The last thing I saw was her back as she walked away, that tight snakeskin dress hugging every curve. She didn’t even glance back, just kept strutting down the hallway, those high heels clicking on the carpet. I’m left here, a pathetic cuck, watching her disappear into another man’s room. She knows I’m watching, knows I’m suffering. That’s what she wants—me here, alone, while she’s in there, probably already on her knees, ready to please. I can almost hear her moans, her giggles, the sound of her dress hitting the floor. She’s his now, for the night, maybe longer. And I’m just the cuck she left behind, a reminder of the life she’s choosing to leave. I can’t move, can’t think, just stand here, a fucking statue, as she fucks him, probably better than she ever fucked me. That’s the deal, isn’t it? She gets to be the goddess, and I’m just the cuck, always waiting, always wanting, never having.
She usually gives me a goodnight kiss before this happens.