Chance Encounter Ch. 08

Jean squeezed C's hand and he immediately squeezed back. It was a trick their therapist Dr. Frost taught them. In keeping with the spirit of their marriage only Jean could initiate it. C, however, had veto authority. If he didn't squeeze back it meant he wasn't on board. Jean was not to question why but to stop. Dr. Frost described it as a nonverbal safe word whose purpose was to protect C.

He believed in treating adults as adults and told them they needed to develop their own safe word but felt it was better to say no before than trying to put a stop after they began. Jean's need to dominate brought to the surface her cruel streak. Unfortunately for C, his desire to be treated badly made it all too easy for Jean to go overboard.

The goal of Dr. Frost's therapy was to make C stronger without undermining Jean. It was also to give C time to look before he leaped. At the beginning of therapy C didn't return Jean's squeeze. He trusted her but he didn't trust himself. He let Jean behave in ways he knew would end badly.

Both C and Jean assured Dr. Frost they wanted to preserve their marriage, not alter its dynamics. Theirs was a female led marriage with a heavy emphasis on female sexual empowerment and male subjugation and demasculinization.

Jean squeezed C's hand a second time wanting to be certain he wanted this as much as she. He immediately squeezed back. She looked at him and mouthed, "I love you."

He smiled, a boyish grin on his face, replying, "I know you do." He was older and he hoped wiser, but what he was really feeling was time travel. Running into Jose was akin to being transported to the late summer of 1982. He knew Jean was having the same feeling and he couldn't blame her. It had been a wondrous time in their relationship.

He sensed the night was going to be very interesting. He wondered what Jose had in mind; he suspected running into him had been an accident. Jean was always willing to go with the flow, to depart from a timetable or plan. He wondered what else she had in mind for the evening or was he to expect a complete change of plans.

They got to their table and sat down. Jean picked out a bottle of wine and ordered oysters on the half shell for C and roasted red peppers for herself. The waiter left to fill their order. C looked perplexed as to her choice of oysters. She smiled, "Trust me C. You'll really appreciate the oysters later."

He smiled but deep down wished she had ordered his favorite, calamari. He didn't have much faith in their restorative powers. Erections and climaxes came easy for him even in middle age. Penis size and lack of stamina were his problem, not the quantity of his ejaculate. He was a heavy cummer.

Their table was in its own room accessible by a sliding door the waiter opened when he entered and closed when he left. He returned a few minutes later with their bottle of wine.

The waiter proffered the bottle to C only to have C decline it and nod his head in the direction of Jean. The waiter looked confused so C felt he needed to clear it up and prevent future faux pas. He did it diplomatically, "I'm her date."

He looked at their hands seeing wedding bands but thinking they were either stepping out on their respective mates or more likely business associates and she was trying to win over a client. It didn't make sense but he decided to go with the flow.

He apologized to Jean for his mistake. She smiled and told him, "Happens all the time. I understand your confusion, but our marriage is quite different from most couples."

"Ma'am, how so?"

"I'm the head of the house; he just pays the bills and waits on me."

"Oh."

"I see you're married too. And I can see by your expression you're not sold on the idea. Before you knock it you should try it. I'm good at reading people and my woman's intuition tells me you and my husband are a lot alike."

The waiter turned red in the face. He wanted to tell her off, to assure her he was very much the man of the house, but he didn't choosing instead to pretend he hadn't heard her. He poured her a few ounces, allowed it to breathe, and offered it to her. She inhaled its sweet aroma reminding her of apples, took a sip, and after swallowing told him to go ahead.

He poured her glass then C's glancing at him and thinking to himself how rude she was to compare him with her mouse of a husband. Bitch that she was he had to admit she was smoking hot. If given the chance he told himself he would show her who's boss.

She studied his face knowing he was upset. She hadn't misread him, but struck a chord. She kept her expression unchanged but inside she was gloating. The truth hurts she thought but if he embraces it, it will set him free.

He finished pouring and asked if there was anything else she needed. Jean was half tempted to tell him, "A good fuck, the same thing your poor wife needs." She didn't, but instead, looked at his name tag, Carlo, smiled, and said, "Carlo, just the appetizers and soon as I'm starving. By the way, are you Italian?"

