Alone In The Haze

Story Details - [Just some info before the narrative begins. One; I have set this as part of the "Cuck" category but this may be wrong. Sure, its being played out by someone whose made to witness an affair, but I'm not sure if the style matches exactly what people who go for this category expect. Part of me has always imagined you'd read this like the self-insert is the other person and you were seeing that person from another perspective. But then in one respect, what does it matter. Read it however you like, maybe even change the characters around; you're the one reading it, you can interpret it however you like. Two; I don't explicitly confirm who people are. It is inferred within the story, but I don't go this person = A, this person = B. Some people may not like this but I had to do to make it read naturally. In one respect I never actually confirm anything, but then that is part of the point.]

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Warm day, today. I don't feel too bothered by it though; maybe everyone else on the train was bothered by the heat but I'm not. They all looked at me like I should have been, so maybe I should have pretended to be? I was just pleased that the track works were completed early meaning I'll be home almost an hour earlier than usual.

Although I don't know why it pleases me as much as it does. Sure, I have an impressive home with a beautiful wife, and a successful son. I've heard he passed another round of exams although quite why he is back home again for the break is beyond me. Maybe his accommodation isn't quite what he is used to but I wouldn't have thought that was enough to warrant coming back here when he could be out there.

Angela likes having him around though, and you know what they say: happy wife, happy life. Sure, life at home isn't quite like it was at the beginning, but its pleasant enough for the time that I am back in it. But I enjoy my work and the people around me while I'm there, so a little sacrifice is for the greater good.

And so he continues to mull on the juxtaposition between his home life and his work life as he stands at the station exit waiting for a Taxi to summon him. He is not alone however as the shade from the small patch of roofing poking out from the station walls is enough to collect a small group of people all standing irrelevantly to each other even though they all share a common demand.

But one by one the number of them whittles down as taxi's pull up to collect their purpose, until the last one arrives to pick up he who stands alone. It is not exactly far to travel, especially by car, and the fare he will pay will be far more than the journey is worth. Some people would wonder if it wasn't just better to walk but he wouldn't even think of that at all, instead behaving as if the taxi journey was thrusted upon him. It was just as it was meant to be.

Whatever the case it is shortly over, and he is deposited at the end of his long driveway leading to the family home. It is a large house but only by conventional standards, and isolated only because no one around him deigns to give his life a second look. Alone again after paying the taxi fare, he walks up to his front door in much the same way as he would any other day, and opens it with equal ineptitude.

The house is silent. This is not by any means strange as the décor screams for the echoes that reverberate off it, but he still expected for there to be something to greet him. Once inside his routine is the same as it always is. He takes off his shoes, then he takes a single step inside and looks around to see if anyone is looking back. There never is.

I wonder where Angela is? I guess I figured she would be in the kitchen but all I see is the light still billowing through the windows. But the dull hum of the oven at least assures me that she is here somewhere in the house.

It is not concern which drives him to investigate, but more a curiosity; so as he shouts out for her it rings out more as if a cub was shouting for their master. The echo back is accompanied by a slight unidentifiable ruffling, but is enough to lead to the assumption that she is upstairs and so he begins the ascent. He is only about half way up when he gets a response in earnest.

"I'm upstairs, dear. What are you doing here?" Angela exclaimed through muffled doorway.

"What do you mean?" he returns while continuing his approach.

"What? I mean, at this time. This is much more earlier than usual."

"Oh."

The conversation fails to get any less harsh as he gets closer, but then even as he arrives onto the upstairs landing he still cannot be totally sure as to exactly where she is. And it is as he comes to a stop that a thought enters his mind. Sure, it was something that he had worried about years before, but not something that he had thought about lately. The tone, the enquiry, the un-assuredness; they hint at just one thing.

And how quickly a thought turns to a panic.

A look down towards the closed door of the Master Bedroom is soon followed by a sprint of soft steps towards it. But, just as he reaches the cusp of the doorway, he hesitates. His hand clutches the handle, but it does not move. It can't, because he does not want to know what is on the other side. To know would be to confirm it, and all that it meant.

A feeling floods his mind. It is not alien to him, but is not something he would have been prepared to feel. Whatever it is to him, it is enough to make him finally turn the handle and reveal what dared to be obscured behind it.

And it is nothing. A well-made bed and the empty sounds that accompany such a sight. Confusion soon turned to shame, which was only reinforced when he glances over to the ensuite to see that it is also empty.

What was I even thinking? What did I expect to see? What did I want to see?

Then he hears what he thinks to be a door opening from back in the corridor. In response he calls out her name again to be greeted by a sound similar to a door closing again, but for which it made no sense to be. She responds, but again from behind the muffled barrier that he had heard before.

"Well?!" she exclaims with obvious contention.

By now he was back into the hallway and able to discern from where she was shouting from, and it turned out to be from the Shared Bathroom. But this was odd; by all expectation she would be using the ensuite as it is more or less their own private bathroom. What would possess her to use the other one?

