My Boss Made Me His Gym Whore

I’m staring at the photo, my heart pounding. The gym where I met him, where she fucked him, is now a fucking shrine to my humiliation. She’s got his number, his cock, and I’m left with the fucking bill. ‘No it’s not just a story,’ she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. I can almost hear his grunt, feel his hands on her hips, his sweat mixing with hers. She’s his now, his new wifey, and I’m just the cuckold who pays the fucking rent. I remember the first time she brought him home. The way he looked at me, like I was nothing. Like I was the fucking doormat he could wipe his boots on. And she loved it. Loved every fucking second of it. ‘I met someone at the gym this week and slept with him,’ she told me, her eyes shining with a hunger I’ve never seen. I was just a fucking beta, a pathetic excuse for a man. But she needed a bull, a real man, and he was more than fucking happy to oblige. Now, I’m left here, a fucking ghost in my own home, watching her live her fucking fantasy.