All In

"Where did you get this picture?" She asked as she emerged from our bedroom with Cindy swinging from her hip.

I looked over her shoulder, "Oh, that's Trudy and her dad."

"This is your father?" she asked Trudy.

Trudy shot me an uncertain glance, "Yea, why?"

"I met him once, a long time ago." She thought for several minutes, then she continued. "We were at a bar. He was having a hard time and wanted to talk. I was alone, and he was buying the drinks, so I listened. He told me about how his wife would do things just to hurt him; that she liked to see the sadness in his eyes."

Her story sounded all too familiar. Trudy and I both absentmindedly found chairs and sat down.

My mother continued, "I saw his wedding band when he asked me to dance, but he seemed like a decent guy. Besides, it was only a dance. You know how that is."

Mom's eyes engaged the baby's and she toyed with her for a few moments before she continued. "He said that his wife was out on the town, cheating on him, and that he didn't want to be alone. Sadness oozed from him, and underneath the sadness was a desperation to salvage a small fragment of self respect. I should have left him there in his misery, but I felt sorry for him. I held him close and told him everything was going to be all right."

She looked me in the eye and said, "I only slept with him that one time, but it was enough." She then looked at Trudy and said, "I'm sorry sweetheart."

Trudy looked at me and said, "What does that mean?"

My mother answered for me, "It means you two can't be married."

"No. No, it can't mean that. We didn't know. How could we know?"

"It doesn't matter if you knew. You're brother and sister. You can't be married."

"You don't know that for sure. That's only one picture, and it isn't even a very good picture." Trudy's voice was shrill. "Maybe he's not my real father; you said she was cheating on him."

My mom sat and calmly waited. There was no need for a hasty resolution. We already had an incestuous child; how much worse could it get?

But Trudy was visibly distraught, "What's going to happen to the baby?"

That night Trudy and I lay on top of the covers as we talked. Her crystal blue eyes bore into mine. "Are you going to leave me?" she asked.

"I don't know what good it would do. We're married, and we have a kid. We've already done all the stuff a brother and sister aren't supposed to do." That seemed to calm her down. In the morning we talked it over again with my mother. It was her story, not the picture, that convinced me of the truth. But the more I thought about it the less I thought leaving Trudy was the right thing to do. In the end we all agreed that I should get fixed and that we should never mention our common father again.

Trudy appeared to bounce right back into her routine. She always had a smile for me and invariably greeted me with a hug and a kiss.

As cheerful as she was, the revelation weighed heavily on me. I felt like I was engaged in a losing battle, and that my marriage was destined to fail. I hadn't completely come to terms with the fact that I'd married a woman who wanted to cuckold me, and now I felt like was fighting the very laws of nature and incest. I worried that someday it would all catch up with me, and that I would lose everything. I imagined myself following in our father's footsteps. In five or ten years I would be cruising bars, looking for any woman who could soothe my broken heart.

The routine of my job at the restaurant distracted me from my thoughts. It gave me unambiguous goals that I could easily meet with a little hard work and a bit of quick thinking. I received lots of positive feedback from both my employer and my customers and a solid boost to my self esteem. I'd come to enjoy the second Friday of the month when I mingled with the civic leaders. I got to know just about every businessman in town, and they treated me with respect. I didn't even have to ask for discounts that I received at the dentist, the hardware store or the Chevy dealership.

*****

Dinner had been late and I'd only just gotten the baby down. Trudy had done the dishes and had put out a plate of exotic cheeses for us to sample while we enjoyed a bottle of wine. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"About what?"

"Whatever is bothering you. You've been distant since your mother left."

I put a piece of cheese in my mouth to give myself time to think. I wanted to talk, but I didn't have my thoughts straight. I suppose that was part of the problem. "This isn't the way I thought my life would be."

"What, you didn't think you'd end up marrying the sister you never knew you had?"

I had to laugh. The way she said it made it sound like such an absurd problem. "Yea, that's part of it."

"And maybe you're too much of a prude to be a happy cuckold?"

"Yea, that's another part."

