Cuckolding for Beginners

by J D Stones

  He want me to squat over him, leaning across his body as my cock rested on the small of his back. He purred as my fingers gripped pieces of his skin and swept over them to massage the tiredness from his exhausted body.

  I got braver as I massaged palmfuls of oil into his skin, running my fingers down his flesh to grip his buttocks and cover his globes with a sheen of massage oil.

  I know I wasn't "good" at massage, but the content hum from our neighbour showed I wasn't "bad" and as his skin could absorb no more, he told me to lie on my back.

  "Every massage has a happy end," he said with a wink. I felt all my inhibitions returning, but Bryn had a disarming smile with a reassuring demeanour. I felt at ease, as he poured more oil into his hand and applied his hands to my neck.

  Every gliding touch was a tease. We both knew what he was going to do, we both knew what he wanted to do, but every touch was to evoke and taunt. He rubbed against my nipples, flowing seductively over my stomach and pressing the front of my thighs, each time brushing the top of my erect cock.

  I realised later, that it was my first ever same-sex sexual experience, but at the time I was too lost in the massage to think. My eyes were closed, my mind was in another place as I savoured every greasy touch on my sensitive skin.

  And every glide, grab, flick, knead, grip, slide and rub of my oiled body: Bryn was seductive at working my skin into a desperate lather of intense desperation. I wanted him to grip my cock with his slippery hands and if he wouldn't, I'd freely tug myself to a feverish orgasm.

  He did, when he ran out of my body to saturate in massage oil. My neighbour gripped my cock and slowly slid his hand down my shaft, and his right hand rubbed my balls.

  I opened my eyes to see the filthy smile on his face as I shifted on the towel. He loved the groans and cries, his hard prick prominent in his lap.

  But I adored the feel of his slippery fingers sliding over my cock, jerking me towards my peak. I grunted and groaned, writhing on the towel as my body sparkled with lust. I was hurtling towards the peak, desperately holding onto my orgasm as the point of no return neared and Bryn's movements sped up.

  Fast, furious, satisfying strokes; rubbing against my shaft as I squealed and muttered. Unable to resist the impending orgasm any more, I felt a cool wave of desperation engulf me and I released, squirting cum into the hand of my masseur.

  He rubbed his fingers on the corner of the towel, wiping my cum from his hand as he sat back on his haunches, proud with his handiwork.

  I basked in the relief I felt, unable to move from the overwhelming explosion of sexual relief I had spent.

  It was his turn. And I didn't feel nervous about touching him. I wasn't apprehensive about siding my hands over his slightly overweight body or gripping his thick thighs with ease. Or trying to tease the grunting millionaire, as my fingers slipped tentatively over his cock.

  "Grip it!" He grunted, sighing as he relaxed into the towel. He smiled as my reticence stopped me from grabbing hold of his erect member.

  But I did; it was warm to the touch, delightfully hard and for the first time in my life I felt another man's cock in my fingers. I did the same to him as he did to me, sliding my hand over his shaft to coat his manhood in lubricating oil and filling his mind with a smorgasbord of lustful thoughts.

  I knew he was fantasising as I frigged him; I knew was thinking of other sexual situations because I did when he played with me, but as my hand glided gently over his thick, erect shaft he grunted and squealed.

  He bucked his hips, impatient to meet the movement of my hand with his manhood; so eager to orgasm. I was curious what it would feel like in my hand, rubbing his cock quicker and quicker, he grunted and groaned, squealing as his dick pulsed in my hand and a small wave of cum left the tip and coated my greasy fingers.

  I had, for the first time, made a man come.

  And we both beamed; I felt fantastic.

  But what would Erin say?

  Chapter VIII

  Erin's Night Out

  Bryn and I showered separately and then sat and watched the football, drinking beer until our wives returned home. The panties were returned to our hips, the chatter away from the sinful actions of the hour before. It was almost as if nothing had happened, but my mind was churning it trying desperately to make sense of it all.

  "Peter, you're not gay so stop worrying about it." He wryly snapped as our conversation drifted into silence. He glanced at my pensive ponderings and raised an eyebrow. "The first time I did anything with another guy I wondered it for days. Fucked a prostitute just to prove that I wasn't." His lips curled as he sat back on the sofa. "What a girl; the things she could do with her lips!"