He smiled thinking she was an idiot, "Of course I'm Italian. From Napoli," keeping his voice as sweet as hers.

She dryly replied, "I wouldn't have guessed it." She left it at that leaving it to him to figure out what she was implying. Carlo walked away fuming.

C wondered why Carlo had gotten under Jean's skin. His mistake was common and he had recovered nicely C thought. He wanted to ask, but didn't want to set Jean off. She would tell him when she was ready.

Jean turned her attention to C, raised her glass, and offered a toast, "To my carino, my cornudo of a husband."

He touched his glass to hers. They each took a sip. She looked at him, "Now your turn."

He thought a moment, raised his glass, "To strong women and female led marriage." He thought about adding as a joke, "and to the weak men who worship them," but it would detract from the toast's sincerity. Besides he reminded himself, being married to a strong woman who captained their marriage was not for the weak.

She touched her glass to his and linked her arm around his. He followed her lead and they took another drink from their glasses. Untangling their forearms she took a longer drink from her glass before putting it down.

She stared at him. She adored him on so many levels. He remained after all these years her best friend. Only the best of friends would tolerate her antics. He had proven himself countless times. Here she was scheming to have him prove his love, loyalty, submission, and friendship again. What she wanted was a lot to ask of anyone. Their life was perfect in so many ways. She wondered if she was about to upset the apple cart. She knew she was often selfish and rationalized her choice in marrying someone so selfless. She needed a husband who was her opposite.

He returned her stare thinking to himself how radiant she looked. He considered her still a goddess and wasn't the least surprised she attracted men like the ice cream truck attracts kids. Who wouldn't want a piece of her? He still couldn't believe his luck in meeting her. She understood him completely. He no longer wondered why she stayed with a man completely her opposite. He did believe opposites attract. She too was his best friend. He couldn't imagine a different marriage or life without her. What they had wasn't for everyone, but it worked for them.

Whenever they had staring contests he was always the one who looked away and tonight was no different. Her stare was intense like her personality. Glancing down he signaled defeat; she was the stronger, dominant one and he the weaker, submissive one.

She smiled when he broke eye contact chalking up another victory. She owned this man, her cornudo of a husband. She basked in being the envy of her friends.

She slipped her shoe off and placed her left foot between his legs. He opened his legs and her toes with their bright red nails located the lump in his pants and softly rubbed it. He was she noted hard.

She stared at him pondering how she was going to approach him with her idea. What she wanted was huge and more than a little insane. Completely selfish she thought, but she really wanted it. The question is did he want the same thing and could she handle him saying no. She decided she wouldn't force her desire on him no matter how tempting it was.

She decided on her tactic, a trip down memory lane. Running into Jose had been a stroke of luck. She could tell by C's behavior he wanted Jean to openly cuckold him on their night out. It had been a very long time since he had witnessed firsthand other men having sex with her. They rarely had date nights; she went out while he stayed home. She returned her vagina full

of another man's cum, her body showing the wear and tear of another man's hands and mouth, the bruises and hickeys badges she proudly and defiantly displayed, reveling at the look on his face of her cheating yet again, of another man leaving his mark on her.

With her cuck she craved gentleness, his mouth glued to her sex, slowly and gently bringing her to orgasm. She wanted her body to bear bruises and be visibly sore. She knew it tore her cuck up to see how roughly other men treated her and how they showed her disrespect by treating her as a piece of meat. What hurt even worse is knowing she relished being manhandled. The rougher those men were the better she orgasmed. Knowing she got off on it hurt him in other ways as it was treatment she never wanted from him, but it was also humiliating to know his wife wanted what he couldn't give her. He loved and respected her too much, but instead of it making her more faithful, its effect was opposite.

She traced the outline of his penis with her toes then brought them to his scrotum. She could feel his twin eggs. One hard push and he would need a trip to the E.R. to remove their shattered remains. She wouldn't do it but she knew if she wanted to she could. He wouldn't just let her but insist to the police it was an accident, rough sex that got out of hand. She pressed her toes rather firmly against his sac feeling his balls flatten out watching the pain it produced on his face. She repeated her action again but harder. He didn't say a word, but she knew it hurt. She also knew it turned him from hard to soft. She rationalized her actions telling herself it was to bring him from the brink. It was still too early in the evening for him to climax.

