How much did I really need to dust? Ugh, I knew already. I needed to dust enough so that Dee would be happy. That’s what this was all for, after all. So that Dee would be happy. She was out shopping, buying a new outfit for our guest. No, for her guest. For my nemesis. 

Rod. An apt name for a bull with a nearly ten-inch cock. 

She’d been seeing Rod for a couple of months now. He was her first bull, the first guy that she’d decided to keep around long term. Other than me, her husband, I guess. There had been some other guys, some one-offs. We had gotten into this so gradually that it was hard, looking back now, to see the whole path. 

But what had started with a little humiliating talk and her flirting with some guys at a bar before coming home to fuck me senseless has ended up here: me tidying up so that the house would be nice for the guy that was going to rail my wife while I was forced to watch. Or maybe not; sometimes they liked to leave it to my imagination.

I gripped the duster so hard it left an imprint on my hand. I thought it might splinter into pieces. I was ready to scream, to scream and shout and finally say “no more!” The anger was building again, the one that said, “You are a man, why are you allowing this? Fucking divorce her! She doesn’t love you!”

Then the doorbell rang.

Dee would use her key. Rod would hammer on the door like a battering ram. So who the hell was this?

I took off the apron that Dee insisted I wear when preparing for Rod’s arrival each time and answered the door. To my surprise, it actually was Rod. He hadn’t even knocked, much less hammered, just rang the bell like a civilized human being. And while he was still dressed as usual for one of these weekend encounters, in his motorcycle leathers, he didn’t look quite… right.

He just looked like a guy. He wasn’t puffed up. His manner was casual, even affable. He smiled, actually smiled, not like some sinister tormentor or cruel bully, but almost like a friend. And then, the most surprising thing of all. 

“Hey, Martin. Can I come in?” 

…The fuck?

I stammered, “Wha– what?”

“Can I come in?” He looked at me. “It’s your house, Martin. I’m not…” He sighed. “I think we need to talk. Man to man.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Even though it felt like inviting a vampire in, I muttered, “Um, sure, I guess. Come on in. Do you want a beer?”

My nemesis smiled again, and I was starting to wonder if this was some sort of new humiliation that he and Dee had dreamed up. She wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple of hours, but who knew? They might be filming the whole thing, ready to play it back so they could laugh at what a sucker I was. 

“That would be great. You know, actually, why don’t you take a load off? I’ll grab it. You want one, too?” Was he going to drug me? Was that the plan, dose me with Molly or roofies so I’d be sucking his cock when Dee came through the door? I nodded at this suspicious offer, reluctantly and warily.

As I sat in my chair, I wondered if that was the right choice. Would he try to make me get up and sit on the couch? Or on the floor? But he didn’t, just came in and handed me my beer, unopened, and sat down on the couch opposite me. I took it from him like I might a live rattlesnake. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then cracked his open and raised it in toast. “To Dee.” I frowned, but raised mine as well. He took a pull off his, then said. “She’s why I’m here. Well, she, and you, and me. All of us.” 

I froze. Fuck, that did not sound good at all. “What about us?”

Rod sighed. “It’s not like that. Look, Martin, I meant what I said. This is you and me, man to man, not– not bull and cuck. Not exactly. It’s about that, but it’s not…” He looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck, we should have had this talk weeks ago.” He sounded worried. I’d never heard him worried before. He was always confident. Arrogant. Obnoxious, even.

“Talked about what?”

“About whether this is something you really want to be doing.”

The laugh came before I could stop it. “Are you serious?” He nodded. “Then, no. No, it fucking isn’t something I want to be doing, Rod. I don’t want to watch a dude fuck my wife while they both insult me. I don’t want to lick her cunt after he creampies her. I sure as fuck don’t want to clean the house, MY house, in an apron so that it looks nice for him when he comes over to do those things.”

“Are you sure about that?” There was no menace there. No judgment, either. It seemed like an honest question.

“Yes! Why the fuck…” I shook my head. “Why would any guy want that?”

“Then why don’t you stop me?”

The dude stood 6’3” and weighed in at 240 pounds, a wall of muscle and bone. He had a scar that ran across one eye, and more hidden under his clothes. His hands were massive; I’m pretty sure he could have palmed my head. I just gestured at him, and he laughed. “Okay, fair enough. But you could call the cops and say I was an intruder. Hell, you have a gun if you want to toss me out yourself, Martin. Several of them! Or… or you could just tell Dee you want to stop.”

