Cuckold POV Shorts: Don't Wait Up

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, exhibitionism and NTR.

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Cuckold POV Shorts: Don't Wait Up

***

"Feeling so horny. You are so getting laid tonight!" The text message read.

Sarah was never one to hold back, especially when she drank. I was coming to realize this.

We'd only been dating for three months, but I was already smitten. She was so wonderfully different from my last girlfriend. She was outgoing-- able to make friends everywhere she went, whereas I'd previously dated an introvert. She was independent, and had her own hobbies, unlike my ex, who didn't get her driver's license in spite of being in her 20's because she was 'too scared'. Sarah liked to drink, and get rowdy. Hell, even physically, she was different from what I'd been used to-- Sarah had raven-black hair, in wild waves cut at neck length, a broad grin, and thick curves-- solid D-cup boobs, and an ass that was pushing the boundaries of "too big", but I didn't mind. She was wild and uninhibited in bed, her Jennifer Tilly-like voice able to rasp out a series of high pitched squeals that drove me wild.

I was drooling at the prospect of getting to play with her some more tonight-- something that I didn't push for very often. I needed it, though I would have been perfectly happy with another night cuddling up to one of her cheesy Will Ferrell movies. Let's face it, after the last year of single life, the emotional validation itself would have satiated me. But the prospect of another wild time in the bedroom really put a pep in my step.

It had been a long day at work, and with my shift finally over, I'd been looking forward to seeing her. I always looked forward to seeing Sarah. I was in that stage in the new relationship when I couldn't get enough of her. You know that stage where things feel so fickle... where the relationship is like a sheet of thin ice that could shatter for the smallest reasons (or so it seems to you)? So every time she called or texted me first, it only reaffirmed that I wasn't imagining this. That this was real, that it had potential, and that she felt it too.

She had had a girl's night planned tonight-- drinking at some club with her friends. Not the kind of thing that would have interested me (although, had she asked, I would have gone). I didn't have any illusions of seeing her, so I was over the moon when the text arrived. Apparently she was missing me just as much.

"Sweeeeeet!" I responded. "And when can I expect you? Do I have a few minutes to do some pushups and really get my arms flexing?"

She responded with an "Lol", that allowed me to almost hear her giggle. "Save them. I want you doing those pushups on top of me. But to answer your question, I'm going to head out in about an hour. See ya then."

That gave me more than enough time. Energized with this new revelation, I made a dead sprint to the shower, and launched into a thorough scrubbing. Afterwards, I dressed in some unassuming jeans, and a shirt that illustrated my arms, and I know Sarah was a fan of.

From there, I scrambled through my apartment, inspecting everything with an objective eye. Were there too many dishes in the sink? Did the trash need to go out? Was my dirty laundry giving off an offensive odor? I gave my place a going-over, all with one eye on the clock.

11:00pm came much slower than I'd hoped. I'd already done everything I could to tidy up the place. I poured a drink, and found myself glancing to the front window.

Fifteen minutes later, the text message came through. "Leaving in a little bit!"

Okay, she was running a little late. Typical. Nothing to worry about. That gave me a little free time to catch up on my drinking. She'd probably had a few, so it was only right that I match her level of consumption.

She was certainly more learned than I was when it came to liquor-- even if she was two years younger than me. One of our first dates, she taught me how to shoot tequila. "Lick the salt, throw back the booze, bite the lime."

It was during that date that three drinks in, she'd flashed me her plump set of tits, just to see how I'd respond with a mouthful of tequila that I wasn't well equipped to handle. It earned her the reaction she'd wanted, when I nearly choked. That night... from what I remember... had ended with her on her knees beneath my kitchen table, swallowing my manhood.

I wondered what it said about a girl that would go to those lengths on a first date. But I didn't much care. Everyone has a past.

***

It wasn't until midnight hit that my impatience turned to worry.

I found myself peering down at my phone, debating checking on her. She had told me that she'd be along soon. But she was out with friends having a good time. I didn't want to give her the 'ick' by making a pest of myself. And knowing how new we were, it's not like she really owed me any explanations.

God, I hate the first months of a new relationship. They're always marred with overthinking, and over analyzing. Insecurities, self doubt, and breakups that aren't real breakups, but lame excuses and non-confrontation ghosting.

I waited a few more minutes, trying to reassure myself. Then I figured I'd text her something that made me seem concerned, but cheeky. "Didn't get lost, did you? Hope everything is okay." I liked that. Aloof, but checking in.

While I waited, I smiled at the memory of when I first traded numbers with her. Introduced by some coworkers who'd gone to school with her when they were younger. She'd appraised me playfully, and remarked "I'll bet you cook a great breakfast."

I hadn't known what to say to that. Thankfully, I didn't have to. Before I could respond, she'd added, "I'd love to find out. Hope that's not too forward."

A night later, and we were both drunk off tequila, with her polishing the head of my cock with that magic tongue of hers...

My dick was already straining with anticipation.

***

It was around 12:30 when my concern turned into something more akin to disappointment? No. Disappointment is the feeling you get when you already know that things haven't turned out the way you wanted. There was still a flicker of hope, but dread seems to be a better word. It started as a tickle in my stomach, birthed from the concern I initially felt. Then it grew into a lead ball that weighed heavily in my gut. But for what reason, other than Sarah not texting me back? I had no idea what she was doing or not doing.

"I'll bet you cook a great breakfast. I'd love to find out. Hope that's not too forward."

She had been so sexually assertive with someone she barely knew. What is she doing at a club, that she's not able to message me back?

I shook that thought aside. Feeling the embarrassment burning across my cheeks, I knew it might not be a good idea, but I couldn't hold myself back any longer.

"I haven't heard from you. Starting to get worried." I hit send before I could chicken out, then cursed my insecurities as I poured another drink. The last thing I wanted was to appear needy now. But I would feel instantly better if she just got back to me.

