It’s been a few days since that fucked-up night at Cade’s, where Madison turned into this cruel, dominating bitch—tying my hands, slapping my face, making me hold her head while she sucked his thick cock and help her bounce on it while she ripped my fucking soul apart with her words. I can still see her pussy, stretched wide, dripping wet around his veiny dick, her evil laugh as she called me a pathetic fucking loser. My cock’s hard just thinking about it, and I fucking hate myself for it. Cade’s been busy with work or some bullshit, so we haven’t seen him, and I’m relieved as fuck. It’s like I can breathe again, like maybe I can get Madison back, pull her out of this twisted mess, make things like they were before Cade and his big cock and his fancy-ass house fucked everything to hell.
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For the first three days, it’s good. Like, really good. We’re back to how we used to be—hanging out, laughing, being us. I take her to that taco truck she loves, we watch dumb shows on the couch, her curled up against me, giving me those soft, sweet looks that made me fall for her. It feels like before all this shit started, like she’s mine again. But there’s something off. She’s teasing me more, and it’s not the cute shit she used to do. It’s meaner, like that night at Cade’s left a mark. We’re watching some action flick, and she goes, “God, you’re such a fucking beta, you’d get your ass kicked by a guy like that,” smirking like it’s a joke, but it cuts deep. Or when I’m grabbing a soda, she laughs, “Cade’s got better shit than that in his fridge, you know.” I brush it off, but it stings, like she’s still got that cruel bitch inside her.
That third night, we fuck. I’m all in, trying to make it good, to make her feel me. She’s on her back, legs spread, her pussy wet as I slide my cock in. I’m pounding her, her tits bouncing, my balls slapping against her, but her moans are weak, like she’s not even there. Not like the screaming, desperate shit she gives Cade, her pussy gripping his cock like it’s her fucking lifeline. I’m sweating, thrusting hard, trying to make her lose it, but it’s nothing. “Fuck, Madison, you feel so good,” I groan, but she just moans softly, like she’s bored. I cum, shooting inside her, my cock pulsing, but she just pats my arm, like I’m a fucking kid who tried his best, and rolls over. No fire, no connection. It fucks with my head.
After that, she’s different. She’s glued to her phone, texting, giggling, tilting it away when I walk by. One time, I catch a glimpse of a message—“can’t wait”—before she yanks it back, laughing, “What, you spying on me now? It’s not like you’d get it.” I know it’s Cade. She’s looking at me sometimes, laughing at her screen, like she’s joking about me to him. It twists my gut, but I don’t say shit. The next two days, I try to get her to fuck again, climbing into bed, kissing her neck, my hand sliding to her pussy, but she pushes me away. “Not tonight,” she says, “I’m not feeling it.” Two nights in a row. It’s fucking frustrating, like I’m losing her even when she’s right here.
Then, five days in, her phone pings, and her face lights up like a fucking neon sign. “Cade’s back,” she says, all excited, practically bouncing like a goddamn kid. “He wants us to come over tonight.” My stomach drops. Not again, I think, my heart pounding like a fucking jackhammer. I try to play it cool. “Cool, when we heading out?” I ask, but my voice is shaking like a bitch. She pauses, giving me those big, sweet eyes, her voice all soft and loving. “Actually, babe,” she says, “I was thinking maybe I should go alone this time. Just me and him. You’re okay with that, right?”
My chest tightens. Alone? Without me there to see what the fuck’s going on? My head’s already picturing her bent over, his thick cock stretching her pussy, her screaming his name, saying she’s his. “I don’t know,” I say, my throat so tight I can barely get the words out. “Not sure I’m cool with that.” She slides closer, hand on my chest, voice all sugary. “Come on, you trust me, don’t you? It’s just one night. I’ll be back tomorrow. Please?” I want to say no, to tell her this is fucking bullshit, but I’m a fucking pushover. Her touch, her eyes—they get me every goddamn time. “Fine,” I mumble, and she kisses me, hard and quick, before grabbing her bag and practically skipping out, all fucking smiles.
After she’s gone, I’m a fucking wreck. I pace the apartment, picturing his cock in her mouth, her pussy dripping, her moaning his name like a fucking porn star. I call her, over and over, just wanting to know when she’s coming back. No answer. Not one fucking time. I text her, “When you coming home?” Nothing. Around 2 a.m., my phone buzzes—a text. “Hey, I’m staying at Cade’s tonight. Too much fun. You’re cool with this, right? Love you!” I stare at it, hands shaking. I don’t want her in his bed, wrapped around his cock. I text back, “Can you come home? Please?” She replies, “It’s late, I’m beat. See you in the morning. You’re the best!” I can’t argue, can’t make her. I just sit there, staring at the wall, my dick hard for no fucking reason, my head full of them fucking. I don’t sleep a goddamn wink.
She comes home this morning, around 10, looking like she always does after Cade—hair a mess, in one of his shirts, her jeans from last night. She’s glowing, happier than I’ve seen her in days, like she’s high on his dick. She hugs me, kisses my neck, says, “You’re the best boyfriend,” and heads for coffee. I can’t hold it in. “How was last night?” I ask, trying to sound chill, but my voice cracks like a fucking teenager. She shrugs, smiling. “It was good, babe. Just, you know, the usual. Had fun.” Her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks flushed, like she’s reliving his cock inside her. I push. “Like, what’d you do?” She laughs, waving me off. “Same as always. Fucked, hung out, had fun. Nothing crazy.” But that glow, that fucking happiness—it’s killing me. She doesn’t give me shit, just changes the subject, and I’m left sitting there, my head spinning.
I’m sitting here now, dick hard, head fucked, thinking about her glowing like that after Cade’s cock. She’s pulling away, smirking at her phone, barely interested when I try to fuck her. I can still hear her from last week, saying she’ll leave me for him, and now she’s running to his dick the second he texts. Is she his now? Am I just the pathetic fuck who lets her? I want to know every fucking detail—what he did to her pussy, how she screamed. I’m so fucking ashamed, but I can’t stop wanting it, wanting her, even if it’s tearing me apart. I’m in too deep, and I don’t know if I can crawl out—or if I even want to.
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