r/mayachills

love cheating on my husband.

Not because I hate him. He’s kind, reliable, and he tries. But every time he pulls his pants down, that soft little thing comes out and I feel the same quiet disappointment settle in my chest. It’s not even fully hard before it’s already done growing. Two, maybe two and a half inches on a good night. Soft and shy, like it’s apologizing for existing.

I used to pretend it was enough. I used to close my eyes and move my hips and make the right sounds. But the truth is, I stopped feeling anything years ago. His cock is just… not there. It slips out if I shift the wrong way. It never stretches me. Never fills that deep, aching place that needs to be claimed.

So I started looking elsewhere.

The first time was almost an accident. A coworker stayed late. One drink turned into two. His hand found my thigh under the table and I didn’t stop him. When he took me against the wall of the empty conference room, I almost cried from relief. Thick. Hard. Long enough that every thrust punched the air out of my lungs. I came so hard my legs shook, and the whole time I kept thinking, This is what I’ve been missing.

After that, it became deliberate.

I keep a list in my phone under a boring name. Numbers. Hotels. Times when my husband is traveling or working late. Some of the men are strangers I meet in bars. Some are regulars who already know exactly how to use me. I never tell them about the size of the man waiting at home. I don’t need to. They can feel how greedy I am for it, how I push back harder, how I beg them to go deeper even when I’m already full.

Last week it was a guy from the gym. Broad shoulders, quiet voice. He fucked me in the back of his truck with the windows cracked just enough to let the night air in. I came twice before he finished, and when he pulled out I felt empty in the best way. I drove home still wet, still throbbing, and kissed my husband goodnight like nothing had happened.

He asked if I wanted to try again. I smiled and said I was tired. He believed me. He always does.

I lie in bed beside him and touch myself under the covers, replaying the way that thick cock stretched me open, the way it made me feel owned for a little while. My husband snores softly next to me, completely unaware that his wife is dripping for someone else.

I don’t feel guilty anymore.

I feel free.

And every time he reaches for me with that soft, insufficient little dick, I already know whose name I’ll be thinking of when I close my eyes.

You sat on the throne of black stone, legs crossed, looking down at the two of us kneeling at your feet. Your skin glowed faintly in the dim light of the chamber, every curve of your body impossible to look away from. We were already hard. We always were when you summoned us like this.

“Look at you both,” you said, voice calm and amused. “So eager. So pathetic.”

I kept my eyes lowered the way you preferred, but I could still see the other man beside me — another worshipper, another cuck — cock twitching against his thigh the same way mine was. Neither of us was allowed to touch ourselves. That was one of your oldest rules.

You uncrossed your legs slowly, deliberately, and rested one bare foot on my shoulder. The other foot pressed lightly against the other man’s chest, pinning him in place.

“You exist to watch,” you reminded us. “To ache. To know you’ll never be enough.”

The doors at the far end of the chamber opened. Three of your chosen lovers walked in — taller, stronger, already half-hard from the privilege of being called. You didn’t even glance at us as they approached. You simply leaned back on the throne and opened your thighs wider.

The first one dropped to his knees between your legs and began licking you with slow, devoted strokes. You sighed, fingers sliding into his hair, guiding him exactly where you wanted. The second man stepped up beside the throne and offered his cock to your mouth. You took him in without hesitation, eyes half-lidded, throat working as you swallowed him deeper.

I watched every second of it, cock throbbing, precum beading at the tip and dripping onto the stone floor. The man beside me made a small, broken sound. You pulled off the cock in your mouth just long enough to glance at us both.

“Quiet,” you said softly. “Or I’ll make you clean each other instead of watching.”

We shut up.

The third man moved behind the one eating you out, stroking himself while he waited his turn. You came once against the first man’s tongue, thighs trembling, then ordered him to switch places with the third. The new one slid into you in one smooth thrust, thick and deep, and you moaned around the cock still fucking your mouth. The wet sounds filled the chamber — skin on skin, your soft gasps, the low groans of the men you allowed to use your body.

