The Conference (cuckolding fantasy)

My job requires me to go away on conferences every once in a while, which often means a few nights in a hotel in another city. They’re generally tedious affairs, but the job pays well so I don’t complain.

A few years ago I was living with my girlfriend in an apartment. We were happy. My occasional time away wasn’t an issue and she appreciated my good salary.

But I began to wonder what she got up to when I was gone.

Sometimes I’d ring from my hotel room and I’d struggle to get hold of her. Or when I got home, I’d ask her what she’d been doing and she’d be unusually vague. She never volunteered any stories about what had happened in my absence, except the most trivial, mundane things.

I probably had no good reason to worry, I said to myself.

But truth be told, I’ve always been a bit on the anxious and paranoid side. It started to play on my mind.

It sounds ridiculous to write this, but I began to notice that she always had fresh sheets on the bed when I got back. Normally we’d wash them about once a week, but they were fresh every time on the first night back.

Perhaps she was being nice, just welcoming me home, you’d think. That’s what I told myself. At first. But I kept wondering.

Now you’re going to judge me, and that’s fair. Because what I did next was totally unreasonable, unethical, and unforgivable.

I’m something of a tech geek, you see, and I began to idly wonder about whether it would be possible to put hidden cameras in our flat, so that I could remotely see what she was up to while I was away. Obviously I wouldn’t really do it…But where would I put them if I did? Was such a thing really feasible? How much would it cost? I was curious.

It was just for fun, I told myself, one day when I was alone in the office and started to read up about spy cameras online. I wasn’t really going to do it, of course. It would be a massive abuse of trust. Illegal, probably.

But it was amazing when I saw what was out there. Frightening too. The more I looked into it, the more the idea started to obsess me. Eventually I knew that I had to see what she was up to. She’s probably doing nothing at all, I thought. And then I could remove the cameras, my mind newly assured.

She need never know.

I’m not proud of the amount of money I spent. I wanted something I could be sure she wouldn’t find, very smart, well disguised. True, we always joked she wasn’t observant. She was always losing her phone and keys, and I’d always be finding them right in front of me.

So one day, when she was on a trip to see a friend, I set up the cameras. One in the bedroom, one in the hallway. Very discreet. They gave me a direct video feed on my laptop, whenever I wanted it.

My heart was in my mouth and my hands shook – I kept imagining her bursting through the door unexpectedly and catching me in the act. But I did it.

I prepared excuses incase she somehow noticed them. She was pretty chilled and not so tech-savvy, so I figured she’d believe any story I told her about what they were for.

Fast forward to one evening during the next conference. We texted, and she said she was watching a film in the living room. I felt nervous when I opened my laptop, finally crossing the line into official voyeur.

There was nothing happening in the bedroom or the hallway. I relaxed. See, nothing to worry about, I thought. And yet strangely, I felt a little deflated.

I started watching a football game, with the laptop feed off to the side. At about 9pm I saw her enter the bedroom from the corner of my eye. She undressed into a nightgown, and reached down to a drawer and took out her vibrator. I knew she had this, as we often used it during sex. She always said she struggled to orgasm without it and it certainly did the job.

She had every right to use it in my absence, of course. But I started to feel dirty watching her without her permission. It was shameful, but also slightly exciting. She lay on the bed, and started rubbing herself with one hand. Clearly working herself up gently. I wondered how often she did this when I was away. Maybe every night? How long did she masturbate for? I guess I would find out.

But before turning the vibrator on, she did something that made my stomach drop. She picked up her phone, and put it to her ear.

Like a flash I reached for my own phone and stared into it. The screen stayed dark, only my dim reflection staring back. My mouth began to go dry. On my laptop, I saw her speaking with a wide smile. The cameras were high definition but had no microphone, so I could only hear my heartbeat thumping.

But what happened over the next hour, with the vibrator clamped between her thighs, needed no sound. I saw her back arch, her face contort, her nipples grow erect. I saw her legs quiver. I saw her speaking into the phone, listening, answering. I knew what those orgasms sounded like myself, and even though I couldn’t hear them now, I could hear them, if you know what I mean.

I’ll admit something. Though I had never told her, I always felt inadequate about the fact that she needed the vibrator to cum with me. I knew how much pleasure it gave her so I swallowed my pride and duly played the part of an enlightened 21st-century boyfriend. She couldn’t help it after all – it’s how she was wired. We both came. Win-win, right?

Only now I could see there was someone else helping her get off too. I felt sick.

I went through the next day of the conference in a daze. Later that evening, I tuned in again after a company dinner. Nothing happened – she got an early night. I started to think through strategies about what to do. Did I come clean, and ask what was going on? I had violated her trust, so I had no moral high ground to stand on.

I was stuck. I could maybe somehow engineer a way to find out without telling her. But all I could do for now was keep watching. And I felt both sick and excited for the evening to arrive.

The next day was the last night at the hotel, and I excused myself from company drinks at 5pm by pretending to feel unwell. I just knew I had to watch for as long as I could, while I had the chance, to see if I could figure out more.

