Cuckolding for Beginners
Page 21
Middle-class leafy areas were stuffed with interfering curtain-twitchers and I could imagine the gossip: “they are always having men over” and “the party the other night was full of naked people in her garden.” It was something that shouldn't have happened.
My wife wangled an invite from Laura and James to visit them after work the following Friday, and after our children were collected by my mother for a weekend with “nanna and granddad,” Erin and I crossed our drive to the new house.
James welcomed us into his home; Erin kissed him on the cheek, brushing his untidy mop of black hair as she did. We made idle chatter with the engaged couple; James showed me around his new three-bedroom house with some pride. It was smaller and more expensive than our house, but said nothing as I attempted to deduce his personality.
If I said I came up with bland that would be unfair, but achromatic and colourless would be a better description. His house lacked soul, was a square box and it fitted in with his functional, objective descriptions of his new home.
Lastly, we came to the smallest bedroom that housed a desk and two bookcases stuffed with books; it was Laura's sanctuary. My eyes scanned the books on the shelves: some classics, some factual guides and some books on creative writing. And then some erotica. Good, well-written smut loaded with hot sex and good characterisation: Janine Ashbless, Anne Rice and Pauline Reage.
He said nothing as I clocked his fiancée’s taste in erotic fiction. “She writes too.” The philistine dismissed the books with a casual wave of his hand. I scanned further, filtering the few books in her second bookcase that weren't erotic: there wasn't many.
“James says you're an author,” I blurted out the moment I was furnished with a cup of tea by our host in their new lounge. She blushed a little, hesitating as she shot her boyfriend an angry glance.
“Yes.” She coughed as she sat on her couch. “I … err … I write to save up some money. PR is good, but it doesn't pay that well.”
Erin's attention was piqued. “Been published?”
“A few dozen times.” Laura gulped.
“Oh, what genre?” I raised an eyebrow as my mind recalled the erotic literature that she owned.
“Look, please don't share this around but I write some … adult … material under a pseudonym. I don't want everyone to know.”
“Sure,” my wife and I replied in unison. “What's your pseudonym? I may have bought and read some of your work.”
"Ummm …" She took a deep breath. “Lara Lovelace. It's really … niche.”
My wife squealed in excitement. “Female domination. Male submission. You wrote the Mistress Angel series, didn't you?”
Laura's uncertain demeanour changed into a beaming smile almost instantly; my wife was stroking her author's ego. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“I loved those books. So hot. And the things Angel did to her partner.” Her eyes flitted to me. “We play … like that. So it was cool to read it too. Such creative imagination.”
“You play …”
“Yes.” Erin snapped her fingers at me, her face beaming. “Love, take down your trousers.”
I stared at the wall, pausing for a moment as I blushed. But I knew better than to disobey my wife: she rarely made commands and my fingers unfastened my belt and slid my trousers to my knees and exposing some lacy pink underwear.
My cheeks burnt, my eyes averted as Laura cooed appreciatively. “I so want to go further with him. We both do, but it's finding the right people to experiment with and play with.”
And that was the first night of Laura and James moving into our neighbourhood; we introduced them to Bryn and Christina, and slowly the two wives took the young author under their wing.
They strengthened the communication between James and Laura. They introduced her to the art of domming and sadism. They took her out clubbing and found a regular partner for her to enjoy cuckolding her partner with and they helped her find a stronger, more authentic author's voice for her stories.
Bryn and I introduced James to bisexuality; he was uncertain at first, but a couple of trips to the sauna loosened his doubts and once he left his shell became good company. He learnt to embrace his place in his relationship while masochistically enjoying the nastiness Laura so willingly adopted.
Her writing was originally a release of her desires and fantasies, and moving into the area gave her and her partner the opportunity and impetus to explore these unusual desires. Suddenly, her writing became her experiences and her sales rocketed.
Their house move changed everything for them, just like it did for us. Because, as they found out, when talking to estate agents there are many ways of filtering houses, but "welcoming and rampantly kinky neighbours residing next door" is not one of them; they come by extremely good fortune and Laura and James were very lucky.
The End
About the author
John Stones is an ex-blogger and author who used to write under "John D" and "Bawdy Bloke." He writes for a myriad of genres, including straight, male bisexual, orgy, fetish, BDSM, watersports, exhibitionism, lesbian and more.
He has opted to use a separate pseudonym for material where male bisexuality or homosexuality is a centre theme as it differs from his usual work. There are a couple of similar stories published in his "The Kinky Chronicles" anthology, available on Amazon.
John is married, lives in England and regularly writes smut, and non-smut, fiction. He appreciates, and reads, all feedback left. If you are going to Smut Manchester in November then do come and say hello!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
About the author