A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 08byPaul Pines©
Author's note: As my wife's relationship with her lover develops, we are working to find the right combination of arrangements that result in privacy, intimacy, a good time for the two of them and enough involvement for me that I don't get totally frustrated at being left out. We are getting better at it.
Once again, I begin with a caveat: This story is about real-life cuckolding. If you are offended by the idea, or if reading this story will force you to write comments sharing your horror, please go look at dirty pictures or read a different story.
Constructive, supportive or even critical comments are welcome. And if you write better stuff, please send me a copy so I can get off on it!
It had been a long time since Sally and Ted were together. Soon after their last date in March, Ted had surgery which resulted in complications involving his prostate. It took him a long time to recuperate, and even longer to "get everything working." So when Sally and he arranged this date, he told her he could not promise how much he would be able to deliver in bed. Sally made it clear that she wanted to see him, and even if they just spent time cuddling and being close that was fine with her. Reassured by her words, he sent me an IM saying he was looking forward to seeing my wife again. It had been so long since their last date that his comment took me by surprise: I suddenly remembered that he was going to bed with my wife. I thanked him for saying that to me, and I realized how much I needed and enjoyed the little crumbs which he and Sally throw my way.
A week before their date, Sally laid out the schedule for me: we would have sex until Wednesday (their date was the following Monday), then I would help her cum after that, but would not be allowed inside her. That's pretty much our usual practice, so it did not surprise me. What did surprise me was when she told me later the same day that she had just gotten her period, which would not end until... yes, Wednesday. "Oh well," she said casually, "you'll just have to wait for sex until after Ted and I are done." That whole week, my only sex was with my hand. Pictures of Sally and Ted taken long ago (back when I was allowed to watch them in bed together), an occasional IM from Ted; that and jerking off were all I had, and I remembered how lonely it is to be a cuckold.
On Sunday, Sally showed me the outfit she chose for her date: black slacks, a beautiful purple and black shirt, and black bra and panties. When she told me of her plan to leave one button too many open during lunch, and showed me how it would look, I nearly came. She said if Ted was concerned about his "performance," the least she could do would be to provide him with some incentive, and she did; her cleavage would have raised the interest of a dead man. That night I masturbated with a frenzied focus: the image of her breasts pushing their way out of the top of her shirt and the top of her bra. I thanked her for showing me -- for tossing me another crumb.
Of course, I was not allowed to see her naked the day of their date. She emerged from the bedroom looking radiant and ready. We drove the 75 miles to the hotel talking about normal things, and even someone in the car with us would have been unaware that I was driving my wife to meet her lover for the afternoon. I don't know what was on Sally's mind, but I kept thinking about how surreal it all was: a husband and wife driving together, talking together, going together to her date with another man. I was alternately hard and completely soft as the conflicting images and emotions vied for space in my brain.
The image of normalcy continued as we checked into the hotel. We had a nice conversation with the desk clerk about the weather, his cold and the usual briefing on hotel amenities, while images of my beautiful wife taking her lover into her body flashed by. With no winter coat to hide my erection, I slinked away from the counter and headed to the elevator.
In the room, I made the few required preparations: I placed Sally's pocket rocket (with new battery, of course) on the nightstand next to the bed, I set the "white noise" machine on the counter just outside the bedroom, and I placed a jar of Vaseline discretely in a drawer in the living room cabinet, where I could find it when I needed it later. We sat together on the living room couch and watched stupid TV for a while, until Ted called to say he was downstairs, ready to take us to lunch. Sally nearly jumped to her feet, and I did my best to keep up with her as she headed out of the room and toward the elevator. Just like that -- with one 30-second phone call -- we were not "we" anymore; we were Sally going to meet Ted, and me tagging along.
Ted was in his car, waiting at the hotel entrance. Sally hopped into the front seat, giving him a quick kiss while I wedged myself into the back seat. At lunch it was clear that they were lovers and I was a friend: the waitress showed us to a table, and Ted asked if we could have a booth instead. When we got to the booth, he slid in beside her. The meal was strange for me, as it always is when they are together: normal food and normal conversation, but the food would not go down and the conversation did not register as I watched him put his arm around her, hold her hand, rest his hand on her leg, and spend way too much time looking at the flesh of her tits which was pushing out of the top of her too-open shirt. Nothing subtle about it: not only was he comfortable touching her, he was proud of it, too.
