The Cuckold Casting Website - Part 1

A Cuckold/Hotwife Erotic Short Story

Daniel was supposed to be working. That was the whole point of the home office — the secondhand desk wedged into the spare bedroom, the ergonomic chair Rachel had insisted on, the sticky notes with passwords curling at the edges of the monitor. It was meant to be his space, a place to focus.

Instead, three tabs glowed at the top of his browser: the spreadsheet he was meant to be finishing, his email, and the site.

CuckoldCasting.com.

The thumbnail loop played silently in the corner, a wife in a mask bent over a hotel bed while two men laughed behind the camera. He should have closed it an hour ago. He should have cleared his history the way he always told himself he did, gone through the ritual of cleaning his tracks. But after ten years of marriage, after nights of scrolling through the same niche forums and clips, his guard had slipped.

The creak of the hallway floorboards made him jerk upright. He fumbled the keyboard, alt-tabbing back to the spreadsheet just as Rachel’s voice called from the kitchen: “You want coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered too quickly. His pulse pounded in his ears.

The website tab still glowed red at the edge of the screen, damning.

She didn’t come in. The sound of the kettle whistled faintly instead. Daniel let out a shaky breath and clicked the little X, then sat back as though that erased the moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a scare. He told himself it was harmless, just porn with a different flavor, no different than anyone else’s vice. Except it wasn’t the fucking, not really, that pulled at him. It was the sting, the humiliation. Husbands handing their wives over like trophies, wives grinning at another man’s cock while their own sat ignored. He needed it in a way he couldn’t name.

Later, checking his email, his stomach dropped.

“Thank you for your subscription renewal.”
CuckoldCasting.com.
Billing ID #87432.

The receipt sat right there in his inbox, timestamped, his name, his address.

Daniel’s hands shook as he clicked delete, then delete again, then emptied the trash. He scrubbed his history, wiped cookies, went through all the motions of a man erasing footprints in fresh snow.

Surely Rachel hadn’t seen it. Surely she wouldn’t snoop in his inbox. She had her own work, her own life. If she noticed the way he sometimes stayed up late in the office, she’d never asked.

And yet, as he shut the laptop and listened to her footsteps moving across the kitchen tiles, the thought crawled up his spine anyway: What if she already knows?

The suitcase was open on the bed the next evening, half-filled with blouses rolled tight, a skirt folded sharp, the faint smell of her perfume hanging in the room. Rachel moved briskly, efficient, checking items off in her head. Daniel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, pretending to be casual while his chest buzzed with static.

He couldn’t shake the email. The words burned into him: Thank you for your subscription renewal. Every time she bent to tuck something in the case, he saw them stamped across her back.

“Three days,” Rachel said without looking up. “You’ll survive without me.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, his voice too fast. “Of course.”

She smiled faintly, tucking her makeup bag in. “Don’t spend the whole week glued to your dirty websites, mister.”