My Husband the Pimp

Jake Sullivan froze mid-step as he pushed the door open.

I was straddling a heavyset guy in that black lace lingerie set. His hands were restlessly wandering over my waist, and his breath reeked of cigarettes and alcohol.

This was the top donor who'd been throwing money at me in the livestream every single day: Bruce Thompson, a building contractor.

Jake's briefcase hit the floor with a thud. Veins bulged across his forehead.

I tilted my head and flashed the camera an innocent, saccharine smile.

"Honey, you're back! I helped you hit your goals tonight. Bruce just gave another ten gifts!"

Bruce smacked a kiss on my shoulder, then glanced over at Jake. "Hey Jake, your wife is seriously slutty. Just think of tonight's donations as my tip to you for your trouble."

Jake's fists clenched tight. His teeth ground together audibly, the muscles in his cheek twitching.

The chat feed was full of mockery.

[The cuckold's back!]

[This guy can really take it.]

[Get on your knees for the top donor!]

Jake glanced at the donation total still climbing on the screen and forced out a smile uglier than a cry.

"Thank you so much for your support, Bruce. It's our blessing as a couple to be able to make you happy."

Bruce snorted, waved his hand, and pulled a single bill from his leather bag, slapping it right across Jake's face.

"What are you standing there for? Go wash some fruit in the kitchen, cut it up nice, and bring it over. Don't bother me while I'm fooling around with your wife."

Jake's face twitched. But then he actually bent down, picked up the money, turned, and walked to the kitchen to play waiter.

There he was—a corporate executive who thought he was elite—now humbly cutting fruit.

I forced back the waves of nausea rising in my stomach and kept sweet-talking Bruce into sending more gifts.

Half an hour later, the stream ended. Bruce zipped up his pants with satisfaction and left our house.

The second the front door closed, Jake lunged at me.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, slammed me hard onto the floor, and backhanded me across the face.

"You fucking bitch! Are you out of your mind? I told you to act, not let him actually touch your thighs!"

I licked the taste of blood from the corner of my mouth, got up off the floor, and stared at him coldly.

"Get this straight, Jake. Weren't you the one who wanted me to drink that spiked milk in the livestream just to beg for donations?"

His shame turned to rage. He lunged forward and clamped both hands around my throat, his eyes bloodshot.

"You still talking back to me? I swear I'll strangle you to death right here, you shameless piece of trash."

I didn't struggle at all. I just barely managed to lift my phone and shove the withdrawal confirmation right in his face.

"Sixty thousand dollars. That's exactly what you need to cover the money you embezzled from your company."