I could see the struggle in Sally's eyes as she wavered between trying to throw me a few crumbs and trying to maintain her Good Girl image in public. I think her own preference would be for the three of us to sit like businesspeople and save every bit of "P.D.A." for the hotel room, but she was aware of my reaction to every touch, every stare. As far as I could tell, Ted did not share either concern; he was happy to be with "his girl," and he couldn't wait to get his hands on her. The result was that they didn't exactly make out during lunch, but they did enough to keep my entire meal stuck in my throat.
Once back in the hotel, Sally's concerns vanished. She and Ted sat in the living room with me for a while, gently touching each other as we talked. Sally was the one to say, "Shall we go in the other room?" and Ted smiled and said, "Of course!" At that moment my heart sank and my cock shriveled up to nothing. The time had arrived, and my wife had brought it about. They arose, took each other's hand and walked away from me without a word or a glance. I heard the bedroom door click shut, and I was alone.
There has been a lot of discussion among cuckolds about whether it is harder to watch or to wait. The question is really moot, because cuckolds seldom have a say. But I will tell you that sitting and talking with them and then having them leave to go to bed together is one of the most gut-wrenching things I can imagine. Being alone is hard enough, but being with them, and then suddenly alone, is an achingly lonely experience.
I sat in the living room for about 10 minutes, listening to the soft words and noises emanating from the bedroom, when I realized Sally had not turned on the white noise machine when she went by it. My heart jumped -- I would get to listen to them! I was just about to pull down my pants when Ted called to me from behind the closed door.
"Paul, come here please."
I walked to the bedroom door... and knocked. What an asshole, I thought: knocking on the door so I don't disturb my wife in bed with her lover! But I waited before entering, until Ted told me to come in.
They were throwing me a crumb. But oh, what a crumb!
The lights were off, but daylight coming through the curtains illuminated the scene: my wife was lying in bed, wearing nothing but her black panties. Ted was naked, lying against her side. His right arm was under her head, and his left hand was caressing her breast -- her naked breast. As my eyes adjusted to the diminished light, I saw motion between their bodies and realized that Sally was stroking his penis.
"Is the noise machine turned on?" Sally asked.
"No," I replied quietly.
"I thought not. Please turn it on, and please close the door."
I nodded dumbly, but apparently I continued to stand there, staring, because Sally added (rather more forcefully than necessary), "NOW."
I did as I was told. I closed the door on that incredibly sexy scene, turned on the noise machine to drown out the sound of their lovemaking, and returned to the living room couch. I took out the Vaseline and spent the next half-hour masturbating over all the images in my mind: Sally dressed for her date, Sally undressed for her lover; Ted dressed, Ted undressed; my wife and her lover holding hands, my wife and her lover holding each other's body; the damn wall between us, and the damn noise machine. Thirty minutes of excitement and sex and shame and abandonment and loneliness and masturbating without cumming so the pain and humiliation would not overwhelm me.
But gradually they did overwhelm me. As we hit the 45-minute mark (yes, I keep track of the time; what else do I have to do?) I found it difficult to stay focused and hard. I felt painfully alone -- not because Sally was making love with Ted, which I accept, but because there wasn't anything for me. The memory of his hand on her naked breast dimmed before the sight of the sterile hotel wall, and even the thought of them making love behind that door was drowned out by the "whoosh" of the white noise machine. I started to feel very sorry for myself, and wondered if this was a good idea after all. If anyone ever says cuckolding isn't painful, I would beg to differ.
I don't know how they knew it, but they did. As if to say, "I want to keep doing this, so I will make sure you aren't too miserable about it," I heard Sally call out my name, telling me to come in again.
