Barbarella

Note. Unfortunately this whole paragraph needed to be censored or redacted.

After that initial two week period when it became obvious that Rory would be staying on, I started masturbating. Restarted would be a truer description because it was a pastime that I had indulged in with avid dedication since puberty, only stopping the first night that I walked Babs home. I had always been ashamed of my secret vice since the day my father caught me and called it a 'disgusting habit' and probably because of this believed that the act caused 'bad magic'. I found that doing it the night before some occasion special me led to disappointment on the day, so efforts to avoid the curse on something very important provided the only curb to my compulsive tossing off.

Although I had given up bed snake bashing on meeting Babs, something unusual occurred on the night before our wedding. That night we slept in separate houses; (Babs explained that it was a marriage tradition but as you know, I later discovered the real reason was so that she could fulfil her bargain with Rory). In the middle of the night I woke from what could only have been a wet dream because it certainly was not a conscious wank. The fact remains that my fingers were wrapped round my dick and my loins were significantly wet and sticky. Nothing will convince me that this was unconnected with my later unhappy discovery in the store-room at the reception.

I took to watching my wife and her fisherman friend screwing. That first fortnight, he kept the bedroom door tightly closed and even so the sounds of copulation seemed to reverberate through the house. After that he started to leave the door significantly ajar, I think to rub my nose in the fact that he could give Babs more than I could. Knowing that it is possible to see, I think that it is human nature to take a peep and after the first time, I couldn't stop. I must have spent countless hours standing in the darkness of the landing watching the events on that illuminated bed - they invariably did it with the light on.

Earlier I speculated which gave a cuckolded husbanded most grief, imagination or visual knowledge. One answer is that in many ways, seeing is better. For one thing it was mainly fairly conventional sex where my fevered imagination had visualised all kinds of exotic variations. Also, from an objective point of view it could be called almost beautiful. The contrast of his taut tanned leanness with her paler voluptuous softness had a primitive aesthetic appeal and I had to admit that their two bodies moved in unison like two parts of the same well oiled machine. The devastating downside was that I could see from her face, without a shadow of a doubt that my wife had not lied when she said that he had a hold over her body.

I have to confess that one night, whilst engaged in this sick voyeuristic activity, I disgraced myself. Then, crawling about on the carpet, guiltily trying to remove evidence of my spilt semen, I had the further humiliation of hearing Rory loudly empty his balls, without worry, into my wife's wet warm welcoming womb.

Many might think that I did all right for sex - the Friday evening sodomy sessions, the occasional early morning blow-job, all that kissing and cuddling by the sea front and the solitary satisfaction gained from my hand. However they must take account of the cumulative effect on me of my wife being fucked by another man every single night - and it was every night because even on 'those' days of the month, he kept her mouth pretty busy. It drove me to the edge seeing the woman who I loved with all my heart and who I was convinced also loved me deeply, giving herself to him with enthusiasm and abandon. Perhaps a husband in a similar position but whose wife's participation was involuntary might consider his the worse situation, but I would not agree.

From the time it became obvious that Rory intended to stay with us there remained a tenuous hope based on the state that 'he would definitely be moving on when his redundancy came through'. After six months this hope had died for me and I think that Babs had also set some store by this theoretical termination of our unusual household arrangement. I did detect a subtle change when she was in bed with him. She still had mind-blowing orgasms but I felt that they no longer had the joy and exuberance of before and I drew consolation from this.

There was also a decrease in their frequency of copulation - it was still every night with frequent double events but triples became a rarity. One morning she got up early and I happily anticipated the feeling of her lips round my prick but she was very glum and for a time uncommunicative. Suddenly she said with feeling, "I hate him, I really do. Not for myself but for what he is doing to you. I wish to hell that he couldn't turn me on so easily."

I smiled uneasily, unsure of what to say and this turned her anger against me. "It's all your fault," she accused. "If you hadn't given your permission in the first place, we wouldn't be in this situation now." There was truth in this but she conveniently forgot that her own whorish desires were a not inconsiderable part of the equation.

