




Tonight, I've dressed like a true hotwife goddess: a tight, short dress that reveals with every step that I'm wearing absolutely nothing underneath, save for a pair of sheer black stockings clinging to my bare thighs. In my hand, like a trophy of humiliation, I hold the tiny inverted chastity cage I've just locked onto my "husband," his pathetic little bulge barely noticeable, imprisoned for good. I openly mock his uselessness as I prepare for my flight to New York, where real bulls —men whose size and power make this cage look like a pitiful joke— are eagerly waiting to claim their rights over my body. Tonight, I am a gift meant only for true alphas to unwrap.