I walked to the bedroom door, naked and with my cock slick with Vaseline, and opened it a little. I don't know why, but I kept it closed enough that I could hide my body behind it. Somehow it just didn't seem right to be naked in front of them, though I don't know if it was for my modesty or their comfort. In either case, I need not have worried; they could not have cared less what I was wearing or what I was doing. They were in almost the same position as before, but Sally's legs were spread wider and Ted was literally draped over her side with his head resting on her left breast, his mouth a fraction of an inch from her nipple. They both smiled at me and Sally said, "We just wanted you to know that Ted passed the test. Everything works fine."
"Oh," I stuttered. "That's really great news. Congratulations."
"Now leave us alone again. Bye."
I closed the door as discretely as I could with trembling hands and weak legs. I stumbled back to the living room couch, nearly fell onto it, and grabbed my cock. I willed it back to life and was at the edge of cumming in 15 seconds. Yes, they had thrown me another crumb, and I was so grateful! They called me into their bedroom to tell me the good news that Ted was able to fuck and cum, and what was unsaid but clear was that he had just done it with my wife -- and IN my wife. Why on earth would they think I wanted to know that?
Right. Because I DID want to know that. And I wanted to hear it from my wife's lips. I never knew I wanted to, but I did. I wanted to know that my wife had helped Ted over his fear that the surgery had taken away sex. I wanted to know that my wife turned him on, and got him hard, and took him inside, and made him cum. They would not let me watch or even listen, but they were kind enough to tell me it happened. It was just a crumb, a half a minute of their time, but hearing my wife say she cuckolded me and seeing her lover's smiling face resting on the flesh of her tit was enough. Gratitude and horniness took their place alongside loneliness and humiliation, and I masturbated until my whole body was shaking at the edge of orgasm.
Some time later (I actually DID lose track of time after that experience), I heard the door open. Sally emerged and crossed the hallway to the bathroom, closing the bathroom door behind her. Only after she was out of sight did I realize that she was wearing her silk bathrobe, and a question crossed my mind: for whom was she wearing a bathrobe? I thought (and jerked off) about it for a few minutes until she emerged. When she did, she actually came over to me (another precious crumb, as last time she simply went back to bed without so much as a nod in my direction) and asked how I was doing. I told her the truth -- it had been difficult until they called me in to tell me the news -- and she smiled.
"I thought you might enjoy that," she said.
I thanked her for being so kind, and asked her if she was having a good time.
"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful," she replied.
I asked her about the robe -- was it for him, or for me?
"It's for me. I didn't want to walk around naked. Have a nice time -- I'm going back to bed."
Again, my head reeled. What did she mean, it was for her? She spent the afternoon naked in bed with her lover, and only put on the robe to go out "in public" -- out where I could see her. She wasn't comfortable letting ME see her, but it was fine to go back to him and take it off again. "Wonderful, absolutely wonderful," was how she described it.
Only when I had digested as much of that thought as I could handle, did I realize that the "whoosh" was gone. She had turned off the noise machine, too!
I was just about to get up to listen at their door when I heard it open again. Ted this time, and he, too, made his way to the bathroom. But he was naked -- stark naked. There may come a day when I can see a man walk out of my wife's bedroom naked and not want to cry, but it has not yet arrived. My stomach was in a knot as I stared at the bathroom door.
His return trip was even more difficult for me. He emerged from the bathroom and stood at the sink, washing his hands. Hard enough staring at his ass, but as he turned to hang up the towel and walk back to the bedroom, I saw his cock sticking out from his body, semi-hard. Clearly, he was not done with my wife. His sex organ seemed to point the way for him: oblivious to my presence, focused on the pleasure awaiting him in bed -- in my wife -- it led him back to her. He closed their door behind him, and I quietly took a towel and placed it on the floor, right outside their bedroom. I sat on it in silence, and I waited.
I did not have to wait long.
Kissing noises. Then sucking noises. Deep moans of pleasure from Ted. Soft whispers. Rustling of sheets. Then "that sound" -- the surprised, pleased, absolutely feminine sound Sally makes when a cock enters her. Her gasps. His groans. The bed shaking, faster and faster. Not five minutes, and his noises rise to the sounds which men make when they cum. I knew they were not thinking of me at all, but it felt so good to be able to share their pleasure by listening to them. Dear wife and lover, thank you for the crumbs!