She moved her foot to the edge of his seat. She looked at him as she took another sip from her glass. He looked confused wondering what prompted her to go from hot to icy. It wasn't like her to punish him out of the blue.

She decided to be upfront, "How aroused were you?"

"Very," he answered.

"I could tell. You were about to cum weren't you?"

He nodded yes.

"That's one reason I did it. I don't want you climaxing, no accidents because you can't help yourself. Do you want to know the other reason?"

He softly said, "Yes." His voice and that dreamy look on his face told her he was back in subspace, back to being her little cuckold of a husband.

She moved her foot bringing her toes against his scrotum, but not applying any pressure. She wanted him to know they were there ready to do damage.

"Cuck, I did it because it felt good. There are times I really get off on hurting you. What made it even more appealing was knowing you wouldn't stop me."

Her voice wasn't kind, but tinged with contempt and he responded as only he could; his penis began to harden. She was right; he wouldn't stop her. He couldn't stop her. She wasn't the only one who liked it rough, who preferred to be ravaged rather than made love to. She was right.

"I love you so much cuck, but there are times I feel anger toward you. I shouldn't but I do. I know I'm responsible for my actions, but I blame you. If only you were better and stronger, more of a man, I woudn't be here right now thinking about Jose's cock, but yours. You are the reason I'm such a slut."

Her tongue was a whip and each word a lash flaying open his psyche. "Jean, I'm sorry."

She cut him off, "I know you're sorry. I want you to apologize. If you're sincere you'll get under the table and apologize."

"What about the waiter?"

"What about him? The tablecloth is long. If he asks I'll tell him you went to the car to get something."

"But we're in a public place Jean."

She sounded resigned and fed up, "I knew it. You're not really sorry. You get off on me being a tramp."

He did get off on her being a tramp but he was sorry. A stronger man would have never let her get out of control. A stronger man would have set boundaries. A stronger man would have a big cock to keep her satisfied and faithful. He was the reason she cheated.

He knew action meant everything to Jean. He got under the table. On his knees in the dark he located his wife's treasure box. She opened her legs resting her feet on the edge of his vacant seat. He started at the inside of one thigh and kissed his way to her vulva the returned to his starting point but on the other thigh.

She was silent. When he got to the junction of her legs and squarely kissed her labia using his tongue to part them, she couldn't help but inhale sharply and moan. Her hands reached under the table and held the back of his head.

He slowly explored her with his mouth. It wasn't the first time they played this game where she directed her anger to goad him sexually. He understood some of her anger was real but most of it feigned. He still remembered the first time, her vehemence made him physically sick, how he threw up his meal, dry heaving afterwards. For 12 years he endured those bouts of vomiting and diarrhea loving how she consoled him after emotionally castrating him. He had Dr. Frost to thank for numbing the worst of it making the residual pain manageable.

On his knees he apologized to Jean using his mouth to turn her disappointment to ecstasy. The door to their booth slid open signaling the return of their waiter, Carlo, bringing them their appetizers. Jean tugged on C's hair letting him know they had company. He stopped licking but kept his face against Jean's sex.

Carlo put the food down and asked, "Where's your husband?"

Jean's voice was shaky; she had been very close to orgasming. She knew her face was flushed. She answered, "He went to the car. He forgot something."

Carlo's brow wrinkled, "He must have left when I went to the kitchen."

She forced herself to calm down to rid herself of Carlo so C could finish her off. "Carlo, why so interested in my husband?"

He lowered his voice, "I thought about what you said. Do we have a moment?"

"Yes," Jean answered her curiosity overriding her impatience.

He kept his voice low. There was no confusion about his nationality as his accent was pure Italian, "I think my marriage would be better if she was the boss, but I don't know how to tell her. Would you help me?"

