Living Room Bull Ride

The lace of her bodysuit clings to her curves, a stark contrast to the black-and-white photograph. It’s a memory that haunts me, the way she sits there, chin resting on her hand, a neutral expression masking the storm inside. The text overlay, ‘I want to see you jerk off while I’m riding his cock,’ cuts through me like a knife. It’s a demand, a humiliation, and a reminder of my place.

What Does It Mean to Be a Cuckold?

And there I was, watching her, a spectator in my own life. The room is dimly lit, the soft shadows highlighting her body, the contours of her dress. The lamp in the background casts a warm glow, but it does nothing to warm the chill in my bones. She’s a vision, a slutty vision, and I’m just a cuck, a pathetic cuck, jerking off to the thought of her riding another man. It’s a degrading image, one that I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try.

When the Past Becomes Present

But it’s not just the image that haunts me. It’s the memory of the sounds, the moans, the way she rode him, her body moving in ways I’ve never seen. The way she looked at me, a mix of pity and triumph, as she came, her body shaking with pleasure. It’s a memory that keeps me up at night, a memory that I can’t escape. And so, I jerk off, a cuckold’s pathetic attempt at release, as I watch her ride another man, a bigger, better man, a man who can satisfy her in ways I never could.