“I have!”

Rod leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyebrows knitted together. “Really?”

“Yes!”

“Were you serious? Did she know you were serious?” His voice was laden with concern.

“I thought I was pretty clear! It was the time before last, after you left. She wanted to get me off, and she did. With her hand, as usual when you come over. Afterwards, later that night, she called me her ‘sweet little cuck,’ and I just got so pissed off. Told her I was sick of having you here and went for a drive.” My face was getting red at the humiliation of the moment, at the anger I was feeling now, and at having to admit it to this asshole. This asshole that… that wasn’t actually acting like an asshole right now. Which made it all the more disquieting.

“Fuck. Fuck!” He gestured to me, hand up and palm out. “Fuck, Martin. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t… I don’t think Dee thought you were serious.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?!” I started to stand angrily, but Rod just sat there looking at me. I got the feeling that if I tried to hit him, he’d let me; not to be macho, but to be fair.

“Because you seemed just as into it as she did. As we both did.” He rubbed his forehead with one hand, eyes closed. “Look, if you want to kick me out, that’s fine. I’ll go and never bother you again. But… but this isn’t a thing that’s going to be solved by doing that. Kicking me out won’t fix your problem, the problem you and Dee have together. Let’s talk, okay? I think we need to figure some things out before Dee gets here.”

He put the beer on the coffee table, with a coaster. A coaster. What was the world coming to? “Okay, I need to understand some things. Some really important things. You say you don’t like–” He waved his hand back and forth between us, then vaguely at the door. “This. The bull/cuck/hotwife thing. Is that true? Or is it more… is it that you think you shouldn’t like it? That you feel a way about it that makes you uncomfortable and excited?” 

My teeth were grinding together so hard I could have crushed a bar of steel between them. 

“Martin, I’m not fucking with you. I’m not trying to humiliate you; not right now, at least. But I need to be clear on whether this is– whether I should be here at all, or if it’s just that we, either Dee or I or both, went too far.”

I just stared at him, mouth open in disbelief and a bit of anger. “‘Too far?’ There’s a guy coming over to the house and fucking my wife on the regular. Yes, I’d say–” He held his hands up.

“Okay. But… look, there was a point where you were enjoying some aspect of this, yeah? When it was just you and her and she was humiliating you alone in your bedroom, or when she was flirting with guys, or when she was coming home after fucking one, right? She didn’t… this wasn’t forced on you, was it?”

I looked away. “... Yeah. I– I didn’t want to like it, but… it was hot. The flirting first, then the humiliation. And then… and then knowing she was going out. The sting, that pain of… of humiliation. I still don’t know why I enjoyed that. Enjoy it. But knowing… knowing she’d come back, having that faith in her, in us, and having it rewarded, that made it worthwhile.” I turned to him. “And then you fucked it up. Because she wanted you. Not some random, almost faceless guy. You.”

His words were carefully chosen. “If it was me that caused the problem, why didn’t you get mad about it until the time before last? We’d been at it for weeks by then, and you were there. You… honestly, you seemed into it.”

I sat down slowly, chewing my lip. “Because… because before, it was me and her doing something as a couple, sort of. She’d go off and be with someone and come back. And then when she came back, it was me and her together until the next time, and just us, not even a hint of anyone else. And then you were coming here, and it was fine for what it was, like when it was any other random guy, just more… convenient. Stable and safe, so there was no chance of her getting hurt by some rando. But then… then it started to feel like it was… like it was you that mattered, not me. Like things changed from…” 

This was not shit I wanted to admit to him; no matter how reasonable he seemed now, it felt like he was going to use it against me later. “Before, it was a thing where she’d go off and come back, and then we’d have a fun week or two or three until she did it again. But now… now it feels like the week is just counting the days until you come back. The humiliation doesn’t ever stop. It was fun when it was a game, but it doesn’t feel like that anymore. It just feels like it’s my fucking life now, like… like you’re her life now.”

The son of a bitch laughed. I was going to fucking murder him, or I was going to die trying. My fists clenched and Rod yelled, “Wait, no! I’m not laughing at you!” He shook his head and said, “I’m laughing at how fucked up this is. How much I fucked this up. I’m sorry, Martin, I really am.”

