Her Bull’s Hands on My Wife in the Woods

The tension in my chest tightens as I watch her, stretched out beneath the towering trees, her body a canvas of submission. Her arms are thrown above her head, fingers splayed against the rough bark, as if surrendering to the very earth itself. The blue and black top clings to her curves, barely containing her, and I can almost feel the weight of his hand on her torso, a silent claim of ownership. He kneels beside her, a dark figure in a uniform, his face blurred but his intent clear. I’m a spectator to this dance, a cuckold in the shadows, as she offers herself to him, to the forest, to the raw, primal need that pulses through the air.

Her Body, His Command

Her body is a map of his desires, each touch a claim, each breath a surrender. The way he leans over her, his hand resting possessively on her skin, speaks volumes of the power he holds. She is his, in this moment, in this place, and I am nothing more than a witness to their passion. The forest is their stage, the trees their audience, and I am the cuckold, the one who watches and aches, who yearns and is denied. Her eyes, closed in ecstasy, are a world away from me, lost in the thrill of his touch, the promise of his body.The grass beneath her is a soft bed, a contrast to the hardness of the tree trunk against her back. She arches into his touch, her body a question, a plea, a demand. He answers with his presence, his strength, his dominance. I can almost hear the rustle of leaves, the whisper of the wind, as it carries their moans, their sighs, their cries of pleasure. I am a ghost in this scene, a shadow, a memory, as they write their story in the dirt and the grass and the sweat of their bodies.The image burns into my mind, a brand of humiliation and desire. I love to come home stretched, she once said, and now I understand. She comes home to this, to him, to the raw, unfiltered passion that leaves her spent and satisfied. I am the cuckold, the one who waits, who watches, who aches with a need that can never be fulfilled. The forest holds their secrets, their pleasures, their truths, and I am left with the echo of their laughter, the ghost of their touch, and the weight of my own desire.