Cuckolding for Beginners

by J D Stones

  We chatted and we drank; until the girls came home, and they weren't alone. Two men: both big, burly black men escorted our wives to Christina's house, laughing loudly and giggling as masculine hands stole liberties from our enticed ladies.

  My wife called; her bosom spilt from her tight top as she leant into the lounge to see me and Bryn sprawled on the sofa. "Baby, you're needed." Her eyes met mine as I took in the man with his arms around the waist of my woman. He purred as he watched my expression; the 6ft3in man dominated over my cheeky Erin, wrapped up in his vast arms.

  He smiled; he knew what was coming, and my wife snapped her fingers, demanding my attention from my fantasies.

  "You can have Spare Bedroom 2." Christina giggled as her young man ran his hands under her flimsy skirt and pressed against her crotch. She erupted with a girly laugh. "Bobby! You did that to me in the restaurant and you've got cold hands!"

  "Cold hands, warm heart."

  "It's not your heart I want to be warm."

  I said nothing as I followed my hotwife up the stairs, watching her skirt rise up with every step. I'd seen the mellow white skin and flawless thighs many times before but at that moment she was sexier than at any other time.

  I'd seen the curve of her buttocks and the odd flash of pink almost every day we'd been married, and plenty of times before that, but I felt a stirring in my crotch. I knew that I'd probably get to see another claim enjoyment from the cunt of my lover; I knew I'd see, hear and smell the lust of a man spent against the intimate areas of my wife and it stirred an innermost desire from within.

  I saw her differently.

  As his hands traced her buttocks, she wasn't just my wife any more, but an object of unbelievable sexiness. A damsel admired and adored by many who I was lucky to touch and to have. A gorgeous maiden who had seized her sexuality and used it for her pleasures, ignoring the constraints that an unjust, prudish society tried to place upon her.

  She was unbelievably sexy. And she was going to get fucked.

  She pulled her new lover into the spare bedroom; a small dish of condoms and lube had been thoughtfully placed on the bedside table by our hosts, and she looked into his eyes as she clicked her fingers at me. "Close the door," she barked, smiling as her fingers unbuttoned his thin white shirt.

  I said nothing; I just watched. Watching as she traced her outstretched hand down his chest, pushing his shirt from his shoulders and onto the floor. Her hands glided over his dark skin, pawing at his pectoral muscles and sliding over his six-pack.

  His smile oozed from his body; his look of lust engulfed her as his strong grip tore open her thin, flimsy blouse and ripped her skirt from her body. She gasped, breathless, at his brutish strength. She squealed as he discarded her tatty garments towards her shocked husband and ran her pert breasts in his large hands. Her hips rocked forwards, eager to be touched by the domineering man.

  His fingers swept over the brunette's hairless cunt; a wry smile woven into his smarmy expression. She groaned as the topless man teased her, taunting my horny wife with a merest touch of his fingers over her clitoris before squeezing her thigh or rubbing her mons. She licked her lips, flicking his trouser button to free his manhood.

  And I watched; like a rampant display of the hottest pornography, I was transfixed. My cock stood rampant, my throat dry as my gorgeous lover desperately tried to sate her horniness with another man's dick.

  He looked at me with twinkly eyes as my wife passionately liberated his dick from his trousers. She held the black cock in her hand; semi-erect it was bigger than mine was stiff, but he came with empowering confidence: a sexual swagger I could never compete with.

  "Lick her," he demanded, leaning over to pull me into their tryst. She fell onto the bed with a squeak, parting her legs as his strong hands manhandled my face into her crotch.

  And I was in heaven: pure delightful slipperiness as my tongue encircled my wife's clit and I feasted on her juices. Lovely lusty horniness that had her squealing and crying with every flick of my mouth on her crack.

  I loved running my tongue along her cunt, poking her clit as my fingers slipped effortlessly into her hole and rubbed vigorously against her G-Spot.

  She came; flooded my face with wetness as her ragged breathing gave way into squeals and cries from a sparkling explosion of satisfaction in her crotch.

