Chapter Six - Cucold's Confession

After Sonia's stunt with Nate, we kept in touch--casual, scattered calls and emails over the next year, nothing heavy. Life pulled us apart; Tara and I were married, work was a grind, and Sonia's world stayed quiet until she dropped a bombshell: she was getting married. "I want you to meet him," she said, voice bright but edged with something I couldn't place. Work swallowed me whole--running my own team now--and I couldn't make it happen. She tied the knot anyway, and I figured that was that. Then, post-wedding, she reached out again, casual as ever, like no vows had changed a thing.

I'd built a solid crew at the office by then, and Sonia saw an angle. "Can you help my husband with a job?" she asked, all breezy. "Send him in," I said, curious despite myself. That's when John walked into my life--a nice, homely guy, raised like Sonia in a sheltered cocoon, but his was a village in South India, all quiet traditions and tight reins. Shy, soft-spoken, good-looking in a simple way, he was the kind of guy you'd never peg for her wildfire. She had him wrapped around her finger, though--worshipped her like a goddess, his virgin world cracked open by this horny, gorgeous woman who'd swept him up. I hired him on the spot; he was solid, joined my team, and kept his head down.

Sonia faded into the background after that, just a shadow I'd brush past when she picked John up from the office after work. We'd swap small talk--weather, jobs, nothing deep--and go our own ways. Months into their marriage, though, she got restless. One morning, I'm pulling into the parking lot when she's dropping John off, and instead of peeling out, she lingers, leaning against her car, all flirty smirks and wandering eyes. We chat--casual at first, work, life--but I catch the heat in her tone, the way she's playing me. Tara and I are rocky--marriage turning into a grind, intimacy starved out by routine--and Sonia's vibe hits me hard. "Meet me at my place for lunch," I say, voice low, knowing I'm crossing a line. She nods, and I head into work, counting the hours.

Lunch rolls around, and I ditch the office, drive home, skip going back. I'm sprawled on the couch, sweatpants loose, flipping through porn on my office computer--some hot, sweaty couple fucking like animals--when the knock comes. I yank my pants up, cock half-stiff, and let her in. She struts past, eyes flicking to my bulge, a smirk tugging her lips. We plant ourselves in the living room, chatting about marriage, life, the usual bullshit, but she wanders into my office, spots the porn paused mid-thrust. "What's this?" she grins, hitting play before I can answer. I sit at the desk, her dragging a chair beside me, and we watch--silent, locked on the screen. The couple's going at it, all slick skin and desperate moans, and her breathing gets heavy, loud, matching mine. My cock's stiff again, tenting my sweats, and I catch her staring, eyes locked on it.

"I can't do anything about that," she says first, voice firm, "I'm married now." I nod, "That's fine," keeping it cool, and we keep watching. But the heat's too much--she cracks, muttering, "Fuck it," and grabs my cock through my pants. I haven't fucked in weeks, and it feels good--real good. Her hand's rough, eager, and I drop my head back, letting her work me. She doesn't stop, jerking me harder, moaning loud like she's the one getting off. I shove my sweats down in one move, pants at my ankles, and she smiles--triumph, like she's won something. Her hand's on my bare cock now, stroking slow, and I'm lost, eyes flicking between her and the screen until the porn fades--I'm all about her.

She scoots closer, left hand jerking me, right cupping my balls, playing with them as I moan, her smile widening. She knows Tara, always jealous of her, used to swear she could pleasure me better--now she's proving it, making me groan in my own damn home. I can't take it, stand up, kick off my sweats, and move to the single bed behind my chair. I sit, legs wide, cock jutting up, and she's on me--kneeling, sucking me like a starved slut. Up and down, left and right, tip to balls, her tongue lathers me, saliva soaking my groin, dripping to my asshole. She leans back, jerking me, chin wet with spit and precum, squeezing every drop out. "God, I love your cock--it's so big," she pants, grabbing a condom from her bag, sliding it on me smoothly.

She pushes me flat on the bed, climbs on, lowers herself--hot, wet, riding me hard. Moaning, crying, she yanks her t-shirt off, unhooks her bra--her boobs bigger than the terrace days, full and heavy. I grab them, feeling their weight, and she rides faster, head falling back, curls spilling. I pinch her nipples, slap her tits--knowing she craves the roughness--and she moans harder, grabbing my hand, sucking my fingers one by one, guiding the other to her chest. The fan spins overhead, but we're sweating buckets, fucking in our own slick mess.

I've had enough of her on top--lift her off, flip her onto her back, and pound her missionary, fast and brutal. I pin her hands above her head, ramming deep, pulling out to the tip, then slamming in. She's losing it--panting, screaming, loving the control--and I lean down, biting her boobs. "Not too hard," she gasps, and I snap back--married now, marks are trouble--switching to her nipples, nipping them sharp to drive her wild. I'm close, grind deep instead of pulling out, and she moans louder, that move is always a killer. Watching her writhe, I hit the edge--pull out, rip the condom off, and shoot across her breasts, thick ropes coating her. We collapse, panting, sweaty, side by side on the bed.

