The Ultimate Wimp

I am, shall we say, amused by all of the hullabaloo regarding the subject of cuckoldry and wife-sharing. This fantasy persists despite the vehemence of so many, who would mock and degrade people for indulging in this particular flavor of erotic composition. It drives me to write the story of my own life, share my own adventures, and add an element of dignity and integrity to the discussion. I shall write my story in the first person, because it is an axiom that stories written in such a manner are believed, by a great many, to be unavoidably true.

But, alas, my reverie was interrupted. My sensuous wife, Cynthia, arrived at home from another exhausting day at work. She set her purse aside and poured herself a generous glass of lemon iced tea, her favorite thirst-quenching drink. She was a truly remarkable woman, graceful and physically fit, and I was proud to have her as my friend, my wife and my confidant.

"You are sumptuous, as always, my dear," I said with a smile.

"I know. Look, I have a date with Steve tonight. Can you make sure to have dinner on the table by six?" Cynthia looked quite impatient. I felt a wave of regret, but I was not at fault; I simply had not known about her date. Certainly, I would have ensured the commencement of our meal at a much more convenient time had I been made aware.

"Steve, is it?" I said curiously. "And what frolicking adventure will the two of you be pursuing this fine evening?"

"We're planning to see a movie, then we'll be coming back here to fuck."

Cynthia and I had an open marriage. An open marriage is frequently defined as a committed relationship that allows each to engage in extramarital intercourse. Our relationship had a unique, and, dare I say, clever twist; I was not permitted to have sex with others. Oh, never mistake my true intentions; many months ago, I met a woman I shall call Sally that I very much wanted to bed. In a stroke of intense jealousy, Cynthia refused to permit this encounter to ever occur. When I told Sally I could not keep our appointment, she stated to me, as if it were fact, that I was a very wimpy man. I disagreed with Sally and told her directly, but then I felt distraught for disagreeing and apologized profusely.

I went to check on my three precious children. I tell them every day that I am so very proud of them. My oldest is Jennifer, who is now ten years-old. I must admit, she is not technically my child. A paternity test several years ago informed us that her father was, apparently, one of Cynthia's many extramarital lovers. Then there is my eight-year old son, Samuel. I am not his father, either. Through rigorous investigation, we have narrowed down his father to one of five possible candidates. Then there is Claudia, the youngest, our precocious six year-old girl. I am embarrassed to say, again, that I am not her true father. None of that is particularly relevant, because our marriage is vibrant and healthy. All three children were happily playing in the backyard with various pieces of lawn equipment while my wife was preparing for her date with Steve. I waved at the children giddily, thrilled to see them playful and contented.

I left the children to visit our boudoir, simply to inquire about Cynthia's date preparations. Many people hurl criticisms at us for conducting our marriage in a way that violates social convention. They say it isn't proper, but the longevity of our joyous union argues otherwise. I pushed open the door to our bedroom, only to find Cynthia stretching a silky black stocking up her beautiful, long leg. I gasped.

"You are breathtaking," I told her, my mouth agape in an expression of awe.

"Thank you. Steve loves my legs in thigh-highs. He loves to feel them as he eats me."

"Perhaps I can do that for you someday, too, darling," I said, watching her every subtle movement.

"No, you wouldn't be very good at it."

"Yes, I'm afraid you're probably right. But it is quite stimulating to consider. I am afraid that my erection is growing as we speak."

"What, you're small cock?" she pointed at me and laughed. "It's growing?"

"I take offense. It is not small. It is an inch and three-quarters!"

"Steve is eleven inches. I love to suck on it, it's so manly and thick. Your cock is so small that I could floss my teeth with it."

This kind of blunt language always pushed me to the edge of reason. The mere thought of Cynthia's legs spread wide, engaging in intercourse and probably getting pregnant again excited me beyond belief. My erection grew, I dare say, but nobody seemed to notice.

Cynthia continued to dress, wrapping herself in a black lace bra that revealed just the right amount of cleavage. She added a mini-skirt, an opaque top, high heels and a wonderfully brilliant red coating of lipstick. She was fully adorned for her date with Steve. I whispered to her that she was radiant, a fantastic sight to behold, then she told me that I was a wimp. I laughed, because she was always the notorious jokester.

