I remember the smell of her perfume as she walked out the door, leaving me with the lingering scent of her arousal. The thought of her with another man, of her being taken and used, made my cock twitch with a mix of shame and excitement. I could hear the distant sounds of their moans, her cries of pleasure echoing through the house. I knew she was being filled, being used, and I was left here, a cuckold, a mere spectator to her pleasure. The next morning, I found her lying in bed, a satisfied smile on her face, and I couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of pride and humiliation. She was my wife, but last night, she was his whore, and I was just the cuckold who got to clean up the mess.