Cuckold Confrontation: A British Cuckold Short Story

By Christian Quinn

When Ryan discovers that his wife Lydia has been unfaithful with their neighbour Simon, he is left reeling with shock and anger. As he grapples with feelings of betrayal, he finds himself unable to resist the allure of the forbidden excitement of cuckoldry.

Ryan's choices seem straightforward - forgive Lydia and move on, or end their marriage.

However, as he confronts Lydia about her infidelity, a surprising third option presents itself. Ryan finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his wife and their marriage. Will they find a way to move forward together or will they go separate ways?

Warning: "Cuckold Confrontation" is a 12,300 word tantalising short erotic story of the complexities of cuckolding, love and desire and should be read by adults only!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deviant Erotica
• Release date: Apr 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215801727

Book preview

1

Unveiling the Affair

Two weeks back, on an icy and bitterly cold yet otherwise completely forgettable Tuesday morning, I had forgotten my work laptop and had to drive back home through late rush hour traffic to grab it. Our little 3-bed semi-detached sat midway down a gradual slope, not-so-long-ago part of an essential floodplain but now a quaint cul-de-sac. Rather than chance driving down in the ice, I parked on the hill crest, and shuffled and scuffed the rest of the way. Stressed and rushing, I was suddenly far too warm in my zipped up winter fell walking jacket, woolly hat and stuffy shirt and tie. Smiling back at me, a photo of Lydia and I on our wedding day two years prior was the first thing to greet visitors to our house. Lingering in the air hung alluring notes of her favourite perfume, sensual vanilla and black coffee, suggesting my career focused and determined young wife had only recently left the house for her day job as an up-and-coming project manager.

Two at a time, I bounded up recently re-carpeted stairs, heading to the box room, my home office, where I knew my laptop to be. It was as I reached the landing that I heard the telltale noises from next door of passionate lovemaking reverberating through the terribly thin new-build walls. Lydia and I had infrequently talked about Simon, our neighbour, though he was something of an enigma. In the year and a half he had lived next door to us, I couldn’t remember ever hearing him, let alone the steamy sounds of sex. Gary, our know-it-all neighbour from two doors down at number 63, reckoned he knew Simon used to have been an underwear model for several big name high street shops, though how he knew he never said. Could you really trust what Gary drunkenly spouted in the pub?

Forgetting about my laptop, I slipped into our martial bedroom, suddenly being overly cautious not to make a single sound. Due to the symmetrical layout of our houses, I knew that on the opposite side of our bedroom lay Simon’s matching master bedroom. Whoever was in there with him was certainly, and very vocally enjoying herself. Craning my neck, I pressed my ear flat against the wall, hungry to savour every sordid detail. As the collar of my jacket fought back against me pushing against the warm brick wall, my eyes were free to wander. Our window looked out over the street, towards another semi across the way, partially obscured by almost bare branched cherry trees at the bottom of our front lawn. I took none of it in, totally preoccupied with the noises from next door.

They were talking, I couldn’t hear what they said but I could hear her giggling, before her voice became a stifled moan. Followed by another. Then another. His deeper, bassy tones were there again, though her muted moans continued whilst he spoke. I thought about going and getting a glass, wondering if the old trick seen in movies is true. But I didn’t want to pull away for fear of missing out. There was another lull, I wondered what they might be up to, picturing him, as best I could recollect him, pushing his cock into some young, tanned and likely gorgeous brunette hard and fast from behind.

Lydia’s dressing table stood in front of me, her low backed velvet stool askew, lipsticks, eye-liner, and who knew what else messily scattered across the table top. Her top right hand drawer was ever so slightly ajar, giving barely a glimpse of her knickers inside. Gulping guiltily, I looked away. I had rummaged in those drawers on prior occasions, found her black bullet vibrator, masturbating vigorously