A Christmas (Virtual?) Cuckold

Brad was not to know I was there. Joanie had insisted. Of course, I was there, that much was obvious, but he was not to know my name, or that I was Joanie's husband. He was to think she was there alone, a sitting duck for him to victimize. Joanie gave me a fake identity; my name was to be Philip Gold. I wasn't wild about it, but who cares, anyway? It's just a cover name for a few days.

J: Bye, bye, Mr. Harris. Becky's here, somewhere. Happy hunting. This one's getting away.

B: (As I see them walking away from Mark Harris) Out of the frying pan, intro the fire, Joanie?

J: I'm over you, Brad. Sorry, old man, but I found a guy who's perfect for me. His name is Hank, and I married him. I'm no longer the slut you once knew. I'm a mother and a wife. Maybe Becky can make you happy. Go find her before Mark does, why don't you?

B: Congrats on the baby. Where are you going?

J: I've got too much nervous energy. I'm going to go dance it away.

B: Got a dance partner?

J: No, but one shouldn't be that hard to find. I could always undo a couple of buttons on my blouse, and the suitors will come flocking.

B: May I have the pleasure of your first dance tonight?

J: Thank you, Brad, of course. Now I can keep my blouse buttoned up.

B: No, I'd prefer it if you opened the buttons.

J: I'm married, Brad.

B: So you keep saying. Where is this mysterious husband of yours, anyway? He's not here, right? If he's not here, then he doesn't need to know. Like Atlanta. Marriage doesn't scare me, Joanie. I like laying married women most of all.

J: Why is everybody fixated on Atlanta?

B: Because nobody knows -- except, of course, for me -- exactly what you did to land an exclusive on that data contract we were all competing for. Theories abound, and most of them involve you on your back, spreading your legs, and smiling up invitingly, you know?

J: I'm unbuttoning now. Doesn't anyone have any imagination? For example, why aren't I bent over some sleazy couch being reamed from behind?

B: Yes, that's another version. In that version you're blindfolded and don't mind being shared, if you catch my drift. But that's just a nasty rumor. Only I know the truth.

J: The truth? What is the truth in this day and age? Haven't you heard of Kellyanne's alternative facts?

B: I'm not bullshitting you, Joanie. I know what happened.

At this point I saw the blood drain from Joanie's face, and she became as white as a ghost. Brad was wearing an evil smile. Joanie's body was beginning to tremble and her boobs were seductively jiggling about in her terror.

J: Tell me, then. Whisper it to me into my ear.

B: (inaudible whispering)

J: Oh, my God! Who else knows?

B: Nobody, other than the guy who did it to you, of course.

J: How the fuck do you know?

B: Joanie, you know me. If it's ugly and useful for blackmail, I know it. Right?

J: Yeah, right. Evil takes to you like flies take to shit. That's what you are, Brad: a pile of shit magnet for the evil flies of the world.

B: Yeah, well, whatever. The point is, I don't have to keep this knowledge to myself. You'll need to find a way to keep me silent, you know?

J: What are you saying Brad? Is that a threat? Are you actually considering blackmailing me? Me? Joanie? Your oldest friend since we were 12 years old? What's wrong with you?

B: It's more like an attempt at extortion, Joanie. You sexually cut me off. I don't like that.

J: Grow up, Brad. I'm married to a wonderful man, and we have a daughter. I'm not going to fuck that up by fucking around. Forget about it.

B: It's a pity you weren't thinking like that back in Atlanta. What if your hubbie Hank learned of what you did in Atlanta to get that data?

J: He'd be okay with it.

B: You think? Have you told him?

(Long silence)

B: I didn't think you had told him. Joanie, no man would be okay with it. Anyway, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

J: That's not true. Hank is not the happy-go-lucky cuckold type. Most men, I would guess, don't like a woman fucking her blackmailer behind their backs. Or in front of their backs, too, for that matter.

B: We could start with a blowjob.

J: That's a nuance. I'm not cheating on Hank, Brad, and it's wrong of you to ask me to. That's not the way friends behave.

B: Have I ever behaved with you the way friends behave?

J: Yes, certainly. Remember when we used to study together? After I understood my math homework I'd reward you with a kiss?

B: And a grope, and another kiss, and then a little boob action, some more kissing and then...

J: Yes, all of that, and more. Remember too when I was upset over my father getting so sick, and you comforted me? That's what friends do, Brad, and you were my friend.

B: Not all friends extend comfort the way I did.

