How I Lost My Wife

******Do not read this story if you hate cuckold stories or are easily triggered by them. I personally, do not care for them, but this was a fan request and probably about as close to a real cuckold story as I’m going to get. Unless there’s a huge demand for a sequel, I don’t know if I have it in me to write the next part. But, perhaps there are some who will enjoy this kind of story. To you all, I did the best I could.********

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I come home from work angry, tense, pent up. It’s been a hard day at the office. I’m frustrated and just want to zone out. I pass through the living room. My boys stop me momentarily.

“Hi, Dad!” They hug me, return to their tablets. Their mom is in the kitchen, probably finishing up dinner by the smell of it.

I head to the bedroom, untucking my business shirt, undoing my belt and yanking it free from the loops of my khakis. I kick off my shoes, peel off my socks, plop down on the bed.

It’s only a little after five in the evening, but I’m so thoroughly done with this day that I strip out of my pants and climb under the covers.

Everything irritates me. I realize I’m still wearing my shirt. I unbutton it, then have to sit up to remove it.

Clothed in only a pair of silky black boxers that I wore for the wife, I fall back onto my pillow. Where’s my phone?

I curse, sit back up, and find my pants on the floor. Begin rummaging in the pockets until I find what I’m looking for.

I lay back, mentally exhausted just from the effort this has taken so far. I unlock my phone. There’s a notification from a gay messaging app.

The wife walks in, and I practically hurl my phone down, as if she can see what I’m looking at, physically impossible from where she stands.

“Hi, hon!” she says, and thrusts a plate of food toward my lap.

I’m irritated, angry that she interrupted me when I was just about to see what that notification was. She sees I’m mad.

“Tough day today?” she asks, and leans in for a smooch.

I kiss her briefly, then try to focus on the food. “Thanks,” I say.

I’m an asshole, I realize. Here she is, waiting on me hand and foot, and I have the audacity to be irritated.

I just want to relax, though. Zone out. Look at my phone. See who fucking wrote me!

I eat, and she sits with me. Begins telling me about her day. About how the kids misbehaved. Gave her a hard time. About how she really needs a break. I want her to leave.

I don’t have to tell her. She figures it out. Leaves the room. I start to grab for my phone. Except, I can’t find it!

Where the hell did it go? Fuck it. I eat. Figuring I’ll find my phone as soon as I finish this plate of food.

I almost make it. And then my wife is back. Tears in her eyes. My phone in her hand.

“Are you writing to gay guys?”

My face pales. I break into a cold sweat. My mind frozen in time. I swear to god, if there was a fly in the room, I’d probably be able to see it’s wings slowly flapping.

My wife doesn’t wait for me to recover.

“These are your messages, your pictures! That’s you at work in the bathroom! That’s your fucking wedding ring! Your fucking dick!”

She starts to have a full-on panic attack.

I’m speechless, mortified, stunned into silence. I can’t meet her eyes.

“Oh my god…..” she says. “Have you been fucking other guys?”

“No!” I shout, clinging to that truth at least, hanging onto it like a buoy in a raging sea of deceit.

“What the fuck is this then…..?” she demands, and proceeds to read my own words to me. “Fill my holes, Daddy. Make me beg you for your cum, then pump your sweet man-juice down my throat….?!”

She’s seen enough and hurls my phone at the wall. It cracks, splinters. The back cover flies off. There’s even a dent in the wall.

Insanely, I’m relieved. If it’s truly broke, then she won’t be able to see anymore of my incriminating messages…. crazy that this is the first thing that comes to my mind. Self-preservation. God, I’m an asshole.

It’s time for damage control. Time to convince the wife that what she saw wasn’t as bad as what she thought. After all, we’re relying on her memory now. Maybe she only thought she read what she read.

I look at her. She’s holding her face in her hands, sobbing. She looks deathly pale, sick.

How the fuck could I do this to her? How did I get to this point?

I was bored, lonely. Tired of looking at my phone and seeing…..nothing. No messages, no notifications, no missed calls. My phone was a wasteland of inactivity.

I tried reaching out to girls, tried to find someone to talk to. I even tried talking to the wife. Our conversations always drifted to the bills, the house, the kids. I’d send a racy pic, we’d laugh at it together. Talk about the bills again.

I kept seeing ads for these gay messaging apps. I’m not gay, but I craved attention. I thought, surely gay guys were like piranhas. Surely, they’d bite if I just sent them a few pics.

I got a few responses, not like I thought I would. Turns out gay guys are just….guys. Growing desperate, I began posting even racier photos, more explicit, outright advertising my mouth, my ass.