"How many parts are there?"

"I don't want to lose either of my girls, and I don't want to lose myself."

"Is that it."

"I think that's most of it. I just want to be happy."

"I can tell you the secret to a happy marriage. Would you like to know it?" She took my wine glass and put it next to hers on the coffee table. Then she sat on top of me, straddling my hips between her legs.

I grinned and said, "Please share this pearl of wisdom."

She touched my forehead with her fingertip and said with a very serious expression, "You have to be all in. You can't hold back at all."

I was startled. I'd expected her to be silly, not profound. Even though I'd agreed to stay, I had been holding back. In fact I'd been holding back since she couldn't say she wouldn't hurt me on our honeymoon.

She kissed me on the lips lightly, once again with passion, and finally deeply. She polished off the kiss then held my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. "I'm all in, do you understand?"

"I believe you."

"You can't be afraid to get hurt, do you understand that?"

She was right. The odds were against us. Our only chance at happiness was for both of us to be all in. If I wasn't willing to be all in, we should call it quits.

I looked up into her blue eyes as I guided an errant lock of hair off of her face. I stretched my neck up to place my lips against hers, softly parting them ever so slightly, gently grasping at each of her lips in turn and then pulling firmly.

She detached her lips from mine and said, "Can you say it? Can you say that you are all in?" She began to slowly unbutton my shirt.

My hands wandered unintentionally upon her legs and torso. "I think so, but before I do I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise that you won't cuckold me before I'm ready."

A smile broke upon her face and her right hand broke for my cock. She stroked it gently a few times, then slipped her hand into my pants and grabbed it firmly. She asked, "Why?"

I wanted to finish our conversation before it transformed completely into foreplay. "Because it's going to hard for me, and I don't want to fail."

She looked into my eyes as she stroked my cock, "Tell me how It will make you feel."

"I'll say the words you want to hear if you'll promise to wait until I'm ready."

She stood up and pulled down her panties. She pulled my pants down to my ankles. She straddled my hips again, this time with my hard cock pressed against her pussy. I could feel her wetness waiting to be sounded. "I will wait until you're ready before I make you my cuckold. Now tell me what I want to hear."

I reached up and slid her dress over her head and unhooked her bra. I kissed both of her beautiful tits, then took the nipples into my mouth, one at a time. "I am your wuss. I was your wuss when I was eleven, I am your wuss now and I will be your wuss when you cuckold me."

As if by magic her cunt sucked in my cock. I could feel her body shudder on top of me, and it was all I could do to keep myself from coming.

Her finger lifted up my chin so that she could see my eyes. Her hips slid her hot wetness up and down my shaft as she studied me. I could tell that she found what she was looking for. I told her that I was all in, then I watched the ecstasy wash over her.

Looking back, I wonder how she knew that I would ever be ready. As it was, years passed where the closest she got to inflicting pain was the odd dinner with a customer from work, an occasional dance with a guy at a bar, or a stolen kiss from stranger on New Year's Eve. Of course, I had to witness each act and afterwards we would have sex. In the beginning there was a chance that there would be enough pain in my eyes to elicit an orgasmic response, but as the years accumulated I became too secure in our relationship. She was all in, and I knew it.

The years flew by. Cindy performed in school plays, played in soccer games and rode horses. I went to all those activities. I was there to celebrate her victories and commiserate in her defeats. We all knew that she was her daddy's girl. I let her have anything she wanted. Trudy was left enforcing the rules.

She graduated from kindergarten, the sixth grade, eighth grade and high school. She transformed from a little girl into a beautiful young woman. In late August she left us for college.

"Do you think Cindy will want to see the pain in her boyfriend's eyes?" Trudy asked as we lie in bed after leaving Cindy at college.

I'd wondered the same thing many times over the years. I said, "I hope not, but I'm afraid the odds are pretty good that she will."

There was a comfortable quiet between us as we thought about our daughter. My thoughts strayed to my wife, "Speaking of pain, when was the last time you had an orgasm?"

She started to answer, but I interrupted her. "A real orgasm, where you cried out and felt fully satisfied when it passed."

