I do not contact Cory after the events at the club.
For a week, I am radio silent. No Snapchat posts. No texts.
Then, on Saturday evening, I post a single video to Snapchat.
Deleting in 10 mins, reads the caption.
In the video, I am wearing nothing but a pair of light gray briefs. I film myself in front of a mirror, standing sideways as if I am shy of my body.
I do not feel things like shyness.
I grab the waistband of the underwear and pull it slowly down. The fabric clings to my skin, revealing inch after inch of my hips, my ass, my groin. The underwear is caught on my cock, which is hard. I lower it till it tucks underneath my ass cheek, causing the flesh to jiggle slightly.
I look at the camera and wink.
Cory views the video after 23 seconds.
Each night, I post a new video: tugging my hard cock through my underwear, writhing on my bed with my ass hanging out, pinching my nipples with one hand as the other one moves rapidly just below the screen.
Cory watches all of them, saying nothing. He does not need to. I know he wants me.
He is sitting in his apartment, feeling sick to his stomach as he watches these videos over and over again. He looks over at his sleeping husband, terrified that Tanner will wake and see the truth on his screen. But still he watches, he lusts, he touches himself to images of me, wishing I was the one lying beside him.
“Cory? Is that you?”
He is in the middle of a barbell row when I approach him. I am dressed in a string tank top and black workout shorts, a protein shaker clutched in one hand. He is in a pair of gray shorts and a muscle tee. He stops what he is doing and looks up at me as if he has seen a ghost.
“Oh… hey, Sam.”
“I didn’t know you went to this gym,” I say.
He looks around, as if afraid Tanner will pop out at any moment.
“Uh, yeah. Have been for years.”
I smile. “Mind if I hop in for a workout with you? I could use a spotting buddy. I still don’t know, like, anyone in this city.”
He wants to say no. He is trying, in the poor reaches of his mind, to think of some excuse as to why he cannot help me.
“Sure,” he says. His weakness has won out.
We work out together for 36 minutes. I copy his exercises, working in with him with lesser weight.
“I can’t believe how much you can lift,” I croon.
He enjoys being around me. He is trying not to get hard as he shows me the proper form for a barbell row. His hand pushes my back down.
“Flat as a bench,” he says. His fingertips stay on my shirt a moment too long.
When the workout is over, I accompany him to the locker room.
“You headed home after this?” I ask casually as I strip off my shirt.
He glances at my body only once before burying his head in his locker.
“Gonna hit the steam room.”
“I’ll join you.”
He knows he is trapped. He knows there is only one way out—to tell me this cannot happen. To ask me to forget what happened in the bathroom. To remind me of his love for his husband.
But he is weak.
“Okay,” he says, and he is already mine.
We sit in the steam room, towels draped around our waists. His body is heavy, muscular. His hair sticks to his chest, and I feel an almost animalistic compulsion to lick him. But I am in control of my baser desires.
He is not.
“That totally wrecked me,” I say, leaning back and letting the towel drape open.
He looks. It is not enough to expose me. Just my left leg, my inner thigh, a few wisps of pubic hair.
I pretend to close my eyes, but I can see him stare. I can see the tent in his towel. I know he will give in.
I do not say anything. I reach under my towel and put my hand on my cock. I slowly stroke myself, almost absentmindedly. It is as if he is not there. He watches, his jaw agape. He wants to touch himself. He is scared. He is scared of his desire for me.
“Mmmm…” I moan softly, stretching my legs as I continue to tug myself. I am writhing now. The storm is gathering, my pinnacle near.
Cory watches, his own hand tugging his foreskin. He is no longer hiding it, though he still wears his towel.
My towel has long since fallen to the ground. I open my eyes and catch his gaze. My face is contorted in a mixture of pleasure and need. His face is slack with lust. It is as if he is intoxicated.
“Oh,” I moan. “I’m close…”
I look at him, then my cock. He knows what I want. He knows it will cross the line. He wants to cross the line.
The moment before my orgasm hits, he is on his knees in front of me. His mouth is on my cock, and I spill my release inside him. I cry out, clutching the back of his head to steady myself. He sucks the head of my penis, milking me of my seed.
This is the beginning. The more he drinks of me, the more he will need. He is the greedy boy in the children’s tale, gorging himself on Turkish delight.