The messages picked up speed. I found the dirtier I talked, the longer I could keep a conversation going. I began to whore myself out, presenting myself as a submissive sissy cum-slut. It worked like magic.

And now, my wife is broken.

She finishes crying, at least for the moment, and asks, “Is this what you want? Do you want to be with guys?”

I shake my head, a little too vigorously. It feels like a lie. But it’s not, is it? I’ve never even been with a guy, and if we’re being honest, I really have zero attraction to men. I just wanted attention, notifications…..something to pop up on my phone throughout the day. Someone real, someone who wanted me.

God, I’m such a selfish prick! Why wasn’t my wife enough? Why couldn’t she be the source of my daily excitement?

She resumes her crying. Asks me through her tears, “So, what now?”

I don’t know how to answer. I’m not looking for a divorce. Is this a divorce worthy crime?

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

She laughs bitterly. “I want my husband not to cheat on me! I want him not to be gay! How’s that for starters?!”

“I’m not gay…..” I say.

She meets my eyes, and there’s fire there. I’m laying in bed, but I wish I could somehow get further away from her.

“Are you sure? Because it sounded pretty FUCKING GAY TO ME!!!”

She’s screaming, and, to my abject horror, she leaps onto the bed, onto me, my dinner plate flying, and she begins beating me with her fists.

I take it at first, but then her blows begin striking my face, my teeth, my nose. I see blood, and I grab at her arms, somehow manage to restrain her.

A stream of red leaks down over my lips, down my chin, drips onto the blanket. I taste it. Metallic. I shudder.

She’s not trying to hit me anymore. I let her go. She lays back, returns to crying. I reach over to the nightstand. There’s toilet paper there. I grab some, wipe at my face, try to clean the blanket.

Surprised by the lack of pain from my wounds, I realize I must be in shock. We both are. Her at catching me, me at being caught.

She’s still crying. I wish I could too, but I’m dead inside. A dried up husk. Somehow exponentially worse than I was when I was just lonely and not cheating.

“What do you need?” Her question throws me off. I look at her. She’s staring at her hands. She dares a glance my way. “What were you looking for?”

I shrug, trying to think. “Attention.”

“Attention?!” she spits the word in disgust. “I wait on you like a servant! I cook your meals, clip your nails, cut your hair! I even fucking shave you from time to time!”

I look at her with a bleak, defeated expression. I am an asshole, I feel it through and through.

She’s not done though. “Where’s my fucking attention?! When’s the last time you painted my nails, or rubbed my back, or just SPENT SOME FUCKING TIME WITH ME???!!!”

Without realizing it, I lift my arms to defend myself. No blows come though. Just more tears. More sobs.

“But yeah,” she says. “Let’s get you some attention…so you don’t go out and fuck all the guys in town!”

She laughs bitterly. “I’m gonna have to warn all my friends now. Keep your husbands on a tight leash, mine’s on the prowl for some dick!”

Her words make me ashamed, but more than that…..angry. She continues.

“At least I know a threesome’s on the table, as long as it’s with another dude…..”

My face starts to redden. She continues to dig at me.

“Hell, I guess we can go to the bar together and see who can pick up the most guys.”

“Are you fucking done?” I say at last.

She turns to glare at me.

“Are you?” she asks. “Or do you got a hot date tonight with the butcher?”

“I never fucked anyone!” I shout. “I didn’t fuck a single god-damned person! All I did was write some stupid messages, send some stupid pictures, and tell them whatever they needed to hear to keep them talking!”

She climbs up on me, digs her knees into my lap, puts her face right up io mine. I seriously worry she’s going to chew my face off.

“That should have been me!” she says. “That should have been fucking me! Me you were writing to! Me you were sending pictures to! Me you were sexting!”

“You think I didn’t try?” I say. “I’d send you pictures, and you’d laugh. Laugh, and talk about the kids. I’m so fucking bored….my phone never rings, never moves, and it’s so fucking depressing being at work all day and not having someone to write to, someone who’ll write me and beg to see my cock, my ass, my chest, my belly, my thighs. I just need someone to need me. I need someone to want me. I need someone that can’t keep their hands off themselves when they think about me. I need it so fucking bad….I don’t even care who it is…..I just need it.”

I cry then, the tears spilling down my cheeks. She cries too.

“I want that too,” she says. “I need it too.”

I wipe my face. “What are we gonna do….it feels so hopeless.”

She holds my face in her hands, forces me to look at her. “Why can’t we be that way for each other?”

