First-Time Cuckold

by Vivi King

  What on earth was happening to me?

  3

  Unseasonably warm afternoon weather had brought the London crowds out in droves as I squeezed myself uncomfortably onto the Piccadilly line underground train and stood awkwardly, my overnight bag at my feet, my face pressed into the armpit of a tall blonde Scandinavian tourist. He gave me a look of pity no Londoner would have bothered with, and I felt pleased that his personal hygiene was up to scratch; at least for the next few stops.

  It was Friday afternoon and I was on my way home after yet another conference. The formal dinner and most of the presentations, including my own, had been the previous evening so an overnight stay had been essential. The morning’s work groups had been optional for me but as I was in town anyway, I had decided to take part and had in fact learned a great deal, especially about my presentation style.

  The food at the post-conference dinner had been good, as had the hotel room and breakfast but I had been obliged to fend off a slightly inebriated amorous approach from my next door neighbor throughout dinner.

  Given my recent conversations with my husband Peter, this made me smile. It felt good that someone found me attractive enough to flirt with a little more seriously, but even if I had decided to comply with my husband’s apparently sincere desire for me to take a lover, my dinner companion wasn’t my type at all. Surgeons’ egos apparently run to more than just their professional lives; my would-be seducer wasn’t anywhere near as attractive as he clearly imagined himself to be and I remained un-tempted by his charms to his obvious frustration.

  So now, still in my ‘professional’ attire of dark grey skirt suit, white blouse, black tights and shiny medium height heels, I was on my way home. Less than ten minutes later I arrived at St. Pancras station, hurried past all the shops in the fantastic arrivals hall and dragged my wheeled overnight bag up the escalator to the platform, only to find to my dismay that I had missed the train by the merest

  few minutes.

  After a good strong silent curse, I told myself that the service on that line was generally good so I only had about forty minutes to wait for the next train. Cursing London Underground under my breath again, I turned and sulked my way to the coffee shop closest to the barriers, ordered a large Americano and pulled my conference notes out of my briefcase.

  The conference hadn’t been all that riveting first time around so was even less interesting in note form. Within ten minutes I had read enough and my mind had begun to stray onto the latest erotic stories I was in the process of writing. I had quickly found that my ability and dedication as a writer depended greatly on my mood at the time so I was keeping several different stories on the go at once, adding and amending them as the muse took me.

  I knew I still had a great deal to learn but was enjoying the experience immensely. As a result of my husband Peter’s constantly expressed desire to see me with another man, the ‘Cuckold’ theme was very much dominant in my current choice of story, but I had drifted into other subject areas as well.

  There was also a powerful thrill in having a secret; no-one would have guessed that the middle-aged rather severe-looking professional woman sitting opposite them on the train was actually composing erotic stories and imagining herself taking part in them!

  This delay in my return home could be an opportunity too. If I could find a seat where I couldn’t be overlooked, the journey home could be a great opportunity to press on with the latest chapter in my favorite series. In fact, I realized, if I moved to the corner table in the café, I could get a good twenty minutes constructive writing done now before catching the train. I slid along the bench seat to put my back to the wall and within seconds my laptop was out and I was engrossed in writing, finding to my shame, that it was getting easier and easier to put myself in the place of my stories’ heroines.

  Each time a story called for a male lover, I tried to use as role model a man from my real life who I rather fancied, partly because it’s so much easier to base a character on a real person but also, I must confess, because it gave me a thrill imagining what such a man might do to me and with me and for me.

  An idea for a highly erotic scene had just sprung into my mind; the world of the café faded to blur as for a quarter of an hour I typed and typed, my eyes fixed myopically on the small screen.

  So it was that, when the barriers were open and I boarded the train, I was in something of a state of arousal. My face felt hot and I suspect I was a little flushed but was very much looking forward to an unbroken ninety minutes’ to develop further the plot line I had just created. My alter-ego was going to

  have one hell of an evening if I could just get the scenario that was filling my mind onto the screen before its intensity faded.

  The train was quite busy but I was an early boarder and selected a single seat in the corner of First Class where it would be difficult for other passengers to look over my shoulder and see what I was working on. I booted up my laptop again, set the document magnification low to make it doubly difficult for an eavesdropper to read anything I might write and got back to work ten minutes before we were due to depart.

  The story was taking shape nicely. My anti-hero had managed to maneuver his wife into a situation where she thought she was alone with her would-be-lover and was rapidly succumbing to his considerable charms. As a result, I had started work on what was always one of my favorite parts of any story – the seduction itself.

  In my mind, the seducer in this chapter was heavily based on Tony, the frequent dinner companion and ‘goodbye groper’ I have described before. Tall, slim and definitely very handsome, he and I had come close to inappropriate contact at least twice before.

  Since his wife Jane had embarked on a misguided affair with her Personal Trainer and they now lived apart, his newly acquired ‘single’ status made him an even more dangerous threat to my fidelity.

