Cuckolded - My Wife on the Oil Rig
By Victoria Wessex
Three weeks on an oil rig, and she’d be the only woman on board. I wasn’t worried at all: my wife was completely faithful. In fact, I even encouraged her to tease the oil workers while I watched via webcam.
Then things went horribly wrong. The head of the rig hacked my laptop and, pretending to be me, encouraged my wife to go further and further with him and his buddies. Thousands of miles away, all I could do was watch in horror as they took her again and again….
Each time I release a story, I price it at $0.99 for the first 24 hours on both Amazon and Barnes & Noble. My mailing list subscribers get an email so they can snap it up cheap before the price goes up. To get on the list, sign up here: (you must be over 18). There’s no spam, just one mail per story.
http://list.victoriawessex.com
Also by Victoria Wessex on Kindle
Cuckolded - Watching My Wife
Cuckolded 2 - My Best Friend’s Wife
Cuckolded in College
Cuckolded By My Boss
Cuckolded By My Boss 2
Cuckolded By My Boss 3
Cuckolded By My Boss 4
Blurbs and free extract at the end of this book!
Can’t find a story? http://victoriawessex.com
Cuckolded - My Wife on the Oil Rig
“Honey,” I said, “stop looking at the pool cleaner.”
Heather jerked her head round, away from Rick’s broad back and iron biceps. “I wasn’t!”
We both smiled because it was sort of a joke. Except it sort of wasn’t. Seven years into our marriage and I loved her even more than when we’d started dating...but I’d noticed her eyes wandering more, lately. The guy who cleaned the pool. The construction workers downtown. Even a couple of fire-fighters, when the bakery down on Jefferson had caught fire and we’d stood in the crowd, watching. Always big, muscled men—not too much in the brain department, maybe, but with an attitude and a swagger and a sheen of sweat from honest, hard work.
“You were,” I told her, my tone teasing.
I saw her redden just a little and she tossed her long, mahogany hair back over her shoulder. She wore it in soft ringlets, and the smell and softness of it never failed to turn me on. With her soft skin and hourglass figure, Heather was supremely feminine, if that makes any sense. At a shade over 5’5”, she had to look up at most guys, too, which only added to the effect.
She was the least likely geologist you’ll find. Put a hard hat on her and it looked like she was in costume. But she’d already proven she had the skills to go up against the big boys, landing contract after contract with the oil companies.
“Okay...” Heather turned to look out of the window again, staring at Rick. “Maybe just a little.” Then she turned to me, serious. “But you know I’d never do more than look, right?”
Something dark rippled through me. It wasn’t that I was worried she’d cheat on me—almost the opposite. The reason I teased her about looking at other men was....I liked it when she did.
I mean, I didn’t want to share my wife with anyone. No way. At least, I was pretty sure I didn’t. But the idea of her sneaking Rick into the house while I was away, his brutish, tanned body rutting into hers on the couch...I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the whisper of sensation down the length of my cock as it prepared to stiffen....
I pushed the thought away. It was just a fantasy, nothing more. Just idle speculation, normal after seven years of marriage and three years together before that. It didn’t mean anything.
“I know,” I told her. I leaned across the table and kissed her, slow and unhurried, relishing the softness of her lips. I’d always loved her mouth, her lips so full, like satin pillows. And when she closed her eyes to kiss me, her long lashes made her look dreamily seductive, without her even trying. We were having breakfast, still in our robes, but even without make-up she was gorgeous.
I was pouring juice when Heather looked up from her tablet with huge, shocked eyes.
“What?” I asked, worried.
“It’s a job,” she told me.
I blinked. “That’s a good thing, surely?” As a freelance geologist, she worked short term contracts around the world, often at very short notice. Venezuela one month, Russia the next. It had been a month since the last one and, even though it was good to be home for a while, it was about time for another. Our mortgage payments were eye-watering and her job paid a lot better than mine.
“It’s on an oil rig,” she told me. “Three weeks.” She bit her lip. “And you can’t come with me.”
That threw me. Back in the early days, she’d taken plenty of trips on her own. But now, as an established and respected specialist, the people who hired her were happy to pay for an extra plane ticket for me. They wanted to keep her happy and, since we shared a bed, the accommodation didn’t cost any more. Given the millions they had riding on their oil and mineral claims, an extra plane ticket didn’t even register with them, and if it kept their favorite geologist happy.... Fortunately, my work as a comic book illustrator meant I could work from anywhere in the world with an internet connection, and I’d got used to the nomadic lifestyle.
But apparently, it wouldn’t be happening in this case. “Why not?”
Heather was re-reading the email. “It’s to do with the insurance. Normally, you’re in worker accommodation and that’s fine, but on the rig you’d be right up close to the action and their underwriter won’t cover spouses or children.” She hesitated for a second. “I’ll tell them ‘No’.”
I considered for a moment. “It’s only three weeks. We could handle it. We used to do it all the time.”
She looked at me doubtfully. “But now? Just when we were planning to...?”
