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

Music throbs through the air like a second heartbeat as I navigate TechVance Solutions' annual party, my collar unbuttoned far deeper than I'd normally dare in public. The exposed triangle of my chest feels almost scandalous, drawing sidelong glances from women who quickly avert their eyes when I catch them looking. In this world, a man showing skin is the taboo, and tonight, I'm practically indecent.

"God, you're practically pornographic," Sabrina whispers in my ear, her breath hot against my neck as her hand slides down to squeeze my ass. "Half the women here can't stop staring at you."

I feel my cheeks flush, the warmth spreading down my neck to the exposed skin of my chest. When Sabrina laid out my clothes for tonight, I'd protested the tight dress shirt with its deliberately unbuttoned collar, but she'd been insistent. Now, three drinks in, I'm simultaneously self-conscious and oddly powerful in a way I rarely feel.

"You did this on purpose," I murmur back, leaning into her touch despite myself. "Parading me around like some kind of... what? Trophy husband?"

Sabrina's laugh is low and dirty against my ear. "Absolutely. You're the prettiest thing in the room, Leo. Why wouldn't I show you off?"

Her friends, all high-powered tech executives with sharp haircuts and sharper minds, exchange knowing glances as Sabrina's hand lingers possessively on the small of my back. I recognize most of them from previous company functions, Denise from accounting with her perpetually amused expression, Morgan from legal with those intimidating steel-rimmed glasses, Jaime from marketing who always tells jokes just a shade too inappropriate.

"So my new boyfriend offered me sizzurp the other day," Morgan says, swirling her drink with casual nonchalance. "Have any of you girls ever tried it?"

The words hit me like a bullet. My throat tightens as memories flood back, purple liquid in styrofoam cups, the sweet chemical taste masking something darker, hours lost to a syrupy haze that felt like drowning in slow motion. I instinctively glance at Sabrina, a silent question in my eyes.

She meets my gaze with understanding, giving a subtle shake of her head before leaning close. "You can talk about it if you want to, but don't feel forced, okay honey?" she whispers, her hand squeezing mine protectively.

I nod, relief washing through me. These women have no idea about my past, the addiction, the sex work, the desperate scramble to survive. They see me only as Sabrina's pretty husband, the one who makes excellent appetizers and remembers everyone's birthdays. The thought of exposing that raw, vulnerable part of myself in this glittering corporate setting makes my skin crawl. I'm grateful Sabrina understands without me having to explain.

"Never tried it," Denise answers, wrinkling her nose. "Isn't that what rappers drink?"

"It's codeine cough syrup mixed with soda," Jaime chimes in with authority. "My cousin got hooked on it in college. Bad news."

I take a deep sip of my whiskey, letting the conversation flow around me. The familiar burn down my throat is grounding, pulling me back to the present and away from memories I'd rather keep buried.

"So what did you tell him?" Sabrina asks Morgan, smoothly steering the conversation away from the pharmacological details that might trigger me further.

Morgan rolls her eyes dramatically. "I told him I'm not sixteen and if he wants to date me, he needs to grow the fuck up. Who offers drugs on a third date?"

The women laugh, and I force myself to join in, though the sound feels hollow in my chest. A part of me wants to defend this stranger, to explain how addiction warps your perception of normal, how offering something like that might have been his misguided attempt at intimacy. But I stay silent, letting the moment pass.

As I'm listening, I notice Sabrina's attention suddenly shift. Her eyes widen slightly, focusing on something behind me. I follow her gaze and spot Victoria, her boss, slipping away from the main party, heading down the hallway toward what I know is her private office.

Sabrina's hand finds my ass again, her fingers pressing with gentle insistence. "Now's your chance," she whispers, her lips brushing against my ear. "Go get her, tiger."

My stomach twists into an elaborate knot. The whiskey in my glass suddenly looks like murky dishwater. I glance at Victoria's retreating figure, then back at my wife's expectant face. The hunger in her eyes is unmistakable, that familiar glint that both terrifies and excites me.

"I..." My voice catches in my throat. The thought of propositioning someone, anyone, with dozens of Sabrina's colleagues just feet away makes my skin prickle with anxiety. This isn't some stranger from the internet or a figure from my past. This is Victoria Hamilton, Sabrina's direct superior, the woman who signs off on her performance reviews and bonus recommendations.

I take a deep breath, forcing a casual smile. "I need to use the restroom," I announce to the group, setting my glass down on a nearby high-top table. "Be right back."

Denise and Morgan barely acknowledge me, already deep in conversation about Morgan's questionable dating choices, but Sabrina's eyes follow me with anticipation as I follow Victoria.

The corridor feels impossibly long, the ambient noise of the party fading with each step. Victoria's office door is ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the carpet. I pause outside, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. What am I even supposed to say? "Hey, my wife thinks you want to sleep with me, so here I am."

I run a hand through my hair, trying to collect myself. This is insane. I should turn around, go back to the party, tell Sabrina I couldn't do it. But the memory of her face, that look of absolute confidence in me, keeps my feet rooted to the spot.

I take a deep breath, knock once on the doorframe, and step into Victoria's office.

She looks up from her desk, eyes lighting up with a kind smile when she sees me. "Leo? Can I help you with something?"

My mouth goes dry as I take her in, greyish-brown hair styled in a professional cut that frames her face perfectly, striking grey eyes behind glasses that make her look both authoritative and approachable. The top buttons of her blouse are undone, a small concession to the heat of the party.

"Sorry," I manage, fidgeting with my too-open collar. "I just needed a moment away from all the people out there. It got a bit... overwhelming."

