My Husband’s Eyes Met Mine as I Read the Bull’s Text

I can’t stop thinking about the text from Marcus. It’s like a knife twisting in my gut, each word a reminder of her infidelity. ‘Hey baby. Can’t stop thinking about last night. The moment we met at the restaurant I knew we’d hit it off, then back at my place you showed me you really are the girl of my dreams!’ It’s not just the sex; it’s the way he talks about her, like she’s some kind of goddess. And the worst part? He loves that she has a husband. ‘Made the sex 10x hotter,’ he says. I’m just a cuckold, a pathetic figure in her life, existing only to make her conquests more thrilling.

The Weight of Her Betrayal

I watch her, standing there with that smug smile, her phone in hand. She’s relishing every word, every dirty detail. The way she leans in, her eyes glued to the screen, it’s like she’s savoring a secret. And I’m here, a silent witness to her pleasure, my own desires a distant memory. She’s the hotwife, the one who gets to play, and I’m the cuckold, the one who stays. It’s a role I never wanted, but one I can’t escape. Her betrayal is a constant, a shadow that follows me everywhere. And yet, I can’t look away. I’m drawn to the humiliation, to the knowledge that she’s out there, living her fantasies, while I’m left here, a mere spectator to her desires.