[MF] Who is the cuckold in this story? And what does that make me?

I shouldn’t be writing this. Here I sit, in this house, the house I share with the man who has loved me for the past six years. The house he has tried so hard to turn into a home. The house I share, and the house I plan on living in for the foreseeable future.

But this house was a den of lies last night.

I knew I shouldn’t have taken the bait. You threw me for a loop all the months ago, asking to stay in touch. You were never the type of person I wanted to talk to, just the type of person I wanted to fuck. I took real pleasure in using you, hearing your voice crack as I left the room as you asked me to stay. You made me feel empowered and in control in a way I have never felt. And yet; I could never say no to you.

So when you reached out through social media, I couldn’t stop myself. Your profile picture drives me crazy, and it’s been bringing back all those memories. You have been driving me crazy. Your terrible spelling and terrible conversation skills can’t seem to outweigh the mischievous look in your eyes in that damn profile picture. So, I took the bait. Again. You pull these phrases out, like “you do mean a lot to me … and hopefully that means something to you.”

It does. It means I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Your eyes, your lips, those damn tattooed arms. I couldn’t help myself yesterday. You are tantalizing. Our conversation was inane; discussion about the weather and new snow. You set me up, whether on purpose, I can’t tell, but I can’t stop myself from flirting. Back and forth we chatted, and in less than 6 messages I couldn’t help but start to tease. I can imagine you, across the country, remembering my lips on your body. I can tell when you are starting to get hard; you change the subject quickly to something slightly more titillating. You tried to get me jealous, mentioning your canceled dates. I don’t care; you were never the person I wanted to bring home for the holidays. You are just the person I want to tie up.

Two weeks ago, I told you we couldn’t stay in touch. But the past few days, as I lie in this house, with him, I have been thinking about you. As his sleeping body stirs next to mine late at night, I have imagined you, tied to a chair, your naked body taut as you struggle against the ropes. I have imagined looking in your eyes as his lips make their way down my body, watching your hard cock flap in the empty air as you watch. As orgasm rocks my body, I have smiled, thinking of what it would be like to have you both.

But last night, I did something terrible. Last night, you and I escalated our conversation. You couldn’t stop steering me in the direction you wanted, that I wanted. I know you love the way I talk, I know you love the way I like to tease you mercilessly. You couldn’t get enough of it when you were deployed; most of our acquaintanceship was spent in a flurry of text messages and erotic emails. I love it too. Your spelling is atrocious, but I love seeing it get worse the more excited you are. And so, last night, as I made my way home, our messages got riskier and riskier. I sat, in the car outside this house, trying to push you closer to the edge. Teasing. Not committing. Chastising myself for the emotional cheating. Doing it anyway.

I walked into the house, tossing my phone aside to kiss him on the cheek. He sat, playing his ridiculous video games, as I struggled with my morals. You’d told me earlier you have hardly played any video games. To know that there is a man across the country, a man who loves the outdoors, who can’t imagine staying inside for a full workday, who actively encourages my inner dominatrix….it was a struggle to maintain any pleasantries with the man I share this house with. It was a struggle to maintain my composure as my nipples hardened and my body ached for touch.

And so, last night, as he committed to just one more game, I picked my phone back up. I reread our conversation. I saw your last message, the one I’d missed when I’d come home. “Do this more often, please.” Another wave of desire came over me. So, I lay next to his mostly naked body, thinking of you. I closed my eyes and listened to him breathing, and I remembered what it was like to lay next to you. I got too hot; sitting up in the dark to pull off my t-shirt. He loves it when I lay next to him naked. My hands strayed under the covers, and my fingers traced the path yours often took. I lay next to his body, but my thoughts were on you. My fingers moved quickly but discretely, hoping not to disturb him. My naked body was on fire, my nipples hard, but the guilt of being next to him was stopping me from reaching orgasm. I moved, frustrated, throwing my arms over him as if to force him into my mind instead of you. I let the memories wash over me. I remembered more than just you; I remembered the first man to teach me the power of a soft touch. I remembered the man who whispered to me that his favorite thing to do was to trace the hipbone with his tongue. I remembered the way this man, this man I lay next to, the way his breath catches when he sees me in lingerie. And so my fingers wandered; following the curve of his hands and fingers, just taking stock of the shape of these arms. Your arms. His arms. He adjusted himself on the pillow, his cheek grazing mine. I thought of how you might react, knowing that your body is aching for an orgasm brought on by any hand other than your own. My hand slipped under the covers to his thigh, my index finger tracing tiny patterns. His breath changed, and I stopped. Did I wake him up? Was I going to initiate sex with him while you were so firmly on my mind?

Suddenly, his lips were on mine, and it was too late. In the darkness, I was with him, but your shadow was across us. His body pushed down on mine, and I opened my legs for him willingly. I could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted this. He tried to take control, but my hand on his shoulder tilted him off me. I slipped on top of him; my favorite position. The one I first took with you. I kept my eyes closed, but as my hands moved across his chest, I was imagining your chest. I took on the aggression you so like, one he rarely gets to see. Our kisses were deep and demanding, and you took your place in the corner as I guided him into me. I was lost in all the darkness, his hands on my body, teasing my nipples, wrapping his long fingers around my neck. I came so hard, happiness washing over me. I haven’t hit orgasm with him in a long time, and I gloated in it. His body, your body, lay quiet beneath me. I bent down, licking and sucking on his ear, nibbling down his neck. He hadn’t come yet, and so I happily snaked down his body, thinking about how all you boys were so alike. You all react to the same tongue teasing, to the same sultry looks, to the same curving lips. He felt good in my mouth; and it wasn’t long until I licked my lips and sat back up. I moved off of him, grinning as I slipped off the bed and into the bathroom.

I did not look myself in the mirror.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5gw620/mf_who_is_the_cuckold_in_this_story_and_what_does