First-Time Cuckold

by Vivi King

  I had not been expecting this at all and have to confess that on more than one occasion I was aroused enough watching the video clips to wake my sleeping husband up for a passionate pre- breakfast copulation straight away.

  So it went on for weeks, the new knowledge significantly heightening my arousal and dramatically improving our sex life to a degree I hadn’t expected at all. Our fantasies grew more detailed and more intense so that I now only had to fake some of my orgasms rather than almost all of them.

  Pete kept asking me if I had thought any more about his idea of turning our increasingly vivid fantasies into reality. I kept telling him that I was still thinking about it but wasn’t ready to give him a definitive reply yet. When he tried to press me harder, I shamelessly put him off by suggesting too much pressure would make me not want to do it at all!

  Meanwhile I continued my researches on line but it soon wasn’t enough for my anxious, inquisitive mind.

  Guided by some of the techniques I would use to investigate a hypothesis at work, I felt I had to find a way to test out all I had learned in real life, as I would with a medical theory. I needed to keep myself safe and anonymous but at the same time needed to find out more about my own, mixed-up emotions. The online forums I had joined helped to some extent but many of them were so obviously inhabited by imposters as to be useless.

  I resolved to find at least one genuine, real life cuckold to explain the increasingly appealing desire to me on a one-to-one basis. More would be better, but one real example was essential.

  So I started to write again.

  ***

  I had originally discovered the pleasures of online erotica nearly ten years earlier when Peter and I were going through a ‘dry period’ in our marriage. It had also been around the time of my first ‘near- miss’ with Tony, as I now thought of it.

  Coincidental? Maybe!

  At that time I had investigated erotic stories on the internet as a way of addressing some of the sexual frustrations that the problems in our marriage were causing. Back then there were no ‘Fifty Shades’ books easily available to a married woman approaching middle age. I quickly found that, although there were plenty of erotic stories on the many websites out there, the bulk of them were disappointingly crude, unrealistic, often misogynistic and almost exclusively male-oriented.

  After a frustrating week reading wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am stories in which ten inch cocks seemed to be the norm and were all that women obsessed about, I decided to see if I could do better myself.

  Almost immediately I found writing to be both arousing and cathartic; allowing my deepest fantasizes free rein as I wrote was extraordinarily arousing. I gradually grew bolder and eventually found the courage to submit my first work under a pseudonym.

  Within a week it was live on screen; I could hardly believe my eyes! To be honest, seeing my own words actually ‘in print’ in public was both terrifying and amazingly satisfying at the same time.

  Of course it wasn’t all plane sailing. Although I knew to expect some unpleasant comments, I was shocked and hurt by some of the extraordinarily offensive comments posted and messages sent by the horrible trolls who inhabit the internet and who also seem to lie in wait, preparing to attack unsuspecting authors.

  The attacks I suffered then and still suffer now could and still can reduce me to tears with their viciousness but when the praise began to arrive a day or so later, I felt a new pride in myself, a pride strong enough to over-ride the hate mail – although there is no way to prevent it hurting.

  At first I wrote as a woman but received so many unwanted and unpleasant messages that I quickly switched to a male pseudonym which I stuck with for several years. But eventually as the kids grew older and I had less and less time to myself, the writing slowed to a standstill until I found to my surprise that I had published nothing for over three years.

  Now however, the timing of Peter’s extraordinary suggestion had been fortuitous. With all my children either at University or working in London, I had much more time on my hands, especially early in the mornings when I habitually rose an hour before my husband and had the house to myself – time to work, think, stretch and, importantly to write again.

  And this time through my writing, I needed to deliberately explore the unfamiliar world of infidelity that my husband apparently wanted the two of us to enter.

  A few weeks later a new series of erotic stories began to appear on various websites written by a woman describing herself as ‘middle aged and middle class’. The stories followed several themes but one in particular stood out in terms of the number of stories and their popularity – the emotive and controversial idea of wife sharing . Mostly were written in the first-person and, unusually for a female writer, were almost all written from the Cuckold Male point of view.

  My previous years of writing as a man were beginning to pay off.

  My first attempt was enjoyable, if slightly off target. At the time I hadn’t quite grasped the important difference between ‘swinging’ and ‘cuckolding’ so had written a story based on an incident that had actually happened to a close friend and her husband and which I had learned during a drunken hen party. To my surprise, I really enjoyed the writing and the closeness it had brought both me and my friend as we collaborated rather drunkenly on the details.

  The story was well received but the feedback taught me of the existence of the ‘one-way’ swinging or ‘wife sharing’ world which I suppose I had suspected existed but had never explored. My next story went into this much more deliberately and deeply. Feedback for this second story was much more revealing and brought me into contact with a handful of trolls, a good few outright liars but also several real life cuckolds with whom I began to correspond regularly.

  Richard was the most influential – I have his good counsel to thank for much of what took place the following year - and through their open and honest conversations I gradually began to understand the attraction of ‘planned infidelity’ to the cuckold as well as to his wife or girlfriend.