"It's been a while. You were there; you should remember."

All I could remember was that many years had passed without an orgasm, and it bothered me. One of my basic functions as a husband was to please my wife, but I hadn't the stomach to do what needed to be done.

Those of you who have reached mid-life understand how one begins to question the choices they've made. Responsible men wonder if they should have taken more risks. Businessmen wonder if they should have spent more time with their families. Philanderers wonder if they ruined their chance for love. Monogamists wonder if they settled down too soon.

I wondered if I was being selfish. My wife had turned into an elegant and beautiful middle-aged woman. Her skin was still supple and her eyes still glistened, and there was now a wisdom in her manner that made her even more alluring than she was in her youth. She never failed to turn me on, and never denied my sexual advances. But without the pain in my eyes, she had gone years without a real orgasm. She deserved better. I wondered if we both would have been happier if I had let her put the pain in my eyes.

A couple of weeks later I took her to the fancy French restaurant in the city. After a lovely meal we took a walk through the park. The evening was warm and the late summer sun left us illuminated by an orange sky. When we reached the overlook I dropped down on one knee and presented her with a beautiful solitaire diamond ring. It was much nicer than the small engagement ring that had stretched my budget as a young man.

"Before you put it on, read the inscription."

She laughed and said, "Sorry sweetie, not in this light."

I smiled, "It says 'All In'."

She slipped it onto her finger then complimented it's beauty, my taste and told me how happy she was. After turning it in the light and inspecting the stone from every angle she gave me a big hug and a passionate kiss, and then asked, "What's the occasion?"

I said, "I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want you to orgasm. With me. Like we used to do."

She held me by the shoulders and looked deep into my eyes and asked me, "Have you thought this through? I want to do it, but I don't want to risk losing you."

"I've thought it through enough to buy a ring and bring you here, haven't I?"

She studied my face a while longer then said, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

The kiss that followed made me feel young again. It was full of passion and hope for the future. We were exploring new terrain again. I knew I was in for a bumpy ride, but I was ready. I held her tightly as our kiss intensified. I wanted to take her right there in the park, with the beautiful orange glow of the sunset lighting her high cheekbones and crystal blue eyes. I pressed her close and felt her firm breast yield to the pressure of our embrace.

She touched my cheek with her fingertip while she inspected my eyes. She smiled and said, "It's already started."

Fifteen years ago what she saw in my eyes would have been enough to initiate torrid sex that would have made her howl in ecstasy and then beg for more. But now it was only a teaser. We had both become too jaded to the titillation of the false start. The pain in my eyes wasn't as intense as it once was, and her threshold had become elevated. We needed the real thing.

Trudy had a plan, and she wanted everything to be perfect. So she took her time in organizing the encounter. Weeks passed while she drew her plan together. She found a hotel with rooms connected by adjoining interior doors that would let her discreetly slip back and forth. She identified a specific bar that had the clientele she was interested in. She picked a Thursday night so that our activities wouldn't interfere with our weekend plans, and she bought a new dress for playing the role of the hot wife.

"What do you think?" she asked as she modeled the dress for me. It was a revealing red dress with an arrangement of straps across the breasts that gave it a bondage look without being overtly BDSM. It made her look super hot. There was no doubt that every guy in any bar she visited would notice her.

"Wow, you look fantastic," I said as I stood close to feel her ass through the dress's fabric.

She pushed her finger into my sternum. "Not so fast, hotshot. This is for the stud I find on Thursday night."

I felt a twinge of what she wanted, but it was not intense enough to matter. She continued to model the dress, while I stood back and anticipated the sensual pleasure that would be mine once the pain we needed was in my eyes.

On Thursday afternoon we drove to the hotel that she had selected. I was shocked to see that that it shared a parking lot with the restaurant where I worked. "Why did you pick this place? It's a terrible choice. It's the least discreet location possible."

She brushed my concerns aside with the proclamation, "Don't be silly. This is fine." She did such a good job of playing the hot wife that I almost forgot that in our nineteen years of marriage she had never actually followed through on her threats. Of course, this time things were different. I felt my confidence wane as we inspected the rooms.

