Btw cuckolding is still quite a few here but we're getting there folks. Maybe after the next 2 Parts :)
Enjoy Reading Cucks!
February 12, 2026
Nick's POV
I pulled up outside Karl Bran’s townhouse in Hampstead at 4:15 PM, engine idling, rain tapping a steady rhythm on the windshield. The street was quiet—leafy trees dripping, posh houses glowing with early evening lights. Charlie had texted he’d be out soon; something about wrapping up with the author. I leaned back in the driver’s seat, phone in hand, trying to focus on anything but the guilt gnawing at my insides like a bad hangover that wouldn’t quit.
But my mind kept looping back to last night. The sofa. Daniel’s body arching under me, his moans like velvet. \*Breed me.\* God, the way he’d clenched when I came inside him—hot, tight, milking every drop. Satisfaction still hummed low in my veins, mixed with that dark excitement I couldn’t shake. It scared me. Thrilled me. Made me hard just thinking about it.
My phone buzzed. Daniel. Again.
I’d told myself I wouldn’t reply. Block him. Delete the thread. But here I was, thumb swiping open.
\*Daniel: Thinking about you. That sofa... your cock stretching me. Still feel you inside. Leaking your cum all morning. 😈\*
Heat shot straight to my dick. I shifted in the seat, jeans suddenly tight.
\*Me: Stop. I told you—this ends. Delete my number.\*
Send. Heart racing. But I didn’t close the app.
Three dots. Immediate.
\*Daniel: Oh, come on, Nelson. That’s what you said after the cab blowjob. Then you fucked me senseless on your boyfriend’s sofa. Actions speak louder. You’re hard right now, aren’t you? Picturing my ass?\*
Fuck. I was. Hand pressing down on my crotch, trying to will it away.
\*Me: No. I’m serious. Charlie doesn’t deserve this. I love him.\*
\*Daniel: Love him? Sure. But you want me. Admit it—last night was the best sex of your life. My mouth on your cock, tongue swirling that fat head. You groaned my name like prayer. “Daniel—fuck, yes.” Remember?\*
My breath hitched. Flash: Daniel on his knees, lips stretched wide, eyes watering as he deepthroated me. I’d thrust up, hitting the back of his throat.
\*Me: Shut up. It was a mistake. Won’t happen again.\*
\*Daniel: Mistake? You bred me. Filled me up like you owned me. I can send proof—pic of your cum dripping out? Or the video I took this morning... fingering myself, moaning your name.\*
Video? My cock throbbed. \*No. Don’t.\*
\*Me: Don’t send anything. Block me.\*
\*Daniel: Why haven’t you blocked me? You’re waiting for more. Tease yourself. Imagine it: me on my knees again, begging for your load down my throat. Or bent over, ass up, hole winking at you. “Fuck me, Nick. Harder than you fuck Charlie.”\*
I groaned out loud—alone in the car, hand palming myself through jeans. Zipper down before I could think. Cock out—hard, leaking. Slow stroke.
\*Me: Stop. Please.\*
\*Daniel: Please? That’s not “stop.” That’s “keep going.” Tell me—what part got you hardest? My tongue on your balls? Or when I teased my hole on your cock, clenching just the tip?\*
\*Me: The teasing. Fuck—you were so tight. Hot. Made me lose it.\*
Send. Regret immediate. But the thrill—god, the thrill.
\*Daniel: Knew it. You loved it. Bet you’re stroking now. In your car? Waiting for Charlie? Naughty. Send a pic. Show me how hard I make you.\*
\*Me: No. Can’t.\*
But my hand sped up—fist slick with pre-come.
\*Daniel: Yes you can. For me. Imagine my mouth instead—wet, sucking deep. Gagging on that thick dick. Swallow every inch.\*
I snapped a pic—cock in hand, veined and red. Sent before sanity kicked in.
\*Daniel: Fuck yes. Look at that monster. Miss it already. Jerk faster. Think of me riding you—ass bouncing, taking you balls-deep. “Breed me, Nick. Fill my hole.”\*
My hips bucked—car rocking slightly. Close already.
\*Me: Daniel—gonna come.\*
\*Daniel: Do it. Come for me. Not Charlie. Me.\*
I did—hard, spilling over my fist, groaning low. Mess on my jeans. Panting.