He spread his hands wide. “Look, you need to understand some things, some things I thought you already knew before we began. And understanding them, I think it’ll let us salvage this. We can all be happy, you and me, and Dee. And if you don’t believe that by the time we’re done talking, I’ll figure out a way to exit the scene. I promise, man to man. But I don’t think that’s what you really want, or what she does. Not deep down. I think you just want it to be… to be more like it was. And I get that! I do. So let’s get things back there. Because if all you do is kick me out, without understanding how you got here, it’s not going to get better. Not long term.”

I crossed my arms. “That seems like some self-serving bullshit.”

His massive shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I mean, it is self-serving. But it’s not bullshit.” The big bastard leaned forward again. “Look, do you even know why you enjoy the humiliation?”

“... No.”

“Okay, let me ask you this. Have you called Dee, or a girlfriend in the past, a whore or a slut? Asked them to submit to sexual shit they might not want to normally? Made them beg for it?” I nodded. “Okay, did you actually think they were a whore or a slut? Did you think they didn’t actually want to do those things, or just that they didn’t want to admit to wanting to do them? It’s not because you didn’t care about them, right? But they…” 

He looked up again, marshalling his thoughts. “That’s humiliation, too. It’s fun, a pretty mild version of the kink for them, admittedly. But it can be harder than that; orgasm denial or forced orgasms, public exposure, that sort of thing. Things women are told by society that they’re not supposed to like, that make them bad people if they allow someone to subject them to it. But none of that really works for guys, does it? I mean, a few things, modified a little bit, but not really.

“If you call most guys a slut, they’ll give you a thumbs up. If you’re talking about hetero shit with no toys, most sex acts aren’t going to humiliate a guy. Public nudity, maybe, but not necessarily, unless it’s forced. It’s… the power dynamics don’t work. The gender norms don’t let them.”

What the actual fuck. Power dynamics? Gender norms? Was this Rod or a pod person? He laughed when he saw the look on my face. “Look, I have two hobbies, and fucking married women is one of them. I’ve been doing it a long time, and I take it very seriously. I want everyone involved to have a good time. Yes, even the husbands. I don’t need some guy coming after me with a knife.” He gestured at his scar. “Again.” 

Rod sighed. “I made some mistakes when I was younger. Did all of this wrong. So I studied, tried to figure out what made people tick, how this should work. I thought…” 

He shook his head. “You’ve got a humiliation kink. That’s what cuckolding is, when you boil it down. Or, at least part of it. But you can’t humiliate a guy sexually the same way you humiliate a woman. It just doesn’t work. So, either the wife or the bull talks about how the guy has a tiny cock, even if, like you, they’ve got a decent one. They prevent them from having ‘real’ sex. Make them watch while a ‘real’ man fucks their wife. Cage their dick.” I froze at that one. “I’m not suggesting that. Well, not right… Never mind, not the point.

“But it’s… look, it’s like any other kink. It should be a thing that’s done so that it’s fun for everyone involved. So everyone is getting off and happy at the end. And that’s not what’s been happening, it sounds like. Or is that not the issue?”

I thought. We were still having sex the rest of the week. Pretty great sex, actually, with just a little of the humiliation sprinkled in, enough to spice things up. But… “It just doesn’t feel right. I hate that I know each week I’m going to have to deal with… with you. That it’s going to be the end of my week, seeing you fuck my wife and… and not being able to do anything about it. I mean, I don’t want her to leave me; I love her. I don’t want to make her pick between me and you, because…” I looked away for a moment, unwilling to finish the thought.

His eyebrows shot up. “Really, Martin? I… Jesus, dude. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I keep saying it, but we really should have talked about all of this.  Thought you were just… if you didn’t understand all of this, then, man you’ve handled it like a boss. But… you really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“Dude… she loves you. Like, really, really loves you.” I scoffed. “No, man. She loves fucking me, I ain’t gonna lie. But she fucking loves you. If you gave her the ultimatum, if you told her ‘no more of this, it’s him or me,’ or even ‘no more fucking anyone else, no humiliation,’ she… I mean, she might argue a little, but that’s because… because she does love you. Because you pretty clearly get off on the humiliation. And she, you know, seems to enjoy humiliating you. But that’s a fun time for her, not something she needs; she likes having sex with me, a lot. We both know it. But no, man. I’m not what she needs. You are.”

“Then why did she ignore it when I got pissed?”

