Cuckolding for Beginners Ch. 22

Chapter XXII

Somerset Gardens

Although I never asked to talk about my nondescript reservations with Bryn, he sensed my vocal inner demons and broached the subject. It was the way of a cuckold, especially a bisexual one. While I was enjoying a lingam massage and a night of cuddling alongside my neighbour, my wife was enjoying herself on the party island of sin.

I couldn't say what troubled me or worried me; I knew that within fourteen hours I would cuddling my wife again in our marital bed and I would hear all her stories. She would share her debauchery with me: explain every picture, describe every touch and recount every partner. She would detail every orgasm, elucidating on their sexual prowess and recounting their rampant masculinity with a yearning longing. The memories of her wanton lust would live long.

I knew this. I knew that as I wrapped my arms around her and she reminded me of my status in our relationship I would feel content: submissive and humbled as my marital partner underlined that her sexual appetite could only be sated by others. Emphasizing the limitations of my prowess and reviving memories of my weekend sating other men in acts of homosexual excess.

But being away from Erin was tough. Being away, so far away, as my wife spread her legs was emotionally bruising. She was in a distant land, far from me, and I was redundant. Part of our enjoyment of her promiscuity was not only cuckolding me, but being so brazen about it. The funny looks the builders gave me as they thought they knew a great secret that I didn't was part of that. The casual manner my wife sauntered home and explained why she had soaking panties or the desperation on my face as she shamelessly fucked men in front of me was all part of the same games.

It was our dynamic. And the weekend felt different because it was so different. I felt isolated from her in a way that I had no reason to do.

Bryn understood. He calmed and helped me rationalise my thoughts. He didn't dismiss or deride my worries, but as I tried to logically think and resolve my baseless fears he gave advice.

"You're playing with powerful emotions. Many of them are subconscious and emotions aren't logical. You can't beat something illogical with logic. Just ... talk it through with Erin. It'll feel fine then."

I didn't really want to discuss my flimsy, irrational misgivings with Erin but instead went for a walk on my own after breakfast while Bryn tidied the hotel room, ready for checking out.

London was busy, despite the day being a Sunday, and I got little peace as I sat on the South Bank with a cup of coffee watching the myriad of couples and people walking past.

How many of those men and women were married? How many could be cheating on their partner or indulged in an open relationship? I didn't know, but as I mused and considered the behaviour of the last few days I knew that I had got a lot of sexual and emotional pleasure from my debauchery over the weekend. I loved sucking cock, and I loved anal sex. I adored the feeling of cum dripping into my mouth from the well-fucked cunt and the glorious massage Conan had given me was a beautiful display of sensuality as well as sexuality.

What Erin and I had was something beyond what most couples had; we had a loving connection that extended trust and respect beyond the relationship. I had been secure for weeks and months about my wife's extra-marital activities; so what had changed? Did I no longer trust her?

It was patently absurd and my analytical mind separated the love and lust once again, soaking in the hot rays from the autumn day.

By the time I got back to the hotel, my wife had sent another plethora of emails: several of her with another woman and at least four men. There was cum everywhere, splattered over her body, and in her hair. On her face, and on her hands. And the men looked barely over 21.

And I felt nothing but lust and arousal as I saw it. Nothing but enjoyment and not a hint of insecurity.

I'd had a brief wobble, and I'd discuss it with Erin in time, but I was comfortable once again and my gorgeous neighbour had packed everything away by the time I had returned, making me feel rather guilty.

"I have a stop planned," he said as I entered the room. "If you want to. I don't mind if you don't feel ..."

"I'm fine," I assured him, smiling as the kind-hearted multi-millionaire pondered.

"Sure?"

"Sure. I had a thought and realised what Erin and I have is totally special. It's a form of trust that most couples will never understand or have. I have something so deep and incredible that we go elsewhere to fulfil our sexual needs as well as each other. And our interests and desires tessellate. Submission, domination. Bisexuality. And so on."

"So ... if there was a small amount of cocksucking, buggery and damn stupendous pussy eating today, you'd be OK with it?"

"Definitely," I replied, laughing at my bashful friend's silly expression.

I never saw the hotel bill; Bryn wouldn't let me pay a penny towards it, or pay for the coffees as we stopped at a service station en route to Cheshire.

By the time lunchtime came, we had turned off the motorway and Bryn was winding down the back roads through small villages and hamlets. I knew better than to ask where we were going, but my mobile phone bleeped to show another set of salacious emails from my wife.

This time she had a variety of reddened male buttocks and was holding a hairbrush. "Don't think it's just you that I discipline," she had written as the subject and I scanned the pictures to elicit any further detail; where these the same guys she was screwing in the morning?

"You OK?" Bryn asked. Our conversation had dropped off as I scanned the picture intently and he glanced into my lap to survey the kinky photographs on my telephone screen. "Wow. That one's really red!"

I squawked as his wheels clipped the grass verge and his eyes returned to the country road, full of tight turns and unpronounceable place names. "Have a look when we stop!" I demanded, flicking my phone screen off to ensure that Bryn resisted temptation. His eyes focused on the road after that and a few miles later he turned off into a dirt track before we reached the next village, bumping across the uneven ground.

"Somerset Gardens," I read as we bounced past the sign, crying out as my body objected to the rough treatment my neighbour was subjecting me to. "What's Somerset Gardens?"

He laughed. "Something that will take your mind away from ... other things!" The car accelerated towards a break in the hedges, before pulling into an expansive car park that held over 80 cars. Two naked men walked into the landscaped garden behind it and I glanced at him. "Naturist resort ... with a difference."

"With a difference?"

"Yeah," he muttered, but said little more as he unbuttoned his shirt. I didn't ask any further; I didn't want to spoil the surprise he was obviously excited about. His smile was broad, his hands feverishly undressing. "T'is amazin' site!" He boasted. "Been twice before."