  I shrugged. "I'm not gay!"

  "Of course not. And neither am I. Even though I have more sex with men than women. I'm relaxed about gender; it doesn't matter. I adore cocks and cunts equally, I love Christina." His eyes met mine as his lips sipped the alcoholic beverage in his hand. "You'll get there, and it's fun to play with both sides of the coin. I've done it often enough."

  And that was the beginning of our deep, meaningful chat; two hours talking about sexuality left me more comfortable with what we had done, but no closer to working out where I stood.

  The thing was, I really did want to do it again. I enjoyed the dirtiness of it, the touch on my cock and the feeling of his dick sliding about in my hand. I felt a bond with Bryn, what with us both being male submissives, that I wouldn't have with someone else. But I wasn't gay; but nor could I be straight.

  Bryn called himself bisexual and suggested that I might be heteroflexible; mostly straight with some bisexual leanings. I liked that term and in my naivety smiled at the thought of "heteroflexible." It sounded fashionable and open-minded. Metropolitan, almost.

  My wife returned moments after Bryn had left our house, a shade after midnight. In the discussions about my sexuality, I had completely forgot that my gorgeous partner was being seduced by man or men unknown, and the two women fell through the front door giggling like schoolgirls.

  Christina and Erin burst out laughing when they saw me: still dressed in my wife's panties and looking expectantly towards the dominant women.

  "Such a good little cucky," Christina simpered, smirking with sadistic overtones. "Waiting in his little panties for his hotwife." I gulped, not sure what to say. "Oh, and he's waiting for his wife to tell him how she did. Expectantly waiting for the tales of debauchery. Begging to know. Like a little puppy. Beg! Go on beg!"

  The tipsy Christina was crueller than her sober namesake; she adored the humiliating chatter and obvious embarrassment I felt, yet my manhood betrayed me, standing stiff to salute the sluttily-dressed wives in my living room.

  "Did …"

  "Ahhh," Christina stepped forward to run her fingernail down my body and then grip my cock through the thin fabric. "He wants to know." She turned to my wife. "Can I have your subbie be useful while you tell him?"

  Erin sniggered; Christina pushed me onto my sofa, watching as I tumbled backwards and landed across the soft cushions. I glanced up to see the red dress kneel astride me and a fishnet stocking clad thigh position itself next to my head.

  I watched her bare cunt hover over my face, listened to the giggling in the room, as her soft, luscious cunt positioned itself over my waiting lips.

  She smelt sweet and sapid, the scent of feminine arousal dancing on the senses like a fine wine as the kinky seductress settled over my tongue. I sensed the latex; a rubbery smell of kink, a creaking sound of skin-tight desire as she settled, sending a wave of arousal to my cock.

  "Your wife is a fucking slut," the young lady cried, snorting as my tongue worked along her slit. "That's good," she muttered and groaned as I flicked her clitoris, slippery and deliciously sexy. "She had four men."

  My wife continued the explanation. "The first, love, was a lovely student called Brian. We went to his flat at the Uni and he was getting out of his shower. He had lovely brown eyes and ruffled brown hair. And muscles
, so many muscles. I ran my hands over his naked body and his cock sprang to want to fuck me. And so we kissed, him holding me in his arms as my hands gripped his massive dick, sliding over his veiny shaft. He wanted me so bad, pushing me to my knees and pressing his tool between my lips. He groaned as he fucked my face, pushing his cock into my mouth and savagely taking me. I loved it. I loved the feel of his pubic hair smashing against my nose, I loved the sense of his desperation and I loved fucking his friend as he slipped his cock into my cunt as I was spit-roasted by a pair of desperate students."

  My cock was rock-hard, my tongue swirling aggressively against Christina's clit as the explanation of Erin's infidelities swirled around my mind. I could picture not the rounded buttocks of the orgasmic woman bouncing on my face but the very image my wife was painting for me.