We gazed at each other. We’d finally made the commitment to start a family a few months ago, and Heather had come off the pill. We’d been going to start trying that week. “I know. But there’s no big hurry. We can carry on when you get back. As soon as you get back!” I smirked. “Hell, we might not even make it out of the arrivals lounge!”
She still looked worried.
“We managed before,” I told her in a reassuring tone. “We can manage again.”
Heather bit her lip uncertainly, but nodded. God, she was beautiful. Her robe had slid open just enough to reveal a tantalizing “V” of flesh, the sides of her breasts perfectly displayed to me. I almost thought about dragging her back to bed, but....
But the truth was, our sex life wasn’t great.
I knew it was me who was the problem. Heather had always been more willing to experiment, more open to kinky ideas. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to try things, but I never had the courage to suggest them, or to follow through with them if she came up with something. Once, about a year ago, when we’d both had too much wine, she very delicately floated the idea of introducing another man—just as a one-off, for one night. I went quiet, because even though part of me reeled in horror at the idea of her sleeping with someone else, I felt hot arousal slamming up from deep inside me. The idea of watching her while some other guy enjoyed her was a turn-on, and that in itself shocked the hell out of me. So I went quiet, and she immediately backpedalled, thinking I was aghast, and had never raised it since.
“Reply to them,” I suggested, trying to tear my eyes away from that slice of cleavage. “Find out what the deal is. That can’t hurt, right?”
***
The deal turned out to be very good indeed. Apparently the company was having all sorts of problems with rock strata of a type it hadn’t seen before, and needed an expert opinion on a daily basis as they drilled deeper and deeper. Heather wou
ld need to spend three weeks on the rig, way out off the shore of Texas, thousands of miles from our home. It would be painful, not seeing each other for that long, but they were willing to pay more than the last job had paid for three months. We couldn’t realistically say no.
Lance Grames, the head of operations on the rig, did a video call with Heather before she took the job. I was surprised by how young he was—maybe a year younger than me, so about five years older than Heather, his brown hair just a shade lighter than hers and his eyes a twinkling dark green. He’d picked up a tan from working out on the rigs for years, and as I glanced over Heather’s shoulder I noticed how solidly built he was. No doubt Heather noticed it, as well.
“And you must be Glen,” Lance said when he saw me. “Hi, Glen!” He smiled and waved, and I waved back. He seemed friendly enough, but something about him reminded me of someone and I couldn’t think who it was. I retreated off to the side, out of view of the laptop’s camera.
The interview went well. Heather and Lance seemed to get on really well—she certainly laughed at a lot of his jokes, throwing back her head and tossing her long hair. She looked good—she was in full make-up for the interview, and she’d put on a skirt and blouse that was perfectly respectable...except she’d undone maybe one button more than she normally would, giving just a hint of sex alongside the business. She was using her feminine charms, I realized, knowing that no man is immune to a little bit of cleavage.
Lance asked plenty of sensible questions about Heather’s experience and the conditions she was happy to work under. He warned her that she’d have to live with the crew, eating and relaxing with them, although of course she’d have her own room.
It was obvious from about five minutes in that Heather was going to get the job, yet Lance kept talking, chatting away about her circumstances, her plans for the future—even, in a roundabout way, about me.
“We met in college,” she told Lance proudly. “He was my first real love.”
“College sweethearts, huh?” Lance asked. “Cute.” As before, it sounded friendly, and yet something about the way he said it made me uncomfortable.
“There are no phone lines on the rig,” he warned us. “Well, one, but that’s hardwired to a monitoring station on-shore for emergencies. And no cell reception, out there. We do have internet access, via our company servers. He gazed at Heather. “I feel bad about splitting the two of you up,” he said. “I’ll see if I can get our tech guys to lend you a company laptop for the duration, so Glen can video chat with you.”
I leaned into the camera’s view. “We already have a laptop,” I told him.
He shook his head. “All our computers are locked down tight. Company policy. The only access is through our network, and to access that you need one of our laptops. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get one.”
And that was that. Lance confirmed that Heather had the job, and as soon as he hung up, she ran over and hugged me. She’d be flying out in a few days’ time—that was how urgently they needed her.
I kissed my wife long and hard. The money would come in very useful, I completely trusted her away from home and while she was away I’d get ahead on my own work, turning in lots of comic book pages and freeing up some time in the future for a vacation. When she came back, we could go away somewhere together.
Everything was going to be great. So why did I have a gnawing sense of dread, down in the pit of my stomach?
Late that night, just as I was on the edge of sleep, I finally worked out who Lance reminded me of. It wasn’t a particular person—that’s why it had taken so long to figure it out. He was a composite of the jocks, in high school. Big and brawny and, if they saw the wimpy kid had something they wanted, they’d just snatch it right off of him.
I fell into a troubled sleep.
***
I wanted to drive Heather to the airport, but annoyingly the oil company had told us that the company laptop would be delivered that morning.
“The delivery guy will leave a card,” I told her. “Let me drive you.”
She shook her head. “It could be days before they can redeliver, and you want to be able to talk to me as soon as I’m there, right? I’ll get a cab.”
