The Delusional Cuckold: Hiring Someone Else To Fuck Your Wife
You’re ugly, short, and you’re not rich. You used to have money, but now she owns everything. Even the name of your company is her maiden name (she never changed it after you got married).
Maybe you’d be angry if you were a lesser man, one that took account of everything and used resentment as a coping mechanism. You’re better than that, you tell yourself, and besides, she’s a better person than you’ll ever be. She is the queen of your world, and for a long time you thought you’d only ever be providing for your mom and sister, you were so alone. But now? Gone are the nights you spend in solitude in your bed… or are they? Your wife has been sleeping in any of the other bedrooms, all but yours, since the beginning of your marriage. You have never consummated it.
To say you never had sex would be a lie. She pegs you. Not just once, but multiple times. The first time she stopped when she saw red, but the second time, you told her to keep going. Nothing fills you up more than her big fat strap. You need not know emptiness so long as her cock is around, inside you. She does not offer this luxury liberally, and you spend many nights lulling yourself to sleep with the comfort of knowing that at any second, she could come busting through your door, ready to break you once more. More often than not, you wake up alone, a pool of your own semen crusted into your forest of untamed pubes. You don’t shave it off because it’s the only sign of manhood you have. You yearn to be able to return the favor to her.
She doesn’t let you be inside of her, obviously. She’s seen what you’re working with… or lack thereof. You’re not embarrassed of it anymore, your tiny, pathetic penis. After decades on this shallow earth you’ve trained yourself to feel nothing when women look at your sad, little package. You used to cover it with your hands but that just drew more attention to it. They accused you of hiding something, and when they pulled your hands away you were met with endless laughter and the slam of the front door in your face.
It’s absolutely terrible when they pretend it’s not as bad as it actually is. Even worse when they start playing the world’s greatest actress, nominated for every award in the academy for the performance of the year: enjoying your dick. Not just toleration, but actual moans of feigned pleasure. Sounds so artificial, you’ve only heard them on the internet. You know it’s more embarrassing for them than it is for you, you know they won’t mention you to their girlfriends right away. How did they get themselves in such a predicament? How did they get to this point with you, that they didn’t see the signs earlier, of your tiny penis purgatory? These aren’t things you shout from the rooftops… the fact that you hooked up with a man who can pass as a eunuch just by pushing his penis in like an outie belly button. But you know she’ll get over the initial embarrassment quickly and you’ll become the butt of all their jokes for a bit, and then promptly forgotten. You don’t get to be part of anybody’s body count. Nobody wants to remember the time they tried with you. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter anymore, you’re married now. Happily, happily married.
Who gets to take responsibility for your wife’s happiness? It should be you, you’re the husband after all, it’s your job to please. But there’s only so much you can do with your cursed pinclit and your wife is beautiful, otherworldly so. To be faithful to you would be a tragedy, and she knows it. She could have any dick she wanted… so she does. You let her. And to make yourself feel even better about the situation, you pay him. That’s right: your wife takes another man’s huge, pulsing appendage in her, and you put money in his pocket. Like a kneeling little atm bitch.
It’s the last sense of control you have in your pathetic life, and you kind of love it. You often have to condition yourself to accept, even enjoy, most things because seldom do they ever go your way in this world… but in this one instance, it does. It’s perfect. You’re almost certain just the satisfaction of knowing your wife is being taken care of in ways you’ll never be able to take responsibility for is far greater than whatever that man feels when he pushes his dick inside of her. Or so you tell yourself when you see her, eyes sleepy and sparkling, skin glowing, lips flushed from sucking too much fat dick. It’s not like you can speak from personal experience.
She sleeps so much better now. She sings. She laughs. She buys beautiful lingerie in all different colors. She reads love stories and paints rivers and mountains. Her nails are always done and she does barre classes with her friends. She’s thriving now, and you know it’s because she’s seen that there’s so much more to life, so much bigger, so much better, so much bulgier. He gave her that, not you. The common denominator of her newfound joy is his whopping fucking penis. Never mind the fact that he wonders why you keep chucking cash at him, as he would indubitably do her for free, probably would even pay her, and your role in all of this is purely voluntary and not necessary at all. You’re so easily disposable in all of this that it would take weeks, months, years for anybody to notice your absence as long as the bills are paid. Just last week you saw her arranging her purse collection, the new ones he bought her all neatly arranged on the top shelf while the ones from you were chucked in the back, placed there reluctantly, most likely out of guilt, though you doubt she even had a second thought about you at all. Such is the essence your existence: kept around only until your wife finds herself wanting to cut all that dead weight off, and alone you’ll find yourself, once again.