Victoria nods sympathetically, reaching down to pull a crystal decanter from beneath her desk. "I completely understand. These corporate functions can be suffocating."

She pours amber liquid into a glass, the soft clink of crystal against crystal filling the quiet office. I notice a slight unsteadiness in her movements, the careful precision of someone trying not to appear as intoxicated as they actually are.

"Well," she says, settling back into a plush armchair in the corner rather than behind her desk, "you're welcome to calm down here for a while if you'd like. No pressure to go back until you're ready."

The invitation seems genuine, her eyes warm with understanding. I hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room and sinking into the chair adjacent to hers, our knees accidentally bumping as I adjust my position.

"Sorry," I mutter, shifting slightly but not moving away completely.

"Don't apologize," Victoria says, taking a generous sip from her glass. Her words aren't slurred, but they have that deliberate quality of someone concentrating hard on their enunciation. "It's nice to have some company that isn't trying to network or kiss up to me for once."

I laugh nervously, acutely aware of the irony. I'm here on a mission from my wife to seduce this woman, and she thinks I'm the one person not working an angle.

"How long have you been with TechVance now?" I ask, desperate for safe conversation territory.

Victoria tilts her head, studying me with an intensity that makes heat rise to my cheeks. "Twelve years next month. Started as a project manager, worked my way up." She takes another sip, her lipstick leaving a perfect imprint on the crystal. "But you didn't come in here to talk about my career trajectory, did you?"

My heart stutters in my chest. "I, what do you mean?"

Victoria's expression shifts, a frown creasing her forehead as she leans slightly forward in her chair.

"Are you here to ask me to stop working Sabrina so hard?" she asks, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "Because I know I demand a lot from her, but she's genuinely the best team member I have."

The question catches me completely off guard. "What? No, not at all," I stammer, momentarily forgetting my actual purpose here. "Sabrina loves her job... I think? She never complains, at least."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to recalibrate. This conversation has veered in an unexpected direction, and I'm struggling to steer it back toward Sabrina's request. As I search for words, I notice Victoria's eyes dipping briefly to the open triangle of my chest before quickly returning to my face. She does this twice more during our awkward silence, each glance fleeting but unmistakable.

Victoria sighs, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "That's a relief. I'd hate to think I was causing problems at home."

The alcohol in my system emboldens me. It's now or never. I take a deep breath, straightening my posture and meeting her gaze directly.

"Look, I'm just going to put this out there," I say, my voice lower than intended, "but I want you."

The words hang in the air between us. Victoria stares at me, her expression cycling rapidly through confusion, shock, and something else I can't quite identify. Her lips part slightly, but no sound emerges. The silence stretches painfully as she processes what I've just said.

"I... I beg your pardon?" she finally manages, setting her glass down with a sharp clink. "Leo, I think perhaps you've had too much to drink."

Something shifts inside me, a familiar fog clouding my thoughts. It's like muscle memory, the way my body remembers how to move, how to transform into something desirable. I lean forward, deliberately closing the space between us. My fingers brush against Victoria's hand where it rests on the arm of her chair, a touch so light it could be accidental, but isn't.

"No, Victoria," I say, my voice dropping to a silky register I haven't used in years. A smile spreads across my face, not the nervous one I've been wearing all night, but something practiced, seductive. "I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me. Wouldn't that be fun?"

The words feel foreign on my tongue, yet eerily familiar, echoes from another life when I'd say whatever was necessary to make a client feel special, wanted. I watch Victoria's face transform, her expression shifting from shock to something harder, colder.

"Get out," she hisses, rising to her feet so quickly her drink sloshes over the rim of her glass. "How dare you?"

I blink, confusion cutting through my performance. This wasn't the reaction I expected.

"I thought…" I begin, but Victoria cuts me off with a slashing motion of her hand.

"You thought what? That I would betray Sabrina like that? That I would sleep with her husband?" Her voice rises with each word, color flooding her cheeks. "Do you have any idea what that woman has done for me? For this company?"

I stand awkwardly, the fog lifting as embarrassment floods my system. "I'm sorry, I misunderstood…"

"Misunderstood?" Victoria's laugh is bitter, incredulous. "You ungrateful little slut. Sabrina Hart is the most loyal, hardworking woman I've ever met. She speaks about you like you hung the moon and stars, and this is how you repay her?"

The accusation is gutting. My stomach drops as I realize how out of hand this getting.

"Victoria, please," I stammer, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. "It's not what you think…"

"What I think," she says, each word precise despite her intoxication, "is that you're trying to cheat on the best woman I know. A woman who would move mountains for you."

Panic claws at my throat. This is all wrong. I was supposed to be following Sabrina's script, fulfilling her fantasy. Now I'm standing here being accused of betraying her by the very woman she sent me to seduce.

"Sabrina knows," I blurt out, desperate to fix this catastrophic misunderstanding. "She wanted this. She asked me to approach you."

Victoria freezes, her glass halfway to her lips. "What did you just say?"

"It's not like that!" I rush toward Victoria, my voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Look, this was all Sabrina's idea, okay? She has this... this cuck fetish. She gets off when I fuck other women."

Victoria takes a step back, her eyes widening behind her glasses. The crystal tumbler trembles slightly in her hand as she processes my words.

"I swear to God, Victoria," I continue, my words tumbling out desperately. "Sabrina is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I would never, ever do anything to fuck that up. This whole thing was her plan."

My voice cracks with sincerity. I need her to believe me, to understand that this isn't some sordid betrayal but something much more complicated.

Victoria stares at me, the color draining from her face. She sets her glass down with deliberate care, her movements suddenly precise despite her intoxication.

"Do you think she'd quit if I don't sleep with you?"