I stumbled into the back room, my heart pounding, knowing something was off. The dim light barely illuminated the scene, but it was enough. There she was, my wife, sprawled out on the bed, her body half-naked, a blanket barely covering her lower half. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes closed, lost in a drunken stupor. The room was a mess, clothes scattered everywhere, a clear sign of what had happened. I could smell the alcohol, the perfume, and something else—something raw and animalistic. It was the scent of betrayal, of her being used by others. I felt a mix of rage and humiliation, my stomach churning as I realized the depth of her infidelity.
When the Party Turned into a Fuck Fest
I remember the party, the laughter, the music. But now, seeing her like this, I realize it was just a facade. The real party was here, in this room, where she let herself be used by whoever wanted a piece. The thought of her, drunk and willing, being passed around like a common whore, makes my blood boil. I can almost hear the laughter, the grunts, the sounds of her being fucked by strangers. It’s a nightmare, a living hell, and I’m trapped in it, forced to watch from the sidelines.
Why Did She Do This to Me?
The question haunts me, echoes in my mind. Why did she do this? Was it the alcohol, the thrill, or something deeper? Did she enjoy being a cum slut, being used and discarded? The image of her, naked and vulnerable, with a cream pie on her face, is seared into my memory. It’s a symbol of her degradation, of her willingness to be a plaything for others. I’m left here, a cuckold, forced to deal with the consequences of her actions. The humiliation is overwhelming, a constant reminder of my place in this twisted game of betrayal and desire.