Scientist deliberately test materials applying more and more pressure until they reach breaking point. Some snap explosively but others just go bent. I have never considered myself to be a person of particularly high mettle.

Our lodger was also a financial burden, so to save money, I had started taking a packed lunch to work rather than dining in the staff canteen. On a lovely summer day and, feeling claustrophobic about the condition of my life, I decided to go for a drive and eat my sandwiches in the open air. I went past the nearest park guessing that it would be full of summer visitors and drove to a smaller one not far from a council estate. I parked but suffering an urgent call of nature, I left my lunch in the car and headed quickly to the public convenience a short distance inside the gates. There was just one man at the urinal when I entered, thick set, early forties, wearing dark blue overalls and probably a plumber or such.

Despite the pressure in my bladder I could not urinate. Now I do occasionally have this problem. If a toilet is packed I am fine but I find that with only one other person I tend to get inhibited, particularly if he is bigger than me. I waited to be alone but he didn't go. Then nature took over and my piss gushed out - it was a long one but when I had finally finished, the stall three along from me was still occupied. I should have just turned and left then but some perverse streak in my nature demanded that he should leave first - so I continued to stand there. It was as if the world had stood still. I began to feel stupid just staring at the wall so had to turn my head to see what the hell he was doing that was taking so long.

I was shocked to find that he had tuned himself diagonally to face me, his flie gaped open, his cock was three quarters erect and he was bouncing it up and down on his hand. As I watched, the penis stiffened more as if reacting to my attention. I could not look away and as I gazed at the other mans now fully erect member, I became convinced that it had been up Babs at some undetermined time in the past. It was not that much bigger than mine although considerably fatter. It was also uncut but that fact did not explain the fascination that it held for me. The man changed position and that was sufficient to break the mesmeric spell and allow me to look up at his face. He was giving me an odd looking smile. "Do you want some?" he said.

I definitely did not say 'Yes' but I may have nodded. All I know is that when he turned and went into one of the cubicles, I followed him. He stood to one side allowing me to pass, shutting the lock-less door after me, then moving to stand with his back to it. The floor was dry although I cannot say clean. As if I had done this a thousand times before, I knelt in front of him and took his cock into my mouth. I knew with clinical clarity what I was doing but that first time I had no awareness of taste or smell - as if some of my senses had become afflicted with a kind of numbness. Babs had done this to me often enough for me to get a good idea what to do. I thought that I gave a creditable performance but he no doubt recognised me as a beginner - I don't know because he never gave me marks out of ten. When his cum arrived in my mouth, again I had no real sensation of taste but was surprised that it was much less than I had expected. At this point, without a word, he zipped up and left as if having heard some signal that police were entering the park. I had automatically swallowed the spunk without any feeling of nausea but now I leant over the toilet bowl and gave a couple of dry retches for effect. That done, I exited the cubicle and made my way back to the car feeling very satisfied - hell it was more than that - I felt ten feet tall.

I was half way through eating my sandwiches before I realised that the gnawing bitter pain in my guts had gone. That pain had been with me constantly, to greater or lesser extent, ever since the night that Rory had first come to the house to 'borrow' Babs for a couple of hours, - had now it had completely disappeared.

After that night's sexual circus the pain was back - back with a vengeance, so next day I retraced my steps to the same park. The weather had changed making it a cool wet day. I hung about for my whole lunch hour without seeing a soul and returned to work trembling all over and having forgotten to eat my sandwiches. The next day was Friday so I resolved to stay at work over the lunch period because I had got Babs to look forward to that night. However, as if waking from a dream, I found myself parking the car and taking what was fast becoming a familiar walk.

There was one guy not much older than I, standing at the urinal. He was well-built and wearing worn jeans and some kind of zip up jacket. At the sound of me entering, he looked over his shoulder and our eyes met. In that instant, somehow a message must have passed between us because without a word he went in to one of the cubicles with me following. His cock was about eight inches long and had a nice solid feel to it. Like me he was circumcised.

