A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 23

February 2012

*ADVISORY*: This is a story about cuckolding. It says so in the title, and I'm saying it again now. My wife has a lover, and I'm excited by that. If you read this story, you'll see that cuckolding has an effect on the husband's psyche, and I accept that. If YOU do not accept that, or if you find it weird, unnatural, perverted or otherwise disturbing, please don't read this! And if you read it anyway, please don't bother to write that you found it weird, unnatural, perverted or otherwise disturbing.

And yes, it's all true.

People have written to ask if we're still doing this, and why I haven't written more of this Diary. I always responded that Sally and Ted are doing great, but I wouldn't write another chapter until I had something new to say. Now I do.

Comments welcome. Flames cheerfully ignored.

To the story:

First there was the kiss. Then the tissue. By that time my brain was scrambled and the only word that kept coming to mind was the word Ted used to describe me a week ago: "pathetic."

I didn't start out to feel this way. I always knew I wanted Sally to have sex with other men, but I didn't know it would feel like THIS. I'm not complaining – what we do is really exciting for me. Sally doesn't walk all over me; we are partners, lovers, friends and everything else a spouse should be. Only in the bedroom – in matters of sex – did our roles shift... and they shifted gradually. Now we have something that excites each of us – all three of us – and which "works" for each of us, too.

Sally and Ted have each found a wonderful, caring sex partner in the other. They are not in love with each other, but they really LIKE each other... and they LOVE having sex together... and they have enjoyed being together more and more as the years have passed. I have found out who I am; who I was always supposed to be. I am a cuckold. Not a game; real life. And as I think about the over-five years since Sally said she didn't want to have sex with me at all anymore, I feel... pathetic. And that strange, shameful word feels right. Not very pretty, I know, but a certain variety of cuckold understands completely.

Cuckolding is the most exciting sexual adventure I can imagine, but my ego has taken quite a beating along the way. My question has always been, "why does MY ego WANT to be beaten?" Yes, I'm a masochist, something I've described in earlier chapters of this Diary. And sometimes that's a problem for Sally and me, because it's just not easy for Sally to hurt me, even when I ask (beg. PLEAD.) to be hurt. I know how strange it sounds to say that Sally will fuck another man but won't hurt me, because her fucking another man hurts me plenty.

On their dates, Sally is amazing – to Ted AND to me. He always tells me how much she turns him on and how passionate a lover she is. And she "gets" what I need, to be able to sit there and do nothing while another man fucks her. Our problem – my problem, actually – is all the time in between their dates. Almost the moment we leave the hotel after seeing Ted, Sally changes her persona from "Bad Girl," which is saved for Ted, to "Good Girl," which is for the whole rest of the world... including me. As she said after their date, "I can compartmentalize."

"Good Girl" can barely believe that Bad Girl does the things she does. Good Girl is a respected professional in our community, a tireless volunteer for things she believes in, the most amazing wife / friend / partner / confidante a man could ever have. No one would imagine in a million years that we don't have sex anymore, and NO ONE in any age or era would have the slightest suspicion that Sally has a long-term lover, and I am a cuckold. But she does, and I am.

A little about me, beyond that I'm a cuckold and a masochist. Fourteen years ago I finally succeeded in convincing Sally to try sex with another man. We found a great guy, who is her lover to this day. I found that I was more excited about Sally cuckolding me than I had been about anything since I was first trying to seduce her over 30 years ago. Five years ago (November 20, 2006, to be exact) Sally asked me if I could accept our not having sex anymore. She explained that she had never liked it with me, and that often I actually hurt her with my clumsiness in bed. She also said that Ted was SO good to her, and SUCH a wonderful lover, that she wanted to share sex only with him. The idea was terrifying... and exciting beyond words... so I said yes. I didn't think she would stick to the no-sex policy for very long, but to this day she has said only that she loves "our arrangement." (She did promise me a once-a-year mercy fuck on our anniversary, saying that was very important to her, and she has kept her promise each year. But that's it, and she assures me she is very happy with that schedule.)