But this is not a children’s tale. And this is not Turkish delight.
When my balls are empty, he sits back, his dick still rigid. He stares at my deflating cock as if awaking from a dream.
“What have I done?” he asks dizzily.
“Come home with me,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Tanner is expecting me.”
“He will wait.”
I bring him to the place where I am staying. He waits until we are inside before he kisses me. When his lips are on mine, he becomes my toy to play with. There is no turning back now. He has drunk my seed, and I have drunk his. He has betrayed his husband in the worst possible way—what will another betrayal matter?
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says when I am naked. “How is it possible to look like you do?”
“I want you to fuck me on my back,” I say, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. “So I can look you in the eye while we make love.”
He is nervous. He wants to check his phone, to see the time and to see if his husband has begun to question his whereabouts.
When I spread my legs, he forgets all of this. All that matters is what is between them. He gets naked, his body still sweaty from the steam room. He climbs between my legs slowly, nervously. I pull him in for a kiss, melting away his nerves. I reach between his legs and take his manhood in my fingers. It is hard, dripping at the thought of entering me.
“Do you have a condom?” he asks.
“Do not ask me that again,” I say.
His eyes widen in surprise, but he moans all the same when I place him at the entrance to my body. He cannot help but push in, so eager is he to defile me. Yet it is he who is defiled.
“Fuck me, Cory,” I say softly. “Make love to me.”
The pleasure is so intense that his eyes nearly fill with tears. He has never felt this way with his husband. He has never felt this way with anyone. He does not need to say it. Not yet. That will wait for when we have an audience. When we do, he will sing the praises of my body. And he will deny his husband once, twice, three times before the rooster crows.
Cory fucks me hard and deep. The sweat pours off of him and onto me. His gaze never leaves mine. I watch a thousand emotions flicker across his brow: elation. Woe. Malice. He is in awe of my body. He did not know he could feel this way with another man. He will think of this night for the rest of his life.
When he cums inside me, his arms give out. He crushes me into the bed, his body shaking as he spills his seed. His lips are on my neck, kissing me softly. He whispers sweet nothings in my ear. He offers me the world.
When he leaves, it is almost midnight.
“What will you tell your husband?” I ask.
“I’ll say my phone died. I ran into a friend, and we grabbed a beer after the gym,” he responds. “When can I see you again?”
“Soon,” I say.
We kiss goodbye. For too long, we kiss. He does not want to leave. Yet he knows if he does not, he will no longer have a husband. He does not think he wants that.
It is not up to him.
I meet Cory after work at the gym every evening at 5:15. We work out together, lifting weights and spotting each other more closely than is needed. When we are finished, we go to my apartment and begin the real workout. Our lovemaking is rough, but I am careful not to mark him. I do not want Tanner to know. Not yet.
Weeks go by. The more time we spend together, the more Cory begins to defer to me. He seeks my advice on problems in his life: an issue at work, a difficult client, a fight with Tanner. I do not care about these matters. I tell him he is a god, that he should bow to no one. His only goal is to push himself harder, get stronger, and take what is his.
He tells me he is insecure about his size, that he feels small compared to the other men in the gym. I am the one to mention steroids, though I know the thought has tempted him before.
“I don’t want to fuck up my heart,” he says.
No. That is my job.
I enjoy exerting influence over him. It pleases me to see him do as I command—to lie, to cheat. I am certain he would steal for me if I were only to ask. His body belongs to me now, even if he does not know it yet.
He breaks three days later. The results are almost immediate. He injects himself every week, growing faster, getting bigger, abusing his body until his muscles begin to pop and gleam. Our workouts get harder, and the gap between our lifts widens. His world grows smaller as his body grows bigger. His temper grows thin as his lust grows wild. He is my plaything, and I am easily bored.
At night, he pours all that he has into me until there is nothing left for his husband. I send him home empty, a shell of the husband he used to be.
Tanner is concerned. He does not know what is happening to Cory. I run into him at a coffee shop one weekend. It’s been too long! Wow, you look amazing. Let me get your coffee, girly. I’ll grab a table, and we can catch up!
“How’s Cory?” I ask. “I saw him at the gym the other day. He looked massive.”
“Yeah, he’s been working out a lot,” he says.
