Late Night Husbands

'I don't know how..' he typed.

It was 2am, prime opportunity for a man like me to find men online who desperately needed to chat about their wives. They would be deep in the throes of masturbation, cocks in hand, wanting to hear depravity about the women they loved.

I was the provider. The dealer with the drug they needed. A supplier of lust and filth. 

They paid me with their sin. Every time one would send me an offline message about how they 'just couldn't do this anymore' and 'it was wrong', then crawl back to the computer in the dead of night to mindless jerk off again and beg me for input, that was the coin I wanted.

When they would start with 'oh I could never show you her pictures' and weeks later tell me the most intimate details of their lives, wedding photos, picture of her at work, so seemingly innocent, not realizing I knew their wives better than anyone except themselves. I knew their sexual triggers, the problems they had in bed,  their financial difficulties, their frustrations, what their ex boyfriends were like,  that was the coin I received.

The most valuable of payments, of course, was betrayal.

'I don't know how...' they would all type.

So I would tell them, step by step. Every increment seemed so basic, they didn't question. The clouded judgment of men edging closer to orgasm was their permission to do things they normally wouldn't, to the woman they pledged their lifelong love. It began so simply, didn't it? Old pictures of her in tight clothing or sexy lingerie, no face included, no big deal, right? Then an old nude, no face again, it's ok to show, and the high they got from showing her off was ecstasy. Of course, they never got the high the second time, or the third, or the twentieth. So it had to progress, as I knew. Then it was a picture of her face, knowing what she does for a living.

It had to progress.

Nudes of her snapped in the middle of the night, bedsheet pulled back by a perverted husband, bare breasts on display in his quest for a better cum. Eagerly shared with me, awaiting my response with their hard cocks in hand, eyes bright in the artificial light of the monitor. 

'My cock is SO hard for her,' I tell them. It thrilled them to allow a 'real' man to see their wife. Lewd details about what I would do to her pushed them over the edge, quickly signing off so they could clean up and get 3 hours of sleep before they had to get up and go to their meaningless job. Wife neglected in favor of chatting with strange men, never finding that ultimate orgasm inside her anymore, it only came in an office chair in the dark.

'Do you want her to fuck men at work?' I ask the ones that want to be cuckolded or humiliated.

I knew every response before I asked the question, because I knew who they were and where they were headed, even if they didn't quite understand it yet.

They can barely reply, one handed typing, likely finding a paper towel to rid themselves of the pre-cum that on their hand. 'Oh god yes', they manage. 'Which one? What's his name?' I follow up with. They croak out the man's name, the one they want mounting their own wife, drilling into her following some mythical Work Party or Holiday Get Together, their wife sucking dick behind the Christmas tree for some reason. Later I'll find out his last name, and with a few simple LinkedIn searches, I know where he works, and then locating his wife in the same company is simple.

A few chats later, I'll show him pictures of his wife, her full name, her workplace, and tell him he's betrayed her to another man. He'll want to be upset but his cock is too hard and his need is too great.

He'll erupt in his hand, vowing to never talk to me or any other stranger online again about his wife. He deletes his profiles and vows to be a better man. 

A week later he messages me from a new account, asking if I remember him. 'Yes', I tell him, 'do you still want your wife fucked?'

'I don't know how...' he finally types.

We start again, the cycle repeats, though it begins so much more in-depth now, and can only move faster toward a resolution. I let him know how he can get his wife to cheat on him, and honestly, it's not usually that difficult - his hard-ons have been reserved for porn for so long that she's needy and ready to be fucked by someone who wants her, someone exciting, new.

The next time he tries to fantasize with her, she's a little more receptive to the idea of another man. Soon she feeds his perversion with stories of men at work, mostly little white fantasy lies, but a few with some truth to them, like the younger guy with a MILF complex that she thinks might even just want her a little bit.

When he inevitably tells me about this guy, the co-worker gets a few very hot pictures of the wife in his email from an anonymous source, along with some info about her that could be very useful in getting her into bed. 'From a friend'.

He doesn't ask questions.

It can take awhile. Weeks.  Months. But usually not much longer. The triumphant declaration by the midnight typist of 'SHE GOT FUCKED!' rings over the internet to me. He has no idea what he's done, in his pursuit of more intense cumshots. He pictures his wife underneath some mystery man, fucking hard, how hot she is, but somehow believes she still thinks of him as her hot husband and lover. 

She doesn't, because I haven't told him that he needs to take her back, hard, every time. I don't want him to know. My intent is that he never fucks her again, and it's not hard to get him to create the environment where he never does, and he does it purposefully. 'She'll fuck more guys if you pretend to be impotent,' I tell him. He thinks it's a fantastic idea. He barely understand that he IS impotent, that he can't get hard unless he's typing on a computer and looking at bimbos, or teens, or MILFs, or hardcore pornography. When he attempts sex with his wife, it takes too long for him to get hard, and she begins to belittle him for it. It doesn't help that he enjoys the humiliation.

The once-or-twice guy at work becomes the twice a week guy, and soon she's giving him head in his car or going to his place to fuck. He breathlessly tells me about it, his 'whore wife' becoming another man's plaything. He thanks me,profusely, but I let him know it's all his doing. He begs for a way to thank me, and I tell him how. He agrees much too quickly for his own good.

A day later he shows up at my door. With out his hard-on he looks lost, scared. I let him in and put him at ease, and soon he's on the couch stroking to porn images and video flashing on a screen in front of him. He gets hard and I remind him of his debt.

A few minutes later, I reflect back on my work. Six months ago there was a happy husband and wife, having sex maybe twice a week like most couples, the husband with a dirty but harmless fantasy idea about his averagely cute but unknowing wife of almost 14 years.

Here he was, meekly sitting in my living room, eager to somehow thank the man that helped him realize his fantasy, the one he wasn't even sure of mere weeks ago.

So when I look down and see him stroking and sucking me, it's not because I wanted him to. I don't like men in that way. It's very odd to me that one wants to suck on me, for any reason. He's not good at it, more like a fumbling prom queen virgin that has never wanted to touch one before. I'm quite sure he really doesn't even want to do it.

And that's what makes me cum so hard.