【Naked Wife】(9)

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

(IX)
With a mournful cry, a stream of milk gushed out following the removal of the anal plug. Although the milk spraying onto my face

caused me great shock and distress, I could still hear a hint of resentment in my wife's mournful cry, or

perhaps... a lingering sense of satisfaction? But I clearly saw her

pink , opening and closing like a clam's mouth, squeezing out strands of white, cloudy fluid! And why did her crying

not sound sad, but rather like tears of extreme pleasure?
Obviously, in this situation, I couldn't ask her if she enjoyed it; that would only be seen as provocation.

So I simply asked her where the handcuff key was. My wife suppressed her sobs, opened her unfocused eyes, and

shook her head blankly. Well, I knew I wouldn't get any answers from her. I had already searched the box

; there was nothing there. So I went straight out and found a hardware store nearby, buying a pair of bolt cutters.

It was only about fifteen minutes, but as soon as I reached the door and took out my key card, I faintly heard suppressed moans

coming from . Don't ask me what suppressed moans mean; it was someone desperately trying not to

make a sound, but even biting the sheets, they still managed to let out a whimper!
I was immediately suspicious. Surely they wouldn't bring her back and then come to my door to rape her, would they? But listening

carefully it didn't seem to be coming from another room, so I gritted my teeth and pushed the door open…
This was probably the second time I was petrified that day.
Even today, that image still lingers in my mind—like in slow motion, as I rushed

in, my wife, hearing the noise, loosened her grip on the pillow and turned to look at the door. I

had only taken two steps inside, and my wife had only managed to turn half her face… half a face flushed, still lingering from the afterglow of

her orgasm !
I could even see that part of the pillow was soaked with drool…
She was still wearing rabbit ears, a collar, a corset, leather boots, and fishnet stockings. The only

difference from when I left was that she was now lying on her back with her big white butt sticking out!
And there was one more difference
—just a tiny difference
—that was…
that damn thing! That golden retriever was on her back! Thrusting around energetically!
I'd only been gone a little while and you were already messing around with a dog? You… I kicked the golden retriever in the side, accompanied

by a whimper from it…wait, they were both, no, it was the dog and the person who fell onto the bed!
The golden retriever, whimpering from my kick, turned to run away, but it kept falling over halfway up, then halfway up again, then

falling over After all that fussing, besides making a mess of the sheets, all it did was make my good wife's big white butt stick

around. Then I saw my wife struggling desperately, whether trying to push the dog away or

cover her face, she was helpless under the handcuffs. I stared blankly for a few seconds before it dawned on me—dogs

get stuck after mating!
This was unbearable! I rushed over and slapped her across the face. Before I could recover from my rage,

my wife's words petrified me for the third time!
"Wow…why didn't you take the dog with you when you left…wow…?" Uh…that reason…

I couldn't find any words to refute that question!
"I…I…I…I…I…" I stammered like George W. Bush, uttering countless "i

"s, then almost ran away in shame.
Finally, with utter helplessness, I watched my wife sobbing on the bed and the terrified golden retriever

finally separated after about 10 minutes. Strangely, I didn't feel much humiliation from being cuckolded

; instead, I found it hilarious—this cuckoldry was put on me by a dog?! And this dog was the one

I left in the room?!
After they were separated, I quickly found a rope, tied the Golden Retriever up, and got it out of the hotel. When I passed the front desk, the

receptionist even tried to remind me that pets weren't allowed in the hotel! Was this the dog I brought in? At the very least, was it

my choice to bring it in?
The process of getting rid of the dog was incredibly ridiculous. Every time I threw it away, it came back, every time I threw it away, it came back.

Finally, in a fit of anger, I tied it to a fire hydrant. But I hadn't gone far when someone rushed

over shoved the leash back into my hand, and said unhappily, "Hey, your dog is lost!" Holy crap! Is this

my dog? This is a cheating husband who just cuckolded me! Heavens, where can I go for justice?!

Why am I so unlucky?!
In desperation, I flagged down a taxi and asked him to take me to the outskirts of the city, where I finally managed to

get rid of the dog. Of course, the rest of the story didn't continue the previous melodramatic saga. At least, there wasn't

a situation where the dog had already gone home and I couldn't find my way back, because I at least remembered to ask the taxi driver to take me back.
Back at the hotel, my sweet wife was already asleep in bed. Her delicate face, still glistening with tears, now

seemed filled with exhaustion and…satisfaction?
The setting sun's afterglow shone on her plump, heart-shaped buttocks, her closed anus still revealing

a little bit of tender flesh. The dog's semen that had flowed from her honeypot…dried on her inner thighs and the sheets.

Reflecting on everything that had happened these past few days, it all felt like a melodramatic scene orchestrated by an unreliable madman.

And I, unable to hold on any longer, finally collapsed onto the sofa and fell into a deep sleep…

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