So each time my wife and her lover have a date, I sit outside their bedroom door and listen to them fuck. They will usually call me into the bedroom once or twice, to get them a drink or just to be polite to me, since they know I'm sitting alone, masturbating. And Ted usually spends 15 minutes or so sitting in the living room with me when he is dressed and ready to leave, very politely telling me some of the things they shared and how they made each other feel. When he tells me this I am sitting naked opposite him, jerking off like a man possessed. He never puts me down, never abuses me as the "bulls" do in commercial cuckold porn films. But we both know that my wife fucks him... and only him. We both know that I only feel my own hand 364 days a year, so he helps me accept my role by telling me the most intimate, exciting details of their sex. And he always adds, "You'll NEVER know how it feels when Sally does that to me..." I really appreciate the time he takes to do that, as by that time he has fucked my wife at least twice and he is DONE. Besides, he doesn't come to talk with ME.

Bottom line: my ego – my image of myself as a MAN – has taken quite a beating over these past 14 years, and especially over the past five. What makes me a cuckold is that I accept this; actually, it feels RIGHT. For some reason, I know I am supposed to be outside the door when sex happens; as Sally says, "I don't want you any further away than that, but I don't want you any closer, either." Writing the 34(!) chapters of this Diary has helped me to accept and embrace the emotions and the deep sexuality that surround the word "pathetic" for me, and I have a few online friends who, as fellow cuckolds, actually get what I'm describing. Otherwise, it's just me, my hand and my memories of the sights and sounds from their many dates.

Many cuckolds will agree that they would be very excited if other people knew they were being cuckolded. Most of us will also agree that family, job, community, etc., demand that we not share our adventures – or our shame - with anyone else. For me, that means the only people who know me - know I am a cuckold and know I am pathetic as a man - are my wife and her lover. And that is why I asked each of them, prior to this week's date, if they would acknowledge to me what they are doing and would help me to feel the shame in front of them that I think about every day on my own. Actually, what I said was, "I'll do anything I can to make sure both of you have a wonderful time together, and I'd really appreciate it if you would help me have a terrible time."

They did. They had a VERY wonderful time together, and they each helped me to see who I am, stripped for a while of any sense of concern for my wellbeing.

Their date was scheduled for two weeks ago, but 36 hours before it I got a call that I would have to work that day. We were all frustrated – Sally got herself off several times, telling me how much she missed "being filled up by him." Ted and I chatted on YIM and he expressed similar frustrations – and horniness for my wife. And I felt bad that my work had come between them. We rescheduled for two weeks later, and as the day approached, Sally made time to have her hair done, her fingernails done and her toenails done... for HIM.

We got a late start on our drive to the hotel the night before their date; by the time we got there it was after 11 pm. We had a quick drink and Sally relaxed and read her book; I excused myself, went into the living room and jerked off, thinking about what would happen in the morning. Eventually we both got to sleep, but my sleep was fitful: I kept imagining that another man was going to get into THIS bed and fuck MY wife, then I would wake up and realize it was true. Fifteen minutes before my alarm went off, I gave up on sleep and went to get ready. I dressed, went down to the lobby for breakfast, then brought breakfast up on a tray for Sally. Our suite had a fireplace, so she ate her breakfast in the living room, in front of the warm fire. As she was about to get up to get dressed, Ted called to say he would be a half-hour late. That gave her time to relax, wake up, and get ready for... him.

When Ted arrives at our hotel room, our general practice is for them to sit and talk on the couch in the living room for a while. When they do, Ted is completely dressed and Sally is wearing whatever outfit (or lack of an outfit) she has chosen to turn him on: either a negligee or just a bra and panties, with her silk robe wrapped around her until he opens his present. I always offer to get them coffee from the lobby, and they always say yes; I think they enjoy those first few minutes alone at least as much as the coffee. Usually they will kiss while they talk; sometimes Ted's hand will caress her breast through her negligee or bra. Not much more than that happens until they go to bed, without me.

Maybe it was their pent-up excitement from their delayed date, or maybe it was just to be blatant about what they do together, but this time things were NOT the same. Sally usually sits up on the couch and invites Ted to sit next to her; this time she reclined seductively, her legs spread so as he approached her he was treated to the sight of her open pussy. After seeing that, he knelt by the couch and started kissing my wife – not just a "hello, nice to see you" kiss, but a sexy, passionate, intimate kiss. Followed by another one. And another.