The room was standard three-star fare. It was clean if aging. Sturdy frames held prints of blue and green watercolors on the walls. A bed, chair and small desk made up the furnishing. The carpet, drapes and bedspread matched the paintings.

"This is where I'm going to make you my cuckold," she said while studying my face.

We'd rented hotel rooms similar to this one before. It was years ago, when the false start still brought pain to my eyes and led to sizzling sex afterwards.

"Say it for me," she said.

Even though it was for real this time, we'd used the illusion of reality so many times that diminished the impact. I tried to bring the reality home by pondering what kind of man would join her in the bed. Would it be a young stallion with lots of youthful energy, or an experienced stud with lots of stamina? Maybe she would get one of those guys on Craigslist that advertise the size of their cock, or maybe an established businessman, who could afford to wine and dine her. It occurred to me that she might pick one of the civic leaders, who I would see every month. He would look down on me disdainfully as a wimpy cuckold, or maybe he would tell his friends so they could have a good laugh every time I came to their table. It was all up to her, and I had no choice but to hope that she would do something wise. I looked her in the eye and said, "This is where you will make me your cuckold."

She gauged my emotional state for a moment, then showed me the back-to-back doors and my room, which was a mirror image of hers, and then instructed me on how to position the connecting door and where she wanted me sit.

After that we went home. She insisted that I help her get ready. "Get the shower ready for me."

"Did you forget how to work the shower?"

She stood with her face inches from mine. "If we're going to do this, I would like to make the most of it. Now would you please do as I ask?"

She was right. Maybe if we did it right we wouldn't have to do it again. "Of course. Would you like me to prepare you for your lover?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

Once the shower warmed up, I took off my clothes, stepped in, lathered up my hands, and waited for her to join me. She entered, then lifted her arms so that I could wash her body.

Trudy and I had played this game many times before. I always began by sliding my soap-slick hands along the contours of her beautiful body. The years had been very kind to her. Her tits still appeared to float on her chest, unaffected by gravity's pull, and her skin was as supple as the first time I'd seen her naked, when she sat on my bed all those years ago.

I washed her arms, legs, back and stomach first, saving her tits, ass and luxurious pussy for later. She let me indulge in the feel of her breasts and ass, but when I probed her pussy she said, "That's not yours tonight." She gently stroked my erect cock and said "If you're good I may let you play with my pussy afterwards."

This game had worked like a charm the first dozen times we'd played it. I would get aroused by her tease and frustrated by her denial. When she saw enough pain to reach orgasm she would let me touch her. But, like everything else we tried, our tolerance rapidly built and dulled the excitement. Soon we had to find ways to increase the intensity.

She said, "Now shave me, please."

She was following our usual progression, so I had expected her request. I found a razor and shave cream while she leaned back onto a seat built into the wall of the shower. She spread her legs and watched me lather up her ruddy, engorged pussy. She was as aroused as I was, which made me think of the endgame in the blue and green bed of the hotel room.

I gently touched the razor to the soft flesh surrounding her pussy and slowly dragged it across her skin. She looked down on me, thoughtfully watching me as I worked.

"Only a wuss would prepare his wife for her lover," she said as she rested her hands on my head. "Soon you will be my cuckold."

It was a great line, but like everything else, she'd used it before. Only the reality of the blue and green bedspread gave it life. I could feel the stirrings of pain, but I knew it wasn't enough.

When I'd finished, she looked deep into my eyes and said, "Go ahead and admit it. Tell me that you are my wuss."

I gazed at her from my position there below her, with my rock-hard cock and my eyes looking up. She hadn't called me a wuss in years. I wondered why it had been so long as I said, "I am your wuss. I have always been your wuss. I will always be your wuss."

In the good old days she would have run her finger down the side of my face, the way she always did when she saw what she needed in my eyes, but it wasn't enough, so she asked me to dry her off and brush her hair.

As I brushed she asked, "Do you remember how upset you were when I called you my wuss at school?"