Lying Back and Waiting for the Bull

The thought of her bull’s cock, thick and ready, makes my stomach churn. I’m lying here, legs bent, underwear barely covering my shame. The room is quiet, except for the soft rustle of curtains. I can almost hear her, somewhere in the house, getting ready. Ready for him. My mind races, imagining her smile, her eagerness. She’s gonna be a good little slut for him, just like she always is. And I’m here, waiting, my cock half-hard, aching with a mix of humiliation and desire. The light from the window casts shadows across the room, highlighting the mess of blankets on the bed. I can’t help but think about how she’ll look, spread out for him, her body ready for his use. It’s a view I know too well, a view that haunts my dreams and wakes me up in cold sweats.

Bedroom Anticipation: The Cuck’s Waiting Game

The anticipation is a living thing, crawling under my skin. I shift, trying to find a comfortable position, but there is none. My legs are bent, arms resting on my thighs, a pathetic attempt at composure. The room is a blur of white curtains and soft light, but all I can see is her, her face flushed with excitement, her body ready for his touch. I can almost hear her voice, breathy and eager, promising him everything. And I’m here, a cuckold in blue underwear, waiting for the bull to take his prize. The thought of his cock, hard and demanding, makes my stomach twist. I’m a spectator in my own humiliation, a willing participant in my own degradation. The room is quiet, but my mind is loud, a cacophony of thoughts and images that I can’t escape.

Window Light: The Cuck’s Perspective

The light from the window falls across the room, casting a soft glow on the scene. I’m lying here, legs bent, underwear barely covering my shame. The room is quiet, except for the soft rustle of curtains. I can almost hear her, somewhere in the house, getting ready. Ready for him. My mind races, imagining her smile, her eagerness. She’s gonna be a good little slut for him, just like she always is. And I’m here, waiting, my cock half-hard, aching with a mix of humiliation and desire. The light from the window casts shadows across the room, highlighting the mess of blankets on the bed. I can’t help but think about how she’ll look, spread out for him, her body ready for his use. It’s a view I know too well, a view that haunts my dreams and wakes me up in cold sweats. The thought of her, ready and willing, makes my heart race. I’m a cuckold, a pathetic figure in blue underwear, waiting for the bull to take his prize. The room is a blur of white curtains and soft light, but all I can see is her, her face flushed with excitement, her body ready for his touch. I can almost hear her voice, breathy and eager, promising him everything. And I’m here, a spectator in my own humiliation, a willing participant in my own degradation. The room is quiet, but my mind is loud, a cacophony of thoughts and images that I can’t escape. The anticipation is a living thing, crawling under my skin. I shift, trying to find a comfortable position, but there is none. My legs are bent, arms resting on my thighs, a pathetic attempt at composure. The room is a blur of white curtains and soft light, but all I can see is her, her face flushed with excitement, her body ready for his touch. I can almost hear her voice, breathy and eager, promising him everything. And I’m here, a cuckold in blue underwear, waiting for the bull to take his prize. The thought of his cock, hard and demanding, makes my stomach twist. I’m a spectator in my own humiliation, a willing participant in my own degradation. The room is quiet, but my mind is loud, a cacophony of thoughts and images that I can’t escape.