His expression said ‘Duh’ as his mouth said, “Because she thought you were enjoying it? That you were still playing? And then you didn’t kick me out the next time, so you just affirmed that in her mind.” 

The expressions softened to one of regret, reproach for himself instead of me. “Look, if… assuming you don’t just kick me out? If you talk with her, seriously, making it clear this isn’t just you pretending you don’t want more humiliation, which is what she thinks you were doing before, she’ll stop. She gets that this is supposed to be fun. I do, too. I think… I think she thought you were just playing along.”

I sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“This.” A vague gesture at him. “Acting like you care. You’re already getting what you want.”

“Dude.” Rod looked hurt, actually hurt. “Dude, no. I do care. I mean, I thought I was getting what I wanted, but I’m not an asshole–” I snorted. “No, Martin, I play an asshole. I mean, there’s a bit of the asshole at the core of it, the ‘me’ that likes to dominate and humiliate people, but that’s… it’s meant as fun. Fun for everyone.”

He stood and started to pace. “Look, let’s say I was, I dunno, a dom instead. Like a whips and chains dom. Say I was coming in here and, like, spanking you and Dee.” He paused and looked to one side, contemplating the possibility. Then, shaking his head, he continued. “If that’s something you want, and she wants, then I’m being a dom. If it’s not? I’m committing assault. I’m hurting people that don’t want it. One is fun for everyone involved. The other is a felony.

“And if I were a dom, I’d turn it off sometimes, too. Or really, I’d turn it on. That’s what the Rod you’re used to is: it’s ‘Heel Rod.’ It’s me, playing a bad guy, so I can do bad things to people that want me to do bad things and then get on with my life, and they can get on with theirs. But it sounds like you’re not, and that’s my fault.”

He could tell I was dubious. “I dunno, Rod. Part of me thinks you’re just fucking with me, that this ‘sensitive’ you is just another way you’re going to fuck me over later. I didn’t know any of this. Like, if you were a dom, we’d have had conversations about limits and the like. Safewords. This is…” I balled up my fists with frustration again. 

“No, man, I get that. It’s… this is messier. It’d be easier if I was just caning you and Dee, because that’s… like, everyone knows you should be talking about what’s acceptable ahead of time. Anyone with half a brain, that is. But this, the humiliation aspect especially, is… it’s complicated. Messier, like I said. 

“Is it still humiliating if I tell you I’m going to do it? If you can psych yourself up for it? Does that make it more or less humiliating? Do you want the pain of knowing it’s coming, or does that lessen the pain, or is it sort of both? Different answers to that for different folks.

“And then there’s how Dee will react to you being more comfortable, to knowing that things are coming down the pike and you’re going to be ready for them. Does she suddenly feel more self-conscious, because this stuff is so out there that you need a warning? Does she feel bad where she wouldn’t have before? Or is she happier because you’re happier? But if you’re into humiliation, does she feel worse because you don’t get as humiliated now, which she thinks of as her fault for not knowing what you want?”

This was all so fucked. I was listening to my wife’s bull tell me that he’s really a nice dude just playing the bane of my existence, and that he thought we were good until the week before. And the most frustrating thing? I was starting to believe him. He’d told me more about what I liked and why I liked it than I’d gleaned in months of research on the internet, and he really did seem to want to fix what had gone wrong.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“That really depends a lot on you, Martin.” Rod picked up his bottle. “You done? Want another?” I nodded, and he took both of ours to the kitchen and brought back two more. He continued. “You like the humiliation, even if you don’t want to like it, right?”

“Some of it, yeah. More than I used to. Less than Dee thinks I do, probably.”

He nodded. “Okay, so what else do you get out of it? Like, just being selfish, what do you enjoy about this situation?”

“Dee gets super charged up afterwards. That’s fun. She really seems to enjoy herself, too, which I like. I know… I know she likes fucking you better, but–” He laughed again, and I wanted to pound his brick wall of a face in again.

“No, man. She loves fucking me, that’s true. I’m great at what I do, I know that.” Very humble. “But better? Nah. Nah, man. Deeper, thicker, harder, sure. Technically more skilled? Yeah. But not better.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t fucking patronize me, Rod. I know you feel bad about all this, but come the fuck on. I hear her wail like a banshee when she’s with you.”

“What don’t you hear?”

“What? Is this some kind of fucking Zen thing?”