She smiled. He certainly sounded sincere and she detected real despondency in his voice. She had been right and being right was the best aphrodisiac possible. Her vagina resumed secreting. It was nice having C present while she discussed her passion, female domination, with a neophyte. She no longer thought it odd that it was always the husband who sought her out. Women she learned were too conflicted suppressing their natural superiority to conform to society's expectations.

"I'd be honored to help you Carlo, but I need to warn you. Your wife will change in ways you never imagined. She will have complete freedom and you none. You will not question her decision. You will not make a decision but confer with her. She will make the decision."

She softened her voice so only he could hear, "Her authority will extend to what she does sexually and what she allows you to do. Is this what you want?"

He nodded his head in excitement, "Yes, signora."

"Carlo, before I give you my number. I have a request of my own. Close the door and take it out. I want to see it."

He immediately started trembling. He knew what she was asking. He thought about pretending he didn't understand. He reminded himself he sought her out; she was a sign he couldn't ignore. He and his wife, Paola, had only been married a short time, but where there should have been bliss there was conflict. She constantly told him she loved him, but it was also clear he didn't make her happy, especially in the bedroom. She nevero climaxed.

She had sat up draping her legs over C's shoulders. C's nose was now on her bush. Her thighs pressed against his ears. She knew he had to be hot and his knees ached, but encounters like this didn't happen very often. When they did she noticed it was when she and C were alone. Together they gave out very strong signals others evidently keyed on. It didn't surprise her as she acted very differently with other men. Instead of being the boss she became a follower. The more dominant the man the more submissive she behaved. It was she thought a welcome break, but nothing more than a break. It allowed her to let out her other side, something she had tried unsuccessfully to do with C. Switching roles made them both uncomfortable; their acting seemed too phony.

With other men it didn't seem contrived. Their domination was real; all she had to do was let them lead. Being completely subordinate to other men was easy because it fed in a roundabout way her need to dominate C. Letting them use her as they pleased she later returned to C where she treated him the way she had been treated.

Carlo briefly froze his eyes locking on Jean's wondering if she was joking or serious. Her face was a mask. He knew she was dead serious.

He turned away from her closed the door, unzipped his pants, unbuttoned his boxers, and fished it out. He didn't feel pride, but shame. Fully erect his penis was just under 5 and a half inches. Undersized yes, but what really bothered him was its circumference, less than 4 inches. His thumb was thicker.

He turned to face her. She looked at his penis pointing straight at her. She wanted to laugh but didn't. "Carlo, you and C have a lot in common. You're both small."

He looked crestfallen but his penis reacted opposite of how he felt, getting harder.

"I bet Paola likes your penis up her ass."

He protested, "Signora, she's my wife."

"You have a lot to learn about women Carlo. All women like their asses played with. I promise you she will love your penis up her ass. While you're fucking her take one hand and pet her. Use the other and play with her breasts. The harder the better."

It wasn't an ugly penis and it was bigger than C's, but its lack of girth made it equally worthless. She didn't touch it as it was Paola's property. Besides if she wanted a small cock C was at her disposal. "Stroke it Carlo. Make yourself cum. Think about your wife and making her happy."

Carlo couldn't believe his ears much less his eyes. He was standing in front of a beautiful woman and at her request masturbating. It was he thought so much easier to masturbate than to actually have intercourse. He hated that disappointed look on her face after they made love. He attempted to make her feel good in other ways but she rebuffed him calling him a pervert. She first insisted on being made love to like a real woman.

He thought about many things wanting to follow Jean's advice and use his penis to take Paola's cherry ass. He imagined a look of rapture on Paola's face as well endowed men used her. He pictured her smiling as he doted on her, preparing her for her lovers, asking no questions, making no protests. What really pushed him over the edge was a strong, virile man making his beloved Paola pregnant.

He announced he was close. He wondered what Jean wanted. The small alpha male in him wanted to cum all over her face, to show her he is the boss, but his bigger beta side, the cuckold in him, told him he dare not. She made the decision for him, grabbing the plate of shelled oysters, delicately seasoned with olive oil and placing it under his penis. She angled the plate knowing the first few contractions would shoot rather than dribble. He started to climax. His knees nearly buckled. Like a pump dispenser he stroked until his balls were empty. Jean marveled at the amount of ejaculate he produced.