It was supposed to be simple—a game, a thrill, a way to break him. She’d planned every detail. The setting. The timing. The bull. The man himself didn’t matter. What mattered was the look on her husband’s face when he saw her give herself to another. When he watched his fragile sense of control crumble into nothing.

James was perfect. Tall, broad, confident—the kind of man who made women stare and men grind their teeth. He had that primal energy, unshakable and raw, the kind her husband lacked. She wasn’t just after physical betrayal. No, she wanted Mark to see her surrender. To watch her take every inch of another man and choke on his own helplessness.

When she first suggested it, Mark’s hesitation had been delicious. The flicker in his eyes—half-intrigue, half-dread—told her everything. He trusted her. That trust made it easy to push him. Easy to make him small.

She had firmly commanded Mark to remain in the chair, tucked away in the corner—his place as the silent observer, powerless to intervene, yet forced to witness every moment. Now, with James’s hands gripping her ass, her body flush against his, she watched Mark’s face. He sat rigid, jaw tight, knuckles white on the armrest. But beneath the tension was something else. Something he didn’t want her to see. Curiosity.

James undressed slowly, deliberately. He didn’t just strip—he performed. His fingers trailed over his abs, teasing himself as much as them. The sound of his belt sliding free made her clench involuntarily. His cock sprang free when he shoved his jeans down, thick and heavy, already hard. She felt Mark’s eyes on it. On her.

When James’s hand slid between her thighs, she gasped. His fingers parted her slick folds, slow and unhurried, tracing her wetness.
“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” he murmured. His voice was deep, rough. It sent a jolt straight to her core.
She squirmed, wanting him to hurry, to fuck her rough like she had planned. She wanted James to take her head down and ass up, raw and unrelenting. That was the image she had in mind: exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. But James had his own pace. His own plan.

He eased her onto her back. She resisted, tried to roll onto her knees.
“No,” he said simply. He pressed her down, his weight pinning her, his eyes locking onto hers.

She whimpered as his cockhead pressed against her entrance, slick with her arousal. He pushed in slow—agonizingly slow—stretching her open inch by inch. Her nails dug into his shoulders. She let out a long, broken moan as he bottomed out, his thick shaft buried to the hilt.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “So big. You’re splitting me open.”

She made sure Mark heard every filthy word. Every cry. Every wet slap of skin on skin as James began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that made her toes curl. She arched into him, legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“Fuck… so deep,” she panted. “So much more than I can handle.”

But then James leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
“You don’t have to fake it,” he murmured. “I can feel how bad you want it.”

A flicker of unease shot through her. She wasn’t the one in control anymore.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d expected him to fuck her hard, to use her body like a toy for Mark’s humiliation. Instead, James was making love to her—slow, deliberate, devastatingly intimate. Each thrust ground against her G-spot, dragging moans from her throat she couldn’t hold back.

Her body betrayed her. She melted beneath him, lost in the heat, the stretch, the relentless friction that made her clench around him. He moved like he owned her, like he had all the time in the world to take her apart.

Her eyes flew to Mark’s. He was staring, his face flushed—not with rage. With arousal. His cock strained against his pants, his breathing shallow. He wasn’t just enduring this. He was turned on.

The thought pushed her over. Her back arched, her mouth falling open in a cry as her orgasm slammed into her. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, shaking her to her core. She clung to James, sobbing his name as he kept thrusting, drawing out every last spasm.

When he finally pulled out, her thighs trembled. She slid off the bed on unsteady legs and padded to the bathroom. At the doorway, she paused, not looking back.
“See, Mark? That’s how you treat a woman.”

She stepped inside and shut the door. Hot water pounded her skin, but it couldn’t wash away the strange charge clinging to the air.

When she returned, towel wrapped tight around her body, the room felt different.

Mark sat stiffly, his knuckles white. His face flushed—anger, shame, or something darker? She couldn’t tell.

And James… James stood too close. Close enough that the air between them felt thick. Electric.

He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on Mark.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” James said, his voice calm, unshaken.

Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t speaking to her.

Mark’s lips parted, words caught in his throat. His eyes darted between them, confusion and something raw flashing across his face.

James stepped closer.
“Would you want to go out sometime? On a date?”

Silence.

The realization hit her like ice water. She had planned to humiliate Mark. To break him.

But now, she wasn’t in control anymore.

She was the cuckold.