Ayfabe

CW:

Cuckolding, humiliation, housework, pro wrestling, conversations

There is little explicit sex in this, and none between the wife and the bull. It's more of a light comedy and an exploration about one way three people might end up in t his arrangement, and how they navigate their way through it.

p.s. To the folks that told me to write something lighter: Hope you enjoy your monkey's paw. ;)

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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 was 6'3" and 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, marshaling 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 expression 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?"