Cuck Ch. 03

This story contains major themes of humiliation play and Dominant/submissive interactions that may not appeal to every individual taste, and do not necessarily reflect genuine D/s lifestyles. It is a work of erotic fantasy only. If you find this is not for you, feel free to move along. For the rest, I hope you enjoy.

The whole is a first-draft work in progress, for hobby purposes only, so I am certain some developmental issues will arise as the story progresses. I will certainly try to ensure that character arcs and interactions maintain some level of authenticity as I go. I am not a full time erotic author, so there may be long gaps between updates, depending primarily on real world circumstances.

CHAPTER THREE

She was playing with me. She had to be.

On one hand I felt the sting to my ego as if I had been kicked in the metaphorical crotch. On the other, my balls seemed to squirm as if that metaphorical kick had landed. And she was smiling. She was teasing me, taunting me, no doubt about it. Probably because I had told her how much I liked her dirty talk yesterday. I dion't know if being called a faggot counted as 'dirty', but I was the one standing there in purple panties.

"Hey," she snapped. "Are you listening? I said get on your knees."

I dropped down to the carpet. I could play along. I looked at the tender folds of her sex spread before me and salivated.

"That's right," she said. "Who's the bitch now?" she taunted.

I started to lean forward.

"Whoa," she said, pushing my head away. "You want this, you still gotta earn it."

I looked up with a questioning frown. I was already wearing her underwear, wasn't I?

"I asked you a question?"

What question was that? My head was spinning.

"Who's the bitch?"

Oh. That question. "I am," I said. Somehow that came out more willingly than I imagined.

Lynn held her hand to her ear. "What was that?"

Oh, she was really taking advantage of the situation. Still, I was loving her for it. "I am," I said louder.

"You are what?"

"I am the bitch."

"Say it again."

"I am the bitch."

She smiled at me, a strange twinkle in her eye. "That's right. I made you my bitch. Boom." She seemed to take a genuine pride in that. "And what else are you?"

I looked at her, confused. Confused and insanely aroused.

"Are you a faggot?" she helped out.

I opened my mouth but couldn't answer.

"Are you wearing panties?" she pressed.

I sighed. "Yes." She really was taking too much joy in this.

"And do straight men wear panties?"

"I..." I felt entirely at a loss. How had she maneuvered me into this. "I..I guess not."

"The answer is no," she said firmly, looking down on me like a lecturing schoolteacher. A schoolteacher wearing nothing but a T-shirt and flashing her pussy. "Straight men do not wear panties. Women wear panties. Women and faggots." She looked down wickedly. "Are you a woman?"

I knew where this ended. "No." God, I loved her.

"Then what are you?"

I had to say it. "A faggot," I mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I'm a faggot."

"Say it louder."

"I'm a faggot."

"Say it like you mean it, bitch."

"I'm a faggot."

God, I should have hated her, but hell she was turning me on. The pressure on my cock inside her panties was making me squirm. It felt so damn good. Who knew being talked down to could be so thrilling.

"Yes you are." She winked at me, her smile almost as wide as her face. "Now get over here, faggot, and put that mouth to work." She inched her pelvis forward just a little more. "I should make you beg, but you are so fucking hot right now. I need your tongue in me right now."

And that didn't even seem to be an act. Excited as I was, I put my face straight in. From the juices flowing before I got there, her level of enthusiasm was plain. "You are so sexy, baby," I said between licks.

She already had one hand in my hair. The other came across my cheek, not hard, but enough to startle me. "Shut the fuck up, bitch," she said. "You're not here to talk. You're here to eat pussy." By my hair, she pulled my face into her.

Oh, hell, I almost came. I might have already leaked a little for all I knew. I could not check nor did I care to bother. I had her pussy in my face, her warm wetness oozing all over my lips and chin. My tongue found her little bud and made it swell. My lips sucked it until it was hard. I used my hands to hold her thighs or cup her ass. Periodically I drove my tongue up and down her folds, tasting the wet vagina inside. I loved it. This was heaven. I might not have a large dick, or even a medium one, but I loved to eat her pussy.

Everything about it was delightful. The smell alone made my balls ache for release. The way her juices continued to moisten my face and coat my tongue. Her flavor was somewhere between a bitter lime and a sweet cantaloupe. It was like a divine nectar I could not get enough of. And the way her pelvis squirmed coupled with the noises she made, I always knew for certain how well I was pleasing her. I may have been a mediocre fuck, but I knew how to go down. Maybe only because I was a mediocre fuck.