\*Me: Fuck you.\*
\*Daniel: Anytime. 😘 Just say when.\*
I cleaned up with tissues from the glovebox—guilt crashing back tenfold. What the hell was I doing? Charlie was inside, working his ass off, planning our Valentine’s trip. And I’m sexting the guy I cheated with?
Another buzz.
\*Daniel: Video incoming. Watch it later. When you’re alone. You’ll thank me.\*
Attachment: A short clip. I didn’t open it. Not yet. Shoved the phone in the cupholder, zipped up, and stared at the house. Waiting for Charlie. Hating myself. But that buzz... still there.
\---
\*\*Charlie’s POV – The Meeting with Karl Bran\*\*
The townhouse door had barely closed behind me when the chaos hit—Angelo’s cries echoing off the high ceilings like a siren. Maria, the maid, looked ready to cry herself, bouncing him desperately. I took him without thinking, muscle memory from babysitting Oliver kicking in. Hum, sway, soft words. And just like that, the kid went quiet—tiny body relaxing against my chest, his chubby hand clutching my sweater like a lifeline.
Maria’s relief was palpable. “You’re a godsend.”
Then Karl appeared.
Not the tweedy old man I’d imagined. No—Karl Bran was... stunning. Tall, maybe 6’2”, with that effortless writer’s dishevelment: dark wavy hair falling over his forehead, green eyes sharp behind those glasses, stubble that looked deliberate. His button-down hugged broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to show forearms corded from... typing? Or something more physical. That rune tattoo snaked up one arm, disappearing under fabric. He smelled like fresh ink and sandalwood.
He took Angelo from me gently—big hands careful, like the kid was glass. Angelo stirred but settled, thumb in mouth.
“Thank you,” Karl said, voice deep and warm, with a slight Scottish lilt. “Seriously. He’s been a nightmare today. Teething, plus I’ve been locked in the office stressing over this damn book. You’re from the press? Charlie, right?”
“Yeah. Charlie Spring. Here’s the revised script.” I handed over the folder, cheeks heating under his gaze. “Priya said you wanted it in person.”
Karl nodded, flipping it open briefly. “Appreciate it. And sorry for dragging you out here on a Saturday. Wasn’t my intention to make your office jump through hoops. I’m just... old-school, yeah? Emails feel impersonal, and with all the errors in the last draft—plot holes big enough to drive a dragon through—I needed to see the fixes myself. Stressed me out more than it should.”
I shrugged, eyes flicking to Angelo. “No worries. Happy to help. And he’s cute—once the crying stops.”
Karl chuckled—low rumble that did things to my stomach. “Angelo’s a handful. Adopted him last year after... well, life stuff. Single dad gig’s rewarding, but chaotic. You’ve got a gift with kids. What’s your secret?”
“Just... empathy, I guess. I know what overwhelming feels like.” I smiled faintly, not diving deeper.
Karl’s eyes softened—assessing, interested. “Come through to the office. Tea? Biscuits? Least I can do.”
I followed him down the hall—past walls lined with bookshelves groaning under fantasy tomes, framed covers of his series (\*Shadows of Eldoria\*, the one with the queer dragon rider subplot everyone raved about). The office was a cozy mess: desk piled with notes, laptop open, a half-eaten sandwich abandoned. Angelo’s playpen in the corner.
Karl set the kid down gently—Angelo cooed, grabbing a toy dragon. Then Karl poured tea from a thermos, handed me a mug and a plate of shortbread.
“So,” he said, leaning against the desk, close enough I could see flecks of gold in his eyes. “The revisions. Walk me through them? Priya said you handled most of the rewrite.”
We talked shop—me explaining the plot patches, dialogue tweaks, the new ending twist to fix the deus ex machina. Karl listened intently, nodding, asking sharp questions. Then he sighed, rubbing his neck.
“Honestly? I’m blocked on the sequel. This one chapter—the protagonist’s betrayal arc. Feels flat. Like I’ve lost the emotional punch. Any advice? You clearly get character—fixed mine brilliantly.”
I blinked—flattered, a little starstruck. “Uh... well, make the betrayal personal. Not just plot. Tie it to something vulnerable—like the hero’s fear of abandonment. Mirror it with a memory from childhood. Builds empathy, even in the hurt.”