I stepped outdoors to water the lawn, allowing Cynthia ample opportunity to complete her preparations. My neighbor, Henry, was outside as well. He and his wife, Gladys, have always been quite judgmental about our marital arrangement, but I am usually able to turn a deaf ear and disregard their vicious barbs.

"You pathetic little wimp, a real man would never let his wife screw with other men like that. You're going straight to hell, you sick bastard."

That was Henry lobbing verbal bombs toward me. He and Gladys have been married for a very long time, a fact that led them to have an unearned faith in their marital expertise.

"Hey, Henry, it is a nice day, is it not?" I said, attempting to take the high road once again.

The mail truck pulled up to Henry's house, a fortunate circumstance indeed. The truck would distract Henry and I could continue watering my lawn without the need to step carefully through his verbal minefield. The mailman handed him several envelopes. He responded harshly.

"You take fucking forever to deliver the mail, and when you get here, you give us this shit that I wouldn't even wipe my ass with."

Then, an unfortunate young girl in full uniform trotted toward Henry, wanting to sell him cookies. She was dancing and smiling, so eager to make money for her charitable organization. I always buy several boxes from her, but Henry was not usually supportive.

"Would you like to buy some cookies, sir?" she said to Henry. "I have thin mints and..."

"Holy fuck, you wander up here like a sick dog and want us to give you money for this horseshit you sell? I hope you and your stupid green munchkin friends all die horribly."

The girl fled in tears. I considered his tirade against her to be one of the most despicable acts I had ever witnessed. I was about to tell him just that, but his wife called out to him from inside the house.

"Hey, Henry, you fat fuck, get your tubby ass in here and change these light bulbs, will you? I can't believe I married a stupid cocksucker like you."

"All right, all right, stupid bitch. Shut your fucking trap, will you? Hey! Get the fuck out of my way! Goddamn squirrel!"

Henry ambled inside, and Steve pulled up in his expensive convertible. As my wife's date for the evening, I felt obligated to shake his hand and greet him. I approached him as he exited his car and held out my hand.

"I don't think so," he said. I guess he was ill and didn't want to pass the germs to me, a gesture I very much appreciated. "Where is your wife? I can't wait to fuck her."

"Upstairs," I said. He was playing into my fantasy perfectly, assuming the role of Cynthia's powerful lover and pretending to make me feel insufficient. He was doing a really good job of it, too, I must say.

Steve went upstairs and I followed several minutes later. I wanted to wish them well at the film, but they were already lounging on our bed, brazenly kissing and fondling. The action was hot and heavy, tongues sliding in and out of their mouths, wet saliva dripping down their chins. My wife pulled her skirt up and opened her legs for him. Steve unzipped and pulled out his thick cock.

"Yes, give it to me, baby," my wife blurted. "I want that entire thing deep inside me."

"Oh yeah, I'll give it to you," Steve answered. "I'll make that sweet pussy swallow every inch."

"Hey, would anyone like a muffin?" I chimed in. I had a tray of them with me, to offer as an appetizer. "I have blueberry, raspberry and poppy seed."

They didn't hear me, apparently.

"No? Your continued silence will only guarantee more for myself," I said gleefully. I selected a poppy seed muffin and took a bite.

"Shut up, wimp," my wife said bitterly.

Occasionally, my wife calls me a wimp, but that is most unfair. I was about to tell her so when a ladybug landed on my hand. I had a long history of being frightened of ladybugs. Unfortunately, I have yet to find a technical 'phobia' term that exists for this disorder. I jumped around the room, trying to get it off me, only dimly aware of the hot sex that was occurring nearby. Normally, my wife's cries of pleasure would excite me, but with the nightmarish insect slowly sucking the life from me, I couldn't focus. Finally, the bug fell off. I retrieved a shoe and smashed it repeatedly until I was satisfied that it was dead.

I whirled around and observed that they had both climaxed. Steve stood nearby, still erect. My wife's legs were spread wide, and she called me over.

"Clean my cunt, wimp," she told me.

"I'll clean you, because I love you," I answered. "But I am NOT a wimp. Did you see that monster I just killed?"

"Clean me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

I got between her legs and licked her. I sucked his seed out of her body and consumed every drop. It was perverse and disgusting, but I love my wife dearly. I do not deny her requests arbitrarily.