J: (giggling) Well, it did stop me from crying, and I loved you for it.

B: Well, this time I'm not asking, Joanie. I'm giving you a choice: give me some sexual pleasure, or your secrets will be secrets no longer.

J: I can't believe you're such a little shit! Are you really serious?

B: You bet your life I am. Your call: What do you choose?

J: You call that a choice?

B: Dance with me, Joanie. They're playing Paint it Black, it's my favorite song.

J: Of course, it is.

Well! I thought. Maybe I'd have been better off not hearing all of that. I don't know what went on in Atlanta, and what could be so dramatic about Joanie's secrets, but at this point I think it had to be even more than just fucking someone as a bribe to get the exclusive contract for the data. While nobody seems to know for a fact what exactly Joanie did, everyone seems to be sure that that's exactly what she did.

Joanie was now dancing with Brad and due to the noise on the dance floor, it was pointless to try to listen to them talking, if they even were, so instead I spied on them with my eyes. That was pleasant enough, because Joanie is a balletic dancer, and her moves on the dance floor were all of graceful, rhythmic, and -- especially -- sexy. Brad looked lame by comparison, I'm happy to say.

A slow dance came on and wow -- Brad pulled Joanie flush against himself, crushing her boobs into his chest, and sticking his knee between her legs and letting it rub her groin. Joanie was practically humping his knee, as they slowly moved back and forth, with Brad's hands on Joanie's ass and Joanie's hands clasped firmly around Brad's neck.

How hard would it be to break that asshole's neck, I idly thought to myself.

"Still stalking the little sexpot who goes by the name of Joanie?" Becky said, as she sidled up to me, putting her arm around my waist. "Ask me to dance, and quickly, okay? I have to get away from Mark Harris, the molester par excellence."

I took Becky out onto the dance floor, dancing where Joanie could see me, and also, I could see her. I held Becky as close as Brad held Joanie, and I had to admit I enjoyed crushing Becky's boobs against my chest. She put her arms around my neck, and I in turn placed my hands on her ass.

Becky kissed my neck, and dammit but she got me interested. I began to get hard, and Becky could tell. Then I saw Joanie was kissing Brad's neck. Well, dammit all! Oh shit: now Brad and Joanie were kissing on the lips and it was not at all casual kissing! They were kissing as two lovers kiss.

Well, Joanie had warned me about this, and they did, after all, have a quite a long and extensive history as lovers. A rather perverted one, too, to hear Joanie tell about it. My stomach was churning.

Do I dare try to kiss Becky? Does her kissing my neck mean she wants me to try to kiss her? If I did, what would Joanie think? I looked over at Brad and Joanie, and Brad had his hand up Joanie's skirt. It's a short skirt, and there was truly not a long distance for a hand to go, once it was up the skirt. Joanie was allowing this, right on the dance floor.

"May I kiss you, Becky?" I asked, as I saw Mark Harris walking across the dance floor, making a bee line for Becky and me. I turned her around so she could see him coming at us, too.

"Please do," she said. I know it's sleazy to use the threat of Mark Harris to steal a kiss out of Becky, but let's face it: I'm not a nice guy.

I held Becky's head in my hands and gently held it steady as I leaned in to kiss her. My goodness the woman knows how to kiss! Her kiss was the most sensuous kiss north of Kentucky, for sure! Make that north of Mississippi. No, make that north of Jamaica. Holy shit, make it north of Venezuela!

Wow. The woman kissed me even better than my Joanie does. Of course, with Joanie love is involved, so it was apples and oranges. But on a purely sexual metric, from 0 to 10, Becky's kiss was a big old ten. I could see how Becky could become an obsession with a man, or at a minimum an addiction. Suddenly, I wanted to see how she fucked!

Mark Harris walked right by us when he saw how we were kissing. When the kiss broke, Becky said, "You might want to check out the woman you're stalking. I think Brad is fingering her right on the dance floor. Joanie is outdoing even me, this time!"

I quickly looked, and it was obvious Brad's hand under her skirt was moving around in a way consistent with the idea that he had pushed aside her panties, and he was fingering her. Which meant, of course, that his fingers were inside my wife, right there on the dance floor in that huge Chicago hotel. At that moment I was kind of glad I was incognito and that nobody there knew I was in fact Joanie's husband.

I felt sick to my stomach to see what was going on between Brad and Joanie, and I felt even sicker when I realized I had a rock-hard erection from watching them. Luckily, I had Becky right there and I decided to blame her for my erection, even if I knew, deep down, the truth.

