I’m His Slutwife, and Tonight, I Own the Bar

If I make this, I get to fuck any cock in the bar I want. And you get to watch. Those words echo in my mind, a twisted promise that sends a shiver down my spine. The bar is dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of alcohol. Her body, barely covered in a black and blue bikini top and white briefs, is bent over the bar’s surface, her hips grabbed by a man in a cape. The room is a wood-paneled den of sin, where every chair and table holds a story of debauchery.

Bar’s Wooden Den: Public Humiliation

The wooden counter, polished to a sheen, reflects the harsh reality of my situation. She’s the star, the slutwife who’s about to claim her prize, and I’m the cuckold, the watcher, the one who’s here to witness her conquest. The cape, draped over her lower back, is a symbol of her power, a flag of her dominance. The room is filled with the low murmur of conversations, the clink of glasses, and the occasional laugh that cuts through the air like a knife.

Who Will She Choose?

As I stand there, my heart pounding, I wonder who she’ll pick. Will it be the man in the corner, his eyes already hungry with desire? Or perhaps the one by the door, his posture suggesting a readiness to claim her? The possibilities are endless, and each one is a dagger to my pride. But that’s the game, isn’t it? Her pleasure, my humiliation. The bar is her stage, and I’m the audience, forced to watch as she performs her act of domination and desire.The tension in the room is palpable, a mix of excitement and anticipation. The wooden furniture, the dim lighting, and the presence of strangers all contribute to the electric atmosphere. This is her moment, her victory, and my defeat. The bar, with its high wooden furniture and intimate corners, is the perfect setting for her to claim her prize. And as I watch, I know that this is just the beginning of a night filled with her conquests and my silent suffering.