“It’s real simple, man. And it’s… I know it’s hard to get it when you’re in the moment, but I’ll tell you: there’s no tenderness there. With me, it’s all big screams and loud moans and ‘oh, fuck me, Rod!’” I frowned. “Sorry. But you know what you don’t hear? Vulnerability. Little soft sighs. Moans that say ‘this is good, you’re heading in the right direction, even better, oh! this is perfect!’ 

“I take her, which is fun. But you? She gives herself to you, which is… man, that’s everything. Not just her body, but her whole self. I’m not saying she’s faking her enthusiasm with me, although I think she’s… let’s say amplifying it since you’re there. But she knows she doesn’t have to do that with you, because what she’s giving you is 100% real. She might pretend to give herself to me, but that’s all it is, pretend. Even when she says shit like, ‘Oh, Rod, you own this pussy,’ that’s for my benefit and yours. It’s not the truth.”

Rod took a swig of his beer and pointed at me with the bottle. “Let me guess. You think that, if she had to pick between you and me fucking her for the rest of her life, it would be no contest, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, you’re fucking right. I’d lose in a landslide, Martin. I know it, and she knows it. You’re the only one that doesn’t get that.”

“Then why is she fucking you at all?”

“Because it’s fun! It is fun, man. I get to fuck her in ways that you can’t, just because of what I have between my legs and because I’m built like a brick shithouse, because I can swing her around like a ragdoll. She gets to be a complete and utter slut and not feel guilty about it, because I’m ‘making’ her do it. And she gets to humiliate you, which she knows you’re into; that’s what she, and me for that matter, thought you were getting out of this. What you were until…” He shrugged. “Until it felt too real.”

He burped. “Excuse me.” Another little surreal politeness to show that this was a different Rod. “You know the other thing she gets out of it?”

“What?”

“She gets to see how much you love her. Before I come over, you humiliate yourself to get the house ready for her, so she has a good time. Show that you’re willing to do what it takes for her to be happy, even wearing a frilly, flowery apron and letting her buy outfits to show herself off for another man.

“During, you watch her. You don’t storm out, you don’t get pissed. You squirm, and she knows it hurts. Knows that, on some level, you like it because it hurts, sure. But also that you’ll do it because you want her to be happy. That you’ll let it happen, and even stay and watch if she asks, because you love her enough to take that ego hit.

“And most importantly, afterwards, she gets to see that her man, the one she chose to marry, to pledge her whole life to, still accepts her. She’s doing things that society says make her a bad spouse, a bad person even. Things she wants so badly, but is expected to deny herself. But you don’t make her do that, and you don’t make her feel bad about who she is. And when she goes and does what she’s not ‘supposed’ to, and then you’re there for her? That’s golden, man. That’s love, a real and pure and unbelievably generous love, and she knows it. She’d give every bit of this up in a second for you, and she’d do it because you'd never ask her to unless you really couldn’t handle it.”

The big bull looked away. “I couldn’t do what you do. I’m not strong enough. I know you think I’m this big macho dude, and I am. But… nah. If it was someone I loved, someone it would kill me to lose? I couldn’t do it.” He looked back at me. “Do you get it now? The whole reason any of this works is because of you. I’m convenient, a big dick with a big dick, but those are a dime a dozen.” 

His finger pointed again. “You’re the special one in her life, and she knows it. Watch her next time. Don’t watch how she looks at me. Watch how she looks at you. I’ve seen it. And I guarantee you, once she’s alone, after I’m gone and you’re in another room, she cries about how lucky she is to have you. About how it would destroy her if she lost you. Destroy her if you rejected her.”

I took a long draw off my beer and thought. I did love her. And… yeah, he wanted to fuck Dee, so it was in his best interests to get me to buy what he was selling. But at the same time, a lot of it made sense. It explained a lot about how I felt. About how Dee had treated me; she was cruel because I got off on the humiliation, and she pushed it too far thinking it was giving me what I wanted. That could be remedied.

And even him. Seeing this version, the theoretically ‘real’ one, and knowing he wasn’t actually trying to steal her, and, according to him, he couldn’t if he tried. That made it all feel more bearable. I was relieved; not entirely, because I was still worried this was some kind of long con, or that he didn’t understand as much as he thought. And also because I’d been a ball of stress for two weeks, and even a useful set of revelations can only do so much in a short time. But enough that he could see me relax.

