So You Want To Get Cucked? (Part 13) (Patreon)

In Part 12 you got off listening to you what your boyfriend got up to at the sauna. Here's what happens next.

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That’s pretty much how it goes for the next month or so: once a week Frank lies about where he is and goes to the bathhouse, and once a week you sneak in there to listen and sneak the odd look while he gets fucked by a string of strangers, some of which are becoming regulars. And each time you sneak back home before him so he can return to find you having a quiet night in.

Frank’s popular at the bathhouse. You started keeping a tally, and by now you’ve either heard or seen him him give up his ass over fifty times. That’s not counting the guys who’ve cum in his mouth or on his face — but it is counting some guys multiple times because they turn up every week to get a piece of him.

One night — maybe about two months after you first started coming to the bathhouse — Frank’s shut away in a private room with that same muscle stud after having a train run on him in the sling room, and you’re in the next room listening as usual. And once you’ve cum, and everything’s quiet, you fall asleep without even realising it. You wake up, alarmed, no idea what time it is because your phone is in your locker. Frantic and kicking yourself for letting yourself fall asleep like that, you run to the locker room and quickly get dressed. You look at your phone and it’s almost eleven, which means Frank’s either left already or is just about to.

You charge out of the bathhouse and onto the street, hurrying down the block towards your car. When you get there you find Frank leaning against it, waiting for you. You stop in your tracks, and your stomach sinks at the realisation that you’ve been caught. That’s stupid, you know, because Frank’s the one who’s been doing something wrong, he’s really the villain in this situation. But still, you feel like you’re the one who’s been outed in a deception.

“You took your time,” he says, as casually as anything, a grin on his face.

You’re confused about why he doesn’t seem apologetic, or guilty, just amused. It crosses your mind that maybe he thinks he’s the one that’s caught you cheating, and he doesn’t even realise you know what he’s been up to.

“I wasn’t doing anything in there,” you say, realising you sound defensive. “Like, with anyone. I wasn’t hooking up with anyone, I swear. I was there because I wanted to know what you were doing.”

“I know,” Frank replies. 

“What do you mean you know?”

“I know you’ve been here every week for the last two months to see me get my back blown out.”

Your first instinct is to deny it, but you realise how stupid that would sound and how pointless it would be before you even open your mouth. So instead you just ask, “How?”

He shrugs. “You’re not very good at covering your tracks,” he says. “Not that I’m much better, I guess, considering you found me in the first place.”

“How long have you known?”

“A while,” he says.

“A while? So each time you came home, you knew that I knew what you’d been up to the whole time? And you knew I was there?”

He nods.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs again. “Why didn’t you?” 

He’s got you there. It’s hard to feel justified in blaming him for perpetuating the lie when you weren’t willing to say anything about it either. Not only that, when you went there every week to get yourself off watching and listening to it happen.

“You going to take me home?” he asks, gesturing to the car.

You unlock it, and he gets in the passenger side. You get in behind the wheel and close the door, silent, feeling a little shellshocked by the craziness of what you’ve just found out.

Once the car’s moving Frank breaks the silence. “Tell me what it was like,” he says.

“What?”

“Watching me. Or listening to me. Or whatever it was you’ve been doing here.”

You feel embarrassed to admit it. But you suppose that there’s no point trying to hide anything at this point. “It’s hard to explain,” you begin. “Because it hurts, seeing you cheat on me, knowing it’s not just some moment of weakness but something you choose to do over and over again like you don’t even care about me. Do you know how many guys have fucked you while I’ve been right there a few metres away listening to the sounds you make while they do it?”

“I have no idea,” he says, answering even though it was a rhetorical question. “I’ve lost count how many guys have put their dicks in me in that place.”

“It’s been a lot. And yeah, it’s kind of hard to take. But I can’t lie, it turns me on too.”

“I figure it must. That’s why you keep coming back, right? That’s why you never confronted me about it.”

“I don’t know why,” you admit. “It’s fucked up that something that makes me feel so hurt can make me feel so turned on. But it does. Seeing them fuck you, hearing you from the other side of the wall, it gets me so hard. It makes me feel a kind of desire that’s more full-on than anything I’ve ever felt before. Even more than having sex myself.”

You look over at him. “I don’t know why it does this to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

He gives you a reassuring smile. “I do. It’s because you’re a cuck.”

You feel ashamed that he’d call you that. After all, it’s an insult, right? It’s not something you’re supposed to aspire to. But at the same time you know he’s completely right, and you’re kind of glad he sees you.

“So, what happens now?” you ask, fixing your eyes back on the road as you drive.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know,” you say. It’s true, you honestly have no idea where to go from here. All you really know is that it’s clear Frank has discovered a new side of himself that he’s not going to want to shut away anymore, and that the last few weeks of surveilling this new side of him has been probably the most exciting time of your life. You’re glad you’re not going to have to experience the dread and anguish that’s been plaguing you for the last few weeks as you’ve thought about Frank keeping secrets from you. But honestly, you think there’s a chance you might miss that feeling.

The more you think about it the more you know what you want. “Do you think we could just pretend this conversation never happened?” you ask.

“If that’s what you want,” Frank replies, sounding a little disappointed. “But I’m confused; I really thought that now it’s out in the open this might be the start of something good for us.”

“I think it could be,” you say. “But I like the secrets. Just keep lying to me, okay? And if you see me in the bathhouse maybe just pretend you didn’t.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

You smile, already looking forward to the next time comes home after lying about where he’s been, and kisses you with some other guy’s cum on his lips.

“That reminds me,” he says, “I have to work late a few nights next week.”

THE END________________________________________________________

So that's the end of that branch of the story. In the next instalment would you rather go back and see what would have happened if you'd let him spot you in the sling room instead? Or would you rather go back to that night when you first heard him get fucked in the toilet cubicle at the club, and take a different course to the one that led you here?