Either way, Lynn was writhing on me after only a few minutes. As I licked and sucked and licked some more, her hands massaged my head, tugged at it to hold me hard against her. I felt her working her hips to rub her pussy up and down against my face, and I did what I could to not lose my own rhythm within hers. "Oh my god," she yelled. "You're so fucking hot. Yes you are. Eat me good, bitch. Eat that fucking pussy. Lap it up faggot."

I lost track of every word, as she spoke between gasps and groans, Her enthusiasm seemed to be more than I had ever seen from her. I knew she enjoyed it when I performed, but this was something else. Of course, I had no complaints. Several minutes went by along with a number of more lewd remarks. She wanted to make me her bitch forever. I was the best goddamn faggot she ever had. At one point she just repeated, Oh God, until her voice trailed to silence. When she told me she was ready to cum, I was almost there myself.

"Make me cum, bitch. Oh yeah, make me cum. That's it. That's it. Make me cum, you fucking faggot. Oh yes. Yes yes yes. Oh fuck. I'm cumming. Yes, I'm cumming."

And she did. Hot juice erupted, dripping down onto the cushion. Her legs squeezed my head so tight, the pressure nearly hurt my ears. Her fingers tugged my hair like she wanted my scalp. And all through her shudders, I heard her squeal only muffled by her thighs.

"Stop stop stop stop stop," she eventually said, but I didn't. I kept her clit between my lips as I sucked every last drop of orgasm from her. When she relaxed her legs, I finally took a clear breath.

"Wow," she said. "Fucking wow." She leaned forward, jerked my head up, gave me the deepest, hardest kiss I could remember in some time. "Oh my God, I love you," she nearly screamed. "You are so goddamn sexy right now. You know that. You are so fucking hot in your panties. I love it."

She reached down between my legs, stroked the contour of my cock through the cotton. "Are you ready to cum for me?" she asked. "Are you ready to cum for me? Yeah?" I nodded, groaning something that might have been words.

"Okay, I want you to cum for me, okay?" Before I could stand, she kicked at my shoulder with her foot. Less of a kick than just pressing me away, she used her feet on my chest and arms to push me backwards and down. I ended up sitting on the carpet, leaning back with my legs spread. "Can you cum with me, baby?" Her voice held an intensity I never knew was there.

With just her feet holding me down or keeping my legs parted, Lynn sat on the edge of the seat stroking her sopping pussy up and down. She stopped briefly to tear off her shirt, but that was it. "I want you to rub your cock now," she said. "Don't take it out. Just rub it. Keep it in the panties and rub it back and forth."

She sat above me, entirely naked, one foot on my ribs, the other propped up on her seat so that she could access her own pussy. She already had fingers working furiously as if she was trying to drag the orgasm she just had into another one. The wet sounds of her ministrations competed with the laboring of her breath.

For whatever reason, I did as she asked. Maybe it was just so unique, I felt I had no choice. Maybe I just wanted to feel that way. But I did what she said. I wanted to please her. I rubbed at my cock through the cotton, feeling my hard on twitch and throb in its confines.

"Cum for me, baby," she said. "Go on. You can do it. Cum for me." I was starting to rub at a faster tempo, trying to match the speed of her own fingers. "Look, you already have a wet spot, baby," she said. And I did, a section of dark purple outlining the tip of my shaft in wetness. I just kept working.

"Do it for me, baby. Cum for me. Cum in your panties. Oh that is so fucking hot. You're gonna make me cum too. Oh my God. Cum with me, baby. Cum with me. Cum in those fucking panties. Show me what kind of faggot you are. Oh my God, I'm gonna cum. Cum with me. I'm cumming. Cum with me. I want to see you cum. Be my little faggot bitch. I wanna see it. Make me cum. Do it. Oh yes, yes. Oh I'm cumming!"

