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Cuckold Cosplay 1.2
🕑 Added 2026-01-03 03:54:01 +0000 UTCGreg flipped the breasts. The grill hissed. Chicken—plain, unseasoned. Sweet potato fries tossed in olive oil. The way the girls liked them. He kept his back to the pool, enjoying their laughter and inane conjecture on media’s modern shibboleths.
Then—warm breath against his neck. His skin went to gooseflesh.
Thora’s teeth grazed his earlobe, and he flinched. Her fingers slid down his arm, the hairs raised like by electricity, her touch light and teasing. She swayed against him, hips rolling.
“Don’t burn them, baby,” she murmured, lips brushing his jaw.
His grip tightened on the spatula before it clattered to the deck. “They’re good. It's under control.”
She pulled back just enough to show him her smirk. The sun caught the sweat on her collarbone, the curve of her waist where the bikini bottoms rode low. She’d changed after Jax. Now he had two lovely half-naked female forms in his domain. One of them was topless. Maybe putting the high hedges in was a mistake. His neighbors should have some idea of what he was up to, shouldn’t they? They must be curios.
Behind Thora, Jax lounged on the pool chair, one leg bent, fingers tracing an idle pattern on her glimmering thigh.
Thora followed his gaze. “She’s fixing her tan lines. She's doing Lady Vexis at Southwest Anime Con next month—full armor, but the top’s just a narrow V-shape.”
Greg exhaled through his nose. “She’s gotta look her best.”
“Exactly.” Thora’s grin turned sly. “Unless you’d rather she didn’t.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Thora laughed, low and knowing, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before sauntering back toward the pool. Jax tossed her a bottle of sunscreen without looking up from her phone, her breasts shaking. The two of them bent over the bottle, shoulders touching, voices too quiet for him to catch.
He turned back to the grill. The heat on his face had nothing to do with the flames. He glanced over his shoulder.
Jax was slick with oil, her fingers gliding over her clavicle, down the slope of her ribs. The sunlight caught the sheen, turning her skin to liquid gold. Her breasts were incredible. She arched her back just enough to make the muscles in her stomach flex, then stretched her arms overhead, the motion slow, deliberate.
His throat went dry.
She caught him staring. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “Keep an eye on those other breasts,” she said, chiding him but laughing.
Greg’s gaze flicked to Thora, who was laid out on the lounger beside Jax, one arm draped over her eyes, the other tracing lazy circles on her stomach. “Not these ones, either, Greg,” she said without even checking to see if he was looking.
His head snapped back to topless Jax. She smirked, tilting her chin toward the grill. The chicken breasts sizzled, forgotten, one edge curling black. Smoke curled up in a thin, accusatory tendril.
He lunged for the spatula, flipped the burnt breast with more force than necessary. The metal clattered against the grill. “Shit.”
Behind him, Jax’s laugh was light, unconcerned. “Relax. It’s salvageable.” She stood, stretching again, this time with her arms behind her head like she dared him to check out her naked breasts again. “But maybe keep your eyes on the food. Now you gotta eat the burned one.”
He didn’t answer, brow tense and sweaty. He just turned the chicken, the heat from the barbecue searing his knuckles, scraping away the burnt flesh clinging to the iron grill.
#
The chicken breasts went on the cutting board. He sliced them into neat, even strips. He portioned them out, checking on the small digital scale he brought out. 150 grams of chicken. That’s what Thora would take in one serving. He weighed the sweet potato next, two-hundred grams. She needed a glycogen replenish after her workouts. He sprinkled the fries with cinnamon and salt.
Thora and Jax had pulled on loose cotton tops by the time he carried the food to the patio table. The fabric clung to their oil-damp skin, the outline of Thora’s bikini top visible underneath hers. They sat at the patio table, Thora already pulling out her phone to log the meal.
“Protein’s good,” she said, tapping the screen, expecting he knew her intake. “Carbs?”
“Sweet potato fries,” Greg said, setting the plates down. “Two-hundred grams.” Proud of himself, knowing the numbers without having to check with her beforehand.
Jax leaned forward, inspecting the food. “You seasoned these?”
Greg slid into his seat. “Yeah. Cinnamon salt. I made a mixture just for Thora.”
Jax picked up a fry, turning it between her fingers. “Huh.”
Thora nudged her. “Don’t act surprised. Greg’s an amazing cook.”