Back in my room, I ordered food, put the laptop on, and settled in. And to not arouse suspicion, I called her.

She picked up straight away. She sounded relaxed and happy, she was going to make dinner and finish reading a book. I told her about my day, how I looked forward to coming home tomorrow. We so easily slipped into our usual manner – we both sounded so normal, I thought to myself. Anyone overhearing would never know I was being chewed up inside.

We finished the call, and it seemed nothing happened for two hours or so. But then I noticed she was texting while walking through the hall. Then she was texting in the bedroom too.

I was 15 minutes into watching the news when it happened. A burst of light in the hallway – she had opened the door, and a man stepped in. I jumped up from the hotel bed, my heart pounding.

He was tall, broad, and when I saw him reach down and kiss her, I admit I swore so loud the next room must have heard me. I felt my face flush red. I thought about ringing her there and then, but I knew I wasn’t the confrontational type. I was going to watch this, and find out what was going on.

It’s hard to say this, but amidst the anger, something stirred in me. A kind of excitement. I couldn’t process it then, but deep down, part of me *wanted* to watch this. Part of me was no longer deflated. It was thrilled.

My mind raced through the likely scenarios. An ex I didn’t know about? A stranger she met online? The man passed in front of the hall camera, and I swore again. I knew exactly who he was. And now I felt faint. Gary Brunswick.

Gary was a kid in my year at high school. Not especially sporty or high achieving, not overly popular, but he was cocky. He was one of those teenage boys whose sole existence was to relentlessly mock others. At first I tolerated him as a clownish figure and ignored his jokes. But when I was 13 he started a nickname for me which everyone picked up and ran with. It was a mortifying, humiliating name, I can’t even bring myself to say what it was. I grew to hate him.

I knew he still lived in town. I’d seen him smoking outside a bar not long before, laughing with a group of friends. I didn’t approach him, but I was taken aback with a pang of resentment. Because in a galling quirk of fate, I saw that this idiotic, oafish teenager had broadened out of his chubby boyish frame into a tall, good-looking man.

He was undeniably handsome, with a strong physique. And I hated that. I had never wanted to see him again. But here he was, in my apartment, with my sweet loving girlfriend.

It wasn’t long before they went to the bedroom. They started to kiss passionately, and I burned with shame. But to my horror, I felt myself growing erect. This was infuriating, humiliating, but also intensely arousing.

I watched as she unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his muscular, tattooed arms, and he playfully spanked her ass. She squirmed and giggled like a schoolgirl. What hurt most was how she looked up at him – it seemed to be with adoration. I was hard against my pants by now.

She sat on the bed and loosened the jeans of this man who’d never missed an opportunity to torment anxious, shy teenagers like myself at school. Never failed to miss a chance to laugh at our misfortunes. Never cared about anyone but himself, as far as I could tell.

I had begun to foresee what was coming next. It was too unfair to contemplate, but this world is perverse and unjust, and I knew. I just knew. She pulled down his boxer shorts, and took out the biggest cock I have ever seen.

I was rock hard as she began to suck on him. Tears of shame pricked my eyes as I watched their love-making progress, but I felt a rush of adrenaline too. The vibrator slept soundly in its drawer, but Gary effortlessly drew out every spasming leg, arched back and contorted face I had longed to give her as he ploughed her with his enormous length. I could damn well could hear her now.

I’m not ashamed to say that I quickly unbuttoned myself and was masturbating along. I felt sick to my stomach but a childish, petulant part of me thought ‘f*ck it, if she’s going to cheat on me with him, I may as well enjoy it too’. And…I did enjoy it. I edged and edged and it was just the sweetest agony. But I couldn’t bear to let myself cum while he was still inside her.

Finally, they were done. I lay on the bed, my desperate cock in my hand, in the sickening hotel silence. Gary got dressed again – clearly he wasn’t going to stay the night. That’ll give her some time to get those sheets into the washing machine, I thought to myself bitterly.

I began to stroke harder as she showed him to the door and kissed him one last time in the hallway. He grabbed her ass again, and I saw her giggle and squirm. I was so hard by now, and I desperately needed relief.

As she was shutting the door, I finally lost control. With a cry of anger and shame, I came all over myself. I was full of loathing, but it felt unbelievably good. I collapsed on the bed, emotionally numb and exhausted.

Reeling from everything that had happened in the last few days, I wasn’t even remotely prepared to contemplate my next moves, and process what I’d found out. I was just filled with a longing for the bliss of my previous ignorance, of that simpler time before I’d ever thought about putting up those damned cameras. At least I was happy then.

But this was my voyeur life now – a life I had chosen and would have to live with. I gazed longingly at the screen. Strange, I thought, that she was still lingering in the hallway. Then I saw her walk up to the camera.

She peered in close, her face filling the screen, looking right at me. I stopped breathing. And I could not believe my eyes when she smiled and blew me a kiss.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/llcoc2/the_conference_cuckolding_fantasy