My Cuckquean Wife Wants Me to Sleep With Her Bully in Reverse World

The diner's bell jingles as I push through the door, announcing my arrival to a world of vinyl booths and coffee-scented air. My eyes scan the room until they land on April, hunched over in our usual corner booth, stirring her coffee with the intensity of someone decoding ancient runes.

I slide into the seat across from her, wincing slightly as my body reminds me of Tara's enthusiasm three nights ago. The marks have faded to yellowish smudges, but the memory remains vivid in my muscles.

"Hey," I say, reaching for a menu I've memorized years ago.

April's eyes snap up, that familiar fog lifting as recognition kicks in. Her face transforms instantly, as it lights up. "Hey, Leo!" she exclaims, dropping her spoon with a clatter that makes the elderly couple two booths over glance our way.

There's something uniquely comforting about April's presence. Unlike Sabrina's carefully measured affection or Tara's possessive hunger, April's friendship comes without strings or expectations. Just two broken people who recognize the cracks in each other.

"You look... different," she says, her head tilting as she studies my face. "Good different, I think? Like you got laid or murdered someone. Maybe both?"

I laugh despite myself. "Just the first one, thankfully."

"Sabrina must be in a good mood lately," April says, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. She adjusts her red-framed glasses, pushing them up her nose with her index finger.

"Something like that," I mutter, suddenly fascinated by the laminated menu.

The waitress swoops in before April can interrogate me, her pen poised over her notepad. "Coffee?" she asks, already reaching for the pot.

"Please," I nod, grateful for the interruption. "And the BLT."

The waitress bustles away with my order, leaving a comfortable silence between us. April takes a massive bite of her chicken sandwich, a dollop of mayo escaping onto her chin. She chews thoughtfully as the waitress drops off my coffee.

"I think I'm done," she says finally, setting down her sandwich with a finality that makes me pause. "With the custody battle. I'm calling it quits."

My hand freezes midway to my coffee mug. I study her face, searching for the usual determination that's kept her going all these years, but all I see is exhaustion etched into the fine lines around her eyes.

"The money?" I ask gently.

She nods, wiping her chin with a napkin. "Yeah. But it's more than that. The judge keeps looking at me like I'm just one bad day away from shooting up again." Her fingers drum nervously against the table. "Five years of clean tests, steady employment, therapy receipts, none of it matters. They're all just waiting for me to fail."

Five years she's been fighting to get split custody of her son, five years of court appearances and lawyer fees draining every spare penny she has. Men in this world typically get favorable custody rulings to begin with, but her history makes it nearly impossible.

"I'm so sorry, April," I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

Her smile is brittle. "You've done enough. More than anyone else."

My mind flashes back to six years ago, when I approached Sabrina about giving April money for her legal fees. Sabrina had agreed, she always had a soft spot for April, but three weeks later, April was in the ER after overdosing. The money we'd given her had gone straight into her arm instead of toward her custody case.

I don't hold any grudge against April. Never have. She's fighting the same demons I battled, and addiction doesn't care how good your intentions are.

I remember when I hit rock bottom, stealing my dad's jewelry while he was at church, pawning my mom's tools while she slept. By the time they changed the locks, I'd already drained their retirement account. Seven years clean, and they refuse to pick u my calls.

"God, sobriety is so lame sometimes," I sigh, stirring my newly arrived coffee. "Just raw dogging reality every day with no chemical buffer. Brutal."

April snorts, nearly choking on her sandwich. "Tell me about it. Sometimes I can't believe I ever had a baby, you know? Like, who let me be responsible for creating human life?"

She laughs, a genuine sound that makes the elderly couple glance over again. "I mean, deep down I knew I was a lesbian back then. Just trying so hard to be what everyone expected."

"Maybe you're bi?" I suggest, taking a sip of my coffee.

April shakes her head emphatically. "Nah, I'm a pussy lover for life, my friend. Men are aesthetically nice to look at sometimes, but..." She makes an exaggerated grimace that pulls a reluctant laugh from me.

"Cheers to that," I say, raising my coffee mug to clink against hers. "How's work going, anyway?"

"Good enough. The manager at the bookstore is talking about making me shift lead." She shrugs like it's nothing, but I can see the pride flickering in her eyes. "How's Sabrina doing?"

Something in my expression must give me away because April immediately leans forward, her eyes narrowing behind those red frames.

I sigh, glancing around to make sure no one's listening. "If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself? I mean, really keep it to yourself?"

April's face transforms instantly, all humor vanishing as she places her hand over mine. "Of course, Leo. You know I would never betray your trust."

I take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. Where do I even start? With Tara? With Gabi? With Sabrina's growing obsession?

"Sabrina's got this... kink, I guess? She likes watching me with other women." The words feel strange leaving my mouth, hanging in the air between us.

April's jaw drops so fast I half expect it to hit the table. She leans in, red glasses sliding down her nose as she stares at me like I've suddenly grown a second head.

"No fucking way," she whispers, eyes wide with disbelief. "Sabrina? THE Sabrina? Your wife who exudes power even at the grocery store?"

I nod, feeling my cheeks heat up under her incredulous stare.

"But she's so..." April gestures vaguely with her hands, searching for the right words, "womanly and tough. Like, she radiates big minge energy. I always figured she'd be the jealous type."

"Yeah, I know," I say, pushing my coffee mug between my palms. "Trust me, I was just as surprised. But it's what she likes."

April sits back, processing this information while absently picking at her sandwich crust. "So... what? She just sits there and watches? Like some kind of sports commentator?"

I snort, nearly choking on my coffee. "Kind of. She just gets off watching me with someone else."

