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Happy Memorial Day to the Americans on here. Thought this would be a good day for Nicole and Travis to reminisce about a where they've been. Enjoy.
The weekend sun beat down over the soccer fields, the smell of cut grass in the air and the distant sound of whistles and parents cheering. Children ran across the field in a blur of color and motion, but for once, I wasn’t really watching.
Nicole sat beside me in a folding chair, a water bottle resting loosely in her lap, sunglasses shading her eyes. She looked relaxed—at peace, even—but there was something quieter beneath it. A stillness between us that hadn’t been there before.
I finally broke the silence.
“You were close,” I said, my voice low. “Last night.”
She didn’t turn to look at me right away. She just nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the bottle. “Closer than I thought I’d let myself get.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Not yet.
After a long moment, she finally turned her head, the corners of her mouth soft with honesty. “I was tempted. Not because I wanted him, but because everything else around us just… disappeared in that moment. The control, the tension, your silence—it all just pushed me to the edge.”
My stomach twisted, not from jealousy—but from how raw and true that sounded.
“But I didn’t want to go through with it,” she continued, eyes steady on mine. “Not with him.”
I swallowed. “Why not?”
Nicole looked back toward the field, watching our youngest sprint toward the ball. “Because giving him everything would’ve meant letting go of something I still wanted to protect.”
She turned back toward me, reaching out and brushing her fingers against my hand.
“I wanted him to feel like he was the one losing control,” she said softly. “For once.”
I stared at her, stunned. Not because I didn’t believe her, but because I could feel the weight of what she’d done—not just for herself, but for us.
“I needed to see how far it would go,” she added, her voice tightening. “But I stopped because I wanted you to still see me. Not just him.”
And somehow, despite everything that had passed between us—what we’d watched, what we’d done, what I’d become—I still did.
I saw her.
And for the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I’d lost her.
I felt like she’d chosen me.
The distant sound of a whistle blew, signaling halftime. Kids scattered toward their sidelines, and parents leaned back, chatting, stretching. But Nicole and I remained still—locked in the weight of a question that had nowhere else to go.
I glanced over at her, heart pounding, the sun hot on my back. “Do you want to stop?” I asked, my voice low, measured. “With Jeff.”
She turned to look at me, eyes shielded behind her sunglasses, but I could feel her gaze. “Do you want me to?”
That was her way.
Answering with a challenge.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. My thoughts weren’t clear—couldn’t be. Not when my mind still held the image of her from the night before—perched above Jeff, her flushed skin glowing in the flicker of the screen, her lips trembling with pleasure, her body trembling harder with need.
The moment I should have stopped.
But didn’t.
I shifted in my seat, trying to adjust my slacks, but it was too late. Nicole’s grin bloomed as she followed my movement—subtle but sharp.
“You’re hard,” she whispered, just loud enough for only me to hear.
I flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
Her hand brushed lightly over my thigh, her grin widening.
“You were thinking about it,” she said, her voice husky now. “About me. Naked. On top of him.”
I didn’t deny it.
Because the truth sat heavy in the space between us, undeniable.
Nicole leaned in slightly, her lips close to my ear.
“You don’t know if you want me to stop,” she murmured. “And I think that turns you on even more.”
She was right.
And she knew it.
Nicole leaned back in her chair, legs crossed leisurely, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. Then, with a casual flick of her thumb, she unlocked her phone.
I tried to focus on the field, on our youngest waving toward us with a Gatorade bottle in hand—but I couldn’t. Not with her still so close, her words still echoing in my head, her scent—faint traces of that same perfume she wore for Jeff—still clinging to the air around us.
She said nothing for a few moments, scrolling. Then she paused. Tilted her head. And I saw the corner of her mouth turn up again.
“I just Googled it,” she said, a quiet lilt in her voice. “Cuckold.”
I stiffened beside her, my breath caught in my throat.
She read aloud softly from the screen: “A husband who derives pleasure or arousal from his wife’s sexual activity with another man…”
Nicole looked up at me, the smile playing more fully on her lips now. “So… is that you?”
