Charles the Cuck 3

Story by TikTikKobold on SoFurry

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Mister James's requests keep getting more bold. Will Charles and Alda be able to handle them?

This is a commissioned piece. If you'd like to get some work done from me, please consider checking out my Linktree.

Posted using PostyBirb


A few days and that unexpected request are all that Alda needs to try to push herself. Getting back to work was the first possibility. At the office, she could keep herself from mulling over the awkward humiliation that was that request.

Though she tries to get back into the swing of things, the judgmental eyes and the whispers still get to her. She remains at her desk, scrolling through her email and social media feed, blocking all references to her dear Charles’s case.

When her phone buzzes, she takes it as a break from this horror, but as she looks at the opening lines, she can’t help but emit a despairing squawk from the back of her throat.

“Dandelion,” the text began. “He wants more.” This initial note includes instructions on what she can do and what Mister James wants. She squirms in her seat, bringing her knees together and glancing around. Everyone outside her little glass-walled office was busy talking to each other or with their heads down at work.

“He wants a video this time.”

Glancing occasionally to check for stray glances, she spreads her legs slightly. Cursing herself but also thankful for wearing a sleek business suit and skirt today, she lowers the phone down between her legs, pulling up the skirt, revealing her underwear.

Gulping, she prepares herself and whispers. “Hey there, Mister James,” she speaks, her whisper more of embarrassment and fear than it is of trying to be sexy. She hooks her finger at her underwear, sliding it aside, showing off before him her shaved pussy. “This is my way of saying thank you for keeping my Charlie safe.”

A knock on the door sends her leaping up and staring, mortified. The one knocking looks over some papers. This gives Alda enough time to prepare herself, pushing her skirt flat, but her underwear is disheveled. “Cuh-come in!”

* * *

James finishes his set, huffing and puffing as he snatches up his water and guzzles it like a hungry monster.

Nayson nods and hands him the phone. “Hey, boss. You got yourself a file—big one, too.”

“Oooh, you don’t say?” James whistles. He rubs his bulbous nose and takes the phone, squinting and lifting the thing up high in the air. “Damn, is your bitch at work?” He says. “Now, that’s what I call service!”

He presses play, his smile widening with each second. When she speaks and says, “Thank you,” that’s when Charles buries his face in his hands.

“Damn, man, that voice of hers. What is that?” James snaps his fingers. “What what… ah yeah! France. Fuckin’ French bitch. Now that’s some oo la la. Hot DAMN!” He tosses the phone to the bench and claps his hands. “That’s tight, man, tight! I thought all them French hoes go au natural, but she keeps herself smooth.” He licks his lips. “Keeps from having to pick out nasty ass pubes from your teeth, huh?”

Charles’s shoulders slump.

“If you aren’t gonna look at me, at least listen,” James says. “Girl like that keeps care of herself for one of two reasons: One’s she’s got a real problem with her physical appearance. Now, that’s not cool. Everyone should love their body one way or another, except that pig I killed. That was a fugly motherfucker, and that’s coming from me.”

“Wuh… what’s the second alternative?” Charles asks, sheepishly ascertaining his boss’s motives through a furtive glance.

“Well, shit, Whitebread. You should know. She’s keeping herself ready for a lover. Either someone she’s got on the outside now that you’re in here… or when she comes over for a conjugal visit.”

“I uh… I didn’t get those in my sentencing.

Sucking his teeth, James shakes his head. “That’s too bad.” He walks over to the doorway, slamming his palm against the portal. “Yo, guard!”

The guard pokes his head to the window, quirking an eyebrow.

“Mister James wants Mrs. Alda Carlson to have visitor’s rights.”

Charles beams at that. “Oh, Mister James! You’re too kind. I thank you so, so much!” He claps his hands together almost as if in prayer.

Leaning against the doorway, James shakes his head. “Poor, Poor White Bread, you’re thanking me way the fuck too early.”