I stayed on my knees, hands behind my back, cock aching so badly it hurt. Every time one of them bottomed out inside you, every time you took a cock deeper into your throat, my stomach twisted with the same helpless hunger. This was what we were for. To witness. To suffer. To know our place.

You came again, harder this time, body arching as the man between your legs fucked you through it. When he pulled out, cum already starting to leak from you, you looked down at the two of us with a small, cruel smile.

“Crawl,” you ordered.

We did. On hands and knees, across the cold stone, until we were right between your spread thighs. Your used cunt was glistening, cum slowly dripping out of you onto the seat of the throne.

“Clean,” you said.

I leaned in first, tongue dragging through the mess the others had left inside you. Salty, thick, mixed with your own wetness. The other cuck pressed in beside me, both of us licking and sucking, sharing the taste of the men who had just fucked you. You watched us the entire time, one hand resting lazily on the back of my head, the other on his.

“Good boys,” you murmured. “My little cucks. Always so hungry for what’s left over.”

When we finished, you pushed us both back with your feet and stood. Cum still slowly leaked down the inside of one thigh. The three lovers waited silently for whatever you wanted next. We stayed on our knees, cocks untouched, dripping, desperate.

You looked down at us one last time, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Stay there,” you said. “I’m not finished with any of you tonight.”

Look at it straining in the cage like it actually matters. It doesn’t. Stay locked, stay denied, and keep sending. Your only purpose right now is to fund my day while that pathetic little thing aches.

The argument still burned in my chest as I sat in the passenger seat of the black SUV. My boyfriend and I had fought again—same shit, different day—and I’d stormed out of the house without a plan. I just needed to get away. That’s when the guy from the gym, the one everyone called Bull, pulled up beside me at the light.

Tall, broad, dark skin stretched tight over muscle, the kind of body that made people stare without meaning to. He lowered the window and asked if I was okay. I wasn’t. I got in.

We didn’t talk much at first. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting heavy on the center console. The silence felt charged. When he finally pulled into a dark parking lot behind an abandoned warehouse, the engine ticked as it cooled and the only light came from a distant streetlamp.

“You don’t have to go home yet,” he said, voice low.

I shouldn’t have leaned over. I shouldn’t have kissed him. But I did. Hard. His mouth was hot and sure, nothing like my boyfriend’s careful kisses. His hand slid up my thigh under my skirt, thick fingers pressing against the damp fabric of my panties. I was already wet and I hated how fast it happened.

He pushed the seat back and pulled me into his lap so I straddled him. The steering wheel dug into my back as he yanked my panties aside. His cock was thick, heavy, already hard when he freed it. I sank down onto him with a broken sound, stretching around the width of him until my thighs trembled.

Bull fucked me like he had all the time in the world and none of the guilt. Slow, deep thrusts that made the car rock. One big hand gripped my ass, guiding me; the other stayed wrapped around my throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who was in control. Every time I tried to look away he made me meet his eyes.

“You’re cheating,” he murmured against my mouth. “Say it.”

I did. Whispered it while he bottomed out inside me. Said my boyfriend’s name like a curse while Bull’s cock dragged over every sensitive spot. The windows fogged. My moans got louder. He didn’t care. He just kept going, harder, until I came hard enough that my legs shook and I bit his shoulder to stay quiet.

He finished inside me a minute later, thick pulses that filled me up. When he finally lifted me off him, cum slipped down my thighs onto the leather seat. He watched it with a satisfied look, then wiped me clean with his own shirt like it was nothing.

I fixed my clothes with shaking hands. He drove me back to the corner near my place without asking for a number or a promise. Just dropped me off and left.

I walked into the apartment smelling like sex and someone else’s cologne. My boyfriend was still on the couch, phone in hand, waiting for me to come home and apologize.

I didn’t tell him a thing.

That little cock is caged for a reason. Keep leaking for me while I spend your money. You’re not getting out until I say so… and I don’t feel like saying so.

Simple rules. Pay me and maybe I’ll consider unlocking you someday. Don’t pay… and that cage becomes permanent. Choose carefully, cashpig.