“You two must be going at it like rabbits.”
His doubt is written plain on his face. It does not take more than a single nudge to get him to spill everything.
“It’s been weeks, and nothing I do seems to work,” he confesses. “He’s coming home later and later, and he says he’s just exhausted from his workouts, but…”
“You think he’s cheating?”
He sighs. “I don’t know what to think. But something’s wrong. We’ve never gone this long without having sex.”
“I might be able to help,” I say.
As it turns out, I happen to work as a “sex therapist.” I’ve helped dozens of couples reignite their sex lives with just a few easy tips. I work with people individually and together. I am happy to offer my services pro bono to a friend in need.
Tanner is relieved. He asks me how to fix what is broken. He does not know I am the one who broke it.
“It sounds like what he’s looking for is passion,” I say. “Romance. Why not plan a little surprise for him? You can cook him his favorite meal, light candles, put on something that makes you feel sexy and confident. He’ll take one look at you and remember exactly why he fell in love with you.”
He thanks me. He tells me he will surprise him on Friday evening. He is already getting excited, making plans to buy a sexy outfit and pick up scented candles on his way home. Cory loves Encens 9 from Le Labo. It’s a little pricey, but why not! If this will help things get back to how they used to be, it’s worth it.
On Friday, Cory tells me he will have to skip our workout. His husband wants him home straight after work for dinner. I convince him to stop by my apartment on his way home. He is reluctant, but he acquiesces.
“Only for a few minutes,” he says.
When he arrives, I am naked in my bedroom. The apartment is filled with lit candles on every table, counter, and shelf. I have cooked him his favorite meal.
He does not eat it. Instead, he takes me on my bed. We make love once, twice, three times. The meal lies forgotten on the dining room table. That will be two dinners that go uneaten tonight.
I ride him until he forgets his husband’s name. I ride him until he forgets my name. I ride him until he forgets his own name. He falls asleep while still inside me, his body drained utterly dry.
He awakens after midnight. A rush of clarity hits him.
“Fuck,” he says frantically. “Tanner!”
I do not stop him when he leaves. I know that when he gets home, his husband will have thrown away the food, extinguished the candles, and cried himself to sleep.
I sleep better than I have in centuries.
The next morning, I sit cross-legged on my bed and meditate. My spirit leaves my body and hovers over the city, searching. Now I am in their bedroom, watching them from the shadows. They cannot see me. They do not know that I am watching.
“I told you I needed you,” Tanner says.
He is sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes are ringed red.
“Baby, I’m sorry. Look, I got caught up at work and lost track of time.”
“For six hours? Come on, Cory. You expect me to believe that?”
“Babe, you’re being paranoid. I’m not cheating on you.”
“Then why do you smell like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve smelled every night after work for the last two months.”
“You’re imagining things. I’m sorry about last night. But I’m not going to sit here and let you accuse me of cheating on you.”
Cory leaves in a rush of anger. Tanner begins to doubt himself. He does not know what is wrong. He will not know until it is time.
“What do I do?” he asks me.
We are back at the coffee shop. He called me in hysterics. His husband will not fuck him. He smells like another man. Cory denies it, but something is wrong.
“I don’t think he’s cheating on you,” I say. “Not someone like Cory. He’s crazy about you!”
“Then what’s the problem?” he cries. “Why won’t he touch me? Why is he suddenly so obsessed with working out? It has to be for another man.”
“That’s your insecurity talking,” I say. “Insecurity is an intimacy killer.”
Tanner’s body sags.
Good. I want him to think he is the problem. It brings me such joy.
“Most couples make the mistake of pulling back when they feel distance,” I say. “They don’t want to seem needy.”
Tanner nods. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”
“And how’s that working?”
Tanner just shakes his head. He is so defeated. It’s so sweet I can almost taste it.
“People want to feel wanted,” I continue. “If Cory’s drifting, you have to remind him why he loves you in the first place. Start flirting with him again. Send him texts, little compliments and thirst traps while he’s at work.”
Tanner shakes his head. He is thinking about it. “I don’t want to come off too clingy.”
“There’s a big difference between clinginess and confidence,” I say.
I lean, smile warmly, and say, “Now, here’s what I would suggest.”
