Hello, Horny Readers! W/e all know who was at the door, don’t W/e? The few minutes it took Mrs. Cuckie to return with Dean in tow seemed like an hour. Cuckie A, meanwhile, kept up the pretense of being unperturbed. He made stilted conversation, offering to refresh drinks (a couple of times asking the same person twice), asking too loudly if anyone was still hungry, etc.. But every once in a while, his eyes would dart to the sliding glass doors that lead from the house to the patio. And neither his awkward manner nor his glances went unnoticed. The first tendrils of cuckold humiliation had begun to curl themselves around the whole assembly, as the significance of the newly-arrived guest became apparent to everyone.

I’m not saying they knew off the bat that it was Mrs. Cuckie’s cuckold bull. I’m just saying that they knew it was someone Cuckie A desperately did not want it to be.

Or did, and was overwhelmed by the shame of that realization.

The inevitable arrival . . .

Finally, the two appeared. The crisp, white button-up shirt that clung to Dean’s muscular torso looked painted on. Next to his deep chocolate skin, glowing with vigor and vitality, the effect was only magnified. Well over six feet tall, his proportionately large hand rested on Mrs. Cuckie’s hip, with a generous section of her ass included. The sight of the possessive, intimate grip sent Cuckie’s heart rate skyrocketing. Both of Mrs. Cuckie’s arms were wrapped around Dean’s tapered waist. The two were chatting cheerfully and un-self consciously as they joined the group, Mrs. Cuckie looking up attentively into Dean’s chiseled face.

“Everyone, this is Dean, a good friend and co-worker of mine. He’s really helped whip Me into shape!”

Dean holds the group in sway . . .

Cuckie’s eyes darted from the hand on his wife’s hip, to the bulging muscles, to Dean’s bright, white smile, to his dark eyes that seemed to bore into Cuckie’s soul, to the utterly overwhelming outline of Dean’s big cock in the crotch of his well-fitted jeans and snaking down onto one of his powerful thighs, to the group of guests who never before seemed so suburban as they did now. Every mundane head with its cookie cutter wholesome haircut was turned toward Dean with his luxurious long dreadlocks, and his possessive arm around Cuckie’s wife. A casual observer looking at a snapshot of this moment might suggest that Dean stood out like a sore thumb, but in the midst of that electric energy, you’d have thought he was a king, favoring his subjects with an audience.

At least if you were observing all the wives.

The cuckold jealousy spread among the husbands like a virus. The wives inhaled the scent of true Alpha manhood like perfume.

“I ‘erd there was a party going on here,” Dean said, his rich, lightly-accented tone cutting through the tension.  “I don’t ‘ere no music.”

“I’ll turn some on!” Mrs. Cuckie bubbled, giddy as a schoolgirl as she bounced away to the outdoor stereo.

“Take dis, gul'” Dean called to her, and she bounced back to take his phone, already cued to the type of music he wanted to hear. She popped it into the built-in phone dock, and soon, suggestive, erotic dancehall music filled the night.

“‘Oo wanna shake deh batty, eh? C’mon.” The way he began to subtly gyrate his hips was suggestive of so much more.

Then cuckold humiliation chases them away!

“I do!”

One of the other erstwhile slutwives popped up from her seat and giddily scurried forward. She didn’t need to be directed, and perhaps never had danced in such a way before, but she instinctively turned and pressed her ample bottom against Dean’s crotch, moving with him and with the music. She pulled his hands to her hips.

Soon, all the wives were surrounding Dean, nearly fighting for a chance to press their bottoms against that bulge with the fluid motions of his hips rubbing it against them. It didn’t take long for their husbands to stand and make noises about getting up early in the morning, paying the babysitter, et cetera.

Cuckie was torn between wanting the guests to stay, knowing that it would put off the inevitable, and wanting them to leave, so that no more of his cuckold humiliation would be on display. And yet, to the door they went, a few disappointed groans from the departing ladies.

“[Cuckie], why don’t you see them out?” Mrs. Cuckie suggested, and, as to object to leaving her alone with Dean (as all his instincts commanded) would have only humiliated him more, he did.

In a few days, the conclusion of this, one of many episodes in Cuckie A.’s ongoing cuckold humiliation. I know the waiting is agony, but again, think of how Cuckie feels!  *giggle*

Feel free to listen in below if you’d like to hear Me read this post!


Miss Rachel, Connoisseur of Cuckold Humiliation!