NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain-Chapter 72: A Cuck In Making!

Lui blinked rapidly, rubbed his eyes, and even slapped his own cheek for good measure. Surely, he had to be seeing things. Surely, the scene in front of him couldn’t be real.

But no, nothing changed. The woman on her knees, completely naked and diligently worshipping a cock the size of a horse’s, still had his wife’s fucking face.

His wife.

The same woman who barely managed a grunt of approval when he brought her flowers, let alone displayed any enthusiasm for… anything in the bedroom.

The same woman who’d once lectured him for fifteen minutes about the "sinful decadence" of even eyeing another woman in the street.

And now here she was, cheeks flushed, eyes shimmering with lust, sloppily deepthroating this monstrosity of a cock like it was the last meal she’d ever have.

Drool spilled from her lips in rivers, dripping down her chin, her hands, and onto the floor below. She wasn’t just doing it—she was enjoying it. No, scratch that—she was revering it like some devout worshipper at a holy altar.

"This... this isn’t real," Lui muttered to himself, shaking his head so hard it was a miracle it didn’t fly off.

’She’s my wife. My low-libido, prudish, ’look away from shirtless men in town’ wife. She wouldn’t even touch me unless it was my birthday! This is a hallucination. I’ve gone insane. That’s it. I’ve finally lost my fucking mind!’

But the scene remained unchanged, the wet sounds of her "dedication" filling the room as Artis tilted his head back and let out a satisfied groan.

"What is it, Dad? Who do you see? Judging by that face, it’s gotta be someone real close. So, who is it?"

Artis tilted his head, his voice dripping with concern, though his smirk betrayed something more mischievous.

"Th-th-that’s... no one. Yes, no one."

Lui stammered, his voice cracking like a rusty hinge.

No fucking way was he about to admit what he saw. How does one casually drop "Oh, hey, I just walked in on my wife choking on your cock like it’s her life’s calling" into conversation?

Even Lui, in his current state of utter patheticness, had a shred of shame left. But damn it, his eyes betrayed him. They stayed glued to the spectacle like a horny moth drawn to the flame of pure chaos.

It wasn’t just the act—it was her. The passion, the vigor, the absolute unholy enthusiasm she poured into it. It was like watching a forbidden art form unfold, messy yet hypnotic.

Lui couldn’t remember the last time she looked remotely that enthusiastic about anything, let alone in their bed.

Still, he couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to. It wasn’t jealousy—no, that would require enough self-respect to think he still had a claim on her.

It was... fascination. Morbid, painful, and deeply humiliating fascination.

"Well, if you see no one, then I guess you’re perfectly fine, Dad. Clearly, you don’t need my help. So off you go—I have to, uh, wrap up here."

Artis said, the smirk in his voice sharper than a blade.

"N-n-no, no! Wait, son... I-I-I need your help!"

Lui blurted, his desperation cutting through his already shattered dignity.

"But, Dad," Artis said, cocking an eyebrow, "didn’t you just say there’s no one there? No one you recognize? No help needed?"

"I-I did! I did say that, but...it’s...it’s..."

Lui’s eyes betrayed him again, drifting southward despite his brain screaming, Don’t fucking do it, you idiot! And, oh boy, did he regret it.

The woman kneeling between Artis’s thighs paused mid-motion, her head tilting ever so slightly as she shot him a side-eye that could’ve melted steel.

Then, without missing a beat, she went right back to work, her enthusiasm somehow even more unsettling now that she knew she had an audience.

"It’s just what, Dad? Hmm?"

Artis’s smirk turned downright predatory as he leaned forward, his massive hand resting on the woman’s head.

"Who do you see, huh? Is it Nadia? Grandma Ronali? Oh, wait—could it be...mommy?"

And then, with the casual cruelty of a cat toying with a mouse, he turned the woman’s head toward Lui. The room froze. Lui’s heart stopped. And there she was—Juliana.

Her flushed face, her disheveled hair, her lips shiny and betraying exactly what she’d been doing. She looked at Lui with a raised brow, her expression almost saying, Oh, honey, didn’t expect to see you here.