  The action on my screen was heating up rapidly in the central characters’ lounge. Oblivious to all around me, my fast-moving fingers had typed up to the point where my anti-hero’s wife was being slowly undressed by her soon-to-be lover after a candle-lit dinner. As her husband watched, her soft body was being gradually but efficiently exposed to her lover’s touch; after all those bedroom fantasies with my husband Peter, it was easy for me to imagine what it might be like to be in that situation myself.

  I fidgeted in my seat I became more and more aroused with each completed paragraph. As the train slowly began to move I became aware of my panties becoming damper and damper as my characters shed more and more clothes until...

  “Hi Penny! Great to see you!”

  The very familiar but out-of-breath voice above and just behind my head made me jump almost out of my seat. I had been so engrossed in my writing that I had let someone get close up to me without even noticing. Awash with guilt and fear I instinctively slammed down the screen of my laptop, begging my guardian angels to make sure whoever it was hadn’t had a chance to read what I was writing, then span around in my chair to see who it was that had frightened me so much.

  “Tony! Jesus you scared the life out of me!” I exclaimed.

  Oh my God! It was the very person I had been imagining seducing the heroine of my story, a heroine in many ways modelled on myself. My skin was suddenly hot and prickly at the absurd thought that he might not only have seen the erotic story I was writing, but might also have recognized one of the characters as himself. His first reaction was reassuring though.

  “I’m so sorry Penny. I could see you were concentrating but didn’t realize you were in it so deep. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you!”

  I laughed out loud, partly in embarrassment, partly in relief. “It’s okay, really. I was miles away and didn’t see you.”

  “I nearly missed it,” he confessed. “They closed the doors just after I jumped on. I had to run through the station. The tube was a nightmare. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  I gestured to the seat opposite and as he arranged himself, his coat and
his briefcase, I began to tell him I had found the underground equally infuriating. I felt terribly flustered; it was nearly impossible to make small talk with a man who I had just imagined stripping and seducing me in front of my husband. I felt exposed and vulnerable, almost as if he had just seen me naked

  “Is everything alright?” I heard him ask as he settled in his seat. “You look a bit anxious.”

  I ignored his comment and tried to talk cheerfully and directly as I attempted surreptitiously to slide my laptop into my briefcase.

  “What were you in town for?” I asked distractedly.

  “Meeting with a customer,” he replied. “A big one too. Were you at the Conference?”

  “Yes, overnight,” I replied then frowned. “How did you know about that?”

  “You told me at Jenny’s dinner party, don’t you remember? I thought I was the one who had too much to drink that night. And Peter too of course!”

  I knew better; my husband Peter hadn’t been anywhere near as drunk as he appeared. He had just pretended to be drunk in order to see how far Tony would push his ‘goodbye grope’ and how far I would let him go. I didn’t say anything though, instead I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed. I

  smiled back and for a few moments we were distracted by the arrival of the trolley, the checking of tickets and the pouring of coffee.

  “Would you like a complimentary glass of wine too?” the steward asked. I looked at Tony as if waiting for a lead.

  “Would you like one?” he asked me, a cheeky look in his eye. “I will if you will. It is Friday afternoon after all and I hate drinking on my own!”

  I grinned and nodded and before long we were touching surprisingly large glasses and chatting away. My relief at having escaped discovery was almost palpable and I began to relax quickly. After the usual exchanges about our respective kids and the iniquities of our various work colleagues we were half an hour into the journey and half way down a second glass of wine.

  As we exited a tunnel, Tony’s phone rang and he asked if I minded him taking the call, it being from the customer he had met that morning. I smiled at his politeness and nodded then picked up my meeting notes and tried not to listen to the private conversation taking place across the table.

  Although we had been friends for nearly twenty years, I had never really seen Tony in business mode before and must admit to being impressed. Distracted by his phone call, I was able to look carefully at the man who had featured so strongly in my fantasies.

  I very much liked what I saw; tall, slim and fit in a smart, tailored dark blue suit, white shirt and red tie. His hair had started to thin a little but the steel grey at his temples seemed to make him more serious and more attractive rather than looking older. His deep brown eyes had always been one of his sexiest features and they hadn’t reduced in allure one little bit, especially when they sparkled mischievously during one-to-one conversations like the one we were just enjoying.

  He turned towards the window, engrossed in his call and for a moment I felt his legs press against mine then somewhat awkwardly move away. His trousers had felt warm against my tight-covered legs and for a moment I wished they had remained there. As if reading my mind, when he turned back from the window and ended the call, I felt the light touch of woolen cloth against my nylons and a small thrill washed over me.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I’ve been working towards this deal for months and it looks like it’s going to come off.”

  “Really? Well done!” I congratulated him, trying to remember whether he had told me about it during dinner and deciding he probably hadn’t.

  “It’s not a lot of business but it’s prestigious,” he continued. “And it sets us up well for next year.”

  “You look happy,” I said smiling.

  “I am happy,” he replied. “And it’s great to spend a bit of time with you. When I’m sober!” he added.

