The Boarder Stole My Wife: Conclusion

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Embracing the Cuckold

Carl told himself he’d go to work. He even put on his khakis and a button-down, the same ones Laurel used to iron for him before Jeremy showed up and ruined everything. At nine, he called in sick, faking a cough that didn’t fool anyone. The truth was, he was too much of a coward to leave. He couldn’t stand the thought of Jeremy and Laurel alone together in his house, probably fucking in every room. So he hid in his office, pretending to work, but really just listening for the sounds of his wife getting off with another man.

The sounds came around noon. Voices from the living room—Jeremy’s confident baritone mixing with Laurel’s softer responses, punctuated by her laughter. That laugh, high and delighted, the one Carl rarely heard directed at him anymore. He tried to focus on the expense report spreadsheet glowing on his monitor, but the numbers blurred together, meaningless.

He found himself walking toward the living room before he even realized it, every step heavy with dread. He already knew what he’d see. When he reached the doorway, he froze, his body stiffening as he took in the scene.

Jeremy was on his knees by the window, fixing the outlet Carl had been too lazy to touch for months. Carl had bought the parts, but never bothered. Now Jeremy was there, shirtless, muscles bulging, tattoos twisting on his arms as he worked. Tools were scattered around him, like he owned the place. His skin was slick with sweat, even with the AC blasting. Of course he’d taken his shirt off. Why wouldn’t he?

But it was Laurel that Carl couldn’t stop staring at, no matter how much it hurt.

She was standing right next to Jeremy, her leg pressed against his shoulder. She wore a red dress that barely covered anything, the neckline plunging all the way down, held together by flimsy straps that looked like they’d snap if she breathed too hard. The dress hugged her tits, her waist, her hips—every inch on display. Her hair was curled, her makeup thick, eyes dark and hungry. She’d never dressed like that for Carl. Not once.

Fifteen years of marriage, and she’d never looked like that for him. Not once.

Laurel’s hand was on Jeremy’s shoulder, fingers spread over his muscle. She stroked his neck, then back down, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she’d done it a hundred times before. Like Carl wasn’t even there.

“See, the problem was the connection here,” Jeremy explained, pointing at the exposed wiring with a screwdriver. His voice was relaxed, instructional. “Loose wire. Could’ve started a fire if it wasn’t fixed.”

“You’re so good with your hands,” Laurel breathed, her voice soft and admiring. Her fingers continued their exploration of Jeremy’s neck and shoulder, occasionally dipping lower to trace the line of his collarbone.

Jeremy glanced up at her, a smile playing at his lips. “I’m good with more than just my hands.”

Laurel’s face flushed pink, her teeth catching her lower lip as she gazed down at him. The look in her eyes was unmistakable—hunger, barely restrained desire. Her free hand moved to her own throat, fingertips trailing down toward the deep V of her neckline.

Carl’s cock twitched in his khakis, getting hard before he could stop it. Pathetic. He hated himself for it, but his body didn’t care. Watching his wife paw at another man, seeing her get wet for someone else—it was enough to make him stiff in seconds.

He tried to adjust himself, hoping no one would notice, but Jeremy’s eyes snapped to him anyway. Jeremy looked at him like he was a bug, then went back to fixing the outlet, not even bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Didn’t know you were home,” Jeremy said flatly, the tone making clear that Carl’s presence was unwelcome.

“I… I called in sick.” Carl’s voice came out weak, apologetic. “Thought I’d work from home.”

Jeremy’s eyes dropped to Carl’s crotch, taking in the obvious bulge. That smug grin spread across his face. “Looks like you’re not that sick after all.”

Laurel looked too, her eyes going wide when she saw her husband’s hard-on. She smiled, not embarrassed, not even surprised. She looked pleased, like this was exactly what she wanted from him.

Jeremy returned his attention to the outlet, making a final adjustment before replacing the cover plate and screwing it into place. He stood in one fluid motion, his body unfolding to its full impressive height. Sweat gleamed on his chest and abdomen, highlighting the definition of his muscles. He picked up his t-shirt from where it lay draped over the couch arm, but didn’t put it on. Just held it loosely in one hand.

“All done,” Jeremy announced, turning to face Laurel fully. “Good as new.”

“My hero,” Laurel said, the same words she’d used days ago, but her tone had changed. Deepened. Gone sultry and thick with implication.

Jeremy’s hand came up to cup Laurel’s face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. The gesture was tender but possessive, claiming. Laurel leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering half-closed.

Then Jeremy pulled her close and kissed her.

Not a chaste peck. Not the kind of kiss one gave a friend or even a casual lover. This was deep and aggressive, Jeremy’s mouth opening against Laurel’s, his tongue immediately pushing between her lips. Laurel melted into him with a soft moan, her body pressing against his bare chest, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders.

Carl just stood there, his cock throbbing, a wet spot already spreading on his khakis. He should say something, should stop them, but he couldn’t. They were making out in his living room, in the middle of the day, like he was invisible.

“I…” Carl’s voice came out strangled. “I don’t think you should…”

The words died as Jeremy broke the kiss just long enough to turn his head and glare at Carl. The contempt in those blue eyes was absolute and withering. “Just stand there and watch, cuck.”