“Okay, good. Are you understanding now? I’m not… look, trust but verify, dude. I get that. But I promise you this: I believe that every single thing I’m telling you is true. After we’re done today, ask Dee to ease off. Make it clear that you’re not playing, you’re not begging for more humiliation, that you’ve actually been hurting in non-fun ways for a while. See what happens.”

I nodded. “It… that helps some, what you said. I’ll admit that. If you’re right, I mean. But… look, it still kind of sucks. And I don’t know what to do now. I… some humiliation is fine, but we’ve never dialed it in. I don’t know how. I don’t think Dee does either; the last couple of weeks show that.”

“Well, I had some ideas about that.”

Rod laughed when I narrowed my eyes. “Relax, Martin. This is going to be… look, I think it’ll be fun. Both because we’ll get more of what you like in and because…” His face got a big, goofy grin on it as he said, “Do you watch professional wrestling?”

“Uh, not since I was a kid, no. It’s, um…”

“Kinda silly? Dumb? Kid stuff? Yeah, it is. But I still love it. I used to sit with my dad and watch the greats back in the 80s like Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Iron Sheik, all those guys. And then NWO, the Attitude Era, all of that stuff, too. It’s a big, fun, dumb soap opera for guys, with long-running plotlines, weird story cul-de-sacs where someone gets fired or hurt, incredibly athletic guys doing crazy stunts, just a ton of fun and spectacle.” His eyes lit up when he talked about it. “I wanted to be a pro wrestler, but I fucked up both my knees in college, and… eh. I’m happy now.”

“What do you do for a living, anyways?”

“Oh, I’m a nurse in the NICU. Anyways, what I do, the ‘Heel’ version of me is patterned on some of those WWE heels: a dash of Stone Cold, some Roman Reigns, a bit of Chris Jericho, even some Undertaker when I’m trying to be the big silent implacable guy.”

I laughed. “Okay, I don’t know all of those names, but I think I get it. You’re being a villain. Playing a character.”

He snapped his finger and pointed. “Yes! That’s it, exactly. And you are, too.”

“How do you figure?”

“Look, five, six days out of seven, what do you do in your life? You’re a businessman. You make deals, and you have to be a hardass sometimes, right? And then for like six hours out of one day, you put on a pink floral apron and clean the house so a villain can come over and fuck your wife while you sit to one side, watching in sort-of-kind-of horror. Horror you know now that you could put a stop to in an instant. You’re playing a character, just as much as I am, even if you don’t think of it that way. You’re doing it partly for her and partly for you, but you are.”

He could tell I wasn’t entirely convinced, but continued. “Have you heard the term ‘kayfabe?’”

“That’s a new one on me.”

“Wrestling is fake.” He chuckled. “Shocking, I know. But it’s important that, for the sort of theater they’re doing, that everyone treats it as though it’s not. That’s ‘kayfabe,’ the way that everyone knows it’s fake, but treats it as if it’s real, that rivalries and alliances last outside of the show, that the victories and losses are real, that it’s not all choreographed. It wouldn’t be nearly as fun without that willing and active suspension of disbelief. 

“The term didn’t show up until the eighties, but it was a thing without a name before that. Kayfabe’s gotten a bit more flexible since the internet, but back in the seventies? Breaking kayfabe, or whatever it was called back then, would get you blacklisted. In fact…”

He drained his beer. “In fact, back in the seventies, there was this thing that happened. Some wrestlers were on one of those little Cessna puddle jumpers. It crashed, and they all got hurt: broken backs, ribs, concussions, all sorts of stuff. That would be bad, but what made it worse was that two of the wrestlers were heels, Ric Flair and Johnny Valentine. One of the others was Tim Woods, ‘Mr. Wrestling.’ A babyface, a sort of nice guy looking hero character, and also a hated rival to the two heels.

“This presented a big problem. The crash was in the news, but the WWE, WWF back then, tried to hide the details. Flair and Valentine were really badly injured. Woods got away with a concussion and broken ribs. Rumors started going around that the three of them had traveled together; this was back when the kayfabe illusion was much stronger, when a lot of people didn’t just pretend it was real, but believed it was real.  This getting out, getting confirmed, might have killed the WWF.

“So Woods, two weeks after the crash, still very much recovering, still walking around with broken bones, gets out there and starts wrestling again. Real wrestling. Or, okay, real fake wrestling, but still with body slams, pins, the whole thing. Just to ‘prove’ that he wasn’t on the plane. He volunteered to do that shit, because he loved wrestling that much.”

