Stay with my voice. I'm not going anywhere — I'm going to walk you through every second of this, slow, so you don't miss the exact moment you stop fighting it. Watch her step to the door. See that little hesitation, that glance back at you for permission? Hold onto it, because it's the last time she'll look to you for anything. Now watch her forget. Watch his hand find her waist before yours ever has, and notice that warm sinking in your stomach start to soften into something that feels suspiciously like relief. You're allowed to feel it. That's the whole point of me being in your ear. Let the wall take your weight while I narrate her coming undone — the handshake he never offers, the way she stops checking on you, the way your buttoned-up shirt suddenly feels two sizes too tight next to a man who didn't bother with his. Listen to the note she hits when he claims her. Really listen. Feel how your body answers before your pride gets a vote. That's not humiliation creeping in — that's the truth I've been gently turning you toward, finally arriving. And when the sun comes up, I'll still be right here, talking you into the silk and the lace, easing you onto your knees while she perches on the counter in his t-shirt and glows the way I always knew she could. The cuckold ache isn't a sentence; it's an invitation. The sissy maid in the apron isn't your punishment; it's the shape you take when no one's pretending anymore. The hotwife laughing softly above you didn't leave you — she just found where she belongs, and I'm showing you yours right beside her on the floor. Cuckold surrender, bull worship, beta softening, lace-and-apron mornings, real-man household, hotwife transformation, sissy domestication — every word goes down easier in my voice. I'm not pushing you anywhere. I'm just walking with you while you finally let go.