Her voice rose in pitch and intensity as she moved her fingers faster and faster. And all the while I did the same. I sat there on the carpet beneath her, rubbing my dick until I could not hold back. I was only half hearing the words, but they were sinking all the way in. I was her bitch then. I was her faggot. I was rubbing my cock like a panty-wearing faggot until I came. And as soon as I came, as soon as the wet spot grew exponentially, a small ball of semen forming on the outside, then my wife came, too, just moments after. It was incredible. I could not possibly calculate what that meant for me, what that meant for us, but at the time I did not care. It would be months later before the full ramifications of that evening finally sank in.

For the rest of the week, we focused on our respective jobs. She went to the magazine each day, and I dove into my responsibilities with a fresh enthusiasm. There was no staffing Wednesday, so I spent the morning cleaning stains from the furniture and carpet. I also took the time to give Lynn an excellent back rub that evening because I absolutely felt she deserved it. For her part, she made supper every night, cooking and setting the table before I ever had the chance to suggest making anything. We really were in love, and it showed.

We spoke a little about the event, but nothing in great depth. "Oh my God," Lynn had said, "was it too much?" referring to her impromptu dive into dirty talking. "I felt like it was too much, but in the moment, I just went for it. I couldn't hold back. I was so worried you were going to be mad at me."

"You were great," I assured her. "Perfect even. I think the faggot bit was a nice touch."

"Really? I wasn't trying to suggest anything. Honest. It just came out. I saw you in those panties and I said, yep, he's a faggot."

"You know I'm not, though?" I tried to contend.

"Sure. Of course not," was her reply. Unfortunately, it didn't hold the weight of much conviction.

Still, we did not have sex—not actual intercourse—and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Naturally, I felt deprived, like she was holding out on me on purpose. We did not discuss whether we should scrap the whole abstinence thing or not, but all we ended up doing each night was cuddling to sleep. It was warm and wonderful and unbelievably tender, but I would still get every time I held her. I just didn't try to force the issue, and she didn't seem to need me in that way, so the situation never manifested.

On Friday we had friends to contend with, so most of that evening was out anyway. We had a night out in the city, with me and a couple buddies playing pool and having drinks while the ladies had more fun dancing. I loved the way my wife looked on the dance floor. She still had all the right moves, and I could not help take note of all the men in the place that stared at her when she went by. I never felt jealousy as much as pride. Look all you want fuckface, but that is may ass you're staring at, not yours. I'll be hittin' that while you go home with your hand.

Of course the reality of late promised that I would not, in fact, be hittin' that, not anytime soon, but the thought and attitude stayed with me despite that. She was my girl. She loved me and I loved her and there was no more to it. Even when guys tried to flirt with her, I did not feel threatened. I knew where she was going home.

When a couple of black guys spent some moments laughing with her, I did feel a pang of something I couldn't quite describe. It may indeed have been jealousy, but I saw from across the place how my wife could handle herself. I knew her body language well. She maintained her distance, kept her self safe. Even if she smiled or laughed with a stranger, she made a point to say without words, off limits, boys. She even pointed me out and gave me a chance to wave to let them know she was already spoken for.

At one point when the six of us were sitting around the same table, one of my colleagues yelled out, "Don't be a bitch, David!" He was calling me out on some of my political views, nothing relating to anything, really, but Lynn actually spit her drink trying to suppress a laugh. No one else noticed any connection, of course, but Lynn and I shared a look. It was the first time that made my heart race all night.

The second time was when Lynn asked for another drink. There in the middle of the club, she came up behind me and whispered right in my ear, "Go get me a drink, faggot." Her whole demeanor was absolutely playful, but by the time I returned with her beverage of choice, I had to adjust myself discreetly under the table.

The ride home was mostly random talk. She had consumed far more alcohol than I, so she was already too tired to take much of anything seriously. When we did get home, it was already way late, so we both agreed that sleep was calling us. As I was brushing my teeth at the bathroom sink, Lynn was on the toilette peeing. I was in the middle of a joke about something, just stepping back to the bedroom, when she jumped behind me and threw her panties over my head.

They were black and silky, and it caught me by surprise, so she managed to get the whole thing pulled over my head so my face was covered almost completely. And of course, she had been dancing much of the evening, sweating amid the heat of bodies and movement. The resulting aroma that struck my nose was pure, unfiltered ass.

"Gotcha," she exclaimed, almost pulling me backward. She was holding the garment taut, almost like a kidnapper putting a bag over my head. Every breath was full of her musk, nothing but the mingled perspiration of her entire evening. "You like that, faggot," she said, almost as if reading my mind. "You like wearing my panties?"