The word hit Carl like a punch. His knees went weak. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Jeremy was in charge, and Carl knew it.

Jeremy’s hands slid down Laurel’s back, past her waist, to grip her ass through the thin fabric of her dress. His fingers dug into the soft flesh possessively, squeezing hard enough that Laurel gasped into his mouth. He maintained eye contact with Carl the entire time, his expression one of triumph and challenge.

Jeremy’s eyes said it all: Watch me take your wife. Watch me do what you never could. And you’ll just stand there, hard and useless.

Carl’s cock ached, precum soaking through his underwear. He watched Jeremy squeeze Laurel’s ass, watched her grind against Jeremy’s bulge, desperate for more. Carl could barely breathe.

Jeremy shoved Laurel’s dress up, exposing her bare thighs, then higher, until Carl saw she wasn’t even wearing panties. Her ass was right there, Jeremy’s fingers tracing her crack, teasing her while Carl watched.

Laurel moaned louder, the sound muffled by Jeremy’s mouth but unmistakable in its pleasure. Her hands clutched desperately at Jeremy’s shoulders, her body trembling with need.

Carl didn’t even try to protest. He just groaned, humiliated and turned on. Jeremy grinned into Laurel’s mouth, loving every second.

Jeremy broke the kiss slowly, his mouth trailing along Laurel’s jaw to her ear. He murmured something too low for Carl to hear, but whatever it was made Laurel’s eyes go wide and her cheeks flush even deeper. She nodded eagerly, breathlessly.

Jeremy’s gaze cut back to Carl, that cruel smirk firmly in place. He took Laurel’s hand, interlacing their fingers in a gesture that was almost romantic in its intimacy. “Come on, baby. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

Jeremy dragged Laurel toward the stairs, heading for the master bedroom. The same bed Carl had shared with his wife for fifteen years. The same bed Jeremy had already ruined for him.

They walked right past Carl, not even glancing at him. He could smell Laurel’s pussy, sweet and musky, mixed with Jeremy’s sweat. The scent made his cock twitch, more precum leaking into his pants.

At the base of the stairs, Jeremy paused and looked back over his shoulder at Carl. His free hand still gripped Laurel’s ass, keeping her pressed against his side. “You coming? Wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

The invitation was mocking, cruel, designed to humiliate. To make explicit what had been implicit—that Carl’s role was audience, not participant. That his place was to watch while a real man took his wife.

Carl followed them up the stairs, his hard-on bouncing with every step. His brain screamed at him to stop, to act like a man, but his body didn’t listen.

His body knew better. This was what he needed now. The only thing that could get him hard anymore was watching his wife get fucked by someone else.

The living room was empty now, tools still scattered on the floor. The outlet worked fine. Carl didn’t. He was broken, and no one was going to fix him.

***

Jeremy shoved open the bedroom door, the hinges creaking. Sunlight lit up the room Carl had shared with Laurel for fifteen years. Their wedding photo, their books, the bed with the comforter her mom made. All of it about to get ruined, and Carl just followed them in, helpless.

Jeremy didn’t hesitate or offer Carl time to change his mind. He pulled Laurel to him roughly, his mouth crashing against hers in a bruising kiss while his hands worked at the thin straps holding her dress together. One snap, then the other, and the crimson fabric slithered down her body to pool at her feet.

Laurel stood naked in front of them, sunlight making her skin glow. Her tits looked bigger than Carl remembered, nipples hard and dark. Her waist, her hips, the little patch of hair above her pussy—everything on display for Jeremy, while Carl just stood there like an idiot.

Jeremy’s hands roamed over her body possessively, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she moaned. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, branding her. Laurel’s head fell back, her eyes closing in pleasure, her hands clutching at Jeremy’s shoulders for support.

Then Jeremy pushed her.

Jeremy pushed her back onto the bed. Laurel landed with a gasp, the mattress creaking. Carl knew that sound from years of sleepless nights. Now it was the sound of his wife spreading her legs, pussy wet and ready for another man.

Jeremy stood at the end of the bed, unbuttoning his jeans slow, staring right at Carl. The message was obvious: Watch me. Watch what you’ll never be. Watch what your wife really wants.

Jeremy’s jeans and boxers hit the floor. His cock sprang out, huge and hard. Carl had seen it before, watched it stretch his wife’s mouth and pussy, but in the daylight it looked even bigger. Even more impossible.

Jeremy’s cock had to be nine inches, maybe more, thick as Laurel’s wrist with prominent veins running along the shaft. The head was broad and flushed dark purple, already leaking precum. It jutted from his body at an aggressive angle, heavy and intimidating.

Carl’s own five inches felt like nothing. He’d never been big, just average, but next to Jeremy he might as well have been a eunuch. No wonder Laurel never came with him. No wonder she always looked bored in bed.

This was what she wanted. A real cock. A real man. Not Carl.

Jeremy climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between Laurel’s spread thighs. His hands gripped her knees, pushing them wider, exposing her completely. Laurel’s pussy was swollen and slick, her arousal coating her inner thighs, the pink flesh glistening in the sunlight.

