reaction. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. ‘He WANTS you to find me like this… and maybe even… DO something about it.’ Her voice, sultry and confident, echoes in my mind. I can almost feel the weight of her gaze, daring me, challenging me. She knows. She knows every fucking move I make, every thought that crosses my mind. And she’s using it against me, teasing me with the power she holds. The image of her, half-naked and inviting, is seared into my brain. Her body, barely covered, is a testament to her confidence and my submission. She’s playing with me, toying with my desires and insecurities. ‘I’m game if you are,’ she says, her words dripping with seduction and mockery. I’m the cuckold, the pathetic husband who sent you to ‘wake her up,’ knowing full well what I was doing.
Confession: The Weight of Her Words
Her words are a knife, twisting in my gut. ‘He WANTS you to find me like this…’ She knows I’m the one who sent you, the one who set this up. She knows the humiliation I crave, the degradation I seek. And she’s using it, using you, to drive the point home. I’m the cuckold, the one who watches, who waits, who serves. And she’s the queen, the one who commands, who teases, who takes. The bedroom, intimate and inviting, is a stage for her performance. The soft lighting, the textured sheets, the pillows scattered about—it’s all part of her act. She’s the star, and I’m the audience, the one who watches and waits, who knows his place. And as I stand here, I can’t help but wonder: what does she want you to do? What does she want me to see? The possibilities are endless, and the weight of her words, her desires, is a burden I bear with a mix of fear and anticipation.