Karl’s eyes lit—leaning forward. “That’s... brilliant. Childhood echo. Yeah. Layers the guilt. Love it.” He jotted a note, grinning. “You’re good at this. Ever think about writing your own stuff?”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “Maybe. Someday.”
We chatted more—books, queer rep in YA, Angelo’s adoption story (Karl’s ex left mid-process; he went solo). Time slipped. Karl was easy to talk to—funny, insightful, that lilt wrapping around words like a hug.
Finally, I checked my phone. 4:50. “I should go. I have someone waiting outside.”
Karl stood. “Right. Thanks again—for the script, the advice, and Angelo. You’re welcome back anytime. Seriously.”
I knelt by the playpen. “Bye, little guy.” Angelo babbled, offering his dragon. I booped its nose. “Be good for Dad.”
Karl walked me out—handshake lingering, warm. “Safe travels, Charlie. Let’s chat more about that sequel. Email me your thoughts?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
Outside, Nick’s car idled at the curb. I waved to Karl—heart oddly light—and slid in.
# Charlie’s POV
Nick leaned over for a kiss—soft, sweet. “Hey. How’d it go?”
“Good. Karl’s nice. Fixed the script.” I buckled in, glancing at his phone in the cupholder. It buzzed—screen lighting with a notification. Message preview: \*Daniel: Miss that...\* Cut off.
My stomach dropped. Suspicion flared—hot, immediate.
Nick started the car, oblivious. “Cool. Hungry? Takeaway?”
“Actually... can we grab coffee first? I’m wiped.”
“Sure.” He pulled out, heading to our usual spot. Traffic was light; we chatted surface stuff—work, the trip. But my eyes kept flicking to his phone. Buzz. Another message.
At the drive-thru, Nick ordered—latte for me, black for him. While he paid, I grabbed his phone. “Mind if I check the weather? Mine’s dying.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t look—focused on the window.
PW: Our anniversary. 0614. Unlocked.
Messages app. Top thread: Daniel.
I scrolled—heart sinking, cock twitching.
The sexts. Pics. Daniel’s video thumbnail: him fingering himself, moaning \*Nick\*.
Hurt stabbed—deep, raw. But arousal flooded too—hard in my jeans, breath short. \*He did this. While waiting for me.\*
Nick turned. “What’s the forecast?”
I locked the screen. Forced a smile. “Rainy. Like always.”
He laughed. Hand on my thigh—innocent.
But I knew.
Hurt. Hard. Aroused.
The cuckold knot tightened.
\--×-×---
Charlie and Nick stepped out of the car into the crisp February air, the Hampstead streets still damp from the morning rain. The plan was simple: stock up for their Valentine’s trip on 14th. Two days in the Cotswolds—cozy cottage, no distractions, just them. Nick had been extra attentive all afternoon, holding Charlie’s hand as they wandered into a small market near the author’s house. He squeezed Charlie’s fingers now, smiling that warm, guilty smile Charlie couldn’t quite read.
“Haribo first?” Nick asked, nodding toward a sweets aisle. “Or that fancy cheese you like for the picnic?”
Charlie forced a grin—still reeling from the messages on Nick’s phone, the hurt and arousal twisting like a knot in his gut. “Haribo. Always Haribo.”
They loaded a basket: gummy bears, lemon tea bags, a bottle of red wine, fresh bread, artisanal chocolates Nick insisted on (“For romance points”), lube from the pharmacy section (Nick winking like it was a secret), and a pack of playing cards for lazy evenings. Nick paid, arm around Charlie’s waist the whole time—possessive, sweet. Charlie leaned into it, even as his mind flashed to Daniel’s texts: \**Breed me. Fill my hole.\**
As they loaded bags into the car, Charlie’s phone buzzed. Imogen.
\*Imogen: Charlie Spring, you ghost! AWOL for days. We’re at that cafe near Hampstead Heath—me, Sahar, Otis. Coffee? Catch up? Miss your face. 💕\*
Charlie’s stomach flipped. The group. What if Daniel was there? Flashing that hickey, smirking like he owned Nick’s secrets. But saying no would look suspicious—Imogen was persistent. And part of him wanted normalcy, friends, distraction.
He showed Nick the text. “They’re nearby. Want to grab a quick coffee? Catch up?”
Nick hesitated—a flicker in his eyes Charlie clocked but couldn’t place. “Sure. If you want. But quick—gotta pack for tomorrow.”
