Broken Vows - A Cuckold Story (Intro Part - 7 Nick)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 13: Guilty Conscience
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 13: Guilty Conscience - This is Part 7 of my original story, BROKEN VOWS, which is a cuckold story series with some dark undertones. This story is from Nick's perspective as the husband. I only began writing stories a few months ago, so please email, comment, and vote. I appreciate your feedback, as I would like to improve! You can follow on X @WordyBitchBeth & Reddit: u/bethanybelow
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Blackmail Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant BiSexual Heterosexual Cheating Cuckold Sharing Wife Watching Wimp Husband DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Spanking Analingus Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Spitting Voyeurism
When my phone alarm woke me, I wasn’t even sure where I was. It took me a minute to realize I was in the room at Richard’s house that Sarah and I had shared the first few weeks we were in California. I felt like shit, totally hungover with my head pounding so hard it felt like someone was hitting me with a hammer. The next thought I had was wondering if everything I remembered over the last month and a half since leaving Richard’s house had been nothing but a dream, but then I noticed my clothes and shoes were still on, and the button and fly of my jeans were open. Then everything from last night crashed over me like a tsunami.
I jerked upright in bed and did it so hard the room tilted. My stomach rolled from the sudden movement, and I had to put a hand on the mattress to stay upright. My mouth tasted like stale whiskey and something else I didn’t want to name. My boxers were stiff and dry in the front, with evidence of what I had done last night.
The videos of Sarah dancing with the ugly short man at the club, them touching, her jacking him off, his cum on her dress, the fight when she got home, driving to Richards, face-fucking Sammie, the blowjob, and then sex with Sammie. All of it hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut.
What had I done? Sarah going out dancing and flirting with people had been a mutual decision we had agreed to as a couple—something to try and fix our intimacy problems. We had never discussed the “what if” scenario of what we would do if the flirting ever went too far. That was part of the excitement, the idea that maybe there was a chance that Sarah might end up doing something with someone else. We both knew that was a possibility, and we had both agreed, albeit without actually verbalizing it, that it was a risk we were taking. However, last night I had forced a girl to suck me off and then fucked her before finishing in her mouth and having her swallow. Sammie had been willing. Hell, she had been more than willing, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Sarah had not been involved in what happened last night. We had never discussed my doing anything with another woman, and in my drunken and angry state, I had cheated on her.
I had not just engaged in a drunken kiss I could explain away. I had walked into my uncle’s living room, shoved my cock down another woman’s throat while two other men were already inside her, then fucked her again less than an hour later and cum down her throat. I had done it while I was still angry at Sarah for something she had done at a club. I had used Sammie because I was pissed, horny, and felt that I was owed it.
My hands were shaking, and I tried to press them against my body to get them under control. My head hurt both from the hangover and from the facts of what I had done. The guilt that hit me was immediate, physical, and overwhelming. My chest felt tight, and my throat closed. I had spent twelve years telling myself I was a loyal, loving, and good husband. I went down on her every time, even when she would not return it. And one night I had thrown everything away because I was drunk and hurt and because some part of me wanted to punish her for the videos.
I stood up. My legs were unsteady. I found the bathroom down the hall, pissed, splashed cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like shit. My face was pale, and my eyes were red and bloodshot. I looked like a man who had done something he regretted and couldn’t take back.
I went back to the bedroom, grabbed my phone and keys, and left without waking Richard. The house was quiet. I didn’t look toward his bedroom as I passed. I did not want to see Sammie again. Instead, I got in my car and drove.
I stopped at the first grocery store that was open. The lights inside hurt my eyes and my head, but I forced myself to walk to the flower section and picked up a dozen red roses. I went to the card rack, picked out one that expressed my love, and paid without looking at the total. In the parking lot, I sat with the card on the steering wheel and wrote with a pen I kept in the console.
Sarah,
I love you more than anything. I am so sorry for last night. I never wanted to hurt you, and I hope you can forgive me. I will do whatever it takes to make this right. You are my everything.
Nick
I did not write what I was actually sorry for. I could not. The words would not come. I knew she would think I meant the fight. The way we had argued when she got home. That was bad enough, but if she knew the rest, if she knew I had left and gone to Richard’s and used Sammie the way I had, I did not know if she would ever look at me the same way again or if our marriage would survive.
I put the card in the envelope, set the roses on the passenger seat, and drove the rest of the way home with both hands tight on the wheel. My stomach stayed knotted the entire time. Every red light felt too long. I kept picturing her face if she ever found out. The way she would look at me. The way the kids would look at me if she ever told them. I had to pull over once and sit with my forehead against the steering wheel until the urge to throw up passed.
The house was quiet when I pulled into the driveway. The lights were off. I carried the roses and the card inside and set them on the kitchen counter. My hands were still shaking. I started the coffee because I did not know what else to do. The machine gurgled. I stood there, palms flat on the counter, and tried to breathe. The smell of the roses was so strong it made my stomach turn again.
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