  He pressed my face further into her crack, standing over me as his firm hands forced the back of my head into her sodden cunt. But I loved it; I loved the feeling of the cool wetness, the taste of her sex and the smell of her horniness. I loved every moment of his dominating actions, forcing me to bring the nymphomaniac to another shuddering, screaming orgasm.

  And then he pulled my face away, bringing it into his crotch. His eyes met mine and he sniggered, looking at my wife. "Watch your husband get me ready to fuck you!" His muscles bulged as he spoke, his lips curling into a knowing grin. I studied his cock; my own dick straining with lust.

  It was uncut, the black skin encasing a thick, veiny manhood with a pronounced bulge. My hands trembled as I touched it, my eyes transfixed by the meaty cock inches from my face. I breathed in his masculinity: an aroma of sex and man. It sent shivers up my spine as I peeled back his foreskin slowly, unfurling his sensitive purple head with care.

  He said nothing as I gripped the warm shaft in my hand, bowing my head to bring my lips onto the firm cock-head of my wife's new lover. He said nothing as my tongue wrapped against his glans, putting his hands on my shoulders as he confidently stood over me.

  "Play with yourself, Erin!" He commanded; his voice booming over me to my wife as my cock fizzled with unspent lust. He used his leverage on my shoulders to pivot, sliding his cock into my lips and across my tongue; it made me feel full, as my hands pumped his shaft and my mouth took the remaining inches.

  He grunted, reaching into the bowl with a clatter. I could feel his cock twitching as I feasted on his horniness; bringing the beast to his fullest erection.

  And I loved it. I loved the feeling of his manhood in my mouth and of my submission. I loved the desire my wife was feeling as her fingers twirled against her clit. And I loved the way he discarded me, ripping into a condom to roll down his dick as I watched from underneath him.

  He stepped over me and parted my wife's legs on the bed, driving into her with wild abandon. She panted loudly, screaming obscenities as I watched his balls swing and his sheathed cock spear into my loving wife.

  He slapped her thigh, pulling himself deeper and deeper into the wild slut until his balls contracted, his arsehole puckered and he plunged deep into my Erin to unload into his latex condom.

  They kissed while he was still balls-deep in her cunt; he withdrew, taking the condom off his cock and then clicking his fingers. "Clean me!" He demanded.

  I was stewing with lust and eagerly wrapped my lips around his cum-covered cock.

  Only it tasted of rubber; his manhood smelt not of powerful, all-conquering man, but of condom. He sniggered as he watched my tongue swirl over his cock-head sucking up his cum until it glistened clean.

  And moments later, her partner wanted more; throwing us into a 69 position. I lapped eagerly at my wife's clit and he mounted her, slapping his balls into my face as he fucked my wife again.

  I saw everything: watching his cock spear her cunt as he rodgered her with crazed, passionate lust. She orgasmed. I was desperate for my wife to wrap her lips around my shaft and suck. Silently begging for any sort of attention; so very painfully erect.

  But her new lover had made her forget about the sexual wants of her husband. He fucked her cunt with rutting cries and overwhelming squeals of desperate abandon.

  With a fierce grunt he came, unloading into a condom for the second time as his balls rested on my face and my wife shuddered to an umpteenth climax from the combined licking of my tongue and spearing from her new friend.

  I heard her sigh, running her fingers gently across my shaft. Single finger, slowly rubbing my dick as her lips blew gen
tly over my cock head. I groaned; I could feel my cock sizzling and my point of no return coming. I snorted into my wife, writhing my hips as she giggled, gently teasing my cock to an intense peak of delicate orgasm and then a powerful spurt of cum spewing into her hands.

  She giggled. "Such a quick cummer," she taunted.

  And with that amount of teasing, it was true.

  Chapter XII

  Entertainment

  We saw Jason a few more times after that evening; he openly admitted he had dozens of hotwives over Cheshire and he loved little more than screwing the wife and humiliating the husband.

