Her lips are slightly parted, tongue teasing the corner of her mouth. I can almost taste the gloss on her lips, the same gloss she wears when she’s out with him. Her eyes, lined with dark eyeliner, bore into mine, daring me to look away. She knows I can’t. Not when she’s like this—half-naked, her perky tits barely contained by the edge of the frame. Her hair, long and platinum blonde, cascades over her shoulder, hiding her nipples but not the hunger in her eyes. She’s thinking about him, I know. About the men she fucks behind closed doors, the ones who make her feel like a goddess. I’m just her cuck, the one who watches from the shadows, aching with desire and humiliation. Her gaze is a challenge, a silent ‘admit it’ that echoes the words on the screen. Even married women imagine fucking other men. And she’s the queen of them all, my hotwife, my everything. I’m just the pathetic beta who gets off on her conquests, the one who cleans up after her wild nights. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Her pleasure is my obsession, her satisfaction my only goal. I’m her devoted cuck, her willing slave, and I wouldn’t trade this torment for anything.