My mouth opened, but I couldn’t answer.
She turned back to her screen. “It says some cuckolds like being humiliated. Others… just like knowing their wife is being desired. Or taken.”
She glanced at me again, pulling her sunglasses down just enough for me to see her eyes—bright, teasing, but searching too.
“Do you like the humiliation part?” she asked. “Or is it the watching? The knowing?”
My throat tightened. I looked down at my lap, my erection still pressing against the inside of my slacks. Shame twisted in my chest.
But arousal churned right alongside it.
“I don’t know,” I said finally, voice hoarse. “All of it… maybe?”
Nicole’s expression softened, almost affectionate. She leaned in, brushing her lips to my ear, her voice low and warm.
“You didn’t stop me, Travis,” she whispered. “Not at the beach. Not in the theater. Not even when I kissed you with his taste still on my lips.”
She pulled back, her voice quieter now, thoughtful.
“Maybe this is who we are now.”
And as terrifying as that sounded…
I didn’t look away.
The breeze stirred the edge of Nicole’s sundress as she slid her sunglasses back into place, her phone resting now in her lap, her gaze seemingly turned toward the field.
But I wasn’t watching the game.
I was watching her.
And the silence between us wasn’t just contemplative anymore—it was tight. Heavy. Filled with something I wasn’t sure I could hold in.
“Do you…” I hesitated, then forced it out. “Do you think I’m pathetic?”
She didn’t answer right away. Didn’t turn to me. Her jaw tensed slightly, as if the question carried more weight than she expected.
“I mean,” I continued, voice low, “I sat there while another man had you. While you rode him. And I… I watched. All these times with Jeff. I didn’t stop it. I couldn’t. And part of me…” My throat caught. “Part of me didn’t want to.”
Nicole turned then.
Slowly.
Her sunglasses slipped down the bridge of her nose again, just enough for me to see her eyes.
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
I searched her face, unsure if I believed her. “Then what do you think I am?”
She took a breath, the breeze catching her hair as it drifted across her cheek.
“I think you’re honest,” she said finally. “Maybe more than I’ve ever been.”
I frowned. “Honest?”
“You felt it,” she said. “The jealousy. The arousal. The confusion. You didn’t pretend to be okay with it. But you didn’t lie to yourself either. And you didn’t lie to me.”
She reached out, fingers brushing my wrist—soft, grounding.
“That’s not weakness, Travis. That’s something else.”
Her voice dropped a little, almost a whisper.
“And whatever this is turning into… I don’t want to do it without you.”
My chest tightened, my shame still there—but now it was sitting beside something warmer. Something that might still be called love.
No.
Not might.
Definitely.
I stared at her hand on my wrist, the warmth of her touch grounding me, softening the weight of everything pressing in. But her words hung in the air, unfinished. "Maybe more than I've ever been."
I looked up at her, voice quiet but steady. “What weren’t you being honest about?”
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t smile. Just let the question settle there between us for a beat.
Then she turned her eyes back to the field, though I could see from her expression she wasn’t watching the game anymore.
“I think,” she said slowly, “I’ve been pretending I was always in control.”
That wasn’t the answer I expected.
She shifted in her chair, folding her arms, hugging herself just slightly. “I kept telling myself I was doing it for the attention. The thrill. To tease you. To get something out of Jeff. But…”
She glanced over at me again, her eyes softer now, vulnerable in a way that hit me deep.
“The truth is, there were moments where I wasn’t sure if I could stop,” she whispered. “Where I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.”
My breath caught.
“I felt powerful, but also powerless,” she went on. “The way he looked at me… the way you looked at me. It fed something in me I didn’t know was there.”
She turned fully now, her knee brushing mine. “And I didn’t tell you that part. Because I didn’t want to see it hurt you.”
It did.
But it also… didn’t.
Because as much as I hated it, I understood it. I’d felt it too—that rush, that loss of control, that deep, tangled craving to both have and surrender.
I nodded slowly, my voice low. “Thank you for telling me.”
