Ex-Wife Turns Me Into Her Pussyfree Beta Cuckold

Giselle let herself into my apartment with the key I had never changed. I was thirty-five, six months divorced, and still keeping the couch the way she liked it. My ex-wife looked expensive and certain. Giselle was thirty-seven, a businesswoman who closed deals before lunch and had always closed me faster. Heels clicked. Her mouth was already smiling.

"You look smaller without me," she said.

She sat and crossed her legs. Silk rode up her thigh, and I stared, then dropped my eyes because looking had always been something she allowed. The split had been clean. No shared accounts, no leftover fights, just the old hunger for her approval sitting in my chest like a hand.

"I have been thinking about what you were actually good for," Giselle said. "Not a husband. A beta. My beta bitch cuckold, if you still want the job."

Heat climbed my neck. Months of telling myself I was done kneeling collapsed in one sentence. She leaned in, perfume thick, and laid it out without blushing. She wanted me pussyfree. Locked. Pretty. She would hold the key. My cock would stop pretending it was for anything except aching while other men took what I no longer received.

"Say you want it."

"I want it," I said. "I want to be your beta again."

She picked up my phone and built a Grindr account while I watched, thumbs sure as a calendar entry. The photo was my mouth. The bio was hers: caged, in panties, available to be used, watched by his ex-wife. She turned the screen toward me. Men filled the grid. My hands shook.

"Pretty panties," she said. "Lace that frames that useless little cock once I cage it. I pick the hung ones. You thank me."

My cock thickened against my pants, and I did not hide it. I swallowed and told her the panties were already in my drawer, bought and never worn, waiting for her to make them make sense. The craving was mine and filthy. I had missed being named. I got hard picturing her choosing someone bigger and making me hold still for it. She laughed, pleased, and slid the phone into her purse.

"Tonight. Teresa is coming over. She should hear you admit it."

Teresa arrived at eight. She was thirty-eight, sharp-eyed, in a black dress and the kind of lipstick that made a man confess. She kissed Giselle on the cheek and looked me over like inventory.

"So this is the ex," Teresa said. "He already looks sorry."

"He is going to look prettier," Giselle said. "Strip."

I did it because I wanted to be seen doing it. Shirt, pants, socks, until I stood in gray briefs with my cock straining the cotton. Giselle opened a small velvet box and held up a pink chastity cage, glossy and small, ring and tube catching the lamp. Teresa laughed once, delighted.

"On your knees."

I knelt. Giselle worked my cock out, stroked it twice so I gasped, then fitted the ring behind my balls and slid the tube over me while I was still hard enough to fight it. The cage won. She clicked the lock. The key vanished into her cleavage. My cock throbbed against plastic and had nowhere to go.

"Panties."

The lace was pale pink, high-cut, ridiculous on my hips and perfect the second she said so. I stepped in. The cage bulged the front into an obscene little shape. Teresa circled me, one nail tracing the waistband.

"Turn. Model them. Slow."

I turned. Lace clung to my ass. My caged cock ached with every step. Giselle had my phone again, swiping Grindr with her legs crossed, Teresa leaning in. They murmured over shoulders, cocks, smirks.

"This one." Giselle turned the screen. Darius. Thirty-two. Thick through the thighs, and the dick in the next photo made my stomach drop and the cage pulse. Hung was not a compliment. It was a measurement. "He is close. He likes an audience. He will use you while we watch."

Her voice stayed calm and wrecked my knees. Darius would walk in, see the panties, see the cage, and put me over the couch. He would fuck my mouth until I drooled, then open me and take my ass in front of both of them. She would not touch my cock. Teresa would not touch it. I would stay pussyfree and grateful, a beta bitch with lace riding up while a real cock did the work.

"Please," I said, wrecked. "Arrange it. I want him to use me. I want you to watch me take it."

Giselle's thumb hovered, then tapped. "He is on his way. Stay in those panties. Do not even think about getting out of that cage."

I stood there throbbing, helpless, lace damp where I leaked into the tube, and begged her again just to hear myself say it.

The knock came twenty minutes later. Giselle opened the door. Darius filled it, thirty-two and easy in his body, jeans low, a smile that knew exactly what the profile had promised. He looked at me in pink lace and pink plastic and nodded once, like a man confirming a delivery.

"This him?"

"This is my pussyfree beta," Giselle said. "He wants it. Ask him."

Darius stepped close. He smelled like clean soap and heat. One big hand tipped my chin. "You want me to use that mouth and then that ass while they watch?"

"Yes," I said. "Please. I want you to use me."

"Good." He glanced at Giselle. "Couch."