My blank face apparently wasn’t getting the point across. “Okaaaay…”

Rod laughed. “Look, if I’m the heel, what does that make you? I’m the one that comes in and fucks Dee and makes her feel dirty and used and slutty and all that other shit. Uses and abuses her. You’re the one that shows her she’s still worthy of love, that she is loved, and that she’ll be loved, even after she’s humiliated you. So what does that make you?”

“A sucker?”

He snorted. “No, a face. The hero in the story. Maybe… look, it’s an imperfect analogy, because all three of us are both participants and audience members, sort of. But. But.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “What if you and I have our own little kayfabe? What if we work together to make this the best fucking time of Dee’s life? And, at the same time… look, it’s still going to be humiliating for you. That’s part of the gig, and a part you like, even if you don’t like that you like it. Hell, a part I like, too. But you already know that it’s ‘fake,’ sort of. And that feels better, right?”

I reluctantly nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I still want it to be over when it’s over, after you’re gone. But… yeah, sitting here and talking with you like this, I feel better about it. Both what happens and how it makes me feel. Knowing… knowing it’s meant for fun. It’s like… like being in on the joke, sort of?”

“Right. So it’s already kayfabe. You’re doing it knowing it’s… not fake, but not real, either. Like the wrestlers; they’re athletic as hell, and they’re doing backflips and shit, but they’re also trying to make sure no one really gets hurt. Bruises, not broken bones. That’s what I try to do, too, just mentally. Emotionally. That’s what we can do together, and put on a better show for Dee while we’re at it. So what do you say? ‘Heel Rod’ and ‘Cucky Martin,’ putting on the best show your guest bedroom’s ever seen?”

My laughter could have probably been heard three doors down the block. It was so gloriously, delightfully dumb that I couldn’t help it. He was right; Dee did love it, did love the spectacle. And what I’d been doing before… I wasn’t acting. It hurt, and it only hurt. But I already knew it was going to hurt less with Rod’s revelations, if Dee did back off when asked. So what would happen if I worked with Rod? This Rod, this reasonable, personable guy that put so much thought into his ‘hobby,’ and me, the resilient and loving husband, could really rock her world if we worked together.

I stood and put my hand out. “Let’s do it.”

He jumped up and hugged me, actually hugged me. “This is gonna be so great. We need to–” A car door slammed. “Apron! Get your apron!” I hustled to get it on and tied, and in the time I did that, he had already transformed into ‘Heel Rod.’ 

As Dee opened the door, he was jabbing me in the chest with two fingers and bellowing, “Listen here, you fucking cuck, I’m gonna–” He looked over at her. “Ah, there she is now. Get over here, slut. I’m gonna take you to bed while your little pussy cuck husband sits here on the couch with a beer and the remote; it’s so much worse when you can only imagine, isn’t it, Cucky Martin?” 

He winked –fucking winked!– at me, as he poked me in the chest again, pushing me onto the couch. I did my best to keep an angry, unhappy face on, which was made easier as he dragged my wife into his embrace and shoved his tongue down her throat. It was easier, but still not easy. Easy enough, though. This was going to work. The bastard was right.

He was giving me time, this session, to sit and think. Turn the TV on, drink a beer, and… well, I could still hear Dee wailing like a banshee in the guest bedroom. That wasn’t fun. Or it was, but I felt like it shouldn’t have been. 

But I also listened, and he was right. What she was with him… I had always thought of it as a bigger version of what she was with me, but it wasn’t. There were similarities, of course; she was still the same woman. But there was none of the joy involved. It was sex, pure raw sex, and spectacle. I heard, for the first time, how much it was for show. He was still absolutely fucking wrecking her, I was sure, and I was sure she was cumming like crazy. But that’s all it was: just fucking.

Some folks don’t get the distinction; I get that. Love and sex, for some folks, are inextricably linked. Especially in a marriage. But I realized, with none of the guys she’d ever been with besides me, had she shown them actual love. I’d made her wail and howl like Rod before, albeit not as much. But he’d never made her coo and purr, never made her sigh with utter contentment as opposed to scream with pure physical pleasure.

