Cuckolding for Beginners

by J D Stones

  "He was being well submissive in the kitchen," Christina teased. "I think you have a good one there."

  "Well … all that chatter. What makes you think that I fantasise about all that, and want to do all what you demand and …"

  "Alas, men," she taunted. "Such obvious indications when they find something attractive. We get a little rise out of you." I blushed. "And I do mean little! Very, very little."

  "Yes, OK," I snapped.

  "Peter, dearest," she patronised. "All my whisperings of submission made you horny. The pillaging of your arse, the worshipping of your cuckold status, the service of other men and women and the boundless amounts of pain. It made you hard."

  Erin giggled. "Did it?"

  "Totally. I didn't know for certain when we started. I sure hoped, because most of the men I get to play with are alpha-males, wanting to satisfy my lust with a firm fuck, and that's good. True submissive men like Bryn come along very rarely. Until now."

  "I'm not like Bryn."

  Christina smiled. "More than you imagine," she replied knowingly. "Far more than you think."

  As I was about to find out.

  Chapter VI

  The cat's away

  I knew Christina must have discussed the implications of that night with my wife: the mannerisms and behaviour of Erin changed slightly and every moment we were with each other felt like it was being savoured and enjoyed far more: reassuring touches on my knee, sexual kisses on my lips and loving cuddles in bed.

  Nothing too much happened for a couple of days; we went away for the weekend to visit my family. We missed Christina's and Bryn's wild party, and I doubt we would have been comfortable going anyway. The salacious escapades and revelations of that previous night, though always conscious in our thoughts, were no longer centre-stage as we spent time socialising with relatives.

  "Christina wants me to fuck one of her friends," Erin announced as we watched television the following week. Casually dropped into the conversation; as if it was a normal, everyday thing for couples to discuss.

  "Oh right."

  "Tomorrow." My heart skipped and my eyes met hers instantly. "What do you think of that?"

  "It's … it's … wow! All very quick."

  "That's Christina. I'll do whatever you say, love."

  Whatever I said? Sure, I wanted my wife to be happy but in our kink discovery, it was all very sudden. Was I ready to know that my wife was being unfaithful? I wasn't the naïve teenager with Holly any more but it was a big step for me, for Erin and for our relationship.

  But as I looked into her deceptively angelic eyes, I knew I wanted her to. I wanted her to feel the firm hands of another man gripping her hips and thrusting his manhood deep into her cleft. I wanted her to experience the beautiful pounding of her cunt to leave her writhing in delightful ecstasy. I wanted her to spread her wings.

  There are implications to every decision we make, but as my mind whirred through the permeations, I became more certain. Certain that for us to continue to savour what love we have, I needed to allow her to experiment. To set the caged bird free knowing that it will return to me when she's ready.

  Christina and Bryn had opened my eyes; every day they worked hard at their relationship because they had to. Every moment their connection grew stronger because of the freedoms Christina enjoyed.

  And to make this new agreement work, we both had to realise that we needed to invest in our relationship like never before: communication had to be impeccable, the love complete and our trust in each other unwavering.

  Which was missing from Holly and myself a dozen years previous: the trust. As she rode her other partners to riotous climaxes and kept her sex life from me, the trust was eroded. The connection between us sullied by the lack of honesty.

  I would not make that mistake again. I smiled, her fingers trembled as she parted my dressing gown, sliding her hand along my thigh and onto the base of my cock. "I'll be begging for it," she whispered. "As another man takes his dick and plunges into me. How does that make you feel?"

  My cock swelled in her hand, answering her question. "Ummm … good, I think."

  "And he'll pound me, bringing me to orgasm until I can take no more. Your wife. He'll be fucking your wife. How does that make you feel?"

  Her fingers tapped lightly on my shaft, watching as I felt several tingles dance the length of my cock. "Fine."

  "Bryn sometimes helps fluff," Erin whispered. "Getting down on his knees to caress and kiss, to touch and arouse the man about to screw his wife."