  And with that understanding, my husband’s fantasies began to feel less and less perverted and, to my surprise, I found myself unexpectedly becoming more and more interested.

  ***

  I turned and looked at the kitchen clock. Just after eight. Plenty of time, I thought as I filled the kettle and switched it on. I smiled inwardly, guessing that my husband of over twenty-five years would be in bed for at least another hour - possibly much longer, given the amount of red wine he had drunk at the dinner party last night.

  I had been the nominated driver as usual so had remained nearly sober all evening; a good thing as it turned out, given the way Tony’s hands had wandered when I had dropped him off at his apartment on our way home.

  Tony had been my husband’s partner in crime over dinner, at least as far as red wine consumption was concerned. Although not nearly as drunk as Pete, he had certainly been tipsy enough to push his usual ‘goodbye hug’ quite a bit further tonight. Once again I had been forced good humoredly to move his fondling hands away from my buttocks and up to my back as we kissed our goodbyes on his doorstep.

  Tony and his wife Jane had been two of our closest friends ever since our children were born. Indeed Jane and I had first met at a nursery school Christmas party. Their two children were much the same ages as our three and we had spent many enjoyable evenings, weekends and even a few holidays away with them over the years.

  The only fly in the ointment – if it was a fly – was that Tony had become a little too forward when hugging me goodbye after a day out or especially after a wine-fueled dinner party. He had always been very tactile with the wives of his friends but as far as I knew had never actually either been slapped in the face or taken to bed by any of us. The general view was that it was ‘just his way’ and that he didn’t really mean anything by it but it was noticeable that the way he touched me was considerably bolder than other women and was getting more so.

  I had tried to hide this mild gr
oping from my husband – after all, we’re British and don’t like ‘scenes’ – but as I learned more about the ‘cuckold mindset’ it started to cross my mind that perhaps my husband was not as ignorant as I had imagined; perhaps he had known this was happening all along but had chosen not to intervene. Perhaps he even got a thrill out of seeing another man’s hands on his wife’s body.

  I was never entirely sure how to react to Tony’s attempted groping. On the one hand it was an outrageous invasion of my personal space which as a confidant, professional woman with a decidedly married status I absolutely should not tolerate.

  On the other hand, Tony was a very close friend of us both who I was increasingly finding extremely attractive and with whom I had come very close to ‘inappropriate contact’ on at least two memorable occasions in the past.

  Extremely close and very inappropriate on one memorable occasion a few years ago; the closest I had ever come to cheating on my husband. This was an important reason I usually chose to drive and not drink if I knew Tony would be present.

  Besides, he had been a bit drunk too, and who could blame him? After all, his wife of over twenty years had only months before started having an affair. I still couldn’t quite believe it; Jane had been my closest friend for nearly twenty years. We had first met at the kids’ nursery and our two families had been on holiday together nearly a dozen times since then.

  She was nearly the same age as me but just after the previous Christmas, had been foolish enough to embark on a very public affair with her Personal Trainer, a man almost young enough to be her son. It was obvious to all her friends, including me that this relationship could never last long but she appeared oblivious to the fact and seemed to be reveling in her new notoriety.

  So far this mid-life crisis had resulted in Jane and her husband separating and Tony living for the past six months in a new three-bedroom apartment near the city center.

  If I am totally honest, I was also rather envious that a fifty-one year old mother of two could attract and so far keep so young and beautiful a boy. Pete had rather leeringly suggested that she must be very good in bed and from what she occasionally told me about her new relationship I suspected this was probably true. She was certainly still extremely pretty, I had to admit and over the years had spent long hours in the gym keeping in shape but it had still been quite a surprise when the two of them had gone public with their affair.

  Tony had moved out of their home shortly afterwards.

  Since then, on several occasions and especially after a few drinks, Jane had made suggestive comments about what it was like to be in bed with her young lover compared with her husband and by implication, what it must be like for me in bed with mine. Her eyes were bright and animated and her face looked a good ten years younger as she described how incredible he made her feel. Sometimes when tipsy she would even hint at some of the things they got up to which, she once confessed after a very drunken girls’ night in, now included frequent anal sex.

  The image of this china-doll-pretty mother of two on her knees with a young man’s cock in her

  rectum was almost more than my imagination could handle but the profound and exciting effect on my friend was undeniable and impossible to dismiss.

  What spoiled the image was her rather bitter attitude to her husband Tony, who even then would seldom comment publically on her behavior. Jane on the other hand would often make subtle and occasionally extremely unsubtle hints at his performance in bed, suggesting that his erection simply wasn’t long enough or that, unsurprisingly, he didn’t have the energy of a gym instructor more than twenty years his junior.

  But whatever the reasons for her infidelity, Jane was paying a high price for the sexual gratification she was now receiving. Apart from me, many of her older friends now tended to shy away from her as if the illness might be contagious. Certainly she and her boyfriend were very seldom invited out as a couple. Worse still, her children refused to stay at the family house she still occupied when they came home from University. If her boyfriend was there, they preferred to squeeze into their father’s apartment rather than give any suggestion they accepted their mother’s young lover.

