter, tits pushed into the mattress with each push from behind. You notice the way her fingers curl into the fabric, knuckles white, but her eyes stay locked on yours. The other guy's stomach flexes every time he slams forward and you catch the sound, skin on skin, the wet noise when he pulls back. He's taller than you, always has been, and from this angle all you really see is his hips and the way his thighs tense. She makes this little noise every few strokes, not loud, just enough that you know she's not faking it for show. Her eyeliner's a little smudged on the left side. You wonder if she cried earlier or if it just happened from the angle. Either way it makes her look wrecked, but she's still staring right through you like she's daring you to blink first. The lamp on the nightstand's still on. It throws a soft yellow across her back and catches on the little gold hoop in her ear. You can smell her perfume mixed with sweat and the other guy's cologne. It's too much and not enough at the same time. Your own cock's pressing against your zipper but nobody's offered to do anything about it. That's part of the deal, you think. Or maybe it stopped being a deal and just became the way things are now. She shifts her weight and the bed creaks under them. Her mouth opens wider like she's going to say something else but another thrust knocks it out of her. Instead she just keeps looking at you, lips parted, breathing through her teeth. The guy grunts once, low in his chest, and grips her hip harder. You see the red marks his fingers are leaving. Your throat's dry. You swallow and it clicks. She smiles then, barely, just the corner of her mouth twitching up like she knows exactly what's running through your head. Her tongue comes out and wets her bottom lip. The guy behind her speeds up and the sound gets louder, messy. She never looks away.