"I-it’s...it’s...I-it’s..."

Lui’s brain was short-circuiting, his mouth working overtime to produce a coherent sentence but only managing to churn out a symphony of stammers.

Artis, the bastard, wasn’t going to let him off easy. With a casual smirk, he turned sideways, giving Lui a panoramic view of the chaos.

The woman, now fully visible, knelt there like a devoted worshipper at the altar of depravity. And there it was—a nine-inch monstrosity, thick and veiny, resting regally against her flushed face.

It was so long it practically cast a shadow over her.

Artis, as if demonstrating a new skill, gave her a few playful slaps on the cheek with it. The obscene smack-smack echoed through the room like a drumroll of disgrace, each one making Lui’s soul shrivel a little more.

Then, with the nonchalance of a man buttering toast, Artis slapped her cheek one more time, and her mouth obediently opened wide like a door to hell.

And in it went—all of it. Lui watched, horrified and mesmerized, as the woman’s throat expanded to accommodate the entire nine inches. It was like watching a python swallow a whole watermelon. Her neck visibly bulged, and not once did she gag or pull away.

How was this possible? How could someone deepthroat something that size? Lui’s jaw hung open, his mind racing with unbidden comparisons.

His wife had always been staunchly against anything entering her mouth—she treated it like a temple of purity.

Yet here she was, taking this behemoth like it was her life’s calling, like she’d been training for this moment her entire existence.

Lui didn’t know whether to cry, faint, or applaud.

"Who is it, Dad?"

"I-it’s...it’s..."

Lui stammered, his face an inferno of shame and regret, though his body was betraying him in the most damning way possible.

"Who is it?"

"Jul... It’s... Juliana..."

Lui finally muttered, his voice barely audible, as if saying it any louder might make him spontaneously combust.

"Oh?"

Artis raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin so smug it could’ve powered an entire city.

"Man, you’re seeing your own wife on her knees, slurping on her step son, and you’re pitching a tent? Are you a secret cuck, Dad?"

"What?! No!"

Lui yelped, his hands shooting down to cover his "shame," as if shielding it might somehow erase the evidence.

"Really? Your hands say otherwise. Look at you—harder than math class, and I didn’t even see you sneak a touch. Face it, Dad, you’re a secret cuck, aren’t you?"

"I’m not!"

Lui’s voice cracked like a prepubescent teen caught stealing a dirty magazine.

"Really? Then what if I do this?"

Artis didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Juliana by the arm, pulling her upright with ease. With a fluid motion, he turned her toward Lui and bent her slightly forward, pinning her arms behind her back in one hand like she was some prized offering.

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Her breasts, untamed and unapologetically defying physics, swung with every movement like they were performing their own sultry dance.

Her face? Pure, unadulterated depravity. Eyes half-lidded and brimming with lust, tongue lolling out like a dog begging for a treat, saliva dribbled down her chin in a way that screamed absolute filth.

"Look at this," Artis teased, his tone dripping with mockery as he tilted her just enough for the full display. "Your wife, looking like this. And you’re telling me you’re not into it? Sure, Dad. Real convincing."

"H-husband... f-forgive me... ah~"

Juliana moaned, her voice dripping with fake guilt that could’ve won her an award in the ’Shameless Housewives’ category.

Her lust-filled eyes locked onto Lui’s pathetic, quivering form, and any trace of fear she might have had when he first entered the room had evaporated like cheap wine left in the sun.

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Artis was behind her, his towering presence a reminder that Lui wasn’t even in the running for "man of the house" anymore. That title had been revoked ages ago, and let’s be real—Lui wasn’t exactly fighting to get it back.

And to top it off, this house? Built by Artis. Funded by his connections with the young master. Lui didn’t even have the deed to his own life at this point, let alone the property.

If he wanted to stomp his feet and make a scene, he could march right out the front door and into obscurity. Good riddance.

Juliana’s mind swirled with the possibilities as her lips curled into a wicked grin. The words "cuck" and "secret fetish" echoed in her head like a catchy tune.

Did her husband actually get off on watching her like this? The idea was so absurdly enticing that she couldn’t resist leaning into it.