The Landlord's Terms chapter 3 (fm:cuckold, 3952 words) [3/4] show all parts

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Chloe was different. It was in the small things. The way she walked, with a new, subtle sway in her hips, a self-awareness that hadn't been there before. The way she would catch my eye from across the room, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips. She was more confident, more assertive, not just in our daily life, but in our bed. Especially in our bed.

The blowjob she'd given me that night had been a turning point, a reclamation. But it wasn't a one-time event. It became a new, thrilling part of our repertoire. She wielded her newfound skill like a weapon of both love and power. Sometimes, she would deny me, letting the anticipation build until I was practically begging. Other times, she would surprise me, waking me in the middle of the night with her soft lips and practiced tongue, whispering, "Is this how he liked it?" The question was always a gut punch, a perfect, agonizing blend of humiliation and white-hot lust.

I was addicted to this new Chloe. I was addicted to the memory of her kneeling before me, her eyes glittering with a power she was just beginning to understand. I would find my mind drifting during the day, replaying the sounds I'd heard through Henderson's door, my imagination filling in the graphic, humiliating details. The memory was a constant, erotic hum in the back of my mind, a private, shameful movie I could play on a loop. I felt a constant, low-level thrum of arousal, fueled by a cocktail of guilt for what I had put her through and gratitude for the passion it had unlocked.

Henderson, for his part, was insufferable. He had a new swagger, a lazy, possessive familiarity that set my teeth on edge. He'd see us in the hallway and that slimy grin would spread across his face.

"Morning, folks," he'd rasp, his eyes fixing on Chloe. "Glad we could come to an understanding about the rent. Always good to have cooperative tenants."

The emphasis on "understanding" was a deliberate, targeted barb meant just for me. He was flaunting his victory, rubbing my nose in the fact that my wife had serviced him in his grimy apartment. He knew. And he knew that I knew. I could see it in the smug satisfaction in his piggy eyes. Every time he spoke to us, my blood would boil with a helpless rage, and my cock, the wretched traitor, would give a tell-tale twitch.

We were all characters in a play now, and he was reveling in his role as the villain. He was a silent, smirking partner in our marriage, a constant reminder of the secret we kept. And while a part of me hated him with a fiery passion, another, darker part of me was grateful. He was the catalyst, the ugly, necessary ingredient that made the fantasy real. He was the troll from my dreams, made flesh. And he was not done with us yet.

It happened on a Wednesday morning. We were leaving the apartment together, a rare occurrence. I had a meeting across town and Chloe was heading to the studio. As we stepped into the hallway, he was just... there. Leaning against the opposite wall as if he'd been waiting for us, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Henderson.

"Morning, kids," he grunted, exhaling a cloud of foul-smelling smoke that immediately filled the narrow space.

"Mr. Henderson," Chloe said, her voice polite but cool. She squeezed my hand, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

He ignored her politeness, his eyes already doing their slow, greasy crawl over her body. She was wearing a simple sundress, and his gaze lingered on her bare legs. "Been getting some complaints," he rasped, pushing himself off the wall. "From the folks downstairs. Mrs. Gable in

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Merlin writes Mon 7 Jul 2025 08:38:

Don't stop. Wonderful progression.

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Merlin (guest) writes Sun 6 Jul 2025 19:47:

Most excellent. please don't stop.

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