  My cock stiffened and Erin smiled. It was an arousing thought; deeply submissive as the cuckold prepares his wife's new partner for the act. For his act of humiliation and their act of dominance.

  "Quite the little pervert aren't we?" She teased. "I must say, the thought of you playing with other men is so very sexy. I could watch that all day." Her eyes teased, her fingers sliding over my cock as I winced.

  "Ummm … well I'm not sure …"

  She gripped the firm cock in her hands. "Honey, this tells me more than words ever can!"

  There was far more negotiation than that exchange; we discussed our new boundaries long into the night. As I said, communication was paramount and we needed to discuss what Erin could and couldn't do.

  Ultimately, she promised to use protection at all times, and to be open about her dalliances. She didn't even know if she'd enjoy sleeping with other guys, but we needed some ground rules as we opened up our relationship.

  In return, I promised to discuss any concerns with her and not to let them "stew" or "fester." Furthermore, I wasn't allowed to fuck another woman at all without her permission.

  In truth, although I rarely mention it, we communicated lots and often since that day. I was never in any doubt what she had done with other men, what she wanted to do and how she felt. She always knew my feelings, my fears and my fantasies. We could never have worked any other way.

  Our submissive-dominant relationship had taken a new turn and that night felt like the first step on a long but exciting journey into the unknown. The first word in a new chapter.

  That morning she laid a pair of bright pink panties on my pillow with a smile; her skirt was worryingly short and she pushed my fingers against her slit with ease. "Your wife is going to be so naughty today!"

  My erect cock strained the feminine underwear; I longed to slip into the wet slit of my lover. Her finger traced the length of the lace and my wife smirked as I whimpered at her teasing. "Later," she cooed. "for me at least. You can wait until whenever I want to give it to you!"

  I wondered if anyone knew what I was thinking; all day I was wondering what my wife was doing, checking my phone at every moment I got.

  I dreamt of a big, brutish hunk sweeping her up and drawing my dainty wife onto his meaty cock, slobbering at the thought of pounding her sweet cunt into a mess of orgasmic heaven. I saw my wife on her knees worshipping the thick beast of a well-built muscular man as his friend drove his cock into her from behind, watched by the ever-lustful eyes of Christina.

  Watching, smirking, masturbating.

  Every touch of another on my wife drew waves of sensual satisfaction from her; her skirt hitched to her waist, her make-up smudged and her blouse torn from her slender body. Her breasts kneaded and fondled like she was some sexual slave, groaning and crying with disgusting horniness.

  And I saw her everywhere: on my desk, in the car, in the lunchtime café. Everywhere. She dominated my thoughts as I imagined a hundred encounters with my lustful Erin and her multitude of unknown partners.

  It never faded. All day I dreamt and imagined it and it only got worse when received a picture message at 3pm from Christina: a hard cock impaling my wife. "Have you soaked your pink panties?" She asked.

  I did. Pre-cum which had leaked all day gushed into the flimsy lace as my thoughts were dominated by the story behind the picture message I had been sent.

  I studied it: the cock wasn't so thick but veiny. It possessed a slick s
heen of sex over the condom as it thrust deeply into my wife on a hotel room bed. Her clothes, discarded; her expression, desperate. And so I looked at every pixel. Desperate to gather more clues, and elicit more detail. Who was he? Where were they? How long were they engaged in sex? Did she come?

  But a snapshot in time of my wife's extra-curricular activities provided nothing but speculation and I didn't dare ring her. I just replied to her.

  "You look amazing. I'm such a lucky husband. Hope you enjoyed yourself."

  "It was incredible," she replied but it wasn't until I got home and kissed the lips of my wife that I got somewhere near the full story.

  Terrence had met my wife and Christina at lunchtime; six feet of muscular student with deep brown eyes that undressed the ladies as they ate lunch.

  I could see the lust in her expression, sinfully recollecting the café-based flirting. His fingers rubbed the top of her short skirt and then explored the beautiful bounty underneath while they sat and drank coffee.

