I never thought I’d be into this. Not in a million years. But when you catch your fiancée riding another man, something changes in you. At least, it did for me.
I remember that night too clearly. We were on holiday in the Bahamas, staying in a luxurious beachfront villa. I had planned the perfect proposal—candles, champagne, the whole works. I wanted to do it right. A fresh start. But as soon as I stepped inside our suite, there she was—naked, moaning, legs spread wide, and riding some guy like a fucking lunatic.
I should have been furious. I should have thrown him out, broken something, made a scene. But I didn’t. Instead, I froze. My body locked up, and I just watched. I don’t even think they noticed at first. I stood there, heart pounding, feeling this strange mix of anger, arousal, and humiliation. And then she saw me.
“Oh my God,” but it wasn’t guilt in her eyes—it was something else. A challenge. A test.
I could’ve walked away. I could’ve ended it there. But instead, I did the one thing I never thought I’d do: I sat down. I watched. And I let it happen.
What does that make me? A cuckold? A pervert? Maybe. But something in that moment rewired my brain. I was no longer just her man—I was a witness to my own betrayal, and instead of being sickened, I was hooked.
After that, it became a game. She started bringing men back to our villa, sometimes letting me know in advance, sometimes surprising me. Each time, the pain mixed with pleasure in a way I couldn’t explain. I wasn’t just tolerating it; I was craving it.
She fucked another five guys—some locals, some tourists. Each time, she made sure I knew, sometimes whispering the details in my ear, sometimes sending me videos while I was out. At first, I felt a deep, gnawing jealousy, but soon it became something else. An addiction.
Over time, it became the norm. She stopped hiding it, and I stopped pretending to be shocked. It wasn’t just a betrayal anymore—it was our dynamic, our unspoken agreement. She had other men, and I had the satisfaction of knowing she still came back to me, used me in ways none of them could. And that, somehow, was enough.
She called me pathetic, said I was weak, but she kept doing it. And I kept letting her. Eventually, she left, ran off with one of the guys. But the damage was done. Now, I can’t get off without thinking about it. Without seeing my woman taken by another man. It’s not just a kink—it’s an obsession. One I can’t escape.
And I don’t know if I even want to.