Here's a sample of my book Cucked and Replaced: How a Rich Bull Claimed My Husband. The full book is available on Amazon, Smashwords and Google Play. Check out more about it on my website.
After about twenty minutes my phone went off. I paused the show I was watching, and grabbed my phone. It was an image file. I felt that familiar rush in my chest, that empty feeling in my stomach, that electricity in my cock, when I saw what it was: a selfie of Julian’s face, his mouth stretched around a massive cock, his eyes looking directly at the camera.
I was instantly hard. I couldn’t believe the size of that cock; that guy was hung like a fucking donkey. I started to touch my cock while I looked straight at Julian’s eyes staring back at me.
A minute later my phone buzzed again. This time it was a video. In it a pair of hands rested on the back of Julian’s head, holding it in place as that mighty cock pushed itself slowly in and out of his mouth. Right in, deep, all the way down his throat, making him gag. Then slowly pulling all the way out, a rope of saliva hanging on the tip as it withdrew from his mouth. Julian winked at the camera, then the video was over.
I played the video over and over, stroking my dick in awe at it. I hoped like crazy there was another one coming; I wanted to see Julian with his cock inside the guy’s ass. But after ten minutes, there was nothing. Twenty minutes, and still nothing. The whole time I just watched that same fifteen second video on repeat, watching Julian take that giant cock in his mouth. By the time I realised there were no more photos or videos coming, it didn’t matter because I was so close. I pulled up the first photo again, and jerked my dick furiously as I stared into Julian’s eyes, his mouth full of another man’s cock.
I shot ropes of cum across my chest, my heart racing and breath heaving. By the time I’d caught my breath I already felt embarrassed for being set off by what was probably just the prelude to the main event. I wiped up the cum, then went to sleep, knowing that for the second night in a row my husband would be falling asleep, spent, in the arms of another man.
I didn’t hear from Julian at all the next day. And that night — his third away from me — Julian didn’t even bother messaging to tell me he wasn’t coming home. I sat up, anxiously waiting, hoping my phone would go off, but knowing deep down that it wasn’t going to. I debated with myself about whether to message or call him, but I had no idea what I’d say. By this stage I wasn’t angry at him anymore, but I was scared. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was telling me that I was losing my husband, and I had no idea what to do about it. The only thing that helped — the only thing I could think of at all — was to pull up that photo of him and jerk myself off, imagining I was right there looking him straight in the eyes as another man unloaded in his mouth.