Broken Vows - A Cuckold Story (Intro Part 3 - Nick)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 6: The Drive
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 6: The Drive - This is part 3 of the introduction to my original story BROKEN VOWS which is a cuckold story series. The first story was from the husband Nick's perspective and laid some of the background; the second was from the wife Sarah's perspective. This third story is from Nick's perspective again. I anticipate 1-2 more of this style with flashbacks before I begin the full story detailing Sarah's total corruption and Nick's cuckolding.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing Wife Watching Wimp Husband DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Swinging Cream Pie Masturbation Voyeurism
The rental sat quiet behind us as I pulled out of the driveway. Sarah had the cover-up pulled tight around her, the fabric bunched in one fist on her lap. She stared out the passenger window like the neighborhood might offer her a last-minute excuse to turn around. I kept one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh, thumb moving in small circles against the thin material.
“You sure about this?” I asked. “We can still bail. Tell them Michael spiked a fever and Richard needs backup.”
She turned her head just enough that I caught the edge of her smile in the glass. “You already made the deal. Two months. If I chicken out of the first actual social thing, what’s the point?”
“Fair. But for the record, I would have accepted the headache story. I’m very good at looking disappointed while secretly relieved.”
That got a real sound out of her, short and breathy. She covered my hand with hers. “I’ll be fine. Just ... don’t leave me alone with a bunch of strangers for the first twenty minutes, okay?”
“Deal. I’ll hover like the world’s most awkward bodyguard.”
We drove in the kind of silence that still felt full. The radio stayed off. Every few blocks I glanced over. Her shoulders had dropped a fraction. The blotchy redness around her eyes was fading. She still looked small in the seat, the cover-up swallowing her frame, but she wasn’t crying anymore. That counted for something.
Ryan’s neighborhood announced itself before the house did. The streets widened, and the cars in the driveways got newer and more expensive. Lawns looked like someone paid to keep them green. I started counting how many times I told myself not to compare any of it to the rental we were currently calling home. I lost count around the third stop sign.
When the navigation finally said the destination was on the right, I almost drove past it. The place sat back from the street behind a low stone wall and a pair of open gates. Two stories of clean modern lines, dark wood and glass, the kind of square footage that made our Iowa house look like a starter kit. A wide driveway held a cluster of cars, each clearly costing more than my last three annual bonuses combined. Music drifted from somewhere behind the structure, low and steady, the kind of playlist that said people had already been drinking for a while.
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