Becky gave me another kiss and I became lost in the thrall of the eros whose incarnation was the woman known as Becky. Her lips were soft and sensuous, her tongue gentle and loving, her response to every movement I made was loving and reassuring. Her hands were tickling, then caressing, then massaging the back of my neck. My erection was getting painfully hard, just from Becky's kiss from heaven and the feel of her soft, pillow-like breasts pulled up against my chest. I knew Becky was enjoying knowing she had so easily made me hard. There was no possible way she could suspect the truth.

Lost in the splendor of our kissing, I didn't notice that Brad and Joanie had approached us. "I'd like to save you from the infamous seductress of Chicago," Joanie said.

"And I'd like to lead you down the road to perdition," Brad said to Becky, who giggled in response.

The next few dances Brad had with Becky, and I had with my wife Joanie. Once we were alone, Joanie asked, "Have you been listening?"

"Yes, when Becky was not distracting me, and until you began dancing. Then it was too hard to hear. But I saw plenty," I said.

"I have to spend the night with Brad. Are you okay with that?" Joanie asked.

"And all that implies?" I asked.

"It implies probably more than you can imagine, to be completely truthful. You're going to be a real cuckold, not a virtual one! Are you okay with that, honey? If you're not, now is the time to speak up," Joanie said.

"How bad is what he has on you? I know he's blackmailing you into sex."

"Bad, Hank. It's very bad. I don't have much choice, to be honest, but nothing is worth losing your love," Joanie said. "So be truthful. Can you handle being a real-life cuckold? Can you handle your wife fucking her old piece-of-shit lover to save her polluted skin? Not by choice?"

"I want to hear it and see it. Can you do that?" I asked.

"Oh, Hank! God, I love you so much! But are you sure that's a good idea? Brad knows me; he can make me scream. Why don't you lay Becky instead of listening to Brad and me?"

"I'll make a play for Becky. If she's willing, then yes, I'll take her to bed. But I still want sound and video of you and Brad," I said.

"It's not healthy, Hank. You don't want to hear it. You very certainly don't want to see it! Brad is a sexual sadist, and I'm into it, and once it's thrust in your face, down your throat, you won't be able to erase it from your mind."

"Do you like being sexually tortured?" I asked.

"Not with you my love, never with you, but with Brad it just feels right to have him sexually torture and humiliate me," Joanie said.

"I saw that he was fingering you on the dance floor. Everyone saw it. He's already humiliating you, Joanie," I said. I looked over at Brad. "Now he's fingering Becky. Probably with the same fingers that were just inside you."

"I know, and it turns me on," she said. "Are we good? Can I spend the night with Brad? I'll try to record it, but only for sound, okay? I cannot bear for you to see what Brad might do to me. I'll try to describe it, using your device. I'll be naked most of the time, you know," Joanie said.

"Place the broach strategically. I have your purse wired for video; just make sure the front of the purse faces the room. Place it on a bureau or something so it takes in the bed. I hope to be fucking Becky, so I'll watch you get hammered later."

"The purse will face the back of the room. I don't want you to see what happens! Trust me on this, please?" Joanie said. There was embarrassment and sweet desperation in her voice. Before I could reply we were interrupted.

Joanie didn't know I had placed tiny cameras on both the front and the back of her purse. I didn't tell her, either.

"Hey, buddy, can I cut in? I'd like a dance with your sexpot," Mark Harris said.

I stepped aside. "Only one dance, Mark. Brad has already asked for the one following. You know enough not to mess with Brad, right?" Joanie said.

"That I do. Let's make this dance count, then!" Mark Harris said.

I stepped back and watched. I watched Becky dancing with Brad, and Joanie dancing with Mark Harris. Becky kept slapping away Brad's ever wandering hands, trying to pull them out from under her skirt, and failing.

Joanie, in contrast, seemed to be have no fight left in her. She let Mark Harris molest her at will. Be the end of the dance, Joanie's blouse was fully unbuttoned and her bra was pushed over her breasts, making her quite the sight to see! Everyone in the ballroom who cared to look, now knew her long nipples were hard, sticking out like little bullets. They knew her areolas were brown, and her nipples were fuchsia. I couldn't help it, it made me hard. Becky, meanwhile, was flustered and aroused, but at least Brad had failed to partially undress her.