Doubt creases my face. I meet her eyes. “I think the kind of attention you want is not the same as the kind that I want.”

She smiles gently. “I want that kind too….sexual attention.”

I shake my head. “You want sugar and spice, everything nice. Angelic harps, heavenly rays shining down on our love-making…..”

“Yeah,” she admits, “but I like it the other way too. Not as much as you do obviously, but I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t mind it?” I ask. “I don’t want you to just do it for me. I want you to want it the way I want it. I want you to need it. I want you to go through your day so horny you’re panting. You know, I literally get so hot at work I can’t concentrate…..”

“I’m not like you,” she says. “But I can be whatever you need me to be. What do you need? Do you need a dick? Cause I can buy a strap-on…..”

“Honey,” I say. “Enough with the gay stuff. I was just trying to get some attention. The truth is….I don’t know what I need. I just know I’m lonely. So lonely…..and it hurts so bad half the time I want to kill myself.”

She looks at me with alarm, but I continue.

“I’m not suicidal. I just wish there was someone out there who wanted me as much as I want them.”

That gets her angry again. “Someone? You’d take anyone, wouldn’t you? As long as they were as horny as you! Gay guy? Check! Old bag lady on the street? Check! Stray dog? Better watch out, hubby’s gunning for ya!”

“That’s just gross….”

“But true!” she says. “As long as they’re interested, you’re open for business….what hope do I have that you’re ever gonna be satisfied with just me anymore?”

I don’t have an answer. I can’t give her assurances that I can’t give myself. I feel like I’m always going to want something more, that I’m always going to burn for attention, especially in the dull hours of work.

We sit in silence. She crawls off my lap. Our boys knock at our door.

“Mom?” my youngest says. “Can we watch some TV?”

“Go ahead,” she answers numbly.

“No, Mom,” he says. “I mean, can WE watch some TV? You and me and Dad?”

She looks over at me. “This isn’t gonna get fixed in one night.” I say. “We should take a break, watch some TV with the boys, and talk again tonight.” She nods.

I get up, wash my face, put some clothes on. I leave the room, go out to the living room. Me and the boys watch TV. She never comes out.

It gets to be their bedtime. I help them brush their teeth. Read them a story. Put on their music. Turn off the light.

I stare at our bedroom door, dreading to enter. It’s been a few hours. What is she up to in there?

I swear to god I think I hear her laughing.

I push the door open. She’s in bed, looking at her phone, a big smile on her face. She sees me.

“Hey, hon!” she says.

“Hey honey!” a man’s voice comes from her phone.

“Who the fuck is that?” I say.

She turns the phone so I can see it. She’s video chatting with a black guy who looks vaguely familiar.

“It’s Bradley,” she says. “From your gay app. I looked him up on my phone.”

Now I remember. He’s one of the many local guys I was chatting with. “What the fuck’s going on though?” I ask.

“I think I worked it out,” my wife says.

“Worked what out?” I demand, starting to get frantic.

“A way for both of us to get our needs met,” she says, “but without either of us getting hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” I say. “Tell me in English. What are you doing?”

My wife bats her eyes at me innocently and Bradley laughs.

“Honey,” she says. “Your friend here, as it turns out, is equal parts sugar and spice. He’s going to be our mediator, our go-between. He’ll be hard when you need him to be hard, and soft when I need him to be soft.”

“That’s right,” Bradley says. “I can be hard or soft, whatever you all need me to be.”

“Plain English,” I tell my wife. “What are you saying?”

“I need someone to take care of you,” she says. “Give you the attention you need. And then, when you get home, you can both give me the attention I need. That way it’s equal.”

“Are you talking about fucking?” I ask.

“I sure hope so!” Bradley laughs. “Otherwise, I’m on the wrong damn app!”

My wife laughs along with him and shoots him an amorous look that I really don’t care for.

I turn to her and say, “Look, I really don’t think we need to bring a third party into this. Let’s just figure this out ourselves.”

She pretends not to hear for a second, then, “Oh sorry! I got distracted by your friend.”

Bradley has tilted his phone down, so she can see his huge black dick which he’s slowly stroking with his free hand.

“Oh my god, that’s so fucking hot!” she half-moans.

“Babe!” I yell. “I’m not okay with this!”

She shoots me a look, clearly annoyed I’m interrupting the show. “What? This is your friend, not mine. Besides, he said he can take on both of us. We’ll both get a taste of the action! Isn’t this exciting?!”

“No, it’s not,” I say.

“And the best part,” she says, ignoring me completely, “is that since he’s local, he can fuck us as much as we need him to.”

