Cuck Your Wife

"I've been thinking about it again, Torg," Angela murmurs, her trembling fingers folding the thin silk robe across her lap. "The dream. The same one." She stares at the floor, flushed in a way I've never seen. "You ... inside someone. Filling her, watching her belly grow with your baby. I keep seeing it, again and again. But it's not jealousy. I want to see it. I want to feel it. Even if it's not inside me." Her voice trembles, yet her eyes glow with desire. "I want to watch you do it. I want to help you choose the women. I want to see them open for you, swell with your seed. Breed them. As many as will say ‘yes’. And I want to watch. Every time. Every thrust. Every drop. I want to see you make them yours." Her hand tightens on my knee. "Please. Let me give you this. I need it."

My eyes flare with arousal at the idea. "You want to watch me get other women pregnant?"

Angela’s breath hitches, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the silk of her robe. She nods, a slow, rhythmic movement that betrays the frantic pounding of her heart. "Yes," she whispers, her voice dropping to a husky, reverent tone. "I want to see you claim them. I want to watch you sink yourself deep into their soft, fertile bodies, filling them with your heat until they get knocked up." Her gaze remains fixed on mine, wide and searching, filled with a terrifyingly beautiful desperation. "I want to see their faces when they realize they're carrying your child. To see their bellies round and heavy with your legacy while I stand there." Her fingers dig into my thigh, grounding herself against the sheer intensity of her own craving.

A rush of heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. I've never heard Angela speak like this—never imagined the quiet, reserved woman beside me harbored such dark, primal desires.

"You're serious," I say, my voice rougher than intended. My hand moves to cover hers as it grips my knee, feeling the fine tremor beneath her skin.

"Deadly serious. I've been thinking about this for months. At first, I thought I was going mad, but then I realized ... it's the most natural thing in the world. You're so virile, so potent. It's ... wasted on my barren uterus."

I study her face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, something primal uncoils within me—a possessiveness I'd never fully acknowledged.

"And after they're carrying my child?" I ask, testing the boundaries of this new fantasy. "What then?"

Angela's lips part, a flush spreading down her neck to disappear beneath the collar of her robe. "We care for them. Keep them safe and comfortable while they grow with your babies. We'd help them, prepare them. And when the time comes..." She swallows visibly. "We'd be there for the birth. To witness your children entering the world." After that, she says we leave it up to the woman.

The image her words conjure makes my breath catch—breeding several women … women heavy with my babies … Angela guiding them through pregnancy.