'My Husband's Rich Boyfriend' draft: When's my bf coming home? (Patreon)

Here's another draft chapter from my work in progress commission. As always, keen for comments!

I reached out, half asleep, expecting my hand to find Winston’s warm body in the bed next to me. That’s how I’d always begin the slow process of waking up: finding him, shuffling myself over to fit neatly against the shape of his body, then feeling his cock stir against me as he’d slowly start to wake. But today all I found was an empty bed. The confusion of that discovery jolted me awake, and that’s when I remembered that I was alone. He hadn’t come home last night. I’d left him to sleep in the arms of another man.

I reached immediately for my phone to see if he’d messaged. But there was nothing. For a moment I was angry at him for not messaging me goodnight, not apologising for breaking the rules we agreed, not checking in to see if I was ok after being cucked worse than I’d ever been before.

I wondered if he’d feel strange waking up next to someone else. I pictured him stirring, nuzzling up against the body next to him in the bed, becoming puzzled when his half-asleep brain registered that the body he was clinging to wasn’t mine. I wondered if he’d feel bad about that. In my imagination he didn’t. In my imagination he clung tight to the muscular body of his new fucktoy, rubbing the guy’s chest and pressing his hardening cock up against his toned butt. Getting excited for another round.

I got hard from the thought of it. I spat on my hand and lubed up my cock with it. Then I lay there in bed, stroking it while I pictured them: lazily making out as they woke up properly, Winston sliding his cock into the guy’s hole and fucking him gently as he nuzzled his neck.

It didn’t take me long to cum. As soon as I did, I was angry at him again.

The whole time I was getting ready for work I expected to get a message any second, but there was nothing. It wasn’t till I was sitting on the train, tense with anger and worry, that I gave up waiting for him to message me and decided to make the first move.

I had no idea what to say. Even though I felt within my rights, I didn’t want to come across angry. I didn’t want to be that kind of boyfriend. I typed message after message, deleting each one because it wasn’t quite right. Eventually I just went with:

Missed you. How was it?

I sat there staring at my phone, waiting for that little tick to fill in to show that he’d read my message, and for that little bubble full of dots to show that he was writing something back. I sat there staring at my screen for the rest of the train ride, but nothing happened. He hadn’t even read it. 

By lunchtime he still hadn’t messaged me. As much as it killed me to be that guy, I couldn’t help myself from sending another message as I sat in the break room eating my ramen.

Hey. You all good? Starting to worry because I haven’t heard from you

I sat staring at the screen, but still nothing. He still hadn’t even read my first message from this morning.

That whole afternoon I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I’d keep trying to do some work, but five minutes later I’d find myself staring at my messages again, or just staring off into space while I imagined what they were doing. I was so hard under my desk that I contemplated sneaking off to the toilets to knock one out, but I figured I was too stressed for that.

It was about three thirty when, having zoned out staring at my messages again, I saw the ‘read’ icon change colour. My heart stopped for a second. Then a wave of relief washed over me so hard I could physically feel it. I sat there and waited to see what the reply would be.

But after ten minutes, there was still no reply.

Now I was pissed. I didn’t know what had stopped him messaging me, or even checking his phone, up until now. But at least there had been a small chance he could have a legitimate reason for the radio silence. But now I was a hundred percent sure that he’d seen my message, knew I was worried about him, and had made a deliberate decision not to put me out of my misery. 

Fuck messaging him. I dialled his number and called it. Twelve rings, no answer. It eventually went to voicemail, and I hung up. Now I was fucking fuming.

Winston what the hell is up? Where are you? Why are you ignoring me?

As soon as I hit send I felt embarrassed, seeing the type of husband I’d become. But I was so angry at him for ignoring me that I didn’t know what else to do. I sat there for another few minutes staring at the screen, waiting for a reply, before showing the phone down on my desk in rage and storming off to the convenience store at the bottom of my building to buy chocolate I could comfort-eat.

When I got back to my desk I checked my phone again. There was a message. For the second time today my heart stopped. I fumbled with the phone passcode three times as I frantically tried to get to the message. When I finally got it, I found:

Hey babe, sorry, been way distracted. Having fun. Tell you all about it tonight. Luv u

I was stunned that after the seismic shock he’d sent through our marriage with his actions over the last twenty-four hours, that was all he could bother saying to me. I was so angry at him, as well as angry at myself for how horny it was making me.

I was livid all afternoon, but I didn’t bother trying to message him. I’d save it for when he got home. 

That night was his shift at the bar so I knew he wouldn’t be home till about nine thirty. It meant that once I got home from work, I had a few hours to myself to storm around the house, stewing about his behaviour and picturing all the savage things I’d say to him when he finally got home. But by around quarter to ten he still wasn’t home, and I was just about to call him again when my phone buzzed. I picked it up, and found it was a message from Winston.

Hey babe, I know this is a big ask but do you think it would be ok if I stayed at Callum’s place again tonight?

I couldn’t believe how out-of-line Winston was being right now, breaking the rules for a second night in a row. In that instant I knew I’d made a massive mistake not putting my foot down last night, because I’d gone and made the rules seem optional. That needed to end now.

I dialled his number. It rang on the other end for a long time, long enough that I thought it was about to go to voicemail. But eventually Winston answered.

“Hey. You saw my message?” I could tell by the tone of his voice he felt guilty; it was that tone he used when he knew I was about to tell him off.

“Yeah,” I replied. “You’re seriously thinking of going back? Two nights in a row?”

There was a long pause. “I’m still here. I haven’t left yet. I called in sick to the bar.”

“You ditched your shift? What the hell have you been doing this whole time?”

Winston laughed. “You’ll find out when I get home.” When he didn’t get a response from me he obviously realised I was pissed, and he changed tack. “Babe, I know this is totally against the rules and I’m like, really, really grateful that you’re being cool about it. I’m just having heaps of fun with him and I wanna keep going. You understand, right?”

I felt like I didn’t have much of a choice. I also felt like I’d suddenly gotten in over my head. 

“Ok.” What the hell else was I supposed to say? 

“Really? You’re all good? You’re the fucking best, babe.”

“Send me some pics though,” I told him. “Or better yet, videos. Okay? I want to at least get to see some of the action.”

Winston laughed down the other end of the phone. “That’s the Nick I know and love. Okay, I’ll ask Callum if he’s okay with sharing a few pics or something. Keep your phone on you, okay?”

I agreed.

“Cool. I gotta go, okay babe? Love you heaps.”

“Goodnight,” I said to him. “Love you. Have fun fucking him. You’ll be home tomorrow, right?”

Winston chuckled. “I’ll be home when I’m all done. Bye!” 

Before I could say anything in response to that - before I could even pause to wonder what that meant - he’d hung up.

Sitting in my bed watching netflix alone, I felt kind of dejected. But at the same time it turned me on thinking about the two of them fucking, falling asleep together again. It turned me on even more when I thought about the fact they’d been at it all day, and that this guy had somehow managed to keep Winston so fucking enthralled that he’d blown off work to stay with him.

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 Winston’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 Winston’s eyes staring back at me.

A minute later my phone buzzed again. This time it was a video. A pair of hands rested on the back of Winston’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 the tip as it withdrew from his mouth. Winston winked at me, 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 Winston 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 Winston 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 Winston’s eyes, his mouth full of another man’s cock. 

I shot ropes of cum across my chest, and immediately felt fucking stupid. I wiped it up, 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 Winston at all the next day. And that night - his third away from me - Winston didn’t 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.