  He wasted little time in curling his fingers against her lust, teasing her horniness into a fevered point and leaving her gasping for sex. She needed it; she had met him to get fucked and the lunchtime sandwiches were an unwanted distraction.

  Christina had the keys to a hotel room a few streets away; Erin suggested that she had not paid for the afternoon booking but had made a benefits-in-kind withdrawal from the hotel manager's testicles.

  The room was small; the student took little time in caressing the desperate woman, rolling his hands over her tight clothes. She rubbed her body against his, both undressing impatiently as Christina watched.

  Waiting and guiding my wife into her craven infidelity.

  Every touch of the student was patience; my wife cried out for impatience. She wanted him. She wanted another's cock and my prick was as erect as it had ever been. My wife was begging and pleading for another dick to fuck her and it made me horny.

  Desperately so.

  I could imagine every touch and every whimper. Every lustful caress. I could see Terrence but I'd never met him. I wanted to feel his burgeoning muscles as the sheen of his skin flexed with every movement. I wanted to run my fingers over his elegant bumps and sweep over his manly body.

  And I wanted to feel his body twist and contort as he laid my wife onto the bed and lined up his cock to plunder the lady that I loved and adored.

  She squealed as his fettered cock slipped into her unguarded hole, groaning as the rugby player rammed his thick meat into her married pussy.

  And her husband was on edge, my cock twinkled with arousal as she recounted her story, smiling as she reminisced the orgasms he had given her and the feverish passion of their union until they climaxed, groaning and crying with spent lust.

  They showered together afterwards, sopping the nubile bodies of the two lovers in the warm drizzle of the small bathroom. It sounded wonderful, and it was no wonder that my wife was already planning her next extra-marital dalliance.

  And unlike Holly, it felt so right. I wasn't threatened by Terrence, any more than Holly's other partners was a real threat to me. But this time I had the sexual maturity and the experience to handle the rampant infidelity of my partner and I loved it.

  Indeed, the following day, my wife mixed business with pleasure. Her ever-naughty mind had seen that a businessman, eager to offer gym membership to his employees, was especially keen on her short skirt, and my loving wife offered herself if he signed up that day.

  Again, she told me in every minute detail: the gentleman's desperate thrusting, groaning and fevered cries of defiance to his ex-wife. His undersized cock and disappointing performance made the sense of humiliation deeper.

  She revelled in the story; my wife had chosen to be with a sexual inadequate and I felt incredible. Her eyes welcomed me warmly; she knew what her confession meant as did I: suddenly she wasn't trying out new sexual partners for the thrill of their prowess but because they were "new."

  Because they weren't her husband, and because it was another notch on her bedpost. She was highlighting that I had lost control of my wife's fidelity; our relationship would be fundamentally different.

  My horniness knew few bounds; my denial was absolute. Erin refused to sate my arousal, teasing me with long, wicked gropes of my crotch and gentle stroking of my shaft as I whimpered desperately.

  I almost cried; she smirked with mischievous glee, but she had a solution.

  Bryn would be coming 'round to visit: I was to be bisexual if I wanted to orgasm. Or at least try it.

  Chapter VII

  Bryn

  Erin tucked the rugrats in bed, and waited for the little ones to fall into an exhausted sleep before getting dressed; she wore a provocatively short skirt with a delightfully low-cut blouse and giggled as my cock strained her panties. "Do you approve?" She asked, pulling her bright red skirt up to her waist to reveal her garter belt and stockings – and nothing else.

  My eyes fixed on her hairless pussy as it fleeted past my gaze, longing for the absence of her skirt to remain as it fluttered to her thigh. My attention was transfixed by the sexual power of my wife and dirtiness of her actions. Her lips curled into a sadistic smirk and her eyes sparkled with devilish mischief.

  "I think you look gorgeous," I stammered, meaning every word of my compliment. Her fingers swept gently over her lacy panties and the prominent bulge in the thin pink material.

  "I can tell," she replied, giggling. "But I think you look gorgeous too!"

  She had never told me where she was going that evening, and I never asked. I trusted my wife, implicitly and explicitly and knew that I would hear every detail in the coming hours.

