Did You Bet Your Wife’s Body on a Whim?

The consequence of that stupid bet still haunts me. I remember standing there, watching as my so-called buddy led my wife into our bedroom. A bet was a bet, he said, and he was gonna collect. I couldn’t believe I’d let it come to this. The room was dimly lit, the walls adorned with that god-awful patterned wallpaper. Her fishnet bodysuit left little to the imagination, and I could see the hunger in his eyes. She was his prize, and he was gonna fuck her good and hard.

When the Bet Became Reality

And there I was, a cuckold in my own home. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. My buddy’s hand was on her ass, squeezing, as he guided her towards the bed. I wanted to scream, to stop them, but I was frozen. The sound of their laughter echoed in my mind, a cruel reminder of my own stupidity. She was gonna fuck him, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was just a spectator, a pathetic bystander in my own fucking life.

The Night I Lost Control

So, I watched as he undressed her, his hands roaming over her body. She didn’t resist, didn’t fight. She was a willing participant, a slut for his pleasure. And I was left with the bitter taste of my own humiliation. The night dragged on, a blur of moans and grunts, of skin slapping against skin. I was a cuckold, a loser, and I had no one to blame but myself. That night, I lost more than just a bet. I lost my dignity, my pride, and a piece of my soul.