A story of betrayal and humiliation

It wasn’t planned. Not really.

You were supposed to just watch a movie with her, your girl, after a week of silence, stress, and those routine, robotic kisses you were beginning to hate. But when the doorbell rang, and she jumped to open it like her body remembered someone else’s presence… you knew. Somehow, you knew.

He walked in. Confident. Quiet in that slow, dangerous way. His eyes didn’t even look at you at first, only at her. And her smile? It was the first real one you’d seen in days.

She introduced him casually. “He’s just a friend from work.” But when she poured him a drink, she let her hand rest too long on his. When she sat down, she chose the middle, between the two of you. Like you were the accessory now. Just a background object in your own home.

Minutes passed. You laughed at her joke, but she only turned her head to share it with him. Her hand slid onto your thigh, like muscle memory, and then, like gravity, slowly moved to his.

You couldn’t breathe when she stood up and told you both to follow.

Not with her voice. Not like a question. Like a command.

You followed. Like a fool. Like a man too proud to walk away.

In the bedroom, she kissed you first. As if honoring the past. Her hand tugged you out, hard, fast, and slipped you inside her. Warm, wet, familiar. She rode you like she always did, your favorite position, her favorite grind.

But her eyes… her eyes weren’t on you.

They were locked on him. Watching him undress slowly. Watching his cock bounce free, and curve like a weapon you’d never carried.

And when he sat beside you… so close your arms touched… she stopped grinding. She kissed your mouth one last time.

Then without a word, she pulled off you, still dripping, still throbbing, and crawled across the bed to him like she’d just remembered who she used to be.

She didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. She lifted her hips, guided his cock with both hands like it deserved worship, and sank down hard, moaning like something you hadn’t heard from her in years, maybe… never.

You were right there. Still rock hard. Still wet with her. But no longer part of it.

She didn’t look back. Not once.

And when he finally filled her, curved into places you never reached, she grabbed the back of his neck, whispered something into his ear, and screamed in a way that shattered the last piece of you.

You turned away.

But you still heard her. Begging. Grinding. Moaning his name.

She sank down onto him, filling herself completely, his downward curve pressing into her in ways you never could. Her breath hitched, eyes closing as she adjusted, savoring the difference.

Then, without opening her eyes, she whispered low, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Yours was always… softer, gentler. Good, but safe. His? He’s sharp, demanding. Feels like he’s made to fill every part of me.”

Her fingers trailed over his length, then paused, almost teasingly, over your thigh.

“I needed that edge. Something more… alive.”

Her voice was calm, almost casual. But it struck like a blade.

You sat frozen, every nerve screaming, every hard pulse a reminder that she chose that, right there, in front of you.

She pressed down hard on him, letting him sink deep inside, her body tightening around his cock like it was the only thing that fit. You could see the sharp curve pushing into places yours never reached, places she always craved but you never quite got to.

Her eyes snapped open, cold and sharp, locking onto you with a look that cut deeper than any words.

“You were nice,” she said, voice flat, almost bored. “Soft, easy… like a comfort blanket. But he? He’s real. Hard. Takes what he wants.”

Her fingers curled into the sheets, gripping like she needed to hold on to something. Then, her hand slid over your thigh, slow, deliberate, and she squeezed once, like she was testing the memory of you.

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re familiar. But familiar gets boring. He makes me feel alive. Makes me forget everything else.”

She leaned back, panting, her gaze still locked on you, like daring you to say anything. But the truth hung in the air like a weight, she wasn’t yours anymore. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He fucked her hard, every thrust driving deeper and sharper than you ever could. You could see her face twist, half pain, half pleasure, as he pushed into places that made her lose control.

Her breath hitched. Her hands clawed at the sheets. Then she grabbed his neck, pulling him close as she screamed your name, loud, desperate, like she was trying to hold onto something familiar even as she lost herself to him.

When he finally came, she shuddered violently, hips jerking around his cock as he spilled inside her, filling her completely. Her scream turned raw, almost animal, pure release and surrender.

And then…

Warmth.

You gasp, eyes snapping open, breath caught in your throat.

Your cock pulses upward, curved and aching, shooting wildly across your stomach, chest and face as you come harder than you have in a long time. The sheets are damp. Your chest is heaving.

And beside you, she sleeps.

Her body curled away, her breathing slow, steady, untouched by your chaos.

You stare at the ceiling, heart pounding, the dream still vivid. Her moans. His curve. The way she looked at you like you were already gone.

It wasn’t just a dream.

It was truth, finally given shape.

You turn to her, heart pounding, voice low and trembling.

“I’m a cuck, baby,” you whisper. “And I want you to know.”

You pause, watching her face in the dim light. No reaction. No movement.

“But more than that… I want to be part of it. I want to see you come alive. I want to feel it, your pleasure, your surrender, even if it’s not with me.”

Still nothing.

You swallow hard.

“I want to be there when he fills you. I want to see your eyes when you forget everything but him. I want to be yours… even if it means watching you become someone else’s.”

Her breathing shifts, just slightly.

A twitch in her lip. A flicker beneath her eyelid. A soft moan.

Still asleep.

Or is she?