  She straightened her clothing, blowing me a kiss from her perfectly painted luscious lips, shimmering with a glittery red glaze, as she left our bedroom.

  I remained briefly for a few moments as my beautiful wife sauntered out of my view. Her long, stocking-clad legs striding confidently as I stood naked, except for my slippers and her pink, lacy underwear.

  I had adorned my thick, warm dressing gown by the time I had reached our living room; Christina was impatiently waiting for my wife and dressed in the most provocative outfit I had seen in public: a short, shimmering red latex skirt with black fishnet stockings and a a top that left little to the imagination.

  "A fiver says you pull more guys than me!" Erin teased, but our neighbour scoffed as she hurried my young wife to get her shoes on. They were going to be "late."

  Bryn was slouching on my sofa, sprawled in just a pair of underwear as he watched our wives flustering about the small house with shoes and coats. "You two," Christina barked at us. "Practice your massages." He glanced at a Hessian bag on the floor by her feet.

  Erin cooed. "Oh yes! I'd love you to massage me properly!"

  "Oh, and we'll be back late. Don't wait up!"

  My fellow cuckold nodded deferentially towards his dominant wife leaving the room. We waited for the front door to close sharply and he smiled. I recognised the scheming duplicity behind "that" look.

  I guessed Erin and Christina were up to something, and to this day still believe that. Erin vaguely denied it when I asked, and she had no need to lie. I cared not that she had set me up, but it is clear, even now, how much my life and sexuality was been steered and manipulated by the kinky seductresses.

  She had often alluded to but never explained her sexual past before we had got together and I had no doubt that she had bore witness to past lovers having same-sex relations. I'm sure she was keen to relive those experiences through me, or maybe allow me to explore that side of my sexuality with freedom.

  "Beer?" I asked, to break the ice. He nodded and I returned from the kitchen with two glasses of pale ale.

  He took the cool glass from my hands. "You done much massage before?"

  "Ummm ... sure." It wasn't a total lie; I often ran my warm, oiled hands over the tired skin of my elegant wife. His eyes gestured towards a towel he had spread out over the floor. "Lie down, face
down. Take your clothes off."

  I hesitated; Bryn nodded. I didn't know how to vocalise my objection; he called it "harmless" but there was an inner fear that it was wrong to be so exposed in front of another guy, who would be touching me.

  "I'll get naked too, if it helps!"

  It didn't, but the words of my dominant wife echoed in my ears: she'd "love me to massage her properly" and I relaxed enough to put my beer on the table. I lay face down on the blue towel, without my dressing gown covering my modesty.

  I know Bryn giggled as I positioned myself on the soft cotton; I felt his firm hands pull the pink underwear to my ankles with a gentle nasal tut. My heart was beating furiously fast, my mouth dry as I heard him rustle in his Hessian bag.

  And then I felt the smooth, gliding touch of his hands over my body; Bryn positioned himself over me, his cock flopped onto my lower back. I tensed when I felt it; Bryn soothed the tension, drawing his hands in warm, gliding motions over my skin.

  Indeed, every touch was heaven as his elegant movements pushed the stress from my very pores and muscles. I started to relax, feeling the motions of his body against mine with every push on my slippery flesh with his greasy hands.

  I felt my consciousness drifting; I could barely focus on anything, losing myself in Bryn's fantastic movements as oiled skin glided soothingly over oiled skin. I was barely aware of what he was touching; the kneading of my buttocks, the hands gliding against my thick thighs or the massaging of my agonising shoulders. His hands touched where he wanted to touch, his body pressing against mine.

  I could feel his body heat and it felt reassuring and relaxing. I was being touched by another man and it felt good. And my mind and my conscience didn't care. It felt unbelievably good.

  "My turn," Bryn called as his hands left my buttocks and I groaned. I didn't want to move! The naked man lay alongside me, and he offered guidance. I poured a small stream of oil into the palm of my hand under his direction.

  My first touch was tentative, pushing on his thick muscles as I knelt alongside him.