“That’s right!” Bradley says. “In fact, I can come over right now if you want me to.”

My wife gives me a questioning look. “What do you think, hon?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” I say.

“You’re right,” she agrees. “Best wait till tomorrow when you’re at work. That way he can have plenty of time to break me in. That’s a really huge dick!”

“What the fuck?” I say.

“What?” my wife asks with wide eyes. “You said you wanted me to blow up your phone with sexy messages, right? Me and Bradley are gonna blow it up all day long….”

“This is fucked up,” I say. “But I get it. Ha ha. Joke’s on me. You caught me talking to gay guys, so now you’re gonna prank me and pretend like you’re gonna cheat too. Touche’.”

My wife sets her phone on the bed, reaches for my hands. “Hon, I need you to hear me. This is not a prank. Your friend Bradley’s coming over tomorrow. He’s going to fuck me to get my holes used to him. And when you get off work, he’s going to fuck you too.”

I look at her, unbelieving.

“Oh!” she says. “And I need to run out and pick you up a new phone. Good thing that one’s still under warranty!”

She rushes out of the house before we can discuss it further. I can’t even chase her down because I have to stay with the boys. So, I wait. And wait. And wait. Hours pass, and it’s getting late.

Finally, the door opens, and in walks my wife. I immediately notice she looks disheveled. Her make-up is smeared, her mascara running. Her lipstick off. Maybe she was crying? Even her hair is in disarray, sticking out at odd angles.

“Did you get the phone?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” she sighs, leaning against the door as if exhausted. “I got it. I went ahead and took the liberty of setting it up for you. And, hey! It looks like you’ve already got a message!”

She hands the phone to me. Same model as my other one, so at least that’s easy. I open my messages. It’s a video file, sent from my wife’s phone. I play it.

“Hey babe!” It’s my wife sitting in an unfamiliar place, a living room by the looks of it.

“Hey baby boy!” It’s Bradley. “I’m just gonna give your wife a head start on tomorrow, that way it won’t hurt as bad. But, we didn’t want you to feel left out, so we thought we’d record the whole thing and send it to you.”

“Now babe,” my wife says on the video. “You’re gonna have a tendency to feel angry, hurt, and jealous. But don’t give into that. Just know that’s how I felt too at first. But this is for the best. So, if you get to feeling that way, just imagine that it’s you that Bradley’s fucking. Cause really, it will be tomorrow after work. He’s here for both of us, okay? Alright, try and enjoy this! I know I will!”

And then, the phone gets propped up. My wife takes her place on her knees between Bradley’s legs. I notice with a start that he is naked. So, is she.

She grabs his enormous meat close to the base, holding it so the top of it is aimed at her mouth. She lowers her lips to his tip. Both of them moan in unison. She begins to slide her mouth up and down on his shaft.

“What the fuck?!” I say, looking at her now as she stands in the living room watching me watch the video.

“I know, he’s really huge, isn’t he?”

“That’s not what I fucking meant,” I say.

“I know,” she concedes. “Just watch the video, and I’ll help you out.”

“How will watching the video help me out?” I demand.

She smiles, lowers herself to my crotch and pulls my boxers down.

“I’m going to recreate every scene with you,” she says. “That way it won’t feel like I’m cheating.”

She pulls my dick out. On the video, she’s already trying to fit as much of Bradley’s dick down her throat as possible and having a really hard time doing it. She turns to me and puts her mouth over my still flaccid penis, easily swallowing my cock and balls. She laughs.

“That’s not fucking right,” I say. “I’m not hard yet.”

“So. Get hard,” she challenges me with a cruel, teasing smile.”

I try to focus on her mouth, on the feel of her tongue, but it’s like she’s purposely leaving her mouth open, purposely leaving too much room so I feel a ton smaller than I really am.

“It would help if you sucked on it a little, like you’re sucking on him in the video.”

Indeed, in the video, my wife has her mouth clamped around Bradley’s huge meat, her cheeks pulled inward around his thrusting shaft, her big eyes gazing drunkenly up at him.

“It only looks like that,” she says, “because he’s so much bigger than you are.”

I’m angry now. “Suck my dick! Like you sucked his!”

I grab her head and thrust my cock in and out of her mouth, but, infuriatingly, she won’t clamp down with her lips. It’s like I’m humping air.

On the video, her and Bradley are moaning together. My wife’s throat is making gagging noises as he guides her bobbing head up and down on his dick. The sight and sound of it gets me hard as a rock. And pissed that she won’t suck me off right.