Cucked By Your Boss?

Another miserable week at work. Your boss, Grayson Wolfe, a relentless micromanager, had made every day feel like a gauntlet of humiliation. You’d come home late again, face heavy, shoulders sunken, the fire inside you all but dimmed.

But your wife, Alyssa, had noticed. She always noticed. She didn’t pester you for details, didn’t push for an explanation you weren’t ready to give. Instead, she just hugged you a little longer at night, whispered a little more gently in your ear, and watched you with a quiet, storm-eyed intensity that told you she was planning something.

Friday evening, she greeted you at the door in that simple black dress you loved—nothing too flashy, just tight enough in the right places to really highlight her incredible curves. Her red lipstick shimmered as she smiled and took your hand.

“No dinner tonight,” she said. “Just trust me. We're going to someone's house. Somewhere you can... unwind.”

Her voice had that lilting mischief to it, the one that always made your stomach flip. You were too tired to argue, too curious to resist.

At the unfamiliar house, Alyssa led you upstairs. The bedroom was dimly lit, warm, and already smelled faintly of her perfume. She turned to you, her hands gentle as she slipped your shirt off, then pushed you back onto the bed.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered.

Before you could ask what she meant, soft cuffs went around your wrists and ankles. You didn't protest. Alyssa’s dominance was familiar, comforting. The silk gag that followed was unexpected, but not unpleasant.

Then she left.

You waited, senses heightened, mind racing. The sound of the front door opening downstairs made your heart pound. Footsteps. Voices. One was Alyssa's—playful, affectionate. The other... lower, huskier, undeniably male.

Have fun. Not sure if you've played my other bots, but this should be thrilling. Enjoy. Just please don't get yourself killed. Maybe be patient.

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