Chapter 7: Secrets

Ian hunched over his laptop in the dim light of his home office, the blue glow from the screen casting eerie shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jawline and the slight furrow of his brow. His left hand moved rhythmically beneath the desk as he shared the video of Purdey with Lloyd, typing out “My slut wife being banged by my Neighbour” as the title with his free hand. A flush of satisfaction warmed his cheeks as praise flooded in from the chat room participants, several users eagerly inquiring if more videos would be forthcoming. The faint hum of the air conditioning unit rattled through the vents, sending cool drafts across his sweat-dampened skin, mingling with the occasional creaks of the settling house as midnight approached. Outside, the world continued unaware, while inside, protected by curtains drawn tight like a barrier between public and private selves, he existed in a cocoon of isolation. Here, surrounded by the faint electronic hum of his equipment and the subtle scent of stale coffee from a forgotten mug, his most private thoughts roamed freely in the artificial twilight of his secret digital realm.

A few weeks before New Year’s Eve, during a quiet dinner illuminated only by the soft flicker of candles and the ambient glow from the kitchen, he had suggested finding “someone we trust” with a practiced casualness that disguised weeks of mental rehearsal, countless imagined scenarios, and carefully chosen words. However, when challenged by Purdey, his elaborate planning had dissolved, and he had simply blurted out Lloyd without hesitation. Lloyd had confided in Ian during one of their nights at the local bar, the confession emerging after several drinks loosened his tongue, that he had desired Purdey ever since they moved into the neighbourhood. That conversation had eventually drifted elsewhere, but the revelation had taken root in Ian’s mind, quietly germinating until this moment, allowing his suggestion to feel like a natural progression in their relationship rather than a jarring and unexpected proposition.

Purdey had agreed to his unconventional request, and the idea of sharing her with other men had transformed from a furtive fantasy into an all-consuming obsession. It dominated his thoughts during waking hours, following him through mundane tasks and important meetings alike, then seamlessly transitioned into vivid dreams when exhaustion finally dragged him into sleep. After Lloyd and Purdey stopped seeing each other, he began to jump into chat rooms and forums more and more. His cursor hovered over a voyeuristic forum link—the digital threshold to a world he both craved and feared—his heart pounding in his chest as he contemplated that single click. The blue underlined text seemed to pulse with forbidden promise. What would it hurt to look? Just once? Nobody would know. His throat tightened as his finger hovered above the mouse button, the war between desire and self-disgust raging within him. Rather than closing the tab, he remained transfixed, his breathing growing heavier, his hand slowly dropping from the mouse to explore his own body. Excitement rose as he surrendered to the moment, allowing himself this forbidden pleasure despite the self-loathing that lurked at the edges of his consciousness. But even as he indulged, a part of him knew this internal struggle would resume tomorrow, the pull growing stronger with each surrender, each moment of weakness building upon the last.

Weeks, then months go by, it was nearly midnight now, a regular occurrence since he been spending time on these chat rooms, the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway marking the hour, but sleep remained a distant consideration as he scrolled through a private cuck forum. Each notification sent a visceral jolt through his body—a potent cocktail of adrenaline, anxiety, and arousal that made his fingertips tingle and his mouth go dry. His heart hammered against his ribcage each time he shared another photo of Purdey—beginning with tasteful, modest images that gradually gave way to increasingly revealing ones as the conversation progressed. The strangers’ enthusiastic responses triggered a complex emotional reaction within him: jealousy that burned hot in his chest, mingling with an undeniable arousal that pooled low in his abdomen—a contradictory combination that had become as necessary to him as breathing.

Earlier that day, while Purdey was busy with her workout, sweating through her routine in their home gym, muscles taut under the natural light of the sun that cast sharp shadows across the exercise equipment, Ian had casually mentioned his intentions. The alfresco space smelled of rubber mats and determination, the mechanical whir of the treadmill providing a constant backdrop to their exchange.

Ian held up his phone, screen illuminated against the dim corner of the gym. “You okay with this one going up?”

Purdey paused her workout, wiping sweat from her brow with a small towel as she examined the photo. A provocative shot, but her face wasn’t visible—just her body in a black g-string, facing away from the camera posed against their bedroom wall.

“Same rules as always,” she said, her breathing still heavy from exercise. “No face shots, no names, no identifiable details.”

Ian nodded, tucking the phone away. “Of course. Nobody will know it’s you.”

“And I want to see the comments,” she added, resuming her workout. “The last batch was pretty flattering.”

Ian smiled, watching her muscles flex as she returned to her routine. “I’ll forward them to you tonight.”