  "And when they were finished. And Christina got fucked too, we hit the bars. Brian had his hand up my skirt, exposing my cunt to his friends in the pub. And I let him. I let them all look, and why not. They love married pussy. They wanted me and I wanted them. I wanted to break my marriage vows and fuck every one of them on the table. I wanted to be a slut and a whore, and to feel their cumming cocks squirt because of me. I wanted all of that, and as one of them toyed with my cunt and I slipped my fingers over his rod. Smooth skin, beautiful eyes. He longed for it, I could sense his anticipation and his desire. I could feel every inch of his need and I stroked his cock into his party trousers, sliding my fingers over his sopping wet glans. I kissed him, my lips pressed against his as he writhed, squealing as my hands darted over his shaft. I felt his cock swell and pump, I felt every inch of his body orgasm under my touch and he squirted into his underwear, covering my fingers in his semen."

  Christina was squealing and crying, groaning under the feel of my tongue sweeping over her button and savouring the delicate freshness of the freshly-fucked woman. Her hands pressed against my chest, her fingers squeezed my nipples and her hips bucked as she neared her orgasm, caused by tongue and Erin's dirty words.

  "And then we went to the student nightclub. It was dark and loud; I could barely see anything and yet Brian had his hands up my dress, feeling every inch of my bare skin. I wanted him more than ever. I wanted them all. All the cocks swinging in their pants, I could feel their power and it made my pussy wet. He knew and his fingers found my slit and he scissored his fingers into my cunt, making me orgasm in front of a dozen of his friends at the back of the club. I felt such a whore, and yet I wanted more. I needed it. I grabbed the hand of one of them, I never knew his name and I dragged him to an alcove near the toilets, pushing him into the wall as I fumbled with his trousers. His eyes met mine, his lips swirled against neck. I unfurled the condom down his shaft as his fingers pressed against my clit and there was no denying what we were going to do. He flung his hands under my butt and spun me against the wall, lifting my feet from the ground. He pressed hard as his cock slipped underneath me and along my desperate cunt. And I was desperate, I almost cried when he teased me with his erect cock, deliberately taunting me by sliding it over my hole. And then he filled me, pushing in deep to fill me."

  Christina panted and sighed, squealing as my tongue worked against her clit and I felt her nearing her climax, rocking passionately on her hips as I took her to the brink of her orgasm.

  "And his thighs – rugby thighs – were fucking incredible, screwing me like a cheap whore as people milled past ignoring us or not seeing us. It was like I was eighteen again, all those random fucks in nightclubs and hotels. I felt his cock pulse and twitch as his lips kissed mine, and his hands supported my bum. He muttered dirty words to me above the music, the taste of whisky on his lips lingering from our kiss. And he drove his cock faster and faster into my cunt, feeling me groan, cry and whimper. Feeling my legs quiver under his manly thrusts. And he was a man, taking me like a man should take a woman. Taking me like I was his fucking whore and conquest. And I was. I was beholden to his charms and his cock, spearing into my lust as he sent shockwaves through my cunt and delivered a toe-curling climax to my body as he spent in his condom."

  Christina cried as she breathlessly came from my tongue, pressing her cunt onto my lips as I tasted her sexual satisfaction. She lay for a moment against my body as I breathed in her aroma from my wet face. I felt the criss-cross of her stockings against my skin.

  She'd come strongly and I caught the eyes of my wife, smiling with glee. My cock was hard and she sat alongside me, pressing my panties to my knees. "Go on then," she said to Christina, her face inches from my crotch. "And tell me about your evening."

  "Ahh," I muttered as Christina giggled and wrapped her lips over my slippery glans. "Bryn and I did massage," I muttered, stopping as Christina's tongue flickered against my cock and I groaned in satisfaction. "And I massaged him off and he massaged me off," I cried, feeling desire build in my loins. I looked into Christina's cunt, inches from my face as she slurped at my manhood. I drove a finger against her clit, swirling the wetness around with my thumb.

  She groaned loudly. "It was the massage oil. It got everywhere," I squealed, feeling the pressure build inside of me until I was nearing my point of no return. "And I wanked him off and he wanked me off," I squealed, groaning as I threw my head back onto the cushion. I couldn't stop my orgasm, I had no resistance, grunting as my body erupted into several waves of cum that filled Christina's mouth as she squealed onto my manhood, writhing from her second orgasm.