We talk a bit--small, winded stuff--but she sits up, dressing quickly. "Gotta go," she says, and she's out the door. Hours later, she calls, crying, guilt choking her voice. "I feel awful--wanna tell John." My gut twists. "That's a bad idea," I say firmly. "You'll hurt him." She's torn, half-agrees with a shaky "okay," and hangs up. I'm staring down work tomorrow, John on my team, no clue what I'm walking into. But morning comes, and he's fine--quiet, normal, like nothing's up. I breathe easier, figuring she kept her mouth shut.

I was wrong. She'd spilled everything that night--our fuck, our past--and John didn't blink. Got hard instead, turned on by it all. I keep my distance after that, wary of her chaos, and she doesn't push--until an invite comes weeks later. "Come over," she says, casually, and I figure she's held her tongue. I head to their place, and she's all over me--hugging tight, leaning in for a kiss. She's buzzed, vodka on her breath, and I pull back--John's right there, drunk too, grinning loose. We chat, awkward as hell, then she pops a DVD into the player--shitty porn, laughable. "I've got better," I say, digging DVDs from my bag. John grabs them, eager, slots one in, and we pile onto their three-seater sofa--me on one end, him on the other, Sonia climbing onto his lap, facing me, legs draped over mine.

She feels my hard-on tenting my shorts, smirking as John gets a clear view. She twists back, French-kissing him deep, tongue in his mouth, then shoots me a look--jealousy bait, pure Sonia. I watch, knowing that kiss, betting he's stiff under her. She keeps it up, but her feet start playing with my cock through my shorts, teasing me while she makes out with him. We're half-watching the porn--some MMF scene--when our drinks run dry. "Get us more," she tells John, and I cut in, "Last one for me." He shuffles off, and she crawls to me on her knees, kissing me hard. "What the fuck?" I hiss, pulling back. "He's right there." "It's fine," she slurs, kissing again. We lock lips a few times before John walks in, and I freeze, clueless he knows it all--our past, the office fuck, everything.

This could blow up--I stand, grab my bag, hold it over my bulge as she smirks, knowing I'm hard. "Keep the DVD," I mutter, bolting out. Months later, I left the country, and a year after that, they moved to the Middle East. We're down to Skype then, and she drops the truth: she'd told John everything the day after our fuck, and he'd loved it--got off on it, begged for details. They'd been roleplaying me in their sex ever since, him watching her in their fantasies, hard as hell. John joins the call, stepping into frame. "I'm turned on by it," he says, voice steady. "Every time we fuck, I imagine you're there, taking her. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I'm rock hard, stammering, "Wasn't sure I should've." He grins. "When you came over, why didn't you fuck her?"

I'm floored--this shy guy, begging me to bang his wife while he watched. Sonia slides back into view, John fading to the background. "What's happening?" I ask, dazed. She lays it out: "Told him everything the day after. Turned him on so much--he's my bitch now, does whatever I say. We roleplay you fucking me all the time." I'm reeling--cuckolding a word I don't even know yet, but it's sinking in. We end the call, and I dive into research--MMF vids, forums--piecing it together.

Weeks later, they're back on Skype, both of them, and she's pushing it again. "He'll do anything you tell him," she says, smirking. I see it--John's submissive as hell, her puppet--and I start dominating him too, instinct kicking in from years of owning her. We play online a couple times, and one night, it's full-on roleplay. I'm jerking off, Sonia's masturbating on screen, and John wants in, but we don't let him. "You can't touch yourself 'til we're done," I bark, and she nods, grinning. "Serve us first." She takes over, ordering him, "Get on your knees, suck his cock." It's Skype, all pretend, but I'm hard--precum leaking--and John plays along, voice low: "I'm sucking your big dick, licking you." Sonia ups it, "Lick his asshole, finger him," and I cut in, "Nope, nothing's going in there." They laugh, and we derail--why I won't let him rim me, teasing Sonia's bi streak, her kink for two guys.

Later, I learn she loves dominating him, pushing his bi fantasies, and he's all in--anything she wants. Time zones fuck us up, but every call peels back more. They're swinging--not traditional, but wild parties with couples like them. She plays with wives after the husbands finish, her taste shifting toward women. Then swinging stops--she craves bigger men, fucking hung Arab guys while John watches or drives, her in the SUV's back seat. Eventually, she's dating an older man, John jerking off as he watches. We drift apart after they move again--Europe now, two kids, her done with men, leaning hard into women. John's got a free pass to fuck who he wants, discreetly. I believe it--years back, she hooked me into seducing a hot club girl for her, and she nailed it fast. She's got that pull, men or women.

It's been years now--no calls, no meetups. Life's happened, and we're both buried in it. Sonia's wild arc-- repressed to hotwife to something else--burned bright, and I rode it, from her first suck to this strange, distant end.