Humiliation’s Erotic Bloom

My name is Alicia, and after nearly three years of marriage to Alex, we decided it was time to start a family--or so I thought. I visited my doctor, ditched the birth control pills, and embraced a regimen of prenatal vitamins and yoga, preparing my body for motherhood. I adored my career as a marketing consultant, the late nights crafting campaigns, the thrill of client presentations--but deep down, I felt the tug of maternal instinct. Or at least, I convinced myself I did. Truth be told, I was hesitant. Once the pill's hormones flushed out of my system, I found excuses to avoid Alex's eager advances. One week stretched into two, then three, as I dodged his clumsy attempts to drag me to bed. By the fourth week--peak fertility--I conveniently landed a business trip to Chicago. The travel wasn't my favorite, but escaping Alex's puppy-dog enthusiasm made it almost a vacation.

By the trip's end, I'd made up my mind: I wasn't ready. I needed another year, maybe more, to feel like myself before surrendering to diapers and sleepless nights. Alex, though, was obsessed with the baby idea--practically glowing every time he mentioned it. I dreaded the disappointment I'd see in his soft brown eyes when I broke the news. Resigned, I steeled myself to tell him the moment I got home.

But something was off when I walked through the door. Alex barely mumbled a greeting, his usual chatter replaced by a brooding silence. He wouldn't meet my gaze, his shoulders slumped as I peppered him with questions about his week. Uneasy, I shelved the baby talk for later. Then he mentioned Tom's party. Tom, Alex's smug, overconfident boss, had invited us to dinner the previous Friday. My trip forced me to cancel, but Tom insisted Alex attend solo. What Alex didn't know--what I later uncovered--was that Tom had originally planned to seduce me that night, his eyes always lingering too long on my curves during office visits. When I bailed, he pivoted, hiring a sleek, predatory escort to pose as his girlfriend and ensnare Alex instead.

The trap was meticulous. Wine flowed like a river at the party, and Tom slipped a dose of GHB into Alex's final glass. Alex awoke, groggy and disoriented, to find his pitifully half-hard cock buried inside the escort's wet, writhing body. She straddled him, her bare breasts bouncing as she rode his drugged, unresponsive form. His mind swam, but his traitorous dick didn't care--it stiffened under her expert grinding, swelling to its unimpressive full length. It took mere minutes for her to milk an orgasm out of him, his pathetic little spurts barely registering against her practiced moans. Right on cue, Tom burst in, feigning outrage at catching them mid-fuck. Alex, still reeling, stumbled over apologies as he yanked up his pants, the drugs and booze slurring his words. Tom played the gracious host, ushering him to the guest room to "sleep it off."

The next morning, Tom unveiled his real game. He cornered Alex with an ultimatum: let him fuck me, or he'd confess the "affair" to me himself. Alex, spineless and terrified, caved.

That week after my return was a nightmare. Alex barely spoke, his silence a wall between us. I chalked it up to work stress--Tom was his boss, after all--and waited for him to spill. Then, on Thursday, he announced Tom had invited us to dinner Friday night. I groaned inwardly. Tom grated on me--his relentless flirting, his assumption that I'd swoon over his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders. As Alex's superior, he held our finances hostage, so I always played nice, flashing coy smiles while seething inside. This time, though, Alex seemed insistent, and I wondered if it tied to his odd behavior. For his career's sake, I agreed, though his faint frown when I didn't resist puzzled me.

Friday evening, I came home to find a sleek dress box on our bed, tied with a crimson satin ribbon. Alex said he'd picked it out for me to wear tonight. Later, I learned Tom had sent it, orchestrating every detail. The ribbon slid off with a whisper, revealing tissue paper scented with jasmine. Beneath the first layer lay a black lace bra and thong, so sheer they were practically transparent, the fabric delicate as a spider's web. I set them aside, uncovering a slinky black cocktail dress--low-backed, with a plunging V-neck that screamed seduction. Nearby, a bag held scented lotion, and a box contained towering black pumps, their heels a precarious four inches--higher than I'd ever dare.

I stripped off my work clothes and slipped on the shoes, the leather hugging my feet perfectly. How did Alex know my size? Naked but for the stilettos, I perched on the bed's edge, feeling like a high-class call girl prepping for a john. The thought sent a shiver through me, my pussy tingling despite myself. If Alex had walked in, I'd have let him take me right there, consequences be damned. But he didn't.