Her vibrator begins to buzz, and the sounds coming through the door change. Soft words from Ted; I can't make out what he is saying, but Sally tells me that he always whispers words of encouragement and admiration, which she loves. I lean back against the wall, prepared to enjoy masturbating to her noises for the 15 minutes or so it takes her to cum.
But she cums in two minutes. I thought I was mistaken -- maybe it was just a wave of good feeling, along the way to her orgasm? It was not. My wife cried out, and punctuating her cries were the sounds of the bed shaking from her convulsions. There is no sound in the world like that, but my excitement was once again commingled with a sick sensation: how could she possibly cum so fast? I know all her secrets, all the buttons to push, and it takes 20 minutes to bring her over the edge. TWO MINUTES had passed. What does he know about my wife that I don't know? What do they feel together that she does not feel with me? I could not answer. I could only stroke my penis, alone on the hallway floor, while my wife and her lover rested in each other's arms behind the bedroom door. I was not proud of how much I appreciated the crumbs they threw to me, but I did appreciate them.
I heard them talking softly, gently. All the urgency of sex was gone from their voices, and I knew they were both satisfied. I returned to the couch and continued to jerk off, replaying the sounds which they were kind enough to let me hear.
About a half-hour later, Ted emerged. He was dressed, ready to leave. I thought for a moment about putting on my own pants as he came into the living room, or at least covering myself with a towel, but I could not. This was my wife's lover -- no longer the guy we both had lunch with earlier, but the man who had just shared all of my wife's gifts, taken all that was supposed to be mine alone. I masturbated furiously as he dropped into the chair opposite me with a satisfied (self-satisfied) grin.
"Sally is such a beautiful woman," he began. "Such a mind, such a body, such pleasure for both of us."
"Please tell me about it," I begged.
"Why don't you ask me questions, and I'll answer," he said casually, as if fucking another man's wife and then bragging about it was the most natural thing in the world. And yet, I knew he was doing this for me; a few crumbs for the cuckold, and I gobbled them up.
"How many times were you inside her?"
"Two, and they were WONDERFUL." (The same word she had used earlier!) "I really didn't know how it would go, but she just drew my orgasm out of me."
"Yes," he smiled, "both times. It's good to know I still get the same pleasure from ejaculation. The second time I wanted it to last longer, but she was unstoppable. But we think alike: we were talking and she was doing marvelous things with her hand, then she started sucking me. She did that for a little while, and I said, 'I want to be inside you' just as she said, 'I want you inside me.'"
I nodded, indicating that I was paying attention to his story. And I stroked myself faster and faster as I thought about what it felt like to hear my wife's lover revel in his pleasure and her desire for him.
"How many times did she cum?" I cannot make these written words sound anything like my spoken words, as I was grunting, shaking and gasping for breath as I masturbated in front of a very satisfied, very amused lover.
"She came twice, too, and the second one was surprisingly quick. After the second time we fucked [the word tore through me like a knife] I said to her, 'I think you have another orgasm waiting to come out,' and she said, 'Yes, I do.' She picked up her vibe, I kissed her and played with her, and in less than two minutes she was doing her dance."
"Doing her dance." Now, days later, that phrase continues to haunt me. Of course I knew what he meant; that's not the issue. But HE knew what he meant, and he knew I knew it, too. He and I -- the men who share Sally's bed -- both know what "her dance" looks like and feels like. He and I share her secrets. He and I share her body. She is ours. Sometimes mine, sometimes his. Today, she was his, and he told me so matter-of-factly how she "danced" in his arms.
"It takes her 20 minutes to cum with me," I said. "Always. Never less than that."
"Well, it wasn't TWO minutes today. I can't tell you why, but it's true."
I decided not to tell him that I knew it was true, that I had listened at the door when it happened. Because it wasn't only true, it was true for him: he made her cum faster than I ever have, and he was enjoying the confession of her cuckold husband.
"You can ask one more question, then I have to leave," he offered graciously.