Nicole’s gaze stayed on mine, her fingers tightening around my wrist again.
“I want to keep being honest, Travis,” she said. “Even if it’s messy. Even if it scares us.”
I nodded.
“Me too.”
Nicole’s grip on my wrist softened, her thumb tracing a slow, absent circle against my skin. Her gaze drifted back to the field again, watching our son kick the ball toward the goal. Parents clapped and cheered softly in the background, but all I could hear was the pounding rhythm of everything left unsaid between us.
Then, without turning to me, her voice broke the quiet again.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nodded before she even looked back.
“When you asked me if I thought you were pathetic…” she said, turning her head, her sunglasses low enough for me to see the truth in her eyes, “was there a part of you that wanted me to say yes?”
The question hit harder than I expected.
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
She didn’t let the silence drag.
“Because sometimes I wonder,” she continued, gently, “if the humiliation is part of it for you. Not just watching, or being denied… but being made small. Like you need to hear it to feel the full weight of it.”
I looked away, swallowing hard. Her words didn’t feel cruel. They felt… perceptive. Earnest.
And maybe—true.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe part of me did.”
She leaned closer, voice softer, lower. “Because you wanted to feel helpless?”
I nodded slowly. “Because if you said it… if you believed it… then I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.”
Nicole’s fingers found mine, lacing them together.
“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” she said again. “But I understand why you might want me to say it.”
I turned toward her, the shame still there—but dulled now. Not from denial. From being seen.
She squeezed my hand. “And if we’re going to keep doing this… then I need to see all of you. Even that part.”
I looked at her—at the woman who had ridden the edge of betrayal in a theater seat, and still somehow, right now, made me feel more seen than ever.
“I want that too,” I whispered.
And I meant it.
A breeze passed over the field, stirring the faint scent of sunscreen and cut grass. The tension between us had softened, a fragile kind of peace settling in its place. I felt her hand still curled around mine, grounding me, holding me in this strange space between fear, love, and whatever we were becoming.
Then—unexpectedly—I laughed. A quiet, breathy giggle that I didn’t even mean to let out.
Nicole turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “What?” she asked, smiling just a little. “What’s so funny?”
I shook my head at first, but it was still there—that image. My face flushed, and I laughed again, deeper this time.
She nudged my shoulder with hers. “Travis,” she said, a warning laced with curiosity. “Tell me.”
I exhaled, wiping a hand across my mouth. “I was just remembering… that night. At the edge of the spa.”
Her brow furrowed. Then it hit her.
“Oh my god,” she said, stifling a laugh of her own. “That night?”
I nodded, biting back another grin. “Yeah. When you… when I was holding myself open for you.”
Nicole gasped, mock-scandalized, a hand over her mouth as she laughed softly. “You mean when I licked your asshole for the first time?”
“Exactly,” I said, chuckling. “That was the moment I knew. There’s no coming back from that. You’ve officially seen everything there is to see.”
She tilted her head, still smiling. “You say that like you were traumatized.”
I smirked. “Oh, I was. I mean… I was also aroused and ashamed and very much enjoying myself—but yes. Traumatized.”
Nicole leaned in, her smile softer now. “I liked seeing you like that.”
“Exposed?”
She nodded. “Vulnerable. Real. There was no pretending in that moment.”
I turned my head to her, watching the way her expression shifted—warmth, mischief, tenderness all layered in one.
The cheering from the field rose again as someone scored, but it felt miles away. I watched Nicole tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, calm and radiant in the golden sunlight, as if everything we’d been through existed in another world entirely.
But it didn’t.
It lived right here between us—simmering just beneath the surface of every glance, every touch.
I glanced down, heart thudding, then asked the question that had been quietly clawing at the back of my mind since the theater.
“Did you want him to?” I said quietly. “Jeff. Did you want him to… push inside you?”
Nicole didn’t look at me at first. Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, and she tilted her head toward the field, watching the kids run again.
“Do you want the truth?” she asked softly.