  He was, just for the record, an unbelievably nice, genuine guy. He helped do some maintenance on the house one day, plastering our kitchen ceiling and tiling the walls, while he stripped to just his boxer shorts on the warm summers' day. His payment, if you could call it that, was a blowjob from me at lunchtime and a firm fuck against the garden fence at the end of the day from my wife.

  I really liked him, in and out of the bedroom; his cock was lovely and textured, sliding into my willing mouth as easily as it slipped into my adulteress’s cunt. Not a session was missed when I didn't prepare him for sex, didn't watch or even clean up after him.

  And we loved every minute of it. Every second of every encounter as his balls slapped against my face or my lips encircled his cock. He became important to our sex life, and my wife and I were both disappointed when he was offered a job in Leeds.

  However, Christina and Erin were not ladies who wanted to do without sex for long. Their wanton lust with kinky overtones was never too far away.

  They threw a party; Christina and Erin organised a small get together for "selected guests." I knew little of the arrangement but expected the attendees to have cocks that looked like they had come from Grand National winners, but as I answered the door with every ring of the doorbell, I was greeting women.

  And only women.

  Christina greeted them warmly, the almost naked doorman an irrelevance to their generous salutations and familiarity.

  One woman giggled at my bowties: one fastened around my neck, the other encircling my cock and balls. Bryn and I served wine and nibbles; they chatted about dungeon equipment and techniques, the weather and the traffic.

  Eight dominatrices conversing freely as two slightly scared, and worried, submissive men looked on and attended to their needs.

  But they'd all met Bryn before; he was teased relentlessly in his pink bowties; the women reminded him of torments past and he shuddered as their fingernails dug into his skin. I watched, saying nothing: the wine stopped, the bawdy chatter continued.

  Until my wife left the group, taking Bryn and myself to the cellar underneath their house. Or as Erin called it, The Dungeon.

  I shivered in the cold, stone room; she flicked on the heaters and the lights, illuminating a 15m long room of debauchery and pain. Whips, floggers and paddles were hanging on the wall. Ropes were curled up in a box. Benches and stools littered the cobbled floor.

  She smiled, running her hands over my chest. "I'm going to have some fun tonight." Her fingers were cold, her words were chilling. She slapped Bryn's arse with a smirk.

  He smiled; we both did when faced with a little warming slap on our bare buttocks. It was homely and lovely, delightfully intimate and playful.

  It is easy when recalling these adventures to skip the negotiation and discussion: the essential dialogue before any scene. My wife and I did lots of talking, addressing complex emotional forces with care and love, and that night was no different. She reminded me of our safewords and she asked if I was feeling OK. She knew my limits and I knew hers, but she asked over my psychophysical status before unleashing powerful forces upon my body.

  She promised that she would try some of our fantasies: acts we had discussed and thought we could try but had not done so yet. It sent a chill down my spine as my mind was transported to the dozens of conversations we'd had over the months. It was quite a menu she could choose from.

  Bryn muttered answers to her questions, as he listened for the firm thud of boots on the steps above. We focused through the underpowered light on the women entering the dungeon; one grabbed Bryn by the hair, dragging the millionaire towards a white box. She lifted the lid, and gestured for the submissive husband to put his head in the wooden box and then fastened his arms to the side.

  The women hollered; I knew not what was happening until she settled on the seat, lifted her skirt to her waist and I heard the tinkling of pee against my friend.

  I knew watersports was one of his kinks and every woman doused his tongue, mouth and face with their piss, freeing their bladder into their host's husband.

  Bryn had played with these women before: they knew his kinks and Christina marshalled them as they unleashed their abuse on her partner. They washed him in cold water, they smashed his body with rolled up towels and they tied him to the St Andrew's Cross to beat his body with the toys Christina had provided.

  And I watched; Erin wanted me to see and take in the punishment Bryn took. To see every last piece of degradation and humiliation that my friend was enduring, and enjoying.

  Before too long my wife tired of ogling and pinned me to the bench, exposing my backside to the sadistic toys available. The first smack of the wooden paddle had me screaming, the second felt as if my backside had been set ablaze.

