I love the idea of letting my cuckold husband go incognito and shadow me on a date. It’s agony and delight all rolled up into one big old ball of angst. He gets to see me dressed to the nines and unused: stockings not yet ripped, hair not yet tousled from a raucous fuck, fire engine red lipstick not yet smeared all over the biggest cock I could get my hands on. But it’s also painful to watch me flirting and sparkling all over another man: the way my lips hover playfully near his ear whispering filthy promises, the way my fingernails dance lightly over his skin, the way my tongue glides over my lips just before I move in for a kiss.
And my poor cuck, for his part, would have to struggle to blend in with the crowd as he scurries after us. Perhaps I’d have specially selected his outfit in advance to make that a particularly difficult task. Would I opt for full on forced cross dressing or would I simply wedge him into a very tight pair of pants that hug his painfully tiny cuckold penis?
Either way, if my date catches on that my humiliated husband is stalking us, the gig is up. So he has to be very careful. Even if he catches us slipping into a supply closet for a little quick ‘n’ dirty, he has to keep his suffering under wraps.
I do so love a man with a stiff upper lip.
But it’s even better when the facade crumbles…