The Return of the Ex-Boyfriend

It was a saturday in Autumn, and I was knocked out on the couch. The afternoon was dreary, as if the weather was reflecting the gloom inside my mind. A near-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's lay on the table next to me, reminiscent of an unsuccessful attempt at drowning myself.

I was a healthy and wealthy man, thirty years of age, an IT consultant with a flourishing business. Married to Gianna, the girl I loved with all my being, a stunning beauty in my eyes. And her slender frame with large breasts definitely turned some heads when she wore a tight-fitting dress. Long auburn hair complemented her slightly tanned skin. Her sparkling eyes and wide smile melted my heart. She wasn't a moviestar looker, but without a doubt the best I could ever hope to get. So why was I so down?

One major problem was the fact that Gianna had never loved me back. Or better, she was never *in love* with me. I had been her best friend for nearly twenty years, and that's all I would ever be to her. The one she really loved, Keith, had been her boyfriend until six years ago. He was a strong and dominant man, with long black hair. An asshole, a shady guy, and not even a good-looking one actually. Yet Gianna was infatuated with him, almost addicted, and I even suspect he actually had her addicted to something back in the day.

The two of them broke up because Keith ran into some trouble with the law. He needed an alibi, and in a rare moment of sanity, Gianna decided he wasn't worth the risk of lying under oath. When she told him, he had slapped her; then ran off leaving her a shattered mess. I stepped up to comfort her, taking my sole opportunity of escaping the friendzone, and we ended up married. They say time heals all wounds, yet Gianna never managed to find closure for the past, and I'd never seen her truly happy again.

Now Keith was back in town. I hadn't heard about it, but apparently he had returned two weeks ago and somehow got into contact with my wife. She told me yesterday, that the two of them had decided to bury their old hatchets and make peace. They went to a restaurant together in the evening and talked everything over, so they could both go on with their own lives. I desperately wanted to believe it, believe that this would end her unhappiness.

I knew better, of course. Keith was a man with no morals or feelings, and Gianna was an attractive girl who would still do anything for that man. Over the years, she had reluctantly confessed that she still dreamt about the sex they had. How his muscles, his bigger cock and his roughness had given her pleasure beyond what I had to offer. I knew he could have her naked and on her knees whenever he wanted. And he'd want to, because that's just the guy he was.

I had gone to sleep in an empty bed, and I had also woken up in an empty bed this morning. My lovely wife had left a note on the table saying she was out shopping, and she'd be back in the afternoon. She always went out shopping to think things over, and I felt the prospect of a painful conversation hanging over me all day.

It was 4:30 when I heard the door open and close again, my headache preventing me from getting up to greet Gianna as she entered. She stood and stared at me, knowing that I was quite aware of what she might say, yet waiting for me to break the silence.

"Are you divorcing me?" I asked, attempting to bite the bullet as quickly as possible.

"Of course not, John. I'm never divorcing you. I ... I just ..." she stammered as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "I just want him to forgive me for backstabbing him. I can't live with myself like this, babe. But he says he doesn't trust me anymore."

Somehow, I felt her honesty this time. She really didn't want to divorce me. Elation hit me square in the chest, and I uttered the fateful words that would be my doom.

"All I've ever wanted is to have you as my happy wife, Gia. Do what it takes to make up with him. Do what makes you happy. As long as you'll stay with me."

The words that eventually sent me into a life of cuckolding.

"He ... yesterday he asked me to ... suck his dick. To show him I was willing to make amends. Or I'd never see him again," she said, her face starting to blush in embarrassment.

Still high off the fact that she wanted to remain my wife, the reality of that didn't fully sink in. The nausea that would later engulf me stayed absent as I responded matter-of-factly.

"You did it. And you enjoyed it."

"Yes ... and yes."

"Did you go to his place? What else happened?" I knew she would let him have his way with her. Gianna had been longing for it, craving to be fucked by him once again. Did it happen already?

"No, babe. I ... we went to the men's room in the restaurant. I only blew him, against the wall." She wanted to say something else, but bit her tongue. I wanted to know the entire truth right then, while I was still half dazed from the alcohol.

"What else? Did he do or say something?"

"He said I'd gotten a bit rusty. Then after he came, he said there was clearly still some good in me. He'd be in touch. Then he left."

We both decided to leave it at that and try to go on with our life. Until he'd contact her, of course.

Exactly one week later, I sat on the bed with a knot in my stomach, watching my beloved wife get dressed up for a night with her ex boyfriend. New leather boots with high heels, a tight blue dress showing off her luscious cleavage, and no underwear as per request. A cloud of perfume, bright red lipstick and earrings with shiny diamonds made her a sight to behold. We exchanged a quick glance, both of us having a concerned, sad look in our eyes. Scared of what might happen tonight, scared of the future, and even more scared of the fact that, somewhere deep down, we might want this to happen.