I stopped where I was. I didn't try to pull away or free myself. I had no idea where she intended to go with this, but already I was throbbing with excitement. "Take your clothes off. Now," she cooed. She still held the panty tight against my face.

In that position, I unbuttoned my pants, let them drop to my ankles. As much as I was able, I slid my boxers down until they fell as well. I could feel my cock stiffening.

"You are so cute," she whispered. "What am I going to do with you?" I tried my best to step out of both pants and underwear but only managed one foot free. Unexpectedly, her hand came down and smacked my naked butt. My groin tingled as I contracted from the sudden jolt. "Get on the bed," she said.

She had let me go, but left the panties on my head. With one eye, I could see the direction of the bed. I freed my other foot and moved over to it, inhaling her sweaty scent for all it was worth. I did not choose to speak because I recalled what happened last time. That was fine with me. I was liking Lynn in control. All I had to do was enjoy the experience. A guy could really get used to this if he allowed himself.

When I reached the edge of the mattress, she said, "Stop." I did. "Turn around." I did. "Now get naked and then put those panties on properly," she instructed. "Then get on your knees." I immediately set to doing all that while my beautiful wife removed all her own clothing as well. As I knelt in front of the bed wearing her silky black underwear, she strolled over to me. My cock strained outward visibly, but didn't poke above the waistband.

"You look so pretty," she said.

I smiled back at her,

"What are you?" she asked.

"Um, I'm a bitch?" I wasn't sure which term of endearment she wanted.

"You're not sure? Say it like you mean it."

"I'm a bitch," I said more confidently.

"And whose bitch?"

"I'm your bitch." This was definitely getting more comfortable.

"Yes. Remember that." She stroked the top of my head, her naked pussy staring at my face. Neither of us had showered, and I could smell her aroma like a thick cloud surrounding her. "And what else are you?" She tousled my hair.

"I'm a faggot." That one still felt difficult to say out loud for some reason.

"That's right, faggot," she said. "You're a faggot who wears panties, aren't you? Say it for me."

When she said it, my balls got a jolt; but when I had to say it, it seemed infinitely more shameful, more degrading, like an admission of an ugly truth I didn't want anyone to know. Still, I stared at her pussy and said, "I'm a faggot who wears panties."

"Good boy," she said. "Now get up on the bed."

Eagerly, I complied. This turn of event was charging our sex life so much. I can't believe it took us this long to discover it. I didn't mind being her bitch or her faggot because I knew she understood me. We were playing games, role-playing, and every healthy couple did that sort of thing. Some people played cops and robbers, others might do harem girls and shieks. This was our thing. Wherever it stemmed from, no argument it was working.

"Lay on you back," she told me. I did just that. "Arms at your sides." I ended up laying in the middle of the bed with my arms and legs straight like I was standing at attention flat on my back. My cock was straining to stand as well, but the panty held it pressed again to one side.

Lynn was quickly up on the bed next to me. She thoughtfully adjusted a single pillow beneath my head. "Comfy?" she asked. I nodded. Then she kissed me and stroked my chest, sending tingles all the way to my toes. "Good," she said.

Without asking what I wanted or what I was in the mood for, she straddled my body. Her knees locked my elbows against my sides with her feet squeezing against my shoulders. I found myself staring up at her amazing ass, her thighs parted wide, revealing her swollen sex and puckered anus right above me. The smell was profound and I couldn't escape it, not without pitching her off. I didn't bother to struggle.

The fact that she didn't ask, made it all the more enticing. It was as if she didn't care how I felt at that moment, or just assumed I would be okay with it. Either way, when she dropped her ass right on my face, I had no choice but to receive it. Her pussy found my mouth and her asshole my nose. Within seconds my face was smeared with her stink, her warm juices mingled with her pent up sweat all coating me nose-to-chin as she started rocking her hips, sliding her moist slit back and forth as if she was fucking my face. Indeed, that was exactly what she was doing, masturbating on my face instead of using her own hand. I only tried to stick out my tongue to find her little button as it rode back and forth.

At the same time I felt her hands pressed down on either side of my hipbone. Nothing touched my cock except for the silky thin fabric. She was moaning and panting, groaning a little as she worked my face, but all was muted somewhat by the suffocating presence of her thighs and ass.