"Well, I had some good fortune on my part, you see -". By now he had rounded the corner within the corridor and reached the door that led into the Shared Bathroom. He reached for the door handle and gripped it with every intention to use it, but again he hesitated. But this time he didn't fully understand why, he just held onto it. Maybe it was stuck, but how would he know if he didn't at least try to use it?

The question was answered for him as the handle turned without his effort, and the door opens to his malformed surprise. Not open by a lot though, yet just enough for her face to be illuminated by the light from the corridor even if it is not enough to turn the corner into the room itself.

Yes, it was odd that the light was off in the bathroom as it meant she had been standing there in the dark. It was an already odd occurrence that added to the tumult of his own mind, and it must have been conveyed in his face as she reacted to shake him back into the desired truth of it all.

"Are you going to respond to me?!" she insists with a strange sense of authority. It causes him to stagger if only in himself, but he finally realises that there was a question lingering in the air.

"Oh, well, they finished the track works ahead of schedule so I was able to get here much earlier than I was expecting."

"Weren't we all."

"Yes, ummm, why is the light off? What are you doing in there?" A valid question to most people, one would argue.

"What are you talking about? I've been standing here waiting for you to answer me since you came in! I've only just finished working out and you've completely disrupted my flow!", she retorts back with that same weird sense of authority that hints at its unstable ground. If only he was able to pick up on such a nuance.

The gym room was the last door down the corridor and he had indeed forgotten about it in that moment as he never uses it himself, as that would require him to be present.

"I guess that makes sense. I'm sorry.", he gifts back in pathetic manner.

"Well, there you go then. Now, how about you let me finish up in here then? I'm almost-". Her sentence is cut off suddenly by her own reaction to something unseen. It is odd because it doesn't cause her embarrassment or even consideration to anything outside of it, but it does cause her to look away as if its attention is more important than anything else could be right now.

It is only a second or two, but it may have well have been hours; and the break in their eye contact allows him to look around unhindered from her insistent demand.

"-done... in here....", she finishes her point for all that it mattered. But the words fall on uninterested air for both of them are now focused on things outside of it. A fact even more poignant for him as his eyes begin to adjust to the low light that would reveal a hint of what threatened to be obscured within.

With her head slightly lowered he could finally see the sublime contours of her back flow around the door to their hidden depths, or so it would seem at first. She could never seem to remember the mirror in there, or maybe she did and believed that there would not be enough light to see what it revealed. But for him it showed much of what there was to be seen.

The back of her head, from which auburn locks flowed in effortless waves, was as clear as he could see of himself; but the rest of her body was hidden behind the shadowy haze the low light allowed. And yet, even in such conditions, her body was evidently sublime in its display.

Her large and well formed breasts, her perfectly rounded ass, her svelt yet maternal figure; and all the lines that arced beautifully between them. She was a goddess in human form, as if the world was grateful for her presence. She was perfect, and yet there was an abnormality.

Her posterior, though framed with gilded lines that only marble could do justice to, was interrupted. And though the low light would attempt to bring an uncertainty to it, even the blind could tell that her perfection was not as it should be. For there was four fingers rounding over the apex of her form, and they could not have been her own.

It could not be; it was as if a ghost stood there that could not be my own reflection for I know enough of myself to compare. And though time had not gifted me the revelation to witness his face, it was enough to see his torso daring me to act on his presence. Maybe it was a physique I had attained in my youth, but now it was beyond me means to achieve.

But how could I be sure? The light is faint and my mind as blurry as the sight I am trying to bring clarity to. Maybe I only see what I expect to see, what I would expect to see with her.

There is little time to think of it. I should look away lest I be caught staring beyond her gaze, so I try to focus one last time at what may not even actually be there. But there it is; a torso, well-formed yet anonymous. And something else, what looks like a scar going from his belly button to his side.

Yet suddenly the door slams and all time is lost, and with it comes a harsh return to what is truly there; echoed breath and empty words.

"I'll be out later!", she bellows without opportunity to reply, as what quickly follows is the sound of the light switch and the activation of the shower along with it. His re-entry into being aware of himself again was violent, and it took a few moments for him to regain enough composure to start walking away with the sound of the water being all that remained to remind him that anything had happened at all.

But as he reached the top of the stairs once more, his mind returns to what he had witnessed; be it belief or reality. And it is not the sublime curves of his wife, but rather the spectre that stood by her side; caressing her, claiming her. And then oddly to that scar; what an strange thing to see. If his eyes did trick him, then why create such stark and blatant trait?

Why would I even think of such a thing. It reminds me of an accident Damien had when he was very young where he cut himself alongside an exposed branch. He was such a stupid yet brazen child, but now that I think of it I can't even be sure whether he has anything that remained of it.

He gives a quick look to the door nearby as his thoughts demand its attention. It is closed but then it always is. And though wooden wall ban's his entry, the message is all the clarity he needs.

His door is shut, it always is. He doesn't like me. I was never here. He barely even knows who I am. But whose fault is that? Mine; I should know better than to not know that. But he has been doing fine without me. He is a fine, young man. Fine, indeed.

