Waiting At Home Ch. 01

I finished my second beer, put the uneaten half of the sandwich in a carry-out box for later, then started the eight-block walk home. As I walked past houses occupied by "normal" married couples I wondered if any of them explored or even participated in extra-marital sex. How many of them were fully open and honest with each other about their sexual identities and wants and curiosities? Did they read online letters and stories submitted by husbands and wives who had sex with others? Were any of the couples who lived in these houses swingers? Were any of the husbands cuckolds? I remembered one article I read that undertook a survey of "players," and the vast majority of these married people were professional – from electronic, medical, education, even law enforcement fields. By the time I got home I decided that it didn't matter what anyone else did. What mattered was what we did and no matter how torn and unsure I felt the simple truth was that the biggest part of me wanted my wife to fuck another man. There it was, finally.

I took a long shower, shaved, then got into my bathrobe and went downstairs. I poured a glass of wine then went into our family room to sit on the couch. I reached to turn on a lamp but decided the light filtering in from the kitchen was enough. I felt calm from nine-thirty until ten. They would be closing the art showing. How long would it take Camille to get to this guy's hotel, the one near the airport? What would she be thinking and feeling during that drive? Was she nervous? Ten o'clock -- that was the moment when what I had come to define as the "cuckold wait" began in earnest. My moment had arrived, and I was aroused. My cock was rock hard. My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest. My mouth felt dry. And my mind flitted wildly from one scenario to another. How long would they waste in the bar getting to know each other over a drink? What would they talk about? Would he touch her there? What if someone we knew saw them?

I remembered some of the stories I read about the wife's first date. They were all different and yet much the same. Their biggest common denominator was that they were exciting. Many focused on the size of the man's cock. What if this guy was really hung? Would Camille's little pussy be able to accommodate it? Some of these stories focused on the ":newness" aspect – the excitement that came with being with someone new. This alone was ultra-exciting. As was the "first time" after so long of being with the same, familiar man.

I felt only arousal and excitement until eleven o'clock. They surely would be in his room at that moment. That's when jealousy took hold as never before. My jaws clenched, my stomach tightened, my erection went away. I couldn't just sit there. I had to pace. Camille had other cocks in her mouth and cunt but they were all before we met, and none of them did for her what mine did. I had no doubt whatsoever about my wife's honesty and well-meaning but what if she somehow got addicted to strange cock? Especially if this guy was really hung, what then? Our fantasies were fun and exciting but they were safe. How many times had she told me that while she enjoyed the fantasy there was no way she could even force herself to fuck another man? Then just like that, since just yesterday she couldn't wait to fuck this guy. She called me right out of the blue and asked if I was serious about wanting her to fuck someone else. I had my chance to say no, that I wanted us to keep to the fantasy. All right, so that caught me off guard. I said yes, make the date with him. That call alone got me so hard it was thirty minutes before I could get up from behind my desk and go back to work. I remember how terribly aroused I was waiting for her to get home from her shopping spree. How I wanted to see what she bought, and how her making me wait until she dressed for her date made me even more aroused. Then to watch her get ready, to see how great she looked in her new clothes, but deep down right up to then ten o'clock hour it was still a fantasy. I was like the pretend games we played. Now, at that very moment, it was real. She was in his room.

Camille, right up until the moment she got in her car, gave me chance after chance to call it off. I could still call her on her cell phone to call it off but what if she had to move her mouth off the guy's cock to answer the phone? I stared at our telephone wavering for several long moments before realizing that there was no way I could force myself to place that call. Even though everything in me at that moment wanted what was happening to be a dream and not reality, it was happening. At that very moment my wife was in a hotel room with every intention of getting naked and going for the sexual gusto with a man who would come morning would be on an airplane destined for Albany, NY, no doubt feeling smug about fucking another man's wife, and most probably this was nothing new to him. It was at that moment that I really thought about the "other man." Was scoring with a married woman an ego trip? Was it some kind of challenge? Was he proving something to himself? He was single, mid-twenties, successful and confident. Many airlines put flight crews up overnight at that hotel. Surely he would have had no problem finding a younger single woman to fuck. So why was he with a middle aged married woman? So all right, so she was fit and pretty and out-going and friendly, she was still fifteen years older than he was, not that she looked it. And she wasn't just any married woman, she was my wife. So what kind of limp-dick wimp did that make me in his eyes? What about her husband and kids, and her home and happiness? Did he even once consider any of that? .

My jealousy was getting out of hand. Not once in our ten year marriage had Camille and I exchanged so much as one cross word. So I took my frustration out on the other guy. What kind of man would fuck another man's wife? Did he have no integrity? It was only when I realized that everything in me wanted to punch the guy's lights out that I came back to reality. Nothing about him really mattered. He was an available cock that fit the bill – unknown in our community, young, unattached and, most importantly, from out-of-town. Camille was with him at that very moment because she wanted to fuck him, not because he wanted to fuck her, and she had my knowledge and support. And that was that!

At eleven-forty-five, with me sure that his cock was at that very moment in my wife's willing cunt, with her no doubt moaning and gasping and ecstatic, I felt weary bordering on emotional and mental exhaustion. Camille had tubal ligation after our second child so there was no worry about pregnancy, and she was too astute to choose a sleaze-bag to be her first so we didn't worry about disease. We hadn't even talked about condoms so I was quite sure they would go bare-back. And I wondered how any times he would cum in her mouth and cunt. Given how she always reacted to my orgasms I was sure that his would add to her pleasure. My emotional highs and lows were taking their toll.

I went upstairs and took a cold shower to snap me back to a more controlled level. I returned to the family room with another glass of wine, left to wonder how much longer it would be before she would come through the door leading from the garage into our kitchen, no doubt looking totally fucked-out and beaming with afterglow. That thought rekindled my passion. My cock stirred and started to get erect, after all, her coming to me and sharing the details of her sexual adventure was the "payoff" for cuckold husbands. Funny, I really didn't think of myself as a cuckold, still, my wife was away at that very moment fucking another man with my knowledge and support. And it was that reunion with the woman who's cunt was sticky with another man's cum and her face flushed with sexual satisfaction that made the cuckold-hot wife relationship worthwhile. Knowing that whatever problems I had she would be there to work through them with me, I got more and more excited thinking about seeing her come through the door and into my arms.

Finally, at twelve-thirty, she called to say that she just got into her car and would be home in thirty minutes. What I heard in her voice and breathing told me that she had fucked him, and that alone made me even more aroused. Then began the second wait of the night, those excruciating minutes that left me all I could do to keep from jacking off. There were two times during that wait when I came within an eyelash of cumming without even touching myself. Then, finally, I heard her car pull into the garage and the door close behind her. She had her payoff and now the beginning of mine was only moments away. Camille was now my hot wife and I was her cuckold husband, and I couldn't wait another second longer to hear all about it.

The Wait – Part 2: The Payoff – continued...