“Look at her,” Jeremy said, his voice directed at Carl. “Look how wet she is for me. When’s the last time she got this wet for you?”

Carl couldn’t say a word. His cock throbbed, precum soaking his pants. He just stood there, useless.

Jeremy lined himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing against Laurel’s entrance. He held there for a moment, teasing, making her wait. Laurel’s hips lifted, trying to take him in, desperate for penetration.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please, Jeremy, I need it.”

Jeremy thrust forward, burying half his length in one powerful stroke.

Laurel’s back arched off the mattress, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Her hands clutched at the comforter, bunching the fabric, her whole body trembling. The cry that finally escaped her throat was raw and primal, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

“Oh God,” she gasped. “Oh God, you’re so big. You’re splitting me open.”

Jeremy withdrew almost completely, then slammed forward again, this time burying himself to the hilt. His balls slapped against Laurel’s ass, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. He set a brutal rhythm immediately, no gentleness or buildup, just raw animalistic fucking.

The bed slammed into the wall, over and over. Thump. Thump. Thump. Every hit was another reminder of Carl’s humiliation. The headboard left marks in the paint, scars that would never go away.

Laurel’s breasts bounced with the force of Jeremy’s thrusts, her whole body moving up the mattress from the impact before Jeremy’s hands on her hips dragged her back down. Sweat broke out across her skin, making her gleam. Her face was contorted in ecstasy, her mouth hanging open as desperate sounds poured from her throat.

Carl had never heard his wife make those noises. Not once in fifteen years. He’d tried everything, but Laurel was always quiet, just waiting for him to finish so she could roll over and sleep.

But now she screamed. Actually screamed with each of Jeremy’s thrusts, her voice breaking into sobs of pleasure. “Yes! Fuck me! Harder! God, your cock is so perfect!”

Jeremy’s muscles flexed and rippled as he pounded into her, his tattooed arms braced on either side of her body. Sweat dripped from his face onto her chest, mixing with her own perspiration. His jaw was clenched, his expression one of fierce concentration and dominance.

His gaze cut to Carl, those blue eyes cold and mocking. “This is your life now, cuck—watching me own her.”

Every word hit Carl like a punch. He grabbed his crotch, pressing down on his aching cock through his pants. It didn’t help. He was so hard it hurt.

“Look at him,” Jeremy continued, his voice strained with exertion but still mocking. “Standing there with his hand on his pathetic little dick while I fuck his wife. This turn you on, Carl? Watching a real man do what you never could?”

Carl’s breath came faster, matching Jeremy’s thrusts. He rubbed his cock through his pants, shame and arousal mixing until he couldn’t tell the difference.

Laurel’s moans crescendoed, becoming sharper, more desperate. Her thighs trembled violently, her pussy visibly clenching around Jeremy’s pistoning cock. “I’m close,” she sobbed. “Oh fuck, I’m so close. Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Jeremy increased his pace impossibly, his hips blurring as he drove into her with savage force. The bed frame screamed in protest, the springs groaning, but he didn’t relent. His hands gripped Laurel’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding her in place as he used her body.

“Cum for me,” Jeremy commanded. “Cum on my cock. Show your husband what a real orgasm looks like.”

Laurel’s entire body went rigid, every muscle locking. Her back arched impossibly high off the mattress, her head thrown back, tendons standing out in her neck. Then she shattered.

The scream that tore from her throat was inhuman, pure animalistic pleasure. Her pussy clamped down on Jeremy’s cock, spasming violently as wave after wave of orgasm crashed through her. Her hands clawed at the sheets, ripping them loose from the mattress corners. Tears streamed down her face, her mouth open in that endless scream.

“Jeremy! Oh God, JEREMY!”

She screamed Jeremy’s name, over and over, while Carl just watched. His cock leaked into his pants, pathetic and useless.

Jeremy’s rhythm faltered, becoming erratic. His face contorted, muscles tensing as his own orgasm approached. With a grunt, he pulled out abruptly, his massive cock sliding free of Laurel’s spasming pussy with a wet sound.

His hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking rapidly. Once, twice, and then he was coming. Thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splashing across Laurel’s stomach and breasts. More and more, painting her pale skin white, marking her as his territory. The volume was obscene, more cum than Carl had ever produced, coating his wife thoroughly.

That was it. Carl broke.

His cock jerked in his khakis, and he came hard, not even touching himself. He didn’t need to. Watching his wife get fucked and marked by a real man was enough to make him shoot in his pants like a teenager.

Cum soaked his underwear, spreading across his khakis in a big wet stain. His knees buckled and he had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. He came in his pants, humiliated and helpless.

The three of them remained frozen—Jeremy standing over Laurel with his softening cock in hand, Laurel sprawled across the bed with Jeremy’s cum cooling on her skin, Carl slumped against the doorframe with the evidence of his humiliation spreading across his crotch.

Jeremy looked at Carl and grinned, victorious. This was Carl’s life now: the loser who came in his pants watching his wife get fucked by a younger man. The cuckold who couldn’t even complain.

And some sick, broken part of Carl welcomed it.