I nodded, throat suddenly dry.
She leaned back in her chair, adjusting the hem of her sundress as though we were just talking about the weather, her voice as calm as it was devastating.
“I thought about it,” she said. “How it would feel… how you would look if he did.”
Her hand brushed her knee lightly, slow and absent, but deliberate.
“I imagined how thick he’d feel… stretching me, claiming me—while you watched, helpless.”
I shivered. My breath caught somewhere between shame and undeniable arousal.
Nicole finally turned her head to me, her voice dropping just a little, her eyes gleaming beneath the edge of her sunglasses.
“And I imagined what you’d do,” she whispered. “If you’d break… or if you’d stroke yourself while he slid into me. If you’d want to taste me after.”
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
She smiled again—soft, almost loving. “Does that turn you on, baby? Thinking about it? Wondering how close I came?”
My heart thundered.
My erection throbbed beneath the fabric of my slacks.
And all I could do was nod.
Nicole leaned in, her lips close to my ear, her voice soft and sultry, perfectly shaped for only me to hear.
“You’re hard right now, aren’t you?”
I didn’t respond, but she already knew. The way her fingers brushed the inside of my wrist, the subtle grin forming on her lips—it was all part of the game. Her game.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, lifting her sunglasses just enough to meet my eyes. “All I have to do is mention him… and you’re throbbing.”
I swallowed, breath shallow.
She tilted her head. “You didn’t even try to stop me last night. You just sat there. Watching. Stroking. Wanting.”
My face burned. My slacks suddenly felt impossibly tight.
Nicole’s smile turned sharper. “That’s the part that really gets you, isn’t it? Not the thought of me being taken… but the fact that you let it happen. That you couldn’t stop it. That you didn’t want to.”
She leaned in again, voice a sultry whisper.
“So pathetic…”
The word hit me like a jolt—piercing, humiliating… arousing.
Nicole saw the effect immediately. Her breath caught in a laugh she tried to suppress.
“You like when I say that, don’t you?” she murmured, brushing her fingers gently across my thigh. “When I remind you of what you are?”
I couldn’t answer.
Because the throbbing between my legs was answer enough.
And she knew it.
Nicole’s fingers stayed just where they were—lightly tracing my thigh, like she was tuning a string only she knew how to play. Her voice dropped to that dangerous, teasing tone again, the one that knew exactly how deep it cut… and how much I’d ache for more.
“Your boss, Travis,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “He’s disgusting.”
I closed my eyes for a second, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“He’s overweight. Balding. Loud. Crude. Filthy in every way.” She leaned in again, close enough that I could feel the breath of each word. “And you let him get his hands all over me.”
My heart thudded painfully.
“Let him inside my head. Let him almost inside my body,” she added, slow and deliberate. “Because you couldn’t say no. Because you wanted to see.”
Her words dug deeper, twisting inside me with a sick blend of humiliation and need. She could see it—feel it.
Nicole's smile turned wicked.
“You just sat there, hard in your seat while that pig of a man pulled me into his lap, while I rubbed myself on him like a bitch in heat—your wife. For him.”
I trembled, my breathing uneven.
“And the worst part?” she said softly, fingers drifting higher on my thigh now. “You let it happen… because it turned you on.”
I looked at her, the guilt, the shame, the raw desire boiling just beneath my skin. But she didn’t look disgusted. She looked charged—wild, knowing, powerful.
“You’re my pathetic little cuck,” she whispered, lips brushing my ear.
And I couldn’t deny it.
Because she was right.
And it turned me on more than I ever wanted to admit.
Nicole’s eyes widened suddenly, and then—unexpectedly—she burst into laughter. Loud enough that a few parents on nearby blankets glanced over, then quickly looked away, assuming it was just another private joke between a couple at a soccer game.
She covered her mouth, still laughing as she leaned back in her chair, her face flushed—not from teasing now, but from embarrassment. “Oh my God,” she said between breathless chuckles. “I’m so bad at this.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but already smiling despite the heat in my chest and the unmistakable throb in my pants. “What are you talking about?”