We kissed each other goodbye, with an awkward "see you tomorrow". I turned on the tv, but the images did not register. With my trusted bottle of whisky in hand, I tried to fight back my imagination, the visions of what might be going on in Keith's hotel room flashing before my eyes. Their mouths melting together. His hands roughly exploring her delicious boobs, his tongue toying with her small, hard nipples, maybe even ... another sip snapped me back to reality. I got up and started cleaning around the house, tried doing some work, took my second shower of the day, anything to keep my mind from wandering back to her and him.

Shortly after, my phone buzzed, nearly giving me a heart attack. I ran over to the couch to pick it up, hitting the table leg along the way. A Whatsapp message. From Gianna. The picture did not leave much to the imagination: she was standing in a small bathroom, with red eyes, swollen lips and smeared mascara. Her hair a complete mess, cute face covered in white sticky cum, a few strands of drool dangling from her chin. My heart was pounding like crazy, and before I could read the accompanying message, I had to make a break for the toilet.

Dry heaving on my knees, sickened by what my wife was going through and deeply ashamed of my raging boner, I read her texts:

"Just got facefucked. Can hardly swallow right now"

"Small break before he takes hole number two"

"He did say I looked gorgeous :)"

Unable to comment on the actual content, I simply replied: "How are you feeling baby?"

"Scared. Humiliated. Horny. Gotta go now, can't let him get mad," she replied quickly.

Our brief interaction had rendered me completely unable to think of anything else. I sat down on the bathroom floor, leaning against the cold wall, and let all the images wash over me. Their bodies wrapped in a tight embrace, his hands running up her dress, squeezing her butt before finding their way to her puffy lips. The sexy purring sounds she always made when I touched her clit, probably turned into a full-blown roar in his hands. I knew the motherfucker wasn't being so gentle with her, but I had a hard time visualizing how that worked. What kind of mindgames did they play? Was he rubbing her pussy roughly, did she enjoy that? Maybe he would slide two fingers in while they were standing, then ask her to fuck herself against his hand. Keeping eye contact, his other hand playing with her wonderful tits, perhaps grabbing her by the throat while she squirmed and bucked her hips. I tried my best to envision the kind of brutal fucking he was giving her, the kind of brutal fucking she craved ... from him.

Time went on and I kept on dreaming about the filthy dance going on between my wife and her, well, what should I call him? He was not her lover, I ensured myself, but I did not know the correct cuckolding terminology. Cuckolding, my god, the thought alone sent shivers and nausea through my entire body. Yet it did not keep my mind from going there. He was probably fucking her like a maniac now. His cock, apparently bigger than mine, mercilessly hammering into her as she moaned and groaned. Were they doggystyling? Was he pulling her hair, or pushing her face down into the pillow? Did he spank her ass and make her call him daddy? I imagined her screaming "yes daddyyyy" as a wave of orgasm hit her, rocking her body and sending him over the edge as well ... and suddenly, my own genitals erupted.

As I lay on the ground, seething with humiliation and self-hatred, tears started to well up in the corner of my eyes. I grabbed a towel to clean up the mess I made, just when my phone buzzed again. My hands trembling from the tension, I opened it up to check out her latest whatsapp messages. Another picture of her in the bathroom, this time with her dress crumpled up around her waist, still wearing her boots. She was visibly exhausted, leaning against the wall with a glowing red body covered in sweat. Sexy as hell. Bruises on her thighs and a bright red handprint on one of her boobs were testament to the battering she had taken, clearly even worse than my fantasies, I though with a sense of shame. But what disgusted me the most, and turned me on at the same time, was a twinkle of satisfaction in her eyes.

"On to the final hole. Hope I survive," she sent. I fainted.

After I regained my consciousness, I remained on the floor for a long time, just staring ahead of me. My head hurt and the emotional rollercoaster had made me lose all sensitivity. I didn't move or even think until the phone came to life, signaling the end of my suffering, or so I thought. I had expected a message from Gianna saying "it's finally over", or something similar. Instead I got a series of pictures, clearly taken by Keith. The first showed her spread out over the hotel bed, either asleep or passed out. Then there was a close-up of her chest, Gianna holding up her heavy tits, showing off her earrings that now pierced her perky little nipples. Next, a picture of her ass spread wide open, cum drizzling out of it. And finally, a short video of his cock spearing her ass, a sultry soundtrack provided by Gianna's guttural moaning alternated with shrieks of pain. He suddenly pulled out, revealing his bare cock in its full glory. To my disgust, Gianna spun around and took him in her mouth without hesitation, eagerly, pure animalistic lust beaming from her eyes. Underneath the video, there was a short message: "I'm done. Come get her if you want."

With a surprising serenity, I put the phone down and went to my car.