  The radio beeped the hour, brining me back to the present. Frowning at my inner thoughts, I pulled my dressing gown around me and made another cup of tea before returning to my laptop to check my emails. Not my ‘real life’ emails; they came to my phone and iPad. No, I wanted to check the new email account I had set up specifically for correspondence under the new online persona I had created for my writing.

  There were two new messages, both feedback from one of the sites I had chosen to publish my stories. As usual I opened them anxiously, fearing another Troll attack but to my relief this time they were both positive – very positive in fact.

  One was anonymous, the author praising the story and to my delight, the style of writing, hinting that he had personal experience of the cuckold lifestyle himself. The writer of the other feedback offered to tell me all about his own history as a cuckold and added a few sentences as an example of his experiences. I noted the email address. Unlike many of the messages I received, this one had at least a ring of legitimacy about it. I dashed off a quick reply, accepting the offer. After all, I could always learn something new.

  My replies sent, I refilled my mug and re-read the previous day’s message from Richard. I looked forward to receiving his messages; Richard had been a godsend, proving more than just helpful in helping me understand what made a man actually want to have an unfaithful wife. Although he hadn’t done it himself, he could understand why a man might even want to watch her being unfaithful in the way my own husband Peter seemed genuinely and increasingly to desire from me.

  As I read once again how Richard’s wife Barbara had met and chosen her various lovers; how she had told him all about them; how he was allowed to veto them only for reasons of safety or sanity; how honesty and openness was so vital in a cuckold relationship, I wondered more and more about Pete’s fantasies.

  Would he really derive pleasure from my infidelity in real life as well as in our fantasies? Certainly his pressure on me to at least consider taking a lover and eventually let him watch us ‘in flagrante delicto’ had become relentless. Even last night, his performance seriously hampered by alcohol, he had tried to begin a sex fantasy about me with our apparently hugely-endowed Jamaican window cleaner. If I’m honest, the fantasy had had quite a strong appeal for me too but, as I had expected, Pete had fallen asleep before we could get properly started.

  But even if he was genuinely interested, apart from the obvious disturbing issue of infidelity, there were so many other questions:

  What might it be like making love to someone new after more than twenty years of monogamous marriage?

  What might it feel like to have another man’s cock inside me, his mouth on mine; his hands on my body?

  Might I actually reach the orgasm that had been denied to me for so long?

  How would I feel coming home to Peter afterwards? Overwhelmed by guilt? Deeply satisfied?

  Or would he insist on being there all the time, watching?

  How would it feel to have sex in front of someone else?

  But for every exciting positive there were so many negatives:

  Who would I want to sleep with anyway, given the choice? Did I even have a choice at my age?

  And would that man want to sleep with me, a fifty-plus year old mother of two grown-up kids?

  And even if he did want me, would I dare expose my middle-aged post-childbirth body to him?

  And most importantly, could our marriage possibly survive if I did take a lover – or more than one as Pete’s fantasies seemed to demand?

  There were far too many questions and not enough answers, despite the best efforts of Richard and my other pen pals.

  The sound of Pete moving about upstairs stirred me from my reverie and I quickly closed the e-mail account on my laptop, replacing the page with an on-line recipe and deleting my bro
wsing history. I had no reason to think Pete ever spied on my internet use, but I wasn’t entirely sure and didn’t want to take any chances – at least not yet.

  As I boiled the kettle again I wondered what was going through my husband’s mind at that moment. I smiled; with him nursing a red wine hangover, whatever he was thinking was unlikely to feature me at all!

  I placed two steaming cups of tea on a tray and carried them up to the bedroom.

  To my surprise, the room was full of the sound of running water as I placed the drinks on my dressing table. The bed was rumpled and empty so it didn’t take a genius to work out that Pete was in the shower and I nervously crossed towards the door to the in-suite bathroom to see how he was feeling. Given his wine consumption the previous evening, I was expecting the worst but when he saw me through the shower’s steamed-up glass wall, he greeted me cheerfully, his voice raised over the noise of the rushing water.

  “What?” I asked, unable to hear him properly and immediately annoyed with his demeanor. How dare he not have the hangover he deserved after being so drunk last night?

  “How’s my little Hotwife this morning?” he repeated jokingly, wrong-footing me for a moment.

  “What do you mean?” I asked slowly, not hearing the name properly and adding “I’m as tall as you!” in an attempt to sound less cross.

  I heard Peter laugh as he turned off the water, opened the shower door and stepped out onto the mat.

  “I mean that you looked absolutely stunning last night,” he explained quickly and, it seemed, honestly.

  He took the fluffy white towel I was holding and began to dry himself. For a moment I was struck my how good looking my husband still was for a man in his mid-fifties; his face was still handsome, his body toned, tanned and fit, if perhaps excessively hairy everywhere other than on his head.

  “That new Paul Smith dress looks even sexier than I hoped,” he continued, wrapping the damp towel around his waist. “And it really showed off your shape.”