When I returned with their coffee they hadn't moved; their mouths were still glued together. As soon as I came into the room, Ted moved his hand to my wife's breast – first over the thin fabric of her negligee, then reaching under it to feel her skin. I sat down in a chair across from them and watched my wife and her lover make out... is it considered "petting," and does anyone use that word anymore, to describe when a man touches, squeezes and sucks on a woman's nipples before they have sex? Actually what happened was that they engaged in foreplay right in front of me. I didn't do anything or say anything; I just looked at my wife's open pussy, realizing she hadn't let me see it this much in many months, and watched her lover prepare her for sex.

After nearly a half-hour of foreplay, they got up from the couch to go to bed together. As they – I say "they" because from the moment Ted comes into the room, "they" are a couple and I'm the outsider – walked by me toward the bedroom, Sally stopped in front of me. She came over to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and gave me a deep, loving kiss. When she did, my head nearly exploded as I tried to reconcile the love I felt in her kiss and the knowledge that she was about to fuck the man standing beside her.

After the kiss, and without a word, she took Ted's hand and led him to bed. The last thing I saw was the door closing between me and them.

By the time I could settle myself outside the bedroom door, I already heard the sound of Ted's belt buckle being freed, followed by a long, deep "OOOOOOHHHH" from him. X-ray vision not needed; she was sucking his cock. Those moans were followed by a brief silence, then an almost identical groan... from Sally. I know that sound well: she only makes it when she feels a cock enter her.

I sat outside their door, masturbating but not allowing myself to cum, while they fucked. From the grunts, gasps and bed-creaking sounds, I was pretty sure they were trying various positions. (Later, before Ted left, he confirmed that they had fucked "sideways, scissors, and man-on-top" during their first lovemaking that day.) After about 10 minutes they settled into a steady rhythm, evidenced by their staccato breathing and the quiet thump-thump of the headboard against the wall.

Suddenly Ted called out, "Paul, open the door. I want you to see this." I opened the door, continuing to jerk off as I entered their room. I can describe what I saw *physically,* but I will never be able to convey the emotional effect it had on me. There in front of me, Sally was lying on her right side, facing away from me. Her left leg was stretched out in front of her, and Ted was straddling her right leg as he fucked her sideways. His right hand was caressing my wife's ass, and his left hand was gliding over her left breast.

Without stopping or even turning to me he said, "I want you to see your wife's face when she's enjoying sex. I know you've only seen her tolerating it, but this is what she looks like when she's having fun."

He was right: she looked fantastic. Her legs askew, giving him access to her pussy. Her arms above her head, presenting her tits to him. And she was smiling. Really, truly smiling.

What could I say? Ted had actually told me to come into the room so he could show me how he fucks my wife, so I said, "Thank you for showing this to me." They didn't respond; they were wrapped up in each other, body and mind. I stood there and masturbated at the sight of my wife loving sex with him, until they noticed me and told me it was time for me to leave them alone.

As I closed the door, a thought crossed my mind: had Ted done that to make me feel good, or to make me feel bad? I hoped it was the latter, because it worked.

Within two minutes of my leaving, I heard their breathing intensify. Then I heard whimpers, then a moan, then panting, then my wife shaking the bed as she came. It was a gut-wrenching orgasm for her - and for me. Listening to her grunting and panting for nearly a minute, knowing she was cumming in his arms, nearly killed me.

As soon as it subsided I heard Ted grunting and the headboard banging MUCH louder. Then he came in my wife.

I guess I've described it before, but for me there is little in life that hurts more than hearing HIM cum in HER. It's not just that they are fucking; not just that she has, clearly, brought him such pleasure that he has lost control and is ejaculating into my wife's body. For me, it is much more than that, and much more painful than that. When I hear it – when I hear HIM cum – I know that only he gets to feel that. I know that my wife is happy bringing her lover to orgasm. I know that she hated doing that with me, and wanted me to cum not so I could feel good, but so the detestable event would be over as soon as possible. Not with him: as she told me last week, "he loves when I beg him to cum inside me." She begs him – and only him - to cum inside her, not to get it over with, but to give him that intense pleasure. I know it. She knows it. And he knows it.

