I’m staring at the image, her words echoing in my mind. ‘I’m so sorry, honey! I was drunk!’ She says it like it’s an excuse, like being drunk makes it okay. And there it is, the kicker: ‘But we used a condom!’ As if that makes everything better. I can almost hear her voice, see the smirk she probably had when she typed it. It’s not just the words, though. It’s the way she’s looking at me, or rather, not looking at me. Her eyes are distant, already somewhere else. I’m just a cuckold, a prop in her story.
When Trust Becomes a Joke
The room is quiet, too quiet. I can hear the ticking of the clock, each second a reminder of the time we’ve lost. Her apology hangs in the air, heavy and meaningless. I want to believe her, I really do. But the image, the words, they tell a different story. It’s not just about the condom, it’s about the trust. It’s about knowing that she’s out there, doing things, with someone else. And I’m here, waiting, hoping that ‘sorry’ is enough. But it’s not. It’s never enough. Not when you’re a cuckold, not when you’re the one left behind.

Licking her black cock cum filled pussy, I knew they didn't use condoms. But knowing my black boss wanted to impregnate my wife while I sucked his cock at work gave me the inspiration to call my wife at the last minute. Telling her I had to work all night to get a project done so she would have to entertain my black boss alone. Even though I secretly left work at 8 PM, and quietly entered the house so I could watch my wife fuck moss three times. Then I slept in the guestroom and dreamed of my now pregnant wife. I woke her by eating her cum filled pussy, acting like I believed her when she said they used condoms.