First-Time Cuckold

by Vivi King

  As a result, I had been open and honest with both my online female friends for many months, sharing rather more of my personal life than I would with most of my male friends and learning more about them and their own progress into the world of infidelity in return.

  The troll message was from a new tormentor I had acquired a month before. Its style and detail were distinctly different from the usual crude abuse that could relatively easily be ignored. This person seemed to know how to get under my skin with offensive remarks that were much better directed at me personally than simply expressing hate at the world. I deleted the message but not before I had read it several times.

  I was deep into reading a long letter from one of my oldest and closest online friends in which he was reminiscing about a particularly exciting evening he, his wife and her lover had enjoyed over thirty years before when I heard the sound of Pete’s key in the door.

  Somewhat aroused by the story, my husband’s arrival made me jump guiltily and I slammed the cover of my laptop closed in near panic.

  He was back; whatever was going to happen would happen now.

  The handle turned; the door opened. My stomach churned when I heard Pete’s footsteps in the hallway.

  “Penny?”

  “In here,” I called out nervously.

  I waited in the kitchen as his footsteps crossed the hallway. He stood in the doorway; there was a long silence as we looked at each other. In his dark suit and white open-neck shirt, my husband looked confident, professional and deeply attractive.

  I loved him and wanted him so much my chest ached. Please God may he still love and want me!

  I took a step towards him; he took one towards me. I took another... then Pete’s hands were on my body, his mouth was on mine. I opened my lips; his tongue was inside, seeking and finding mine. We kissed wildly and passionately, our mouths open wide as if we were still teens.

  I felt my husband’s hands on my body, eager, active, his fingers seeking and finding my tiny boobs, crushing them hard in his fists. It hurt but I loved the pain. His fingers found my nipples and nipped them viciously; I squealed but he ignored my discomfort and I made no attempt to stop him.

  It was good pain and I deserved it!

  Then my boobs were freed and his hands were on my buttocks, kneading them firmly through my dress. It felt good; it felt very good. I responded with a mixture of relief and desire; my arousal rising so quickly it caught me by surprise.

  Seconds later I felt the hem of my dress being lifted and Pete’s strong, warm hand was on my bared, bony cheeks, forcing my lower belly hard against his groin. The erection bulging there was firm and

  impressive despite being constrained by clothing.

  There was a slight pause as Pete discovered the absence of knickers then the oh-so-welcome assault began in earnest.

  My chest tightened and my legs shook as a long searching finger began to explore the base of my slit from beneath. I could feel my vulva oozing lubrication onto Pete’s hand, the level of desire and passion rocketing.

  Our mouths crashed together so hard I felt sure I would have a fat lip in the morning, our tongues slithering over each other like two snakes as my vulva was fingered roughly and irresistibly.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Pete hissed coarsely in my ear when we finally came up for breath.

  “I’ve missed you too,” I smiled back, biting him on the ear as his hands gripped both buttocks at once.

  “And you’ve been fucked again, you slut,” he growled.

  “That’s right Pete,” I hissed. “I am a slut! I’ve been well and truly fucked.”

  “Say it again, Penny!”

  Pete was almost snarling; his hand moved from my bottom to my groin then slid downwards until it was cupping my mound.

  “I’ve been fucked, Pete,” I obeyed. “Your pregnant slut wife has been fucked again.”

  His finger was moving up and down my slit from its base between my thighs to the half concealed but hardening nub at its apex.

  “Oh Penny, that’s so hot! Say it again.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Christ yes!”

  “I’ve been fucked again Pete; another man has stuck his cock into your wife’s cunt and fucked me!”

  “Did he cum in you?”

  “Of course he came in me! They always cum in me!”

  “In this cunt?” Pete asked, thrusting his finger so hard into my vagina that I winced.

  “Yes! He came in that cunt!” I hissed, searching for the right words; words that would drive my husband to greater heights of arousal. “He filled your wife’s cunt with his sperm filled cum, Pete!”

  It was over the top crudeness but it had the desired effect.

  “Did he? Well I’m going to fuck it right back out of you!”

  With that, my handsome husband took my hand and almost dragged me upstairs, tearing at my clothes on the way. By the time we had reached the bed he had stripped me forcefully down to my stockings, heels and bra.

  I backed towards the edge of the mattress, my body shaking. Pete pushed me powerfully backwards onto the bed, his hands on my knees, spreading my legs so wide my aching hips creaked as he dived between my thighs until his face was only inches from my weeping vulva.

  “You’re still puffy,” he announced with obvious delight. “And pink. And gaping too. You really, really did it!”

  I suspected the pink puffiness was mostly in his mind or from his fingers but I was pleased that the thought was bringing him so much pleasure. I knew from my affair with Tony that my vulva – my Pretty Pink Pussy as he had called it - did show signs of sex for a day or so afterwards but of course it was hard for me to see.

  “Yes Pete; I really, really did it,” I repeated.

  “You’re amazing!”

  “It looks like you don’t mind too much,” I chuckled.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Are we safe now?” he asked.