One week later, midway through a set of Bulgarian split squats, Cory tells me he’s had enough.
“Tanner’s been extra needy lately, and it’s driving me nuts,” he says, dropping the weights and letting them slam on the floor. He sits back on the bench, breathing heavily. “He’s been on my heels all week, texting me while I’m at work and offering to give me massages or blowjobs when I’m home. It’s like he’s trying to be some slutty housemaid or something.”
“He’s probably feeling insecure,” I say. “He misses getting fucked by that thick monster dick. I can’t blame him.”
He smirks at that. “It’s a total turn-off,” he grunts as he wipes sweat off his forehead. “I wish it were more like it is with you.”
“He’s your husband. You made a promise to him.”
“I want to be better for him,” he admits. “But I don’t want to give you up.”
“Why don’t you just have sex with him again?”
He’s quiet for a moment. I know the reason why. How can he enjoy mediocrity when perfection is right in front of him?
“Maybe you just need a little more spice in your sex life,” I say. I slide onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.
His eyes go wide. “Sam… not here–”
“Shhhh,” I whisper in his ear. “I wanna help you fuck your husband again.”
Tanner’s been through a lot, poor guy. What about that blindfold and those restraints you’ve been begging to mess around with? It might be hot to tie him up, take away his sight, make him wait a little while—an hour or two, at most—then take him hard and rough. Doesn’t that sound hot? Sure, it’ll never be like what we have, but it’s only right to throw the little guy a bone. If only for pity’s sake.
Cory is excited. He does miss being intimate with his husband. Maybe he can have his cake and eat it too. And why not? Isn’t he a big fucking stud with giant muscles and a monster cock that deserves to fuck whatever pussy it wants?
The next evening, I watch from afar, crouching in the shadows as Cory ties the blindfold around Tanner’s eyes. The sad, pathetic cuckold is brimming with anticipation, excited to finally reap the rewards of all that he has sacrificed. His husband restrains him to the bed, exactly as instructed, then steps back to admire his handiwork.
“Stay,” he commands as one would to a dog.
Then he comes to me, knocking on my door exactly when he said he would. I welcome him in, guiding him to the bedroom without a word.
“I can’t,” he says hesitantly. “I have to fuck him tonight. I promised.”
“You will,” I lie. “But me first.”
He wants so badly to resist, as he knows what happens when he is caught in my web. But of course it is too late for that—soon he is in only his underwear, and I mine. Our bodies writhe against each other, his body hot as a furnace from the steroids and sin.
He lets me restrain him just as he did to Tanner. I blindfold him and leave him naked and throbbing for me. Then I sit on his shaft, feeling his slickness slide into me without an ounce of resistance.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “You’re perfect.”
I ride him slowly, methodically. I do not want him to cum just yet, not when the fun has barely started. He begs me to allow his release, promises me the world if he can only cum inside me.
They file into the room one after the other, silent and waiting as I have requested. Men are so easy to control when you know what to promise them. A simple online ad, and they come crawling from every corner of the dark. They stand against the wall, slipping off clothes, baring themselves for what’s to come.
I ride Cory faster, determined to be the first to receive his divine blessing for the night.
“Oh God,” he cries, “Oh GOD!”
No God. Only me.
I slide off of him, keeping his release inside me. There will be plenty more for everyone else by the end of the night.
“I should go back to Tanner,” he says weakly.
I look at the men and nod. They climb on the bed, hands roaming across Cory’s artificial muscles, the body built from poison and iron.
“What the fuck,” he says anxiously. “Who’s that?”
I lean into his ear, close enough for my lips to touch. “Just relax,” I whisper. “Give in.”
When the first man takes Cory’s mouth in his cock, all tension leaves his body. Hands squeeze his chest, arms, legs. Lips and tongues slide along his inner thigh, his neck, his fingers. A cock passes his lips, and he swallows it dutifully. The mouth on his cock is replaced by an ass, and soon Cory’s hips thrust to meet it.
The sounds of lust and depravity are like music to my ears. Their hunger spills into the air, and I drink it in, gulping it down as it burns and blooms inside me, feeding something vast and insatiable. I take out my phone to record this blessed cacophony of moans, grunts, and cries. The blindfold is gone, the restraints are loosened, and Cory is unleashed to take part in the destruction of his own soul.
