A Cuckold’s Awakening: The Meet and Greet

A Cuckold’s Awakening

The Meet and Greet

 

 

Mary Not Wollstonecraft

 

 

© Copyright 2025 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft

 

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story that contains descriptive scenes of a graphic and sexual nature. This tale is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

 

A Cuckold’s Awakening

The Meet and Greet

Present Day, Denver, Colorado

 

Tom had never figured out what kind of wine went with panic. Judging from the upturned noses and raised glasses gliding through the penthouse, it wasn’t the $12 bottle of pinot noir sweating in his fist. Zoe told him he needed to relax, but that advice always sounded like a dare. Every time he tried to make himself smaller, she seemed to swell in the negative space. Tonight was no exception.

 

The penthouse belonged to Zoe’s boss. Oddly, Zoe was a lawyer who signed her emails with three different acronyms. Decorating the walls of her office with wallpaper featuring chrome antlers. The crowd was slick and glassy-eyed, in clothes that looked expensive on purpose.

 

Tom suspected half of them couldn’t say what Zoe actually did in her department, but she worked her way through the room like a candidate with a secret poll. Her auburn bob was a bullseye in the endless field of ombré highlights and shellacked man buns. Even in a roomful of show ponies, Zoe managed to attract a little orbit of her own.

 

A skilled predator, Zoe had already found her mark. Tom spotted her across the marble expanse, perched on the edge of a barstool, laughing too loudly at something a man said. The wife’s new friend, Payne, was impossible to miss, a head taller than anyone else, with a loose posture as if he’d never had to try.

 

He wore a linen shirt that made him look like he’d just returned from somewhere tropical. With the sleeves rolled up to expose an old scar over his right elbow and a smaller companion above his left eyebrow. Two details Tom’s eye snagged on every time. Zoe was halfway through a story about their trip to Santa Cruz, and Payne leaned in, his smile slow and deliberate.

 

Tom had an odd throb in his temple. The same one he used to get in elementary school whenever the teacher asked if he’d like to read aloud. Or when a bully would pester him, threatening to beat him. Or perhaps fuck his wife. Hovering at the edge of the conversation, waiting for an in. Zoe’s hand found his wrist and tugged him forward, just enough to prove he existed, not sufficient to bring him in.

 

With her perfect nails, glossy oxblood, making her fingers look as if she’d caused the scars on Payne’s coal black body.

 

“…and then Tom spent the whole day hunting for Santa Cruz jays,” Zoe said. “You’d think he was a member of the Audubon Society, the way he goes on about the island scrub jay.” She flashed him a smile, sharp as a paper cut.

 

“This is Payne. Payne, my other half, Tom.”

 

Tom extended a hand, already damp.

 

Payne shook it. His grip was firm, but he didn’t do the asshole thing where you crush the bones.

“Other half?” Payne repeated. “That implies two equals. You sure about that, Zoe?”

 

“Right, Payne, she’s more like my other two-thirds,” Tom said, and immediately regretted it. If it landed, it landed on the wrong hemisphere.

 

Payne smiled, the kind of smile that looked like it had survived worse jokes.

 

“So which part of you is missing?”

 

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Zoe laughed and dropped Tom’s hand, as if she’d only been borrowing it to make a point. She lifted her pinky and wagged it. Snaking out her tongue, she licked a stray bead of vodka from her glass and let the silence do the heavy lifting.

 

The insult cut through Tom, a stab in his heart. No one likes their shortcomings exposed for others to see.

 

They fell into easy banter. A kind that Tom could follow but not quite join. Payne had an athlete’s charm, all economy and confidence. Like every word cost him a calorie, and he’d be damned if he wasted any. For a bit, he talked about his new job in consulting. The gigs that took him to Lisbon, Lagos, and Singapore.

 

As the man talked, Zoe made noises of impressed disbelief. Clutching his arm in mock sympathy when he bemoaned jet lag and strange beds. Tom tried to inject himself with an anecdote about red-eye flights and TSA patdowns. However, his voice tangled in Zoe’s as she cooed.

 

“You’d never guess Payne used to play pro ball, right? Doesn’t have that secret Superman thing, sweety.”

 

Payne shrugged.

 

“More like Aquaman. I peaked in college, and rode the wave.”

 

“Trust me,” Zoe said, “it shows.” And with that, her focus traveled deliberately down Payne’s body, ignoring Tom’s startled stare. The gaze stopped at the bulge in his pants. As she lingered on his crotch, her lips curled into a sensual smirk.

 

“Wow, honey. Subtle.” Tom laughed too loudly. The hoot of it pinged off the marble.

 

“I’m nothing if not honest.” Zoe didn’t look at him.

 

A lull.

 

After a moment, Payne reached for a napkin. Dabbing at a smear on the counter that wasn’t his.

 

“So, how do you guys know the host again?”

 

“Zoe’s the MVP,” Tom said. “If this company were a football team, she’d be the quarterback, the wide receiver, and the stadium hot dog vendor.”

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

“Tom’s allergic to sports metaphors. I work in contracts and acquisitions.”

 

Payne leaned in again, voice dropping half an octave.

 

“You’re wasted in contracts, Zoe. Have you ever thought about consulting? You’d kill it. Everyone’s looking for a disruptor.”

 

She beamed.

 

“Disruptor? That’s the nicest thing anyone’s called me tonight.”

 

“Second-nicest,” Payne said.

 

There was a tone in his voice that made the hairs on Tom’s arms stand up. Somewhere behind them, a round of forced laughter signaled the start of a party game. The room’s energy shifted, and the crowd moved like a school of fish away from the bar. Tom hesitated, then reached for Zoe’s shoulder.

 

“Should we join the others? I think there’s a—”

 

Zoe didn’t even look at him.

 

“In a bit, babe.”

 

“Need a top-off?” Payne motioned to Tom’s glass.

 

“Actually, yeah.” Tom slid his empty glass forward, hating himself a little. Payne poured, his hand steady, and then offered the first pour to Zoe. Of course. She sipped, eyes on Payne over the rim.

 

“You know what I miss?” Zoe said, and the question was rhetorical. “Men who can have a conversation.”

 

“Was that a dig at your other half?” Payne grinned.

 

“Oh, no. Tom can talk circles around anyone. Sometimes I just want a straight line.” She grazed the back of Payne’s hand, fingers lingering as she reached for a coaster.

 

Payne’s eyes crinkled.

 

“I’m more of a straight shooter. Ask me anything.”

 

“Okay, are you seeing anyone?”

 

Tom coughed, the wine catching in his throat. He managed a smile, but it was similar to something slipping on wet tile.

 

“Not really. Not in a way that matters,” Payne said, shooting a glance at Tom. “Not in a way that matters.”

 

Zoe nodded, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

 

“Good.”

 

Tom didn’t know what to say. He studied Zoe’s freckles, how they splayed across her nose in perfect symmetry, and tried to remember the last time she’d smiled at him like that. The barstool was high, and he could feel the blood draining from his legs.

 

Payne turned, finally, to Tom.

 

“What about you, man? You and Zoe, you married or…?”

 

“Five years,” Tom said. “Six if you count the year she pretended not to like me.”

 

“That was my favorite year,” Zoe said.

 

Payne’s laugh was thunder, sudden and clean.

 

“You two are something else. Can I borrow your wife for a moment?” he asked, eyes on Tom. He drained his glass, then set it down with purpose.