  Pete’s fingers were toying with my outer lips as he spoke, parting them to expose the inner core; looking for more physical signs of Wills presence in my body. I could feel myself being opened wide, being inspected. Perversely I loved the feeling; my body was lubricating wildly. It felt very pleasant indeed.

  “Only for the moment,” I replied, sighing.

  I leaned back on my elbows, watching the small thinning patch on top of my husband’s head as it was lowered closer to my vulva. I could feel his hot breath on my sensitive parts.

  “How long it will last?” he asked, the tip of his tongue tracing a line down my left inner thigh.

  “I don’t want to know if it makes you act like this,” I smiled encouragingly.

  There was a small pause as Pete’s tongue mirrored the action on my right thigh, this time dipping into the crease at the top of my leg. I shivered with soft pleasure and anticipation.

  “Did he fuck you hard?”

  “Hard and fast Pete. He’s an athlete.”

  “How did he fuck you?”

  “Bent over the counter.”

  “Standing up?”

  “Yes. My face was on the counter top.”

  “Your bottom sticking out?”

  “And my pussy.”

  “This puffy pink pussy?”

  His tongue performed one long stroke from the very base of my slit across my weeping entrance to my hard clitoris above. My whole body jumped.

  “YES!” I squealed. “Oh God YES!”

  I moaned and writhed as he did it a second time, then a third.

  “Did he stick his cock into your pussy?” Pete mumbled into my pubic hair.

  “Y... Yes!” I gasped as his tongue continued its work.

  “Was it big?”

  “Mmmm!”

  “Was it long?”

  “Mmmmmm!”

  “Was it thick?”

  “Mmmmmmmm!”

  Pete had lifted the hood of my clitoris with his thumbs and the rough flat of his tongue was rasping against its underside. The sen
sation was almost unbearable. I could feel myself pouring lubrication into his mouth as my body shook uncontrollably.

  “Did he fuck the living daylights out of you Penny?”

  “Jeeesssussss!” was all I could reply.

  For a few minutes Pete buried his face in my groin, his tongue lithe and active, unwilling to deprive any part of my vulva of the attention it deserved... and it deserved so much. The first wave of climax rocked me violently as his tongue rasped along and under my clitoris over and over again.

  I squealed with pleasure, my juices flowing freely onto my husband’s nose and chin.

  “Did you cum like this for him?” Pete mumbled into my pubic mound once he had regained his breath.

  “God yes!” I gasped.

  “Did you cum on his cock?”

  “And on his fingers.”

  Pete’s tongue was tracing the outline of my outer lips again, up one side and down the other. My whole body was tingling with pleasure and anticipation.

  “Did he cum too?”

  “Yes.”

  “In your pussy?”

  “In my cunt.”

  “Bareback?”

  “Bareback! Ohhhh!”

  Pete’s tongue had just abandoned my hard nub and insinuated itself deep into my slit, parting my pink outer labia and running lightly along the deep valley between them. I could feel myself lubricating with a vengeance now, the warm tingle accompanied by a slow release of fluid and a rapid increase in my arousal.

  “How much did he cum?”

  My husband’s voice was again muffled by my weeping vulva and sparse pubic hair.

  “Mmmm! Loads; he’s young and fit.”

  “Did he squirt it all into your cunt?”

  “God! That feels good Pete.”

  “Did he fill you Penny? Did you take every last drop of his cum?”

  “Yes! Oh yes! Every last drop.”

  “All in your cunt?”

  “All in my pregnant cunt!”

  My legs parted automatically as my husband’s shoulders pressed against my inner thighs and he began to mount me, looking down onto my flat-chested, skinny, stretch-marked body with an expression of lustful surprise.

  “He’s marked you!” Pete exclaimed as he noticed the small fingertip bruises on both my hips.

  I didn’t reply, I just looked up into my husband’s handsome face and waited to see how he reacted.

  “He’s actually marked you as his! Fucking Hell!”

  Pete forced my legs even wider apart with his knees, his eyes wide in lustful excitement.

  “Those marks will be there for days too,” he gasped.

  Clearly this was far from distressing for my husband whose body slipped into place high between my thighs.

  “What if he’s knocked you up?” he hissed as his chest rose above mine.

  “I’m already knocked up.” I slurred.

  “Whose baby is in your belly?”

  “Darren's,” I hissed again.

  “Whose cum was in your cunt?”

  “Will’s”

  “Whose wife are you, slut?”

  “Yours!”

  “Say it again.”

  “I’m your wife, Pete. Your slut wife!”

  “Too fucking right you are!”

  “Owwww!”

  With those last words, my husband rammed his erect cock brutally into my vagina, penetrating my body as hard and as deeply in a single stroke as I had ever felt.

  Readers will remember that Pete’s cock is slim and my vagina loose after having had three children. The mismatch was partly responsible for my original affair with Tony, a close family friend whose ugly, misshapen, stumpy cock was thick enough to stretch me tight and provide the orgasms my husband could not.

  But Pete’s erect cock is long, reaching deep into me and that is what it did that night. When Pete thrust himself violently into my open and dripping vagina, he plunged his entire length into my body at a single stroke, halting only when his hips collided with my spread thighs.

