My Wife's Massage Cuckolding
Alone in a hotel room, an hour from home, I watch the screen of my laptop, a live window into my wife's first time cuckolding me. The hotel room is small, the kind of place that smells faintly of industrial cleaner and feels like it’s been untouched by time. The walls are a bland beige, the carpet a muted grey, and the chair creaks faintly when I shift my weight. I’m sitting on the edge of it, my hands clasped so tightly my knuckles are white. My heart is hammering, a relentless drumbeat in my chest, and my mouth is dry despite the half-empty water...