A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 10

An hour and a half after they went to bed, I hear the bedroom door open. Sally emerges, naked, and walks quietly to the bathroom. I resume masturbating furiously: I just saw my wife the way Ted saw her: skin, breasts, pussy, ass, legs... my own wife!

I hadn't even begun to assimilate that image when she came out of the bathroom and walked over to me. I asked her to sit down, but she said no, she would rather stand. I could not even think of standing on ceremony; I masturbated like mad as she stood next to me, her pubic hair at my eye level, and said she was having a great time. I looked at her standing so proudly, both of us knowing what she had done and would do again, and I couldn't breathe. I kept thinking it was so nice of her to say hello to me before returning to her lover, but only a cuckold could understand that thought. I shook and gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, and she laughed.

She turned to go back to him, and I asked her to wait.

"What was the best part?" I asked through my sexual delirium.

Sally -- my wife, my partner, the mother of my children -- thought for a moment, then said, "I was sopping wet when he came in me." Then she walked away from me, closing the bedroom door behind her.

What part of that do I deal with first? Do I deal with my wife's nudity, knowing she shared herself completely with that man in the other room? Do I try to accept that she was "sopping wet," when we all know she never got wet at all when she and I made love? Or do I try to accept the fact that my wife just told me another man came in her -- that she came to report to me that another man's sperm was now swimming in her womb? It was all I could to do to keep from cumming, or crying, or both.

But it was so kind of her to take the time to visit with me before going back to him. I felt warm and loved, in a way that only a cuckold could possibly understand. Even sitting there all alone, I was reassured and revitalized. But the best was yet to come.

Just a few minutes later, Ted called to me. I answered, puzzled as to what he might want. I was certain he would not ask me to watch them fuck again; both of them had made it clear that the last time, when I did watch, was not something they wanted to repeat.

"Come here, Paul," he said.

I went to the bedroom door, and again, I knocked. He told me to come in, and I tentatively opened the door. I was naked and hard, and I was both embarrassed and feeling like an intruder. But he asked...

Here is what I saw when I opened the door: My wife was lying on her back, the sheet pulled up to just below her breasts. Her nipples were hard. Ted was lying next to her, his right arm under her head, his left draped across her body. He was caressing her right breast with his left hand, and they were kissing.

I did not know what to say, or what to do, so I stood there dumbly. After a few moments, Ted looked up, smiled at me, and said, "I realized we haven't thanked you properly for everything you have done to make this possible. We really appreciate all your efforts, and we want to thank you formally. We would never have had this time together if not for you."

With that, he kissed my wife again, and she shuddered as he gently squeezed her nipple between his fingers.

How can a man feel completely empty and very proud at the same time? I don't know, but that is truly what I felt. I stood there as that man held, kissed and felt up my wife, and along with my shame I suddenly understood that I had done something good for both of them -- and for me, too. I had brought two lovers together. I had helped my wife find something she never found in our marriage. And I had made it as convenient, easy and comfortable for them to be together as I possibly could.

"You're welcome," was all I said.

"Please leave us alone now," Ted answered. There was no meanness in his voice; no sense of superiority; no intent to embarrass me. We all knew how things were, and he was simply saying what needed to be said. Thank you, and goodbye.

I closed the door gently as I left, and I sat down on the towel in the hallway. As I heard the first sounds of their lovemaking begin again, I noticed for the first time that I was sitting directly opposite a full-length mirror on the hallway closet door (funny how my attention had been elsewhere earlier in the afternoon). As I looked at my image in the mirror -- a grown man, naked, stroking his rock-hard cock while he listened to the sounds of his wife fucking another man -- I realized that the pride I felt in doing a good job as a cuckold eased my pain and increased my excitement. This was the way things were supposed to be: Ted's penis in Sally's body, and mine in my hand. And then I did something I don't ever remember doing while Sally and her lovers were together.

I smiled.

Through his second orgasm and hers, I masturbated without release. But I was not frantic, and I felt good about everything that was happening. My loneliness? It was all right. My horniness? All right, too. My wife's infidelity? All good. The lovers appreciated what I was doing, what I was giving up. I relaxed in the understanding that I no longer had to FEEL like a cuckold, or act like one. I am one, and we all know it is supposed to be that way.

By the time Ted went to the bathroom to shower, I was back on the couch. When he finished, he did something he has never done before: he walked into the living room while toweling himself dry. Once again, without a shred of meanness or superiority, he talked about how wonderful it was to fuck my wife. He talked -- raved, actually -- about how wet she was for him, how she could not keep her hands and mouth and pussy off his cock, how good she felt cumming in his arms, and how good she felt when he came in her body. Most of the time his penis was exposed as he dried his arms, chest and back, and I could not help staring. He was soft, and small (at least, small for him); obviously, my wife had satisfied him completely. But it was not his penis which held my focus the whole time he spoke; it was the knowledge that this was the penis my wife wants.

I did not feel sad, or angry, or even hurt. It was as if the game was over, and I had lost; no use crying over that which is done. I knew Sally was still my wife. I knew she would go home with me after Ted left. I knew we have our lives together, and I knew our love for each other is strong. But I also knew that, for all the things she wants to do with me, sex is not one of them. Sex is saved for the naked man standing in front of me, telling me the things my wife did with him that she does not want to do with me.

He returned to the bedroom, dressed and said goodbye to his lover. As he walked by me on the way to the door he said, "She's sleeping now. She had a busy day. We give each other such pleasure, and I really do appreciate everything you do to make it possible. Bye."

When he left, I walked to the bedroom door. It was closed, but not latched. I was about to push it open to see how Sally was doing, to get a look at her in their lovers' bed, but I thought about what Ted said, and decided against it. I returned to the couch, leaving her to sleep undisturbed.

About an hour later, I heard her moving around. I expected her to come out to me, but the noises continued and I realized she was dressing. Another few minutes and she emerged, as prim and proper as if she had just finished a business meeting. She walked over to me, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and said, "Time to get dressed. I had a wonderful time, and now it's time to go home." I asked her if I could masturbate for a few more minutes with her in the room, but she gently said no. She was finished, and now it was my job to drive her home.

That night, sitting together after the kids went to sleep, she told me about their date while I jerked off. I asked her to hug me while I came, and she said no; I needed to do this alone. I asked if I could see her tits, and again she said no; they were not for me today. "Let's just enjoy the way things are," she suggested, and she smiled as she watched me. Her eyes were filled with love... but no hint of desire. That is what I saw when I came.

Sally still reserves the right to invite me inside her whenever she wants. So far, she has not wanted. She and Ted are working on a date for late January, and one night she said it was quite possible that I would not be inside her before she saw him again. I thought it would hurt much more than it does. But a "thank you" goes a long way.

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Comments welcome; flames cheerfully ignored.

Cuckold Paul Pines