"Huh." April tilts her head, considering this. "And how do you feel about it? I mean, given your history and everything..."

The question hits deeper than I think she intended. How do I feel? Conflicted doesn't begin to cover the tornado of emotions swirling inside me every time I think about Tara's hands on my body while Sabrina watches from across the room.

"I don't know," I admit, lowering my voice as the waitress passes by with my BLT. "Part of me likes making her happy, seeing her so turned on. But another part..."

"Feels like you're sliding back into your old life?" April finishes for me, her voice gentle with understanding.

I nod, suddenly finding it hard to meet her eyes. April knows my history better than almost anyone. She's talked me through a lot of panic attacks.

"Who's she been having you sleep with?" April asks, direct as always.

I hesitate, then decide to rip off the bandaid. "Well, first there was this woman named Gabi. Sabrina found her online. That was... okay, I guess. Just a one-time thing. But now..."

"Now?" April prompts when I trail off.

"Remember Tara? The client I told you about? The one who wanted to help me get clean before I ran away? The one I really liked?"

April's jaw drops a second time, even more dramatically than before. She nearly knocks over her coffee as she leans forward, her red glasses sliding precariously to the tip of her nose.

"No fucking way," she breathes, voice barely above a whisper. "Tara? The Tara? The one who actually cared about you?"

I nod, picking at my BLT without much appetite.

"But she always sounded so nice in your stories," April continues, confusion etched across her features. "Like, genuinely concerned about your well-being. The way you described her... I thought she was the one who got away. How the hell did this happen?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the absurdity I'm about to reveal.

"You won't believe it, but apparently Tara was Sabrina's high school bully."

April's coffee mug freezes halfway to her mouth. "Get the fuck out of here."

"Dead serious," I say, glancing around before leaning closer. "They went to school together. Tara apparently called her 'Piss Shoes' because she pissed in Sabrina's sneakers during gym class. Which isn't very creative."

"Holy shit," April whispers, setting her mug down with exaggerated care. "That's... that's some cosmic joke-level coincidence. Of all the people in the world..." She trails off, clearly trying to process this information. "So Sabrina, your wife, is now getting off watching her high school tormentor fuck her husband?"

I wince at her bluntness but nod. "That's pretty much the situation."

"That's... Jesus, that's complicated. Like, psychologically speaking, that's a whole dissertation waiting to happen." April removes her glasses to rub her eyes. "And Tara's just... what? Going along with it?"

"More than going along with it," I say, remembering the hungry look in Tara's eyes. "She seems almost... triumphant about the whole thing."

April's analytical mind is clearly working overtime. She taps her finger against her coffee mug, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"So Sabrina's getting off on watching you with her high school nemesis, and Tara's enjoying... what? Stealing you away? Humiliating Sabrina?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "This is a fucked up twisted power dynamic you've got yourself tangled in, Leo."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, finally taking a bite of my sandwich. It tastes like cardboard in my mouth.

April leans across the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So... how was it? The sex with Tara?"

"Tara was..." I search for the right words, memories flashing through my mind. "She was lovely, actually. Nice to me. Gentle in ways I'd forgotten."

April's eyebrows shoot up over her red frames. "Gentle? That's not what those fading bruises on your neck suggest."

I instinctively touch the yellowish marks, heat rising to my cheeks. "Well, not completely gentle. But considerate. She kept checking in, making sure I was okay."

April studies me intently, her head tilted like she's solving a puzzle. "So who do you like better? Tara or Sabrina?"

"What the fuck, April?" I sputter, nearly knocking over my coffee. "Sabrina's my wife. I owe her everything." The intensity of my response surprises even me. "She saved me when I was at rock bottom. She's kind, she's beautiful, she's..." I trail off, feeling suddenly defensive. "Of course, it's Sabrina."

But even as I say it, I feel the tiniest sliver of doubt trying to surface, a what-if I've buried so deep I barely acknowledge its existence.

April doesn't miss a beat. "But couldn't Tara have been Sabrina? I mean, wasn't it just a timing thing? If Tara had found you at your absolute rock bottom instead of Sabrina, don't you ever wonder?"

The question hits me like a physical blow. I stare at her, my sandwich forgotten, my appetite vanished.

"No," I say firmly, perhaps too firmly. "I don't wonder about that. Life doesn't work that way, April."

"Doesn't it, though?" she presses, removing her glasses to clean them on her shirt. "You always told me Tara tried to help you get clean before you ran away. Maybe if you'd met her just a little later, when you were ready..."

"Stop." The word comes out sharper than I intended. I take a deep breath, collecting myself. "What happened, happened. Playing the what-if game is pointless."

April puts her glasses back on, studying me with that penetrating gaze that always makes me feel transparent. "Fine. But just remember something, Leo. You're not obligated to be with someone just because they helped you when you were down. Gratitude isn't the same as love."

"I do love my wife," I say, even more defensively. "It's not just gratitude. She's my entire world."

April's expression softens, her skepticism melting into a gentle smile. "I know you do, Leo. I'm just making sure you know the difference."

She takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before her eyes suddenly light up with mischief. "Hey, do you think Sabrina's gonna ask me to join your little arrangement next? Maybe I'm on her secret list of women she wants to watch you with."

I nearly choke on my coffee, coughing until my eyes water. "God, no. She knows you're a lesbian. Pretty sure that disqualifies you from her fantasy roster."

"Fair point," April laughs, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Though I'd make an exception for you if the price was right. Like, say, twenty bucks and a box of those fancy chocolates from that shop downtown."

"Nah. Not happening."