Asking for a Threesome: My Husband’s Friend and Me

The consequence of her words hangs heavy in the air, a thick fog of desire and humiliation. I remember the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, the way her smile hinted at secrets she wasn’t ready to share. The dim lighting of the bar casts a warm glow on her face, highlighting the freckles that dance across her nose. Her red hair, a fiery cascade, frames her expression perfectly. She’s fully clothed, but the gray long-sleeve top does little to hide the curves beneath. The table in front of her is littered with half-empty glasses and bottles, a testament to the night’s revelry.

Her Smirk, My Submission

Her smirk is a knife, cutting through my resolve. ‘Yes, I admit that I would like to have sex with him, but I could never initiate it. Do you want this bad enough to ask him for me?’ The words echo in my mind, a taunt and a challenge. I’m the cuckold, the pathetic figure who can’t even muster the courage to ask for what she wants. The background blurs into insignificance, the bar’s chatter fading into a distant hum. All that matters is her, her smile, her demand. I’m a puppet, and she’s the master, pulling strings I can’t resist.

The Ask: A Cuckold’s Burden

The ask is a burden, a weight I’m not sure I can carry. But the thought of her with him, the image of her red hair splayed across a pillow, her moans filling the room, it’s a vision that haunts me. I’m the cuckold, the one who will beg, who will plead, who will do anything to see her satisfied. The bar’s ambiance, the warm lighting, the clinking of glasses, it all fades away. There’s only her, her demand, and my submission. I’m the cuckold, and this is my cross to bear.