“Didn’t say he wasn’t.” Jax bit into the fry, chewing slowly. Her face showed she liked it. “I need my own Greg,” she said.
Thora said, “You got an André.”
“André’s good for a lot of things, but André doesn’t know my macros. Or care.”
Greg cut into his chicken, the blackened edge already severed away. “Thora’s dreams are my dreams.” He popped the plain chicken into his mouth.
Jax made a face at Thora, hard to read, but he took it as one of measured jealousy. André was fit and handsome and charismatic. But Thora’s boyfriend had a thriving company, a home, money to spend, and he took care of Thora. Pride swelled and he cherished it.
Jax’s phone chimed. She glanced at it, then flipped it face-down. “My gear’s ready to pick up.”
Greg said, “Gear?”
Thora held up a finger, still chewing. When she was ready, she said, “Jaxy’s doing a panel at SWAC next month. Southwest Anime Con. ‘Cosplay on a Budget: How to Fake It Till You Make It.’”
Jax grunted. “I didn’t name it. Organizer’s idea.”
“It’s sold out,” Thora said, bolstering her friend.
Jax shrugged. “People love the word ‘budget.’ Makes them feel responsible.”
“I agree,” Greg said.
Jax chewed chicken, showing him a thumb’s up.
He said, “So, you’re what . . . teaching something?”
“Lower your voice,” Jax said. “Someone might believe I’m respectable.”
“You’re not teaching?”
Thora said, “There’ll be some girls there who want to get into cosplay, but it’s mostly greasy dudes trying to get close to her.”
Now Jax showed Thora a thumbs up, and both girls chuckled.
Thora grinned. “The gear?—She’s giving away props.”
“Mini ones,” Jax said. “Like keychains, little weapons, badges. I’ve got a guy who 3D-prints them cheap. I paint them, add gems, pretend they’re magic. I can pick them up now, guy says they’re ready.”
Greg nodded. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
Thora nudged Greg’s foot under the table. “You should come.”
Greg frowned. “I don’t know a thing about anime. I don’t even like it.”
Jax leaned back in her chair. “Perfect. You won’t be tempted to argue with anyone.”
Thora kicked her. “Be nice.”
Jax regarded him, leaned forward again, and explained. “Sometimes people at the cons have heated opinions.”
Greg said, “And I’m a blank slate.”
Thora said, “You’ll be a diehard fan of something by Sunday afternoon. You just gotta pick your vibe.”
“You’ll be begging us to make a costume for you for the next con,” Jax said. “For now, you just stand around and try not to look like Thora’s boyfriend. Maybe carry some boxes. You’d be great at that.”
“I’ve carried boxes before,” Greg said.
Thora smiled. “See? Already qualified.”
Greg hesitated, then picked up another fry, pausing before biting. “Yeah. Maybe.” He shifted in his chair and looked at Jax. “Is André going?”
Jax paused, then raised an eyebrow. “He might. But we look better without studs around. More attainable. Lends to the fantasy.”
“I like Andre,” Greg said. “If he’s going, I’ll go.”
“That’s up to Dré,” Jax said. “Depends on whether he gets booked that weekend. I’m trying to bribe him into helping with setup.”
Thora laughed. “Bribe meaning pizza and dirty stuff.”
“Exactly.”
Greg nodded, cringing inside at Thora’s bold suggestion of Jax’s sexual favors. “He’s still doing that clothing line?”
“And like twelve other things,” Jax said. “Busy, charming, studly. Somehow still answers my texts.”
Thora shook her head and laughed. “Dré’s the lucky one.”
Jax glanced at Greg. “If he’s there, I’ll make sure you two hang out. You can bond over being the responsible adults in our foursome.”
“That’d be good,” Greg said.
Thora studied him for a moment. “You said ‘maybe,’ but you work every weekend.”
“That’s not true,” Greg said.
She stared.
He sighed. “Well, kind of true.”
“Greg’s the guy who schedules fun three weeks out.”
Thora reached over and touched his wrist. “Take a break. The spreadsheets will always be there.”
Greg looked at Jax. “You promise it won’t be terrible?”
Jax smiled. “I promise it will be loud, confusing, and full of people dressed as things you don’t recognize.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“You’ll still have fun,” she added. “Watching us.”
Thora nodded. “And we’ll protect you.”