  By then of course the smooth head of his long cock had crushed my cervix in a way Tony’s never could, pressing it high into my belly despite the pressure of Darren’s baby growing behind its sealed entrance.

  I gasped, my hands on my husband’s shoulders, my eyes fixed on his handsome face as he began to thrust in and out of my body. Although I knew from the start that there would be no orgasm, still I clamped down on his shaft as hard as my ageing pelvic floor would allow, tilting my pelvis forwards in the hope of stimulating my clitoris on the upper surface of his shaft.

  It was a forlorn hope; the sensations for me barely changed but for Pete they brought about a transformation.

  “Yes! Squeeze me, slut! Act like a whore! Is that what your boyfriend taught you?” he growled as my efforts took effect.

  “That’s right,” I hissed back. “He didn’t need it! His cock was big enough on its own. He could make me cum any time he wanted.”

  It sounded cruel but it was what my husband wanted to hear. And we both knew it

  Pete hammered into me over and over again. My slippery vagina barely felt the friction but the slapping of his hips against my thighs, his balls against my buttocks and the pummelling of my cervix were beginning to take their toll.

  The room filled with wet slapping sounds which seemed to drive Pete on to greater efforts. His pace quickened and, if it were possible, the depth of his penetration increased too. I clamped down hard again, feeling his head swelling within me as his climax rapidly approached.

  “Cum in me Pete!” I growled again. “Cum in your slut wife!”

  He looked as if he was going to say something and that something would not be pleasant but before the words could emerge his climax hit him like a brick wall, sending his body into spasm and starting another of the explosive ejaculations that our new lifestyle had created.

  Pete began to cum inside me with an intensity I had rarely seen in him. His face contorted grotesquely, his back arched and his neck twisted wildly as his body emptied itself into mine. With open mouth and staring eyes, rope after rope of semen cascaded from the tip of his cock into the depths of my vagina where they met with the baby-sealed barrier of my cervix.

  His climax seemed to last for a long time, his body flexing and groaning but even the most intense of orgasms must come to an end, and eventually this one did too.

  Pete’s body fell onto mine, crushing me against the rumpled sheet as the throbbing of his cock slowed to a halt. A minute later I felt it beginning to soften and the strange emptiness inside me that always accompanied the death of a man’s erection.

  “That was intense, Penn,” he smiled as his flaccid cock slipped messily from my body.

  I smiled up at him.

  “Sorry you didn’t make it... again,” he said looking genuinely unhappy.

  “It’s okay. I have other outlets now, don’t I?” I said matter-of-factly.

  He rolled alongside me on the bed.

  “That’s right. And you will have more soon too.”

  He kissed me on the cheek. I held his hand. We lay peacefully side by side for a long time.

  “Was he better than Darren?” my husband eventually asked.

  “Will? It’s hard to say. He’s not really had a chance to show off his skills.”

  “Is it better with a younger man?”

  I pondered, despite our history I was still amazed that this conversation was happening at all.

  “It’s different. All men are different,” I eventually said.

  “But only some can make you cum,” Pete frowned.

  “That’s partly my fault,” I said. “Down there...” I didn't need to finish the sentence.

  “And I’m not big enough? Thanks a bunch,” he said sulkily.

  I didn’t think he was serious in his apparent upset but I wasn’t quite sure.

  “You didn’t have any problem making Julie cum did you?” I told him reassuringly, surprised how much it hurt even to refer to my hus
band’s single act of infidelity.

  Pete sat up straight.

  “Who told you that?”

  “She did. In fact she was very complimentary about your bedroom skills.”

  Pete tried to hide the broad beam of pleasure that crossed his face but I spotted it. I suspect he wanted me to tell him more about the rest of his performance with my best friend but unlike him, I wasn’t interested.

  If Julie had chosen to let my husband stick his cock into her rectum, that was their business.

  It still upset me to think that the two of them had successfully enjoyed anal sex when Pete and I had failed in the many attempt throughout our lives together. Why he found it so arousing to hear about my infidelities was still something of a mystery for me; but I was unquestionably glad that he did.

  “Were you dripping with his cum when you left the club?” Pete asked, turning towards me and running his fingers over my tummy.

  The game had started again. I played my part as a good Hotwife should.

  “Mmmmm. All the way home. The car seat was all slippery.”

  “What about your panties?”

  “In my bag. They were too soaked and too torn to wear.”

  His fingers had descended to my groin now and were toying with my tightly curled and matted pubic hair.

  “Where are they now?” he asked.

  “In the bin in the bathroom,” I replied.

  “Are they still dirty?”

  “There’s no cum on them; he ripped them off before fucking me. Why?”

  Pete left me in the bed, went quickly through to the en suite and returned with the tiny, torn garment in his hands. He sat on the edge of the mattress and held it out in his fingers as if inspecting it. As I watched he raised the fabric to his nose and inhaled deeply.

  “They smell of you.”

  He sniffed again them looked a little disappointed. I frowned; I have never understood the attraction the smell of a woman’s dirty knickers had for my husband or the way he seemed to love the rancid, fishy smell and taste of my vulva after sex. Maybe you had to be a man to understand.