She insisted it wasn’t a problem and we shared a long, passionate kiss before she went. But when she’d gone, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d missed some important moment. Anyone else flying away for that long would be seen off by their spouse at the airport. It felt wrong.
***
I traced Heather’s progress through text messages as she flew across the country. The final few hours by helicopter, though, were silent—she was on a helicopter, far out of cell coverage. The laptop arrived and I set it up in our living room. It was top of the range, far better than the one we’d been using, and as Lance had said it was set up to connect directly into the company’s network—and from there, I’d be able to connect to the rig.
It shouldn’t have felt weird—a computer is a computer, right? But the way they’d set it up made it feel as if Heather was in one world and I was in another, with the laptop the only slender thread connecting them. If the laptop broke, I wouldn’t even be able to send her an email.
***
Hours later, as I was watching TV to try to get my mind off the feeling that something awful had happened to her, the laptop chimed softly. Heather was requesting a video call with me. I leapt across the room and hit “Accept.”
When Heather’s face filled the screen, I let out a huge breath of relief. She’d seemed so far away all day, and suddenly she was right there, smiling shyly on the screen. Everything was going to be okay.
“Everything’s fine,” she told me. “I’m exhausted, but I’m here.”
“You look great,” I said. And I meant it. She’d swapped her suit for a pair of tight blue jeans and a sweatshirt, and the soft gray fabric hugged every curve of her upper body. I thought about how it would feel to smooth my hand over her hip, feeling the warmth of her through the denim. I wished that we’d made love that morning, before she left. Jesus, it’s going to be weeks!
I also noticed how good the camera on her end was. The image wasn’t murky and pixelated—it was clean and bright, and I could see every detail of her and the sparsely-furnished cabin behind her. The equipment really was top of the range.
“The crew seem fine,” she told me. “Good bunch of guys.” She looked away from the screen. “A little.....”
She didn’t finish, so I prodded. “A little what?”
“Oh, you know. They seem a little…hungry.”
I leaned closer to the screen. “What did they say?”
She shook her head urgently. “Nothing! It was just the way they looked at me, when I stepped off the helicopter. Like they hadn’t seen a woman in months.” She laughed. “I guess they haven’t.”
I turned that over in my head. “Are you the only woman on board?”
She nodded.
I don’t know why that surprised me. I knew that there weren’t many female oil workers, out on the rigs, but not many isn’t the same as none. “And there are how many men?”
“Fourteen.” She smirked. “They’re saying I’m the mascot. Or the cheerleader.”
Cheerleader. That idea swam back into my mind again, about Lance and the other riggers being the jocks, and me the geek.
Stupid. This wasn’t high school.
I focused on Heather and realized there was something I’d missed before, in my eagerness to see her again—a trace of sadness in her eyes. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
I may not have the biggest muscles, or the fattest pay packet, but I’ve always been good at one thing. I’ve always been sensitive, able to tell what people are feeling, much better than most men. Especially with Heather. That’s one of the reasons we got together, that I really understood what was going on in her head—better, she said, than she herself did, sometimes. I tilted my head a little to one side. “Heather...”<
br />
“It’s nothing” she said quickly. “I’m fine. Anyway, I need to be going. I just wanted to let you know I was here safe. I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded reluctantly and, with a kiss blown at the camera, she was gone.
An hour later, I got an instant message from her: I’m okay. Just got teary at airport and wished U had been there.
My jaw tightened. I knew I should have driven her. Lance and his damned laptop delivery...but I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he’d timed it that way deliberately.
***
It was the evening of the next day before I got to speak to Heather again. She seemed happier, this time, talking enthusiastically about the work. She’d been for a jog around the rig, both to get a feel for the place and for the exercise. “It’s the only workout I’ll get while I’m here,” she told me, “so I figured I should get into the habit.”
“What do the others do?” I asked.
“There’s a weights room—you know what guys are like. With them, it’s all about the muscles.”
And she blushed. I wondered what the guys who worked on the rig were like. Young, probably—closer to her age than I was. No doubt they were strong, hauling all that drilling equipment around. Had she been looking at them?
“Are you getting to know them?” I asked, trying to come at the subject in a roundabout way.
“Oh, you know...a little. I mean, I eat meals with them and stuff. And they do movie nights, so I guess I’ll see them there. They seem nice.”
I remembered what she’d said earlier. “Not too...hungry?”
She flushed again. “I got a few looks, when I was jogging.” She looked down at herself.
For the first time, I really focused on what she was wearing. A sports crop-top, with some sort of sports bra showing underneath. It stopped everything jiggling, but the scoop neck left a generous portion of cleavage on display, still gleaming with sweat. Her midriff was bare—soft skin, toned muscle and the dark little hollow of her navel. Black running shorts hugged her thighs like a second skin and I knew they must be just as tight on her ass. How many of the men had stopped their work to watch her approach, their eyes on those ripe, perfect breasts? How many had turned to watch her go, their gaze locked on the smooth curves of her ass?
Cuckolded- My Wife on the Oil Rig Page 1