  We lay exhausted for a few moments, saying nothing until Christina kissed my wife and I goodbye, and staggered out of the door, tipsy from alcohol and drunk from lust.

  I looked at my wife: her make-up smudged, her hair unkempt and her blouse marked with cum. But she was sexy; so desperately gorgeous and I pressed my lips against hers and kissed her.

  And I told her how much I loved her.

  Chapter IX

  Erin's Idea

  The following evening we talked; she asked if I was OK with her behaviour and I promised her I was. The more I thought about her with other men, the more it aroused me. I loved the idea of her seizing her own sexuality and enjoying her new experiences, and she adored the attention and sex she got.

  She teased me about Bryn, but not maliciously. I said Bryn and I thought I might be "heteroflexible" and she giggled, replying that I had not done enough with men to warrant such a claim. Her lips met mine, my hands found her cunt.

  She squealed as I frigged her to orgasm, soaking the back of her dress and my fingers with her sexual excitement. She seemed insatiable, hungry for sex all the time and desperate for satisfaction.

  Which led us towards her suggestion. Every so often, Erin astounds me and her idea to draw more men into her clutches was astonishing. Her private office was the old Managing Director's office when the town centre gymnasium was also the head office of the chain of luxury fitness clubs.

  Thus, she had a small and private changing room attached to her office, and she bought a small selection of male shorts and t-shirts in various sizes that she hung up in a cupboard, along with two, very skimpy female outfits.

  Her first victim was Claude: he came to visit the gym for a meeting about offering 24-hour gym passes to all visitors of his hotel, and after a brief discussion, my wife aimlessly suggested they take a look around the facility.

  He hesitated, and she opened the cupboard door, asking him his size as his face dropped. Erin confessed that she was incredibly nervous unbuttoning her blouse and selecting a tight leotard. "Gym or Pool?" She asked as she reached for her swimming costume.

  Claude floundered; words departed his mouth as my wife answered for him and put her swimming costume on her desk, passing the Frenchman a large pair of swimming trunks.

  He turned away as she dressed in front of him, watching her nudity in the mirror on the wall. She smiled, as he tentatively undressed and she gave him a degree of privacy as she reached for towels in the bottom drawer.

  He relaxed as they swam in the pool and my wife gave him a sales pitch, draw
ing attention to all the facilities as the skimpy costume left little to the imagination.

  Her colleagues watched on with surprise etched into their expressions, and my naughty wife escorted her guest to the sauna, opting to encourage the relaxing man to shed his one item of clothing. Erin did, hiding in the flames with nothing on and chatting soothingly about prices as he gazed wondrously into her cunt through the half-light.

  Her smile in the sauna was hidden by the shadows; her body was hidden by a long beach towel as they walked back to her office. "Shower," she offered, opening the door to her private bathroom. He took three minutes, she took thirty seconds under the warm water. He spluttered as she glided into the room, her towel open at the front and sat on her desk, looking into his eye.

  "What else do you want to see, Claude?" He gulped, his hands shaking and his eyes glancing over her hairless cunt. "What do I need to show you to have you sign on the dotted line?"

  He spluttered, curled up in his towel and shivering in her warm office with anticipation. My wife had flirted and teased magnificently, but she was also about to follow through. Claude's voicebox deserted him momentarily, but his fingers touched her calves before retreating in horror.

  "Do it again," she begged. "Such firm touch." She mewed as his hands reached her knees. "Masseurs hands you have. Such a lucky wife getting massages from you!"

  She encouraged him to sweep his hands over her legs until she squealed in faux-realisation. "I'm sorry, I should be massaging you!" He backtracked as she squeezed three square stools together and patted them. "I've done a massage course. I so should have taken you to see the masseurs. Included, you know. One ten-minute massage a day is included in your 24-hour pass. Subject to availability."

  He floundered as her eyes commanded him and the hotelier lay face down on the stools. Erin drew some moisturiser onto her hands and pulled his towel away, rubbing her hands over his tanned skin.

  He sighed as her firm touch rotated away his worries and drew moans and cries of relaxation from her client. "Turn over," she demanded as she finished on his back and he did so without thinking.