My phone buzzed a minute later, and my heart leapt into my throat. "Still here. Gimme a minute."

I blew out a sigh of relief and instantly felt foolish and ashamed of myself. She hadn't forgotten about me. All was good. She would probably explain what the hold up was shortly.

Sarah wasn't the type to ignore her phone. Even on our first date, while shooting tequila, she'd alternated between engaging with me, and tapping away on her phone. She was popular. I should be flattered. Although, I remember how annoyed I was at the time, that she was her attention was so divided between me and the buzzing of her phone.

***

"Is she cool?" I'd asked my coworker Pete, when he'd introduced me to Sarah.

He'd shrugged mildly. "She is. She once flashed me her tits back in high school because I'd dared her to."

It was 1:00am and Sarah hadn't gotten back to me. It hadn't been a "minute" like she'd promised me.

I stopped drinking. I was feeling tired but somehow jittery-- I'm not one to stay up late after I get home from work, and the early morning hours were something I hadn't seen since my teens.

I was also feeling slightly ill--not sick, but that feeling of dread had grown into something worse. A feeling of... I'd been abandoned in favor of something more interesting. We were a new relationship, but she'd found something at a club that was more interesting than that. I began to wonder what that might be, and then Pete's words came back to torture me. "She once flashed me her tits because I dared her to."

Pete hadn't even been that close to her.

My heart was literally pounding now. My legs felt rubbery-- like I'd worked out too hard. I couldn't do much else but pace the room nervously, hyper-analyzing every detail of this relationship since the moment we met. Everything seemed to have started so good. Did I miss something?

By 1:15, I was texting again. Some urgent plea to know what was going on, without trying to sound urgent, but also trying to phrase it in a way that would provoke an answer.

There was no immediate response. There was nothing to do but resume my pacing on unsteady legs, and stare at my phone-- praying for a new message, and watching the time slowly creep onward.

***

There's a song by the Offspring that used to play on the radio a lot. One line really hit me now. "We made plans to go out at night. I wait till two, then I turn out the light..."

It was past two and I'd heard nothing from Sarah since that last message.

Whatever was going to happen tonight with us, the moment had passed. I felt let down, and worse... I felt sick. I had no evidence that this was anything but an alcohol induced fickle decision by her to offer to come over, then rescind it just as impulsively. After all... I hadn't been expecting her until she told me she was horny, and wanted to see me. But that raised a new concern of mine...

And that's where my instincts were screaming at me that something was wrong. My heart was racing, and my stomach felt like it was in knots. My body was telling me that this wouldn't be resolved with some phone call in the morning, an apologetic "I had too much to drink," and an effort to resume whatever magic we had. This was something that warranted the deep, unsettled dread that burned within me.

Rejected, ashamed, horny, and facing an uncertain darkness, I typed one final message. "Well good night, I guess."

Then I pushed it out of my mind, shut off the light, and climbed into bed.

My phone screen lit up, just as my eyes began to close. For one brief idiotic surge of hope, I shot upright in bed and snatched it up.

The message read simply "Don't wait up."

"No shit," I muttered, bitterly. Then I tossed my phone aside, and went to sleep in a fog of self-pity.

***

I awoke naturally, to a momentary haze of ignorant bliss. That kind of feeling you have after a pet or a family member passes away, where you awaken, not remembering they're gone, and enjoy a short-lived feeling of "All is right with the world."

And then the events of last night played out in my head, and the creeping dread returned with a vengeance. The gut punch was even worse in the light of day. I had my doubts that my short-lived relationship with Sarah would resume. The candle had been extinguished. But the worst part was that I had no idea why.

I collected my phone, and saw a waiting message from Sarah.

I braced myself for the inevitable rejection, although a small part pathetic part of me was giddy at the prospect that perhaps this really was an apology, an explanation, maybe even a "I'll make this up to you" ray of hope.

Then I opened the phone, and for a moment, I didn't understand what I was seeing. It was a video. There was a lot of movement. But what did instantly register in my brain was the familiar voice-- that cute, slightly raspy Jennifer Tilly-like voice. And it was squeaking out a sound that I knew: moans of pleasure.

Then the rest of the image came into focus. The movements were sexual. I was seeing the colliding of two bodies, and I recognized the shapely round ass of Sarah.

The camera was pointing down at her back, but I knew her hair, that voice. I saw the way she clutched at the bed sheets in front of her. I had no idea where she was, but it wasn't her bedroom. It was a man's place. And judging from the perspective, he was the one holding her phone right now and filming.

The camera angled down, and I saw clothes strewn about the bed, shoes-- both a man's and Sarah's. I recognized her white blouse with the black skirt bunched up on the bed.

Her ass jiggled obscenely as a man with a six-pack was railing her from behind, her voice growing to a crescendo. I caught brief flashes of his sizable penis emerging from her drenched lips, only to plunge back into her again with a slapping sound that stung me, and made me flinch.

"Harder, baby! Harder!" Sarah's voice cried out in drunken ecstasy, spurring him to slap one hand against her plump ass, making it jiggle as he spanked her.

Then the video cut off and silence fell over the room. Not entirely silent. My heart was pounding in my ears. The video couldn't have been longer than ten seconds, but it had felt like a lifetime, that left me shattered, questioning everything that even made me appealing or worthy of love and happiness, if I had done something wrong, and if this would happen again. My cheeks were burning, my stomach had tightened to the point where I thought I would hurl, and an erection was shamefully waking up at the memory of the sheer eroticism of those thrusting, slapping bodies crying out in the agony of drunken fornication.

I was so flayed by what I had just witnessed, that I didn't notice the text that followed the video.

"Bro, is this yours? Not anymore! Lol!"