She pointed. I went. The cushions were still warm from where she had been sitting. Darius bent me over the arm, lace stretched tight across my ass, cage dangling between my thighs, useless and aching. Teresa took the chair. Giselle stayed standing, skirt hiked, one hand already between her legs, watching like this was the meeting she had come to run.

"Mouth first," she said. "Show him what a beta bitch is for."

Darius turned me and fed me his cock without ceremony. Thick. Heavy. The head smeared salt across my tongue and then pushed, stretching my lips until my jaw ached. I gagged and took more because I wanted the sound of it, the wet choke, the way Giselle's breath hitched when I did. He held my hair and fucked my mouth in slow, deep strokes, balls tapping my chin, panties twisting as I knelt and drooled down my own chest.

"Look at you," Giselle said, fingers working her clit in tight circles. "Locked up. Pretty little panties. Taking dick like you were built for it. Thank him."

I pulled off just enough to speak, spit shining my lips. "Thank you."

"For every thrust," she said. "Out loud."

He pushed back in. I moaned around him and tried. When he drew out I gasped, "Thank you," and he sank in again, and I thanked him again, slurred and desperate, until the words smeared into nothing but obedience. Teresa laughed, low and mean, and told me I looked better with my mouth full. Giselle agreed. She called me her pussyfree beta bitch and told Darius not to be gentle with a hole that had asked for this.

"Ass," she said, when my eyes were wet and my lips were swollen. "I want to watch you ruin him."

Darius hauled me up and folded me back over the couch. He hooked the lace aside instead of taking it off, so the panties stayed on, pretty and ruined, framing me. Two fingers, slick from a bottle Teresa handed over, pressed in. I bore down and opened for them, groaning into the cushion. He worked me until I was loose and shaking, cage knocking the couch with every twitch, then lined up that thick cock and pushed.

The stretch burned and then bloomed into something I could not think around. He sank deep, inch after inch, until his hips met my ass and I was full in a way my own cock had never managed, not even when Giselle used to let me have her. She was not letting me have her now. She was fingering herself and watching a hung man take what used to be her husband's ass.

"Fuck," Darius grunted. "Tight little beta."

"He is," Giselle said. Her voice had gone rough. "Pound him. He begged me for it. Make him thank you."

Darius drew back and slammed in. The couch jumped. I cried out and clutched the cushion, panties tugged sideways, cage throbbing so hard it hurt, no room to get hard, only the trapped pulse of a cock that would not be touched. He set a pace that was deep and filthy, long strokes that dragged over the spot inside me until my legs shook, then harder, hips snapping, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Every thrust shoved a broken thank-you out of me.

"Thank you. Thank you. Fuck, thank you."

"Louder," Giselle said. She had two fingers in herself now, thumb on her clit, eyes fixed on where Darius split me open. "Tell him you want it harder. Beg like the pussyfree bitch you are."

"Harder," I sobbed. "Please use me harder. I want it. I want your cock. Thank you, thank you, please don't stop."

He gave it to me. Deep, pounding strokes that knocked the breath out of my chest and made the lace scrape my skin. Teresa leaned forward, mouth parted, and told Giselle I looked perfect like this, caged and grateful and stuffed. Giselle agreed in a voice that broke when she came, thighs shaking, still talking through it, calling me her locked-up beta cuckold, her panty-wearing hole, nothing but a warm place for a real man to finish. I begged through her orgasm. I thanked Darius for every thrust until the words were just noise and spit and need.

"I'm close," he said.

"Not inside," Giselle said, breathless and smiling. "On his face. On those pretty panties. I want to see what my beta looks like painted."

Darius pulled out. The sudden emptiness made me whimper. He spun me, shoved me to my knees, and stroked that thick cock over my open mouth. I held still because I wanted the mess. He groaned and came in heavy pulses, hot across my cheek, my lips, my tongue, then lower, striping the pink lace and the cage beneath it. Cum clung to the panties and dripped onto the plastic. I stayed kneeling, ruined and throbbing, and thanked him again while it cooled on my skin.

He tucked himself away, kissed Giselle's cheek like a gentleman, and left. The door shut. I was still on the floor in soaked lace, face wet, cage aching, dripping.

Giselle crouched and kissed my cum-smeared lips, slow enough to taste him on me. "Good pussyfree beta cuckold," she said. "You took him like you were made for the job."

Teresa was already holding my phone, swiping. "This one next. Even thicker. Says he can be here in an hour."

Giselle looked at the screen, then at me, locked and shining in pretty panties. "Tell her yes."

"Yes," I said, cum still on my tongue. "Pick him. I want another cock in my beta bitch ass while you watch me drip."