My Husband Watches as I Kiss the Bull After Our Wild Night

The memory of her lips brushing against his cheek, the softness of her hair falling over her shoulders, it all plays back in my mind like a twisted movie. I’m sitting here, the room dimly lit, the silhouette of a bed in the background. Her lace top, the black bra peeking through, it’s all so fucking clear. And there he is, leaning in, his face close to hers, his shirt buttoned up neatly. The tension in the air is thick, almost suffocating. I can feel it, the weight of her desire, the hunger in her eyes. She’s turned on, really fucking turned on, by the thought of what she did with him. Her voice, soft yet demanding, asks, ‘Would you like me to do it again?’ And I’m here, the cuckold, the one left to watch, to imagine, to suffer. It’s a fucking torment, a sweet, sickening torment.

Her Whispers, My Agony

Her whispers, they’re like a knife twisting in my gut. ‘Hearing what I did with him really turns you on, doesn’t it babe?’ She knows, she fucking knows the power she has over me. And he, the bull, he’s there, his presence a constant reminder of my inadequacy. The room, it’s a stage, and I’m the audience, forced to watch the performance of my own humiliation. Her back is to me, her body slightly leaned back, inviting, teasing. And he, he’s the fucking star, the one she wants, the one she craves. The lighting, soft and even, it highlights every fucking detail, every curve, every shadow. It’s a masterpiece of degradation, a painting of my own fucking misery. The thought of her lips on his, the taste of his skin, it drives me mad. I’m a fucking cuckold, a pathetic, helpless cuckold. And she, she’s the queen, the one who rules over my every fucking thought. Her hair, it falls over her shoulders, a cascade of temptation. And he, he’s the fucking king, the one who gets to claim her, to possess her. The room, it’s a prison, a cell of my own making. And I’m trapped, trapped in the cycle of my own fucking desire. Her voice, it’s a melody, a song of my own destruction. ‘Would you like me to do it again?’ She asks, and I’m left to drown in the depths of my own fucking agony. The image, it’s a snapshot of my fucking reality. Her, the slut, the whore, the one who owns me. And him, the bull, the one who fucks her, who claims her. The room, it’s a stage, and I’m the fucking audience, forced to watch, to suffer. Her lace top, the black bra, it’s all a fucking tease, a torment. And he, he’s the fucking star, the one who gets to have her, to possess her. The lighting, it’s soft, even, highlighting every fucking detail, every curve, every shadow. It’s a masterpiece of degradation, a painting of my own fucking misery. And I’m here, the cuckold, the one left to watch, to imagine, to suffer. It’s a fucking torment, a sweet, sickening torment.