Becky came over to me after her dance with Brad, fairly flustered, and Brad tore Joanie away from the molester-in-chief, Mark Harris. As Brad pulled her away she was tucking her boobs back into her bra and beginning to re-button her blouse.

"Mark really went to town on Joanie-the-Slut. Why are you so interested in her?" Becky asked.

Keeping my cover, I replied, "Because I didn't have you. Want to dance, please?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Becky replied and she pulled me onto the dance floor. The two of us danced up a storm and during the slow dances I felt her up as we kissed.

Eventually I looked around for Joanie, not seeing her anywhere.

"Looking for the slut you're stalking, are you Hank?" Becky asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yeah, I guess so. Have you seen her?"

"She left with Brad; from the look in Brad's eyes, they're probably fucking their brains out by now," Becky said.

"I need to go to my room," I said. "Can we meet up later?"

"Look, Hank," Becky said, as we walked together towards the elevator bank. "I may be a bimbo slut who you once fucked long ago, but you know as well as anyone I'm not stupid."

"You've always been the smartest person I know," I replied, truthfully.

"Good. So, I've figured it out. That broach Joanie is wearing is of course fake, and has a Bluetooth transmitter," Becky said, holding up her hand to stop me from interrupting her. "The two little white Bluetooth receivers growing out of your ears are so that you can eavesdrop on Joanie's banter. You're playing some kind of sick cuckold game. You and Joanie are husband and wife."

"You always were the smart one, Becky," I said, admitting defeat. "What was your fist clue?"

"Oh, there's so many! The first clue? Your wedding rings. They're distinctive, and the two of you are wearing matching ones. Very Joanie. She's the type who would insist on that. Then there's the obsession you have with her. Your constant Bluetooth plugs mean that you're listening to something, and finally I'm throwing myself at you and you're barely noticing. As I said, it's obvious," Becky said.

"We have adjoining rooms. Joanie is taking Brad to her room, and I'm going to eavesdrop on them from inside my room. Want to join me?" I asked.

"I get to listen, too? Will I stay dressed?" Becky asked.

"Yes, and certainly not!" I said.

"I'm in, and frankly, my dear, I'm hoping you'll not just be inside your room, but also inside me fairly soon, as well," Becky said.

"Not very subtle, but nice to hear," I replied.

"Subtlety is not working with you here in Chicago, Hank. You're too damned distracted. It's a pity you weren't with us in Atlanta. If you had been in that hot tub instead of Doug..."

"Was Joanie naked in that hot tub?" I asked.

"She was topless, but not naked. I, on the other hand...."

"So I've heard," I said. Becky took my hand and we entered the elevators, along with six other people. We rode up silently, speaking to each other with only our eyes.

**************

The Twelfth Floor of the Hotel

We were walking from the elevator, down the short hall to my room. I figured Joanie and Brad were already in her room.

"Hank, do you get off on Joanie getting it on with other men? Are you that bleeping strange? Seriously?" Becky asked.

"It's complicated," I said.

"You have a Bluetooth device, right? That's why you need proximity. It can't be -- you want to listen in on your wife getting laid?"

"I've never done it before, believe me. This has spiraled out of control," I said. "Can we go?"

"Really? Seriously? This is your first time your wife is making you a cuckold? What about Atlanta? Did you peep on her there, too? I don't know you anymore, Hank! And to think I was making a serious play for you," Becky said.

"I would love to enjoy your body, Becky. I've lusted for you for a long time," I said.

"Bullshit. Actually, it's the reverse," Becky said, and she gave me a poisonous smile. "You were always too stupid to see it, or you simply didn't like me the way I liked you."

It was strange, because Becky and I went back a long time. We met in college. I was a junior and she was a cute little sexpot of a freshman, and yet we were never that attracted to each other, or so I thought. I had my own girlfriends and Becky was quickly snapped up by a senior. We became friends, doing homework together and the like, but there were no sexual sparks. It was kind of nice; refreshing, if you will.

The friendship grew over the college years, and Becky would give me advice about what to wear on a hot date. Even though she was two years younger, she was nevertheless more sophisticated than I was in the romance arena. I came to love her, but as a friend. Now all that was about to change.

There was a time when we were both upset, each for our own reasons, and we fell into bed together, the way friends sometimes do. I do remember Becky being totally amazing in bed. I had no idea until now that she had wanted more. Wow.

"You know, Joanie once bragged to me about her hubbie's cock. I've never known Joanie to lie, either. How big is it?" Becky asked.

"You don't remember?" I asked.