It didn’t take the sting away; not entirely. There was still the part of me that wanted to be everything to her, both the best fuck and the best lover she’d ever had. But I could never be everything to her, just like she could never be everything to me. No one could be everything to another person; it’s just not possible. Even sexually. I’d had lovers that were tiny little things, that I could toss around like Rod could toss around Dee. I’d had lovers that were plump and cushiony, pleasant to hold and cuddle with as we fucked. Dee was athletic and firm, which had its own attractions, but wasn’t as comfortable when just snuggled up.

I finished my beer and had another before I heard the telltale signs that Rod was about finished with Dee. They were in there for a little longer before Rod came out, banging around loudly as he did like, well, like a bull in a china shop. “Cuck!” He shouted, “Get in there and clean your fucking slut of a wife up.” Then he leaned in close and said, “Remember what we talked about. Dee and I didn’t talk about, well, anything, but I guarantee you that if you ask her to ease up, she will. And text me later, okay?” I nodded. His voice turned back to ‘Heel Rod’ again. “Well fucking go, you useless little pussy! That creampie ain’t gonna suck itself out!” I sighed and he laughed, somewhere between the heel and the regular Rod, then left.

I stripped down and did clean her up. My cock was like steel as I did so, the humiliation, the noises I’d heard from her with Rod, and her beautiful, used naked body making me ready to explode. She moaned and sighed as I licked her clean, the little joyful noises that she only made with me, then orgasmed with the low, needful groan only I ever got to hear.

Dee, my beautiful, blonde, athletic wife, one of my two cruel tormentors, finally said, “Did my little cuck get a nice meal? It was sooooo much, wasn’t it?” She grinned and crooked her finger at me. “Come on, cucky, I want to watch you cum. Stand here next to me.” I did as she asked, and she wrapped her long, dexterous fingers around my shaft. “You’re going to blow before I even start, aren’t you?” I could only nod, then she brought her lips close to my glans and kissed it. That was all it took; the anticipation, her touch, the cruel, loving look in her eyes. I came, painting her lips with my spend.

She laughed, licking them and my head, then started to stroke my cock vigorously. “More, cucky. I want more.”

“Stop.”

I moved her hand off me. “He’s gone. We’re done. I don’t want to hear that word anymore.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What word?” She enunciated the next word carefully, smirking as she did so. “‘Cuc–”

“Stop. I’m fucking serious, Dee.”

Her eyes went wide. “Baby?”

My tone was grim and serious. “I meant it a couple of weeks ago when I left. When I got mad that you wouldn’t stop. That… that wasn’t me playing. It hurt, Dee. Really hurt, not… not the fun kind.”

She sat up quickly, looking up at me. “Baby? Oh, baby, no!” Her eyes started to water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know! I love you, Martin!” Her arms went around my waist, and her face pressed against my stomach. She held onto me for all she was worth as the tears really started to come.

I patted her hair and whispered soothing words. “I know, Dee. I know. It’s… this is weird. There’s no… there’s no rule book for what we’re doing.” I sighed. “I wasn’t sure before. Wasn’t sure if you… if you were hurting me just to hurt me. To… to show me I didn’t really matter to you anymore.” She sobbed loudly when I said that, and I stroked her hair again. “But you weren’t. You just didn’t understand.” 

Her head nodded vigorously against my belly, and her voice was so fearful as she spoke. “I didn’t. I didn’t, baby. We can… we can stop this. All of this. I never want to hurt you, not really hurt you. We can be done. I’ll be… be fine without any of this. I–”

“No, you won’t.”

She cried louder. “I will! I promise, I– it’s not worth it! I can’t lose you, I–”

“I know. But… but there’s something… since this started, since before, you’ve been looking for something. Needing to find it. And… I believe you’ll stop now, for me. But I also believe you’ll never really be happy until you figure it out.”

“Please, Marty, please, I will, I’ll–”

I crouched down next to my wife so I could look her in the eyes. “We’ll find it together, okay? I love you. I’ll… I’ll stay with you. As long as you listen when I tell you something is too much, okay? Really too much.”

Dee nodded, then let out a strangled, “Why?”

My hand stroked her cheek, and she kissed it, the tears trailing across my knuckles. “Because I love you, Dee. I’ll always love you.”

I held her as she wept. She was so scared, far more scared than I’d been angry. It rankled, but Rod was right. I was the one that made this work. But he was wrong, too; she couldn’t give this up. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. Not yet, not even if I’d asked. It would have dug into her brain and festered. Killed her love for me, not because she wanted these things, but because she needed them. Or, rather, needed something she hadn’t found yet.