He leaned back in his chair. The idea of a con bugged the shit out of him. All those people. “How big is this con?”
Jax said, “How big?”
Thora said, “Greg hates crowds. Don’t give him a number.”
Jax pretended like she would reveal the attendance number and Thora reached over and tried to pinch her lips closed. Jax batted at her and pulled away.
Greg said, “It’s like fifty thousand, isn’t it?”
Thora thumbed in his direction. “You believe this guy? Been with me like a year and he’s never seen me in my glory.”
“I see you.”
“Yeah, here in our house. But not with the crowds.”
He sneered and grumbled. Pinched his nose. Shook his head. “Maybe,” he said.
A memory shimmered its presence unbidden. His toes curled inside his slippers. Thora in that damn Aelara Veyne costume—black leather molded to her thighs, the corset laced so tight her waist looked like it could snap in a strong wind. The photoshoot had been for some indie comic, one with a cult following and a barely break-even bank statement. But Thora? She’d made their booth look like a million dollar business. He’d scrolled through the images on his phone at work, one hand under his desk, the other swiping through shot after shot. The way the light painted on her muscle. The way her lips parted just enough to suggest she was about to say something filthy and authoritarian. The way her fingers curled around the hilt of that ridiculous oversized prop sword like she knew exactly how to wield it. This was back when they’d first started dating and they’d only had sex a few times. He’d jerked off under his desk looking at Thora’s gloved hand on that sword handle, imagining it like it was a big, fat dick. He’d come so hard his vision blurred and he’d had to write off the rest of the afternoon.
And the craziest part? He had her now. All the time. In his bed. In his shower. Pressed against the kitchen counter if the mood struck her. But those photos—those performances—they did something to him. The idea of her standing on a convention stage, surrounded by a crowd of wide-eyed fans, their eyes washing over every inch of her. Especially the bare bits. The way they’d whisper, the way they’d want, the way they’d never have. It shouldn’t turn him on but boy did it ever.
The memory and the consideration of it tightened his gut. He glanced at Thora, now laughing at something Jax said, her head thrown back, long throat exposed. She was beautiful like this—casual, unguarded. But in costume? In character? Her sexuality was dangerous.
The thought of all those strangers seeing Thora that way, of her knowing they were seeing her that way—it made his pulse kick up.
Maybe that was reason enough to go sometime. But fuck he hated crowds.
#
Greg stacked the dirty dishes by the sink. Water splashed over grease-streaked ceramic, and he slipped into his meditative dishwashing rhythm, rinsing then arranging them in the washer racks.
Outside, Thora and Jax lingered at the patio table. Snatches of their chatter drifted his way—chatter of brands, pigments, material textures.
Greg caught the familiar lilt in Thora’s voice, the excitement that always crept in when she discussed her craft. It was the same tone she used when she spoke of expanding her repertoire: edgy shoots, borderline avant-garde. The kind that set trends rather than followed them. He could picture her eyes lighting up, hands animatedly painting ideas in the air.
As he placed the last plate, he heard Jax's raunchy laugh, a cackle that had a way of cutting through hubbub or distance or both. They entered the kitchen, still caught up in their conversation.
Thora was saying, "I bet I can make it happen."
Whatever they were talking about, Jax grimaced, like whatever it was it was distasteful.
Greg asked, "Make what happen?"
“Muscle,” Thora said, voice firm but casual, as if she’d been pondering it for a while. “I’m going to add more calories to my diet, bulk up a litte bit.”
Jax glanced over, grinning as she propped a hip against the counter. “Your shoulders are already your hottest feature.”
Greg, wiped down the counter, caught Jax in the reflection of the chrome tap. Both girls were laughing, and Jax patted Thora's large, round shoulder.
Greg turned, caught Jax tracing fingers over the curve of Thora’s shoulder. “Seriously, they’re amazing.”
Thora flexed, bringing a fist up to her breasts, making her bicep bulge and her shoulder muscles pop. “I’m aiming for more size in the middle delt.” She rolled up the sleeve of her top, bunching fabric at her shoulder. She flexed again, the muscles in her round shoulder tightening into a striated ball. Jax’s fingers trailed over the shoulder and the swell of her bicep, pressing in just enough to test the firmness.
“Damn,” Jax murmured. “I wish I could get like this.”
Thora smirked, flexing again, this time a double bicep pose. She said, “You've seen me putting in the work.”