Charlie nodded, texting back: \*On our way. With Nick. See you in 10.\*
\---
The Cafe
The cafe was a cozy spot tucked off the high street—exposed brick walls, mismatched chairs, the smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon rolls wafting through. Imogen spotted them first—waving wildly from a corner table piled with mugs and half-eaten pastries. Sahar and Otis were there too: Sahar scrolling her phone, Otis mid-bite of a scone.
“Charlie!” Imogen squealed, jumping up for a hug. She pulled him into the seat beside her, then hugged Nick too. “You two! Where have you been? Ghosting the group chat like bad exes.”
Charlie laughed—forced at first, but genuine as the warmth sank in. “Work stuff. Sorry. Been buried in edits.”
Sahar eyed him over her latte. “Excuses. We thought you’d eloped or something.”
Otis grinned, clapping Nick on the back. “Rugby man! How’s coaching? Those kids still running you ragged?”
Nick settled in beside Charlie, arm draped casually over the back of his chair—thumb rubbing absent circles on Charlie’s shoulder. “Yeah, they’re beasts. But good. Raised a ton at the gala.”
The conversation flowed easy at first—uni gossip, Imogen’s latest thrift haul (“This jacket? £5!”), Sahar’s rant about a politics lecture (“Pure propaganda”). Charlie relaxed into it, sipping his flat white, the knot in his chest loosening. No Daniel. Just friends.
But then Nick’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it—quick, subtle—then typed a reply under the table, out of sight. Charlie’s peripheral caught it: thumbs flying, a small smile tugging at Nick’s lips. Who? Work? Or...
Imogen leaned in. “So, what’s new with you two lovebirds? Any plans? Valentine’s is nearby—spill.”
Charlie hesitated—glancing at Nick, who met his eyes with that soft hazel gaze. Nick wanted it private, just them. But the group was staring, expectant.
“Uh... yeah. We’re heading to the Cotswolds for two days. Cottage thing. No phones, just... us.”
Imogen gasped. “Romantic! Jealous. What’s the vibe? Hikes? Wine? Sexy times?”
Sahar smirked. “Knowing these two, all of the above.”
Otis laughed. “Pack the rugby ball, Nick? Or is it all candlelit dinners?”
Nick chuckled—easy, warm—but his eyes flicked to Charlie again, a silent \*our secret\*. “Bit of everything. Needed the break.”
Imogen clapped. “Adorable. You two are goals. But seriously, Charlie—next group hang? No more AWOL.”
Charlie nodded. “Promise.”
Nick’s phone buzzed again. He checked it—longer this time, typing back. Charlie’s suspicion prickled. Who kept texting? Daniel? Teasing about last night? The hickey pic burned in Charlie’s memory.
The door chimed.
Daniel.
He sauntered in—seductive as ever, dark curls artfully messy, black coat open over a fitted sweater that hugged his lean frame, jeans low on his hips. That silver chain glinted at his throat, and—there—the hickey peeked above his collar, purple and fresh. He spotted the table, smile sharpening like a blade.
“Fancy seeing you lot here,” he drawled, pulling up a chair uninvited—right across from Nick. His eyes locked on Nick’s for a beat too long—dark, knowing—before flicking to the group. “Imogen, darling—organizing interventions now?”
Imogen laughed. “For Charlie, yeah. But you’re next, Dela Vega. What’s with the neck? Looks like you got mauled by a vampire.”
The table erupted—Sahar snorting, Otis leaning in. “Spill. Who’s the lucky guy? Or girl?”
Daniel touched the hickey casually—fingers lingering, drawing eyes. He leaned back, legs spreading slightly under the table—knee brushing Nick’s? Charlie couldn’t tell, but tension crackled.
“Oh, this?” Daniel’s voice was low, teasing—casual friend talk, but laced with that power play edge. He sipped Imogen’s offered latte, eyes dancing. “Afterparty from the gala. Things got... intense.”
Imogen gasped. “Details! Who?”
Daniel’s smile turned wicked—glancing at Nick again, quick but loaded. “No names. But let’s say... tall, built like a rugby god. Broad chest, strong hands. Pinned me down and marked me like he owned me. Best fuck of my life—hard, deep, left me leaking for hours.”
The table howled—Imogen fanning herself, Sahar rolling her eyes but grinning, Otis fist-bumping. “Legend! Jealous.”