The tactile senses, which had abandoned me on that first occasion now, returned with extra acuteness. I found that he had a strong rather gamey smell but I loved the hot velvety feel of his penis skin on my tongue - in fact I loved having that living part of him in my mouth. I was learning the skill quickly because, sensing that he was about to shoot, I backed off to make it last. When he did cum, again I was taken by surprise because this time there was far more than I had expected, so much so that some overflowed my mouth. It may have been imagination but I had a tingling sensation in my tongue as if from aerated spring water, (I have experienced the same sensation on occasion since). This one did not dash off. As I wiped my mouth, he said, "That was good mate, thanks," offering me a cigarette as he spoke.

I accepted and after he lit me up, I put my theory to the test. "Do you know a girl called Babs?" I asked.

"Everybody knows Babs," he laughed, but then he shook his head and went on, "A real looker that one and she rattles like an old tin can."

After that I did it a lot, in fact it became a compulsion. I found it hard to get through weekends and days that I drew a blank plunged me into desperate depression. There were not many such days after the first two or three weeks - there was always at least one waiting for me as if the word had got round. Once as one guy was leaving, another entered the cubicle with his prick sticking out ready to be serviced, before I even had chance to get up off my knees. Apart from that occasion there was often some male hanging about hopefully when I thought that I had sucked my ration of cock for the day. Sometimes I didn't want to do it, either because I did not like the guy or didn't fancy having his dick in my mouth but the thought of getting through the night without having had a cum cocktail to sustain me, meant that I sent no-one away disappointed. But there were times that I enjoyed it immensely and could easily understand why my wife had spent so many years engaged in this activity.

It is strange to think that until a few months before, I had only ever seen three erect cocks in my life, Pierre, Rory and of course my own. Since then I have been closely acquainted with dozens, all shapes all sizes - and I have to admit that I like the big ones best. I also used to think that there was only one way to be aroused - a hard penis and a feeling of excitement. I now know of three, each having the common denominator of a painfully stiff prick but with widely differing emotions. When lying with Babs I feel blissful happiness, when It is Rory's long cock embedded inside her I feel bitter sexual jealousy and when I am following someone into a toilet cubicle, my head pounds at the knowledge that I am about to get cum on my tongue.

I had only one bad experience. Two big rough types of Rory's ilk, who had obviously been lying in wait, hustled me into a cubicle and then crammed in with me. Both had big pricks and they made me suck them off more than once each. It was an ordeal due to the claustrophobia, the element of coercion and the fact that they kept trying to push their cocks right down my throat. I got back to work nearly an hour late and my jaws ached for the rest of the day.

Those two had tried to make me 'deep throat' them and I must make mention of the technique. After some weeks of my lunchtime jaunts I began to consider myself quite good at it and wanted to be able to swallow some of the bigger cocks and give the complete blow -job. Babs claimed that she was adept at this but of course my dick wasn't long enough for her to demonstrate on me. I tried to deep throat for a time without success but then gave up because, having a choking fit in the middle of giving head, hardly enhances the effect. Then one day, I was really enjoying sucking a long really beautiful penis when it slipped quite naturally right down my throat. I really thought that I had cracked it and with the next big one, I tried the plunge with complete confidence only to finish spewing my heart up on the floor.

Some time later another cock slipped down my gullet, again when I was getting particular pleasure from the activity but that time I took it as being due to the situation and not because I had suddenly discovered the technique. It depends on the penis, circumference rather than length and possibly also a lot on enthusiasm. This second occasion happened with someone a few years younger than me. As I was heading back to my car, he emerged from some trees and came over to me. "I've got to ask - do you know a girl called Babs?" he said.

I shook my head. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because you give head exactly like she does. It's uncanny - back there for a moment I thought that it was her." I did not speak but he kept walking alongside me and then suddenly started explained, "She has sucked me off twice but years apart. The first time was at school - Babs used to go in the bike shed at break times and she always had a line of kids waiting their turn. No matter how many there were Babs made you feel as if you were the only one - even then she had her own special technique."

