Oh, fuck. The smell of his dick is still clinging to her skin, a sickening reminder of the night she spent with her bull. I can almost taste it, the bitter tang of another man’s cum mixed with her perfume. It’s a fucking torture, knowing she’s been used, fucked raw by a real man while I sit here, my cock hard and aching, but useless. She’s my hotwife, my slut, and she knows it. ‘Oh, honey, gross!’ she says, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. ‘I know you missed me, but let me clean up first. I still smell like his dick!’ The words cut deep, each one a knife twisting in my gut. I’m her cuck, her pathetic husband, and I’m supposed to be okay with this. But fuck, it’s hard. It’s fucking hard to watch her walk away, knowing she’s been fucked by a bigger, better man. A man who can satisfy her in ways I never could. I’m left here, alone with my thoughts and my throbbing cock, a constant reminder of my inadequacy. It’s a fucking nightmare, but it’s my reality. And I’m stuck in it, a cuckold’s hell of my own making.
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