  She cackled; a couple of women joined Erin and she stood me up, fastening my hands above my head to allow the mistresses to take turns in subjecting my body to a powerful slaughtering of my unreddened skin. Barely an inch of my body wasn't hit by something; whips against my upper back and chest, paddles against my thighs, vampire gloves against my arms and then they took aim at my crotch.

  A kick into my delicate balls and defenceless cock. I screamed, crying as pain swallowed me and I tried to bend double as I writhed away from them.

  But I couldn't escape; my wife came behind me, listening to my cries of mercy and held me still as another woman aimed at my crotch and kicked me.

  They weren't dangerously hard blows, and if they had been anywhere else on my body they would have been uncomfortable not painful, but into my crotch they were excruciating; subjecting the poor husband into unspeakable agony.

  I begged, pleaded and beseeched them to stop. Asking and crying as my wife held my thighs open and waited. I closed my eyes, unable to watch as the third woman brought her foot into my soft, sensitive and painful balls.

  Tears streaked down my face as my body slumped against my bindings and I squealed for mercy. Desperate for them to stop kicking my balls.

  And they did; attaching clamps to my nipples and an electrotorture unit to my cock. And they laughed as I danced in pain, hopping from one leg to another as the three woman brought me to tears. Again.

  Erin and I cuddled for ages afterwards; she held me tight, gripping me as I came down from the flood of hormones swirling about my body.

  We said goodbye to the guests and walked across the drive in the cold night air. I shivered; but it was nothing compared to the discomfort in my aching, abused body. My wife and I snuggled ourselves to sleep, kissing as we drifted into slumber.

  My backside hurt for a few days after the shenanigans in Christina's dungeon and my work took me to client sites. I fidgeted as the rough fabrics and harsh garments rubbed against my skin and painfully reminded me of the torment I had received.

  But the pain was part of the pleasure; the recall of the fun reminded me every moment of every day that I had a loving and fantastic wife. She was with me and my thoughts for every waking second that I experienced discomfort from the lashes and welts on my bruised bum.

  She never stopped sending teasing messages; barely a day would pass when I didn't receive something: a text message that read “my pussy is sore now” or “just been fucked” or occasionally a picture message of her extra-marital liaisons.

  It was a powerful aphrodisiac and served to remind me what I was not getting. Intercourse with Erin was a
lot rarer: no more than three or four times a month, although much of this had been replaced by the body of my neighbour.

  He was uncompromisingly bisexual: he loved playing with me and I loved playing with him, and my bisexual side was set to flourish.

  Chapter XIII

  Defending Me

  That month had marked more milestones in our journey although we didn't appreciate it at the time. We'd started off as a bit kinky who discovered cuckoldry. At first, we were not much different from any couple who had an open relationship with a partner who played the field. A very common position for couples to be in, especially in the modern age.

  And then we explored my submissive side a bit more: we played with my sexual bisexuality; again not a great deal different from so many couples where the man enjoys playing with other men.

  Then we took my bisexuality and used it with our cuckolding to humiliate and degrade me; bringing out the most submissive tendancies in me. Watching and getting off on not just having my wife fucked but helping the other guy to do it. To suck him and prepare him for the act of dominance.

  But now, I was little more than my wife's plaything; she had discreetly masturbated as my screams and cries filled that small dungeon interspersed with the howls of agony from my friend. My wife had allowed others to use and abuse me, and I felt safe as they unleashed strikes on my defenceless body because my wife was overseeing it.

  I loved and trusted my wife.

  My domme.

  My mistress.

  I was a total and utter submissive. A pure pain slut. A complete cuckold.

  The following weekday saw a dozen builders move into the neighbourhood. The large house at the rear of the cul-de-sac, and at the end of our drive, had sold it's expansive garden to developers and three new houses were being built on the large plot of land.

  We'd known planning permission had been granted when we bought our house, but the building work was on the other side of our drive. The builders couldn't see into our house or garden, nor that of Christina and Bryn because of a row of a large, expansive trees and bushes.