He lapsed into silence so I prompted, "You said that she sucked you off twice?"

"Years later I spent a night at her place near the docks. That night she also gave me the best fuck of my life - well more than one if you must know, that girl just couldn't get enough of it."

"Why didn't you see her again?"

"I'd have loved to but I couldn't risk my girl-friend of the time finding out. Anyway, about two years ago Babs married some geek but the last I heard she was shacked up with a hard case off the boats that she has been shagging for years on an off."

I would have liked to see him again but felt, possibly illogically, that if I made a date it would be crossing the line into being gay. There was just one other man towards whom I felt similar emotion. This was the day after the two louts had pressured me, so I got out of my car feeling far more nervous than usual. I had gone only a few paces when a smartly dressed middle aged man signalled with a rolled up financial newspaper from where he was sitting on the park wall. As I approached he said, "I don't care much for that place back there. It's a lovely day so how do you fancy a short ride into the country young man?"

He led me to a large expensive looking car and we set off along the coast. After a while he turned into a very narrow lane little better than a farm track and eventually pulled over and parked. Thinking back I don't think that a word was exchanged after the initial invitation but now he opened the car boot, handed me a large soft blanket and said with a grin, "I don't see why we shouldn't make ourselves comfortable." He also removed a small picnic basket that he elected to carry himself.

I followed him for 100 yards along a faint footpath until it reached the cliff edge. At this point a section of cliff had slipped a few feet. We clambered down some exposed roots, walked a few feet and then climbed up onto an isolated bit of headland using more roots. We were now on a section of cliff enclosed within an impenetrable arc of gorse with the only possible access being the route we had followed. Calmly he began to undress, folding his clothes carefully, then spread the blanket on some soft grass and lay down upon it in the sunshine. I had stood and watched him but now I began to remove my own clothes rather self consciously, studying him as I did so.

He was about 45 but obviously took care of himself either through working out or playing squash. It was also easy to see that he got in plenty of nude sun bathing. His prick was limp but looked a good size. As I dropped my shorts on top of the pile he patted the blanket beside him. Looking between his legs it was plain that he liked what he saw - I was already pretty stiff myself, imagining what his cock was going to taste like in my mouth. I crouched between his legs planning how I was going to do it in this new position but he told me not to be selfish, indicating that I should move round into the sixty-nine position. This was the first time that anyone other than Babs had sucked me and with his superb cock in my mouth it was like closing an electrical circuit. I could tell that he was not as good at it as my wife but that didn't matter, I gave him everything that I had got. This was the third time that a penis slipped easily deep into my throat but maybe the position helped.

I lost control first but I think that he had been waiting for me because we ejaculated more or less simultaneously. The sensations so overcame me that immediately we had both stopped pumping, all strength went out of my arms and I flopped over sideways with my eyes closed. I was aware that he had scrambled round until both our heads were at the same end and opened my eyes to see his mouth descending towards mine. For an instant I flinched away, (sucking cocks was one thing but kissing a man was another), but then I realised how silly such a distinction was. From the position of his lips I could tell that he was holding some of my cum in his mouth, it was only fair because I was still savouring his. I cannot describe how incredible it felt having a male tongue in my mouth for the first time, particularly as it was soon thickly coated with two brands of spunk.

We kissed for a long time, breaking off to take turns sucking each other's nipples. His hands were all over me. When one hand went between my legs I though he was going to play with my testicles but it advanced further and I felt a finger wriggling inside my anus. It felt delightful so I squirmed to encourage him but it had the opposite effect because he took his hand away. To encourage him I opened my legs wider and angled my lower body to give easier access - I couldn't speak with his tongue down my throat. His hand returned and when two then three finger slipped easily inside me I knew that he had applied some lubrication to my back passage. I also knew the reason. Back at the park I had often been asked 'Do you fuck?' but replied that I only did head - this was more due to situation than principle. Now, even if I had been dead against the idea, I was so overcome with passion that, at that moment, he could have done to me any damn thing that he wanted.