  For the next hour we talked about all sorts of things; our kids, work, politics, families, holidays, everything but my old friend, his estranged wife Julie. And as we talked I was struck by just how good a companion he really was; how he asked questions rather than just told me things as most men do, and then really listened to my answers. As the conversation grew closer, I felt his legs pressing more firmly against mine under the table and several times our hands touched above it.

  The journey simply flew past and before long we were approaching our station in the fading light.

  “Did you drive here?” he asked me as we began to slow down.

  “I’ll get a taxi. It’s no problem.” I replied.

  “My car’s over there,” he said nodding towards the large off site car park. “Let me give you a lift home.”

  “It’s a bit out of your way,” I protested unconvincingly.

  “It’s no problem. Besides you haven’t asked me everything yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re dying to know about Julie and me but are too polite to ask,” he laughed.

  I blushed but he was absolutely right. Although I had heard something of Julie’s side of the story from our post-exercise conversations at the gym, I had little idea how Tony felt about the situation. Julie of course was in full scale mid-life crisis and had been simply swept off her foolish feet by a lover over twenty years her junior. I had to admit, he was extremely good looking with a fit body and, if her reports were anything to go by, an enviable endowment and prowess in bed. Julie had always kept herself in great shape, but since her affair had started, her body had improved still further and her self confidence had soared.

  The price of her folly had been estrangement from her husband and two children, though there was

  as yet no talk of divorce, and becoming the center of scandalous conversations within our circle of friends. The number of social invitations extended to her had greatly reduced, partly because her boyfriend had been Personal Trainer to many of her friends too but also because her unfaithful presence made many couples feel uneasy.

  Besides, it was hard to gossip about someone when they were actually there.

  Despite his comment, Tony said little about his real feelings as we drove through the lamp-lit streets towards the village where Peter and I live. It was clear that she had hurt him deeply and that he was still in love with her despite their ten month separation.

  Still very good looking, I knew myself that since the separation Tony had been presented with many opportunities to form other relationships and had actually had a couple of short term affairs. I also knew that he wasn’t looking for anything permanent; that he expected her to want to come back to him eventually but at that moment he wasn’t at all sure that would be good for him.

  Barely fifteen minutes later we turned through the large gate posts and onto our driveway then pulled up outside the front door. Tony leapt from the driver’s door and ran round to help me down from the car, then carried my briefcase and overnight bag to the house while I fumbled in my handbag for the key. A minute later we were in the hallway and he placed the bags neatly up against the wall.

  “Okay! You’re all set!” he said cheerfully, turning to face me. “Have a nice evening!”

  “Are you sure you don’t want another coffee?” I asked as a matter of politeness.

  “I think all that railway coffee has put me off it for a while,” he chuckled. “Thanks anyway.”

  “It was nice to talk to you properly,” I said softly as those deep brown eyes locked onto mine.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” he replied softly. “And without the usual disturbances.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that; was it the kids or the phones? Or maybe my husband?

  “We should do it again,” I said cheerfully, approaching him for our usual farewell hug and kiss. “Thanks so much for the lift.”

  Tony moved towards me, stooping a little until his lips brushed against my cheek for our habitual goodbye peck. I felt his arms wrapping themselves around my waist and wait
ed for the usual hug and ‘farewell fondle’ - the now familiar straying of his large strong hands onto my buttocks where they

  would rest, waiting for my own hand to move them away and for the good natured admonishment that I would normally administer.

  Sure enough, within seconds I felt the warmth and weight of his right hand on my left buttock, drawing my body into his as his lips brushed against my cheek. Instinctively I reached behind and took hold of his wrist as I would normally have done to move it away.

  But I didn’t!

  This time it was different; this time, for some reason I didn’t move his hand away.

  Even now I can’t explain exactly what made me, on that specific occasion, release his wrist leaving his hand on my bottom and raise my arms around his neck instead. Just why I chose that moment to take the first tiny step on the fast-moving journey that followed, I simply do not know, but take it I did.

  It took Tony’s puzzled brain a few seconds to register that something had changed; that his hand was still on my warm buttock and that far from chastising him, I was now hanging from his neck, my cheek against his; my body leaning against him.

  My heart was thumping as I felt his hands gently and tentatively squeeze my bottom as if he was testing me, unable to believe my lack of response, wondering what to do next.

  My mind told me that it wasn’t too late to stop; even then I could have released his neck and moved his hand away with only a little embarrassment, but I didn’t. Nervously, almost unable to believe what I’d started, I nuzzled his neck with my nose and after a moment of sheer terror, felt his right hand join his left on my bottom, cupping both my buttocks and squeezing me tightly against his tall, muscular frame.

  Nervously, not quite understanding what I had started, I pressed myself against him and rubbed his slightly whiskery neck with my cheek. He squeezed me tightly, his rough chin against my smooth cheek.

  Like awkward teenagers at a school party, our faces clumsily maneuvered until finally our lips touched.