"Now, wimp, go suck the rest of the cum from Steve's cock," she added, after I completed the task at hand.

"I'm not going to do that, that's awful."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I love you, Cynthia. Do you love me?"

"No. Now suck his cock."

"Okay."

I knew she was kidding. Our love transcended the mortal boundaries of our planet and spanned all of time and space. Infinite in measure, boundless in size...

"Suck it!"

"Okay, okay..."

I sucked him. It was awful, but my act demonstrated the power of true love. We do things for one another. I remember once, many years ago, Cynthia did something kind and generous for me. Oh well, I forgot what it was.

"Okay, now, you lowly little peasant, Steve has an open sore on the side of his cock. I want you to suck the pus from it."

"What?!"

"You heard me," she said sternly.

"Oh god, that's terrible."

"Do you love me?"

"Oh lord..."

"Well, do you?"

"Okay, golly, the things we do for love."

I don't even want to describe what happened next. It was truly disgusting. People experiencing such profound joy and overwhelming love often do disgusting things for one another. I guess.

"You aren't finished, wretched little troll. Steve had diarrhea this morning and didn't wipe properly. Now..."

"We need to go," Steve said. "No more time for cleaning."

"Oh shoot," she said, frowning.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Love is magnificent, but often very challenging. As are all relationships, I suppose. I walked outside to enjoy the crisp evening air, leaving the lovebirds to ready themselves for their date. Henry was outside again, talking to yet another neighbor, who happened to be a theoretical physicist.

"Holy god, you stupid fuck, that's entropy," Henry said, gesturing wildly. "You know, the second law of thermodynamics? Temperature and pressure will always equalize in any closed system over time. You don't know a damn thing, do you?"

I could keep quiet no longer. Henry was too vile, too mean-spirited. Somebody needed to step forward and engage him directly. Besides, it would be my opportunity to prove that I was not a wimp. I charged toward Henry, determined to put him in his place once and for all.

"If you can not subdue your cruel nature," I said to Henry in my most threatening tone. "Then I won't bother to finish knitting the rainbow blanket I've been making for you."

Henry said some stuff after that, and spit flew, but I couldn't comprehend any of it. It was a hunch, but I don't think his tirade included a promise to be kind to anyone. Mental note: Quit knitting.

My wife tapped me on the shoulder. "I'm leaving you."

"Please enjoy yourselves," I answered. "I do hope the film is of the highest quality."

"No, no, I'm leaving you forever."

"Forever?"

"Yes, forever. I won't be back. I'm going to file for a divorce and marry Steve."

"Oh."

An appropriate response eluded me. Our relationship had developed in such a way as to eliminate jealousy completely from my marital vocabulary. Indeed, any hint of Cynthia's wanton activities typically sent me into a lustful frenzy. Cynthia informing me that she would leave me and marry Steve was the sexiest, most erotic thing I had ever heard.

"That's fantastic, dear," I said.

"I won't ever see you again."

"I know. It's terrific. No jealousy. It shows how strong our marriage is that I feel no jealousy. Just erotic excitement."

"You are one stupid little man."

Her commanding, degrading tone once again turned me on. She played me as she would a musical instrument. She loved me so much that she was willing to go to the ultimate extreme for my submissive pleasure; leaving me forever. My heart nearly burst with joy.

"I love you," I yelled to her.

"You're a total loser," she yelled back.

Cynthia loaded her suitcase into the trunk of Steve's car and hopped into the front seat. Tires squealed and she was gone forever. So great was my excitement that I knew my nearly two-inch engorgement would last for hours. Of course, I would never see my wife again. She loved me that much.

Some people, like Henry, would suggest that my marriage was dysfunctional. However, our love was pure and complete. There were no limits and I felt no jealousy. In fact, we had transcended the typical 'open' relationship and evolved it further, because she was not only free to have sex with others, but she was free to divorce and marry others. Most people could never handle a marriage like this. It would create complications. It illustrates succinctly what love and a strong marital bond can accomplish.

I returned to the house. I heard our gas-powered weed trimmer roar to life in the backyard. Silly kids. I ignored them, and sat down and continued to knit my rainbow blanket. If Henry doesn't want it, then I'll just have to savor it myself.