Charlie’s face burned—hurt slicing deep, but arousal stirring low. He knew. \*That was Nick. My Nick.\* Daniel’s eyes met his—innocent? Or knowing? Power play: flaunting without confessing.
Nick shifted—knee pulling back? His phone buzzed again. He silenced it, jaw tight, but his cheeks flushed faintly.
“You okay, Nick?” Sahar asked. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Nick laughed—forced. “Nah. Just... need the loo.” He stood, excusing himself—heading to the back.
Seconds later—five, ten—Daniel stretched. “Me too. Be right back.”
Charlie’s stomach dropped. Nervous heat flooded. \*No. Not now.\*
The group chattered on—Imogen about a date, Sahar about politics—but Charlie’s eyes tracked the bathroom door. Minutes ticked. What were they doing?
\---
\*\*The Bathroom – Seduction and Resistance\*\*
Nick splashed water on his face—mirror reflecting guilt-flushed cheeks. The door clicked open. Daniel.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Daniel purred, locking the door. He stepped close—chest to Nick’s back, hands on his hips. “Miss me already?”
Nick spun—aroused, mad. “What the fuck? Out there—telling them about the hickey? My hickey?”
Daniel’s eyes darkened—pressing forward, thigh between Nick’s legs. “Jealous? Or turned on?” His hand cupped Nick through jeans—squeezing the hardening length. “Both. Feel that? Hard for me again.”
Nick groaned—hips jerking. “Stop. Charlie’s out there. This ends.”
Daniel kissed his neck—hot, open-mouthed—hand stroking firm. “Ends? You’re throbbing. Remember last night? My ass on your cock—tight, hot. Breed me again, Nick. Right here.”
Nick’s hands gripped Daniel’s waist—pulling closer despite himself. Arousal raged—almost giving in. Daniel’s lips on his—filthy, tongue invading.
But Charlie’s face flashed: soft smile, trusting eyes. The trip. \*Hi.\*
Nick shoved him back—hard. “No. I warned you. Stay away. I love Charlie. This? Over.”
Daniel licked his lips—aroused, unfazed. “Mad? Or scared you’ll give in? Your cock says yes.”
Nick stormed out—mad, hard, conflicted.
\---
\*\*The Ride Home – Tension to Release\*\*
Back at the table, Nick grabbed Charlie’s hand. “Ready to go? Packing awaits.”
Charlie nodded—nervous pulse racing. The drive home was quiet—Nick’s knuckles white on the wheel, Charlie’s mind whirling.
At the flat, Nick pulled him inside—kissing fierce, backing him to the sofa. “Need you,” he growled. “Now.”
Charlie’s breath hitched—hurt and heat colliding. The sofa. \*Same place.\*
Nick stripped them both—efficient, hungry. Shirts off, trousers down. His cock—thick, hard—brushed Charlie’s thigh.
“Like this,” Nick said, flipping Charlie over the arm—ass up, bent forward. Same position as Daniel. “Want to see you take me.”
Charlie hardened more—knowing. Arousal spiked, twisted. \*He did this with him. Now me.\*
Nick slicked lube—fingers prepping Charlie deep, curling to hit prostate. Charlie moaned—arching. “Nick—please.”
Nick lined up—fat head nudging Charlie’s hole. “So tight. Perfect.” He pushed in—slow inch by inch, stretching full. Charlie gasped—nails digging cushion.
Nick bottomed out—groaning. “Fuck—feel so good.” He thrust—deep, hard—skin slapping. Hands gripped Charlie’s hips—bruising force.
Charlie rocked back—meeting every snap. The position—exposed, vulnerable—echoed last night. Hurt burned; arousal soared. His cock leaked, untouched.
“Harder,” Charlie begged—voice breaking.
Nick obliged—pounding relentless, one hand fisting Charlie’s curls, pulling his head back. “Mine,” he growled—teeth on neck. “All mine.”
Charlie came first—clenching around Nick, spilling over the sofa with a cry. Waves crashed—intense, shattering.
Nick followed—hips stuttering, breeding deep with a roar. “Charlie—fuck—”
They collapsed—tangled, panting. Nick kissed his back—soft now. “Love you.”
Charlie whispered back—hurt lingering, but sated. “Love you too.”
The sofa held their secrets.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Substack.