Instead, I smoothed the lotion over my skin--warm, tingling, intoxicating. Then came the lingerie: the bra barely contained my nipples, the thong's string disappearing between my ass cheeks, so flimsy I doubted it'd survive the night. The dress glided on, its hem scandalously short, barely skimming my thighs. In the mirror, I looked like a slut--and I loved it. My pussy dampened the thong as I admired Alex's handiwork, shocked at his taste. He complimented me stiffly when I found him, but his suggestion that I could change if I didn't like it felt off, like he wanted me to reject it. I didn't. I owned it.

Driving to Tom's, I wondered why Alex had dolled me up like this. Was it for Tom? The thought gnawed at me, but we arrived before I could confront him. Tom greeted us, his eyes devouring me, ignoring Alex entirely. He announced it'd just be the three of us--my stomach sank, but I plastered on a smile for Alex's sake. Tom kissed my cheek, his lips lingering, and complimented my outfit with a leer, saying he wished all women dressed like me. Blushing, I grabbed a glass of wine to steady my nerves.

By dinner's end, I was on my fifth glass, buzzed and vulnerable. Tom pounced, sitting too close on the loveseat while Alex watched mutely from the couch. Tom's hand brushed my thigh as he mused about swingers' clubs, asking if I'd ever considered it. Tipsy, I flipped it back, teasing if he'd do a threesome with another guy. His answer floored me: "If it's with you, sure." His fingers grazed my leg again; I swatted them away, but Alex stayed silent. Emboldened, I joked that swinging might be fun, but since Tom was solo, it'd have to wait.

Tom smirked at Alex, asking if he'd take a rain check from his "girlfriend." Alex nodded weakly, and I snapped upright, glaring at him. Why wasn't he stopping this? Tom chuckled, suggesting Alex got off on watching. Furious, aroused, and confused, I demanded Alex answer. He admitted it--quietly, shamefully. My panties were soaked now, the short dress riding up to expose them, but I didn't care. Tom's fingers traced the damp lace, whispering, "Did Alex dress you up for me?" I shoved him off, but he grabbed my hand, pressing it to his hardening cock. It was thick, pulsing, dwarfing Alex's in my memory. I squirmed, my dress hiking higher, my body betraying me with every shiver.

Tom pinned me, his fingers slipping under the thong to stroke my clit. I fought weakly, but his cock swelled in my grip, and I couldn't let go. Alex just sat there, eyes downcast, as I moaned under Tom's touch. My legs parted; I surrendered, climaxing hard against his hand. The thong's string snapped, and Tom yanked my dress up, exposing my dripping cunt. He sucked my nipple, biting until I yelped, while Alex watched like a pathetic voyeur, his tiny dick tenting his pants.

Tom stripped, his massive cock springing free--easily twice Alex's size. He shoved me back, rubbing its tip against my slit. I was fertile, unprotected, and he didn't know--or care. He teased me, saying he'd wanted me since day one, that Alex was a fool to share me. I arched into him, and he slid inside, stretching me painfully, gloriously. I gasped, "Fuck, Tom, it's amazing--Alex never felt like this!" Alex jerked off furiously as I taunted him: "Look at your sad little prick--Tom's a real man. You're pathetic, letting him fuck me while you jack off."

After twenty minutes of relentless pounding, I blurted, "I'm not on the pill!" Tom grinned at Alex, asking if he minded him cumming inside. Alex's silence was assent enough--his cock erupted, splattering his shirt. I laughed at his mess, but he finally begged Tom to stop. Tom sneered, "You asked for this," and spilled the truth: Alex's drugged fling, the blackmail, the outfit--all his doing. Enraged, I screamed at Alex for cheating, for pimping me out, for loving it. Then I turned on Tom, threatening the cops.

He pulled out, his cock glistening. I ordered Alex to strip. He obeyed, revealing his shriveled, laughable dick. "You'll never fuck me again," I snarled. "But if you're good, I'll let you watch Tom." I fingered Alex's ass, mocking his size, praising Tom's prowess, until he whimpered he liked watching. I called Tom over, making Alex grab his cock--his hesitation was deliciously humiliating.

Empowered, I mounted Tom, riding him until I came again. As he neared climax, I squeezed his balls and hushed him: "Cum inside me." He did, flooding my womb as Alex stared. Afterward, I beckoned Alex to lick Tom's seed from my cunt, cuckolding him fully. Tom kissed me, groping my tits, while Alex lapped away, sealing his degradation. My life was chaos--but I'd never felt so alive.