Garden of Submission: Cuckold’s Vegetable Humiliation

The memory of that day still haunts me. Kneeling in the garden, the rough grass and soil digging into my skin, I felt the weight of my humiliation. The zucchinis, those fucking vegetables, were laid out beside me, a cruel reminder of what I wasn’t getting. My wife, the cuckquean, had left me there, a pathetic sight, while she went off to fuck her bull. The leaves crunched under my knees, and the dry grass scratched my legs. I could almost hear her moans, her pleasure, as she rode that cock. And there I was, surrounded by fucking vegetables, my own dick useless, while she got the real thing. The sun beat down, and the world seemed to spin around me, a whirlwind of shame and desire. I wanted to scream, to rage, but all I could do was kneel there, a cuckold in his own garden.

Midday Humiliation: A Cuckold’s Garden of Shame

The zucchinis mocked me, their green skin glistening in the sunlight. Each one a symbol of my failure, a testament to my wife’s insatiable appetite for real men. I could almost feel her hands on them, her mouth, her cunt. The thought made me sick, but it also made me hard. I hated myself for it, for wanting her even as she degraded me. The leaves rustled, and I imagined her in the distance, her body writhing, her cries of pleasure echoing through the garden. I was nothing, a mere shadow, while she lived in the light of her bull’s cock. The vegetables, they were her lovers, her true companions, while I was left to rot in the dirt.The socks on my feet were a pitiful attempt at dignity, a thin barrier between me and the earth. I wanted to tear them off, to feel the soil on my bare skin, to ground myself in this reality. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was trapped, a prisoner in my own garden, a cuckold in his own hell. The leaves crunched under my knees, and I felt the weight of my submission, the heavy burden of my role. I was a man, but I was less than a man. I was a cuckold, and this was my life. The vegetables, they were my rivals, my enemies, and I hated them for it. But I also envied them, for they were closer to her than I ever could be.As the day wore on, the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the garden. I knelt there, a silent sentinel, a cuckold in waiting. The vegetables, they were still there, a constant reminder of my place. I wanted to leave, to run, to escape this humiliation. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was a cuckold, and this was my garden, my prison, my shame. The leaves rustled, and I heard her laughter, her joy, her pleasure. And I knew, in that moment, that this was my life, my reality, my submission. I was a cuckold, and this was my garden of shame.