But before he could look away he was unable to stop his thoughts going to places they had never dared to tread. And what sparkled into existence as an idea, effervesced into a more coherent possibility, until finally it became something that could almost be described as true.

It couldn't be. The very idea would have been impossible to imagine had events not created the fertile ground for their creation. I had to know; but to be wrong with such an accusation would destroy me and label me with the same stain to my character as if I had performed the act myself. They would see me as a shell; although maybe they already do.

He would need to act quickly so to sow the ground that would allow his investigation to flourish, and so he shouted back that he would be popping down to the local shop to acquire a newspaper. This carried a greater connotation as it was known that this would be a thirty minute escapade due to walk required both there and back. And so, with softened step hiding a panicked mind, he walked to the front door once more and upon arriving, slams it with a notable ferocity.

But, in an attempt at duplicity, he remains within. Then with the act complete he hesitates as he often has, part worrying for the drive that this act required, and part for the new understanding of the predicament he is creating of himself. And though he allows his mind to live a thousand fates, it is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a new door opening with that familiar wooden creak.

He panics anew but maintains enough composure to turn unheard and look back up at the upstairs landing, and with silence as his bed mate, he waits. What sight will he behold between the bannisters that bar his expectation? And what weak explanation would he give for those eyes that would look back between them.

But yet all that could be heard was the sound of water slamming against lacquered ground, and a silence that forced its way in to define it. Maybe it was just the force of the earlier slam that created the pressure to reopen the door, and all that his imagination had done had filled the void that his soul allowed. Maybe it all it was, was just all it was. Innocence subjected to a plagued mind.

That was until he heard it, and with it the combined weight of all that it represented. A carnal breath bellowing from a burning lust, and a recognition from both the present and the past. She always used to moan like that, and now she was again.

She always used to love sex. The feel of hard cock slamming into her, caressing her inner being, kissing the apex of her most private self; it drove her to places she relished to revel in. It took him back to a memory of which had been.

This sight of her perfect breasts unleashed from the force of it, bouncing with every repetition of it as if clapping to the orator of her satisfaction; each encore reigniting the burning flame of her passion. Her face would always be an open book of her experience, her features melding to show the explosiveness of her arousal. It would be all a man could do to not hold back from kissing her to attempt to bring her back to reality, only to find yourself succumbing to the same overwhelming sensation she gave back to you.

Her body would scream for the sexual gratification you would provide her, and in the moment you would see how the gods had sculpted her for such a purpose, and how she would give you all the animal drive to pound unrelenting.

It was a powerful memory now tainted, for it was not through his eyes that he now saw it. And when he finally got himself back under control through the haze of it all, he built up enough of what would deign to call itself courage to confirm that which is mind envisaged.

And so, with careful step feeling redundant to the sound of sexual gratification bouncing off the walls, he again ascended. Now that he stood again at the top of the stairs, he was faced with a dilemma. How would he confirm his suspicions while remaining anonymous? How would he keep himself free of accusation if he was wrong? And all the while the moans filled his mind with the prospect of what it could be.

Then he knew what he would do to get closer. He would bend the knee; and proceed on all fours towards his quarry. And so he did.

Across carpeted ground he crawled, and with each inch gained an added clarity was returned. Her moans not only got louder, but the clapping of flesh against flesh deepened within the orchestra this visceral act was presenting. The sound of water bursting between the connection of their bodies doing nothing to soothe its burning passion from rushing towards its climax. The slap of hand gripping to hold on to whatever could stop them from losing themselves completely.

He couldn't even appreciate the ridiculousness of his pose for there was nothing that would break focus from this act of carnal lust, but he had at least reached the precipice that was all that remained to bring an absolute to what his mind created. All it would take is one last look and he would know exactly what was happening outside of that which anyone in this situation would already know. A simple act resonating for the rest of his personal history.

But he could not do it. He just remained there on hands and knees, as if hypnotised by the haze emanating from around the doorframe. He couldn't bear the thought of it, but his eyes remained open regardless. They did not need to see for every breath drew in all the picture he required; and he could see it all.

The sight of her full body being forced aloft by giant cock, each thrust forcing back gravity itself with its momentum. Her large breasts heaving as her breath fights to sustain her elevated state of being; and supple thighs held in place by strong arms that fought to claim ownership of her perfectly crafted form. Her body beaming with all the satisfaction it had been created for, and the water that struggled to keep them from bursting into flames from the passion of it all.

One moment she would be leaning back while he held her aloft as he pounded his immense shaft into her, each thrust surging through her body before bursting from her in a chorus of animalistic moans. The next she would be bent over and offering her full hourglass shape to her eager conqueror, which he would take with reckless abandon with all the force he could muster.

It was almost as if he could hear each thrust as cock was pounded into her welcoming inner walls, a phallus screaming for the release of its purpose. There was now nothing in this house apart from the moment that was conquering it, and to bear witness was to be caught in the explosion of it.

But then something tears him away from the approaching climax; a singular voice both familiar and poignant.