The headboard continued to bang against the wall, more gently but still rhythmically, for several minutes. They have both told me how he loves to stay inside her after he cums, feeling her pussy holding his cock and making sure all his semen flows into her before he pulls out. I listened as the headboard laughed at me: "He's still fucking her. He's still cumming in her. And you never feel that."

Then they were quiet. They were done... for a little while.

The time after they finish fucking – the 15 or 30 minutes they lie together, talking quietly or napping briefly – are terribly difficult for me. At those times there is no sound, no "action," to distract me; all I can do is sit outside the bedroom door, rub my own penis, and think about how much of a sexual loser I am. The litany is always the same: "My own wife doesn't want to fuck me, she only wants to fuck HIM. And I brought her here for him; I made the reservation, I packed the bag, I made the bed this morning so they would have a neat and tidy place to lie down together. I listened to them fuck. I SAW them fuck. I heard them make each other cum. AND I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO STOP THEM. I just sat here and touched myself while my wife gave her lover everything she is supposed to give to me – and only to me."

Pathetic. Seriously, real-life pathetic.

I kept masturbating until the noises began again.

Quietly at first; often I'm not sure whether I'm just hearing something, or whether they are starting again. But soon the sounds are unmistakable – Ted groaning as my wife brings his cock back to life with her mouth and tongue. The groans get louder, more insistent, then "that gasp" from my wife... he is inside her again. Gentler this time; they aren't in a hurry any more, and they enjoy each sensation as it presents itself. "He is fucking my wife again," I say to myself. "His body is inside her body; his sex is in her sex. I know it – I hear it. It's happening NOW, and I'm just sitting here alone while it happens."

As I beat myself up for my role (or lack thereof) in their sex, and in sex in general, Sally called out to me. "Paul, please bring me a tissue."

WTF?

They don't use tissues after they fuck. Ted cums deep in Sally's pussy, and when he's done she sucks him clean (yet another thing she never did with me...). So, what's with the tissue? I grabbed a few from the bathroom sink, opened the door, and saw my wife on top of Ted, fucking him slowly, deeply and passionately.

My first reaction was one that only a husband – a loving husband – could possibly have. If you've read my Diary, you will know that Sally had knee replacement surgery last summer; she's doing very well, but as the doctor predicted, it's taking the better part of a year for the pain to fade. So as I walked in and saw her on her knees on top of him I thought, "Wow, she's doing GREAT with her knee!" Not sexy, I know, but the truth.

Ted's moans brought me back to earth. As I saw him writhing under my wife, I understood that her hips were rocking back and forth to draw his cock deeper and deeper inside her. His face told me how it felt – and then HE told me that I'd never know how good it felt to be fucked by my wife like this. Her outstretched arms were on his shoulders, and when he never looked at me while he talked, I realized he was staring at her naked tits, moving hypnotically in front of his eyes.

Finally noticing that I was in the room, Sally sat upright on Ted – never letting his cock slip out – and took the tissues from me. She quietly blew her nose (she was just getting over a cold, but sure as hell wasn't going to cancel their date), dropped the tissue, and leaned over to kiss him, never missing a beat as she fucked him.

Ted said, "You have such a beautiful smile on your face," and was just able to finish that sentence before groaning loudly as she did something with her pelvic muscles which was obviously very special. Then she told me to leave.

My mind reeled as I stumbled back to my chair in the hallway. I was SO excited to be called in while they were fucking again, but as I thought about it, the excitement mingled with absolute shame. I reframed her request in my mind as I listened to them continue to fuck: "Paul, I'm in the middle of fucking Ted and I don't want to stop, so please get me a tissue and bring it to me here in the bedroom. I know it will hurt you to see me fucking him, but I know you won't do anything to stop us, so please get in here now."

No, she didn't use those words. But that's what she said. I did as I was told, and she was right – I didn't do anything to stop them. I stood there and rubbed my own penis while she caressed his with her pussy, then I left when she told me to get out.