By the time the sun has risen, the men have gone, and Cory is ruined. His body is marked with bruises from rough hands, scratches from passionate nails, dark purple hickeys from eager mouths. There will be no hiding this. Yet still, he cannot accept his fate.
I watch again from the shadows as Cory creeps back into his apartment. Tanner is curled up in the bed, having wrested free from his restraints hours ago. He has not slept, so much has he been crying.
He takes one look at his husband and screams. “Get out!”
Cory knows he should confess. He knows there is no excuse. But still he lies.
“I can explain–”
“I waited for you all night!”
“I was going to come back after an hour, but… I got mugged!”
Tanner scoffs. “Mugged? Is that the best you can come up with?”
“It’s the truth,” Cory lies. “I’m covered in scratches and bruises from fighting back. Take a look, if you don’t believe me!”
“More like hickeys,” Tanner spits back.
Cory punches a wall, his steroid-enlarged heart beating out of control. “I’m not fucking cheating on you!”
“He’s cheating on you,” I say.
Tanner is in my apartment. He came here straight after their fight. He needed to talk to someone, anyone.
He starts to cry.
“How do you know?”
I pull out my phone. I show him the video.
“I got this from an anonymous number,” I say. “I’m so sorry, Tanner.”
He watches the video in horror. He has never seen his husband do these things. Raw, unprotected sex with strangers. Getting fucked by one man and blowing another. Kissing, biting, spitting, sucking.
“He would never bottom for me,” he says breathlessly.
“It’s shameful,” I say. “Makes me sick to my stomach.”
In fact, I feel no such thing. The look on Tanner’s face—one of absolute despair, horror, and detachment—makes me feel like a human child on Christmas morning. Every ounce of his distress is absolutely delicious to me. Knowing that just on the other side of the door is the place where his husband was defiled, the blood-red sheets where he took other men’s cocks and drank his fill of flesh and sin.
“What do I do?” he says once the video is complete.
He watched the entire thing.
“You should confront him,” I say firmly. “Threaten to leave. Make him see reason.”
He does not know if he has the strength.
“You can do this. I believe in you, Tanner.” My hand is on his shoulder.
“Here—let me text you the video.”
I return to my home in the shadows to watch the cuckold’s pathetic attempts to save his marriage.
“For the last time, you’re being crazy,” Cory says. “I didn’t cheat on you!”
Tanner says nothing. Just takes out his phone and shoves it in Cory’s hands. The sound of his depravity echoes throughout the room.
Cory goes white. “Where did you get this?”
“You’ve been lying to me for months,” says Tanner. “Haven’t you?”
“N-no.”
“Enough with the lies!” He sits on the bed, thrusting his face into his hands. “The only way we can be together, the only way we can heal from this, is if you tell me the truth. Right now.”
Cory sits beside him. His massive frame seems small as the weight of his betrayal threatens to crush him. “I’m sorry, honey. You… you’re right. I’ve been cheating.”
Tanner looks up at him, tears in his eyes. “With who?”
For a moment, I wonder if he will name me. But I know he will not. Not yet.
“Just some guy from the gym,” he says lamely. “Nobody who means anything.”
“You have to stop,” says Tanner. “For me. Cory, you have to fight for me.”
Now Cory has tears in his eyes. “I will, baby. God, I promise I will.”
They embrace. Anyone would think that they might make it, that the Cheater might change his ways, and the Cuckold might break free from the endless cycle of humiliation.
That is not the way this story goes.
Cory comes to my apartment that night. He has told his husband he will be gone for less than an hour. He is going to end things, once and for all.
Bless him, he really does try. He tells me why we can’t be together anymore. He apologizes for getting me mixed up in this, knowing I’m not responsible for his bad decisions.
“This is all my fault,” he says. “But I have to be the one to fix it.”
I say nothing, just slide my hands around his broad back.
“No,” he whispers, trembling under my touch. “Please, Sam.”
I press my lips against the underside of his chin and feel him tremble beneath me.
“Stop me,” I whisper. “And go back to him. If that’s what you really want.”
I pull back, and his body follows my touch. “Or come with me and take what you deserve.”
I turn and go into my bedroom. He hesitates for 10 seconds—admirable. Then he follows me inside and is mine once more.
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