Greg’s grip tightened on the dish towel. The way Jax’s fingers lingered, the way Thora leaned into the touch—it wasn’t just admiration. It was something closer. Weirder. Something that made his pulse race.
"I can't eat enough to look this good," Jax said, her delicate thumb tracing the plump vein running down Thora’s bicep and into her forearm. “You’re gonna be unstoppable.”
Thora laughed, low and throaty, and turned her arm, fist down at her thigh to show off the tricep. “That’s the plan.”
The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. He should look away but he didn’t want to. He'd never seen Jax touch Thora this way before.
Jax’s fingers slid down to Thora’s wrist, turning her hand palm-up and loosening the fist. She traced the lines of her palm, her touch light, almost teasing. “You ever think about competing?”
"Bodybuilding?" Thora shook her head. “Nah. I like the creative side too much. The costumes, the drama. The way the people react when they see me as someone they love come to life just like they imagined.”
Jax hummed, her fingers still moving, still exploring Thora's arm. “Shame. I bet you’d kill it.”
Greg’s throat went dry. The way Jax looked at Thora—like she was some goddess to be admired, something to be touched—sent a lightning bolt through him. His body reacted, a tense cable tightening low in his gut. He turned away, busying himself with the last of the cleanup. His cock hardened, stretching upright and staining against the front of his pants.
Thora tugged her sleeve back down, the fabric settling over her impressive shoulder. “All this work,” she said, flexing her tricep one last time, “and my guy's too busy to come to a show.”
Greg leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, hiding his crotch from their eyesight. “The shows are for the dorks. I’ve got the real thing right here at home.”
Thora tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You're going to come, Greggy, and you're going to see me in my glory.”
“Glory’s overrated,” he shot back, matching her tone. “I prefer the behind-the-scenes.”
Jax rolled her eyes. “Smooth.”
Thora’s drummed her fingertips on the edge of the counter, pink nails clicking against the granite. “Maybe if I delivered you a gift you’ve asked for…”
Greg screwed his face up, not getting what she meant. “I haven’t asked for any gifts.”
Thora’s smirk deepened. “I know what you want, though.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
Thora didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze flicked to Jax, lingering just a second too long. Something between them shifted, charged with something unspoken. They both smirked.
His mind raced—them, together, now—the image flashing behind his eyes before he could stop it. Thora’s mouth on Jax’s, hands sliding under fabric, the slow reveal of skin he’d only glimpsed earlier. More that Jax's tits. A full-on porno played behind his eyes in lurid pink and rapid speed, Thorah stripping Jax's bottoms off and then running her tongue… He pressed his hard cock against the cabinetry.
Jax caught his gaze and held it, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled, slow and knowing, like she’d just heard every thought in his head. She said, “We’re not going to make out, Greg. Don’t be gross.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Jax looked at Thora. “We’re not making out, are we?”
Thora out of costumeComments
Bill F Protagoras
"He kept his back to the pool, enjoying their laughter and inane conjecture on media’s modern shibboleths."... And I dursn't speculate on what this might tell us about the 'boy' and the 'girls' impinging upon him! Lucky bastud!
Bill F Protagoras
"Greg flipped the breasts. The grill hissed. Chicken—plain, unseasoned. Sweet potato fries tossed in olive oil. The way the girls liked them." For some reason I didn't want to start my comments on this offering with what might be seen as a premature aesthetic ejaculation. These sentences almost embody what a Freudian slip is NOT by the domestication of eroticism through narrative description. The awareness of internalised feelings expressed with sly display... not unconscious in the slightest... Maybe now the haunting threnody will stop pestering me...
Bill F Protagoras
"Greg flipped the breasts. The grill hissed. Chicken—plain, unseasoned. Sweet potato fries tossed in olive oil. The way the girls liked them."
Bill F Protagoras
Plus the complimentary visual... It's much more than your stuff that you both show 'and' know, KT... You grace us with the eloquence of your imagination!
Bill F Protagoras
An animated verbal fest of imagery haunted by two flexible female real life protagonists slumming from 'Arcane'... not so much escaping from the screen as mingling with their humbled subpar audience.
KT Morrison
Hahaha
Bill F Protagoras
"His neighbors should have some idea of what he was up to, shouldn’t they? They must be curios." So are his neighbours unusual objects or unrequited nosey buggers... I'm curious to know.