She looked at me, laughing softer now, shaking her head. “I just said you were my ‘pathetic little cuck’—and the way it came out, I don’t know… it sounded so theatrical.”
I laughed with her, the tension in my body slowly breaking, replaced by something warmer. “Nicole,” I said, reaching over and taking her hand, “you were perfect.”
She raised a brow. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Yeah. You were raw. Real. And hot as hell.”
Her lips curved into a softer smile now. “You didn’t think I went too far?”
I squeezed her hand. “No. You hit every nerve I didn’t know I wanted touched.”
She chuckled again, leaning her head against my shoulder. “God, this is so weird.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But it’s our weird.”
Nicole stayed curled lightly against my shoulder, her body warm and relaxed despite everything we’d just said—everything we’d admitted. Her laughter had faded, but the flush in her cheeks lingered, a quiet afterglow that made her look even more beautiful in the afternoon sun.
I hesitated, eyes fixed on the field but mind far from it. My voice came out low, careful.
“Do you think it’s weird?” I asked. “That I get turned on… by you being with Jeff?”
Her head tilted up slightly, her smile softening into something more thoughtful.
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she laced her fingers with mine again, thumb brushing slow circles along the side of my hand.
“I think it’s honest,” she said finally. “And probably not as rare as people think.”
I nodded, unsure.
“But Jeff?” I added. “Him? I mean… he’s such a mess. Obnoxious. Filthy. Everything I’m not. It’s not just about you being with another man. It’s about him.”
Nicole looked at me then, her gaze steady.
“That’s the part that makes it real, isn’t it?” she said softly. “It’s not a fantasy where everything’s clean and perfect. It’s messy. Unfair. Kind of humiliating.”
She paused.
“And that’s exactly what turns you on.”
I swallowed hard. The truth of it landed heavy—but not in a way that hurt.
She squeezed my hand. “You’re not alone in it, Travis. I feel it too. The shame. The arousal. The way it plays with control.”
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper just for me.
“And maybe… watching someone like him touch me, claim me, knowing it drives you crazy…”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe that makes me feel powerful.”
I let out a shaky breath. “So we’re both messed up?”
Nicole rested her head back against my shoulder, her fingers tightening around mine.
“No,” she said. “We’re just not hiding it anymore.”
Nicole sat quietly beside me, her hand still in mine, her head resting lightly on my shoulder as the noise of the field buzzed around us. The game had resumed, but neither of us were really watching. We were somewhere else entirely—somewhere just between us.
She let out a soft breath, almost a sigh, then spoke, her voice quiet and distant.
“It’s surreal,” she said. “Thinking about who I used to be… who people still think I am.”
I turned slightly, glancing at her as she stared out at the field.
“A conservative mom. A nurse. PTA volunteer. The one who always had snacks packed, who triple-checks sunscreen and hand sanitizer before we leave the house.”
Her smile was faint, reflective. “And now I’m…” She hesitated. Then laughed under her breath. “Now I’m a hotwife. A cuckoldress.”
The word landed heavily between us—not with shame, but with wonder. Like she was trying it on for size.
“A real one,” she added, turning to me now. “Not just the fantasy version. Not just roleplay. I’ve done things I never imagined I’d even consider, let alone crave.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“And you’ve watched. Let me. Encouraged me. Needed me to.”
I nodded slowly, heart heavy with emotion. “Yeah.”
Nicole leaned in, brushing her lips close to my ear.
“I still tuck the kids in every night,” she whispered. “I still pack their lunches. I still text my mom about book club. And yet…”
She pulled back slightly, her gaze locked with mine.
“I also sat on your boss’s lap in a dark theater and made myself come riding his cock without ever letting him inside me.”
My pulse jumped.
She smiled, not wicked, not cruel—just honest.
“And you watched me. And stroked yourself. Because we’re not who we used to be.”
I swallowed hard. “No,” I said. “We’re not.”
Nicole leaned her head back against my shoulder.
“But I think I like who we’re becoming.”
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