I slipped my T-shirt over my head and placed it on the dashboard of his expensive saloon car, before removing my masculine shorts and lacy underwear. He watched me retie my trainers with an impetuous blithesome snort, impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Ready, where do we go?"

"Don't you want to know where we are?" He asked, as he opened the door.

I answered as I left the car, continuing the conversation as we walked across the car park towards the landscaped gardens. "It's a swingers' resort. Normally. But every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday is a special event: uniform, crossdressers, gay, lesbian, heavy kink -- you name it."

"And today ... let me guess, gay?"

He snorted in derision. "Hell no." I felt almost disappointed in a way I shouldn't have done. My relationship with Erin was based on the principle that I couldn't have sex with another woman and if homosexual gratification wasn't allowed then my day could be worryingly chaste.

But then, Bryn had a similar arrangement with Christina and his steps were almost bounds as we stepped through the landscaping towards an elegant house between the trees. "No?"

"Well a bit. It's a submissive male naturist event. Gay, straight, bi; the works."

"OK."

"They'll be sadistic women and men, and lots of fun. The last time I came, I had so much sex." My ears pricked up, as I surveyed the manicured grass lining the well maintained garden. My eyes were drawn to a passionate couple; the busty woman squealing as her legs pressed down on the mouth of a male submissive, grinding her pasty hips to feel the swirling tongue of the punished man, lay across the deep green lawn.

She was brazen. Shameless. Outrageously flagrant with her sexual pleasure as her partner drove his tongue against her delicate folds in the autumn sunshine.

But it was sinfully erotic, lustfully exciting the senses as we watched the lewd display of carnal satisfaction.

And they weren't the only ones; as we neared the house, a man was being beaten by a couple of naked dominatrixes and another man was being plowed from behind as a strapon penetrated his ring.

By the time Bryn pushed open the main door and nodded towards a lady on a battered desk, my cock was incredibly erect. I wanted to play and my partner said nothing as he glanced down at my excited state.

"Bryn Forrester plus visitor," he announced and glanced towards me. "I paid by PayPal. Password is cuckold."

She said nothing as she scanned the open folder before withdrawing two sheets of paper and passing us both one each. My name was scribbled in biro across the top of the form and she passed me a pen. "Fill it in, read it and sign it."

No emotion, little warmth. The form needed next of kin and address details before gave a comprehensive set of rules. It consisted of standard demands: "no means no," "only join in if asked," "no photography unless all participants consent," and so on. It was reasonable rules to protect the participants and I signed the bottom of the form with a flourish of the borrowed ballpoint.

Although the miserable receptionist offered to "show us round" the facilities, I was glad when Bryn declined and led us into the large plaza in the centre of the grounds. A pool dominated the square, and a myriad of sounds surrounded us as naked man and women cavorted in the bright sunshine.

A poster detailing the activities and workshops that day was pinned to the noticeboard as we entered the well lit arena. We scanned the notice. Bryn asked: "Fancy a rope workshop?"

"Workshop?" Bryn noted the disappointment in my voice that I didn't mean to show.

"There'll be plenty of time for playing." The tone of his voice was playful but his meaning was clear. I slightly reluctantly agreed to attend and we walked across the plaza to an expansive ground floor space. A couple of dozen people sat on the floor and surrounding a large blue mat.

A greying middle-aged woman introduced herself to each person in the circle as Faith; there was a confidence about the short, thin woman. Her breasts were deliciously pert, belying the myth of older women, and her skin youthfully radiant.

"I normally do Shibari instruction," she called out, bringing the muted chatter to a silence. "But as this is a submissive male event I'm thinking of some cock and ball rope play." Her eyes darted around the room, drinking in the group's response. She began.

It was informative: her brief discussion on rope play safety was standard fayre and the rope lecturer handed some EMT shears with angled blades around the group as she spoke. They remained in the centre of the room as she passed some rope, a few feet in length, and told us to "pair up."

To my left was a single woman; I didn't catch her name, but the lithe naked woman wearing just a beaded necklace and turned to face me. "Do you mind if I tie your balls?" I glanced at Bryn. "If your boyfriend doesn't mind."

Before I could answer, Bryn giggled and put his hand on my naked buttocks. "Oh, be gentle with him, sweetheart," he teased as he took a length of rope from Faith and turned to the squirming gentleman beside him.

"Where would be the fun in that?" The green eyed lady replied. "I'm love making men squeal in pain!"

I took her in for a moment: she possessed an effortless beauty, sweetness and innocence rolled into a delicate bundle of sexiness. Her breasts were gorgeous, her body hairless and her expression filled with captivating purity that belied her true intentions.

"Peter," I introduced myself, watching the scarlet rope slide through her delicate fingers.

"Kayleigh."

We watched Faith bring her husband onto the mat and she took a length of rope to begin with the "Masthead Knot." Her black rope was tied into three loops that were turned inside out to make a clover-type shape. She pushed her partner's diminutive penis through the centre and tightened, pulling over the testicles to separate the balls.

He looked content; the demonstration was sexually charged. She repeated the tie, and then "the subs" were told to lie on the floor as the rope tops tied their partners balls up.

It felt hot to have Kayleigh knelt between my legs; her soft hands played with the rope and sent shivers of electricity up my cock the moment she touched it. It felt scintillating and exciting; delightfully weird to have another woman man-handle by intimate areas.

She was gentle as the rope slid over my dick and around my balls, tightening the rope to make me squeal. Faith looked over her shoulder and offered a suggestion, pausing to make Kayleigh readjust the rope and tease my aching cock into an erection with gentle touches and fleeting brushes with her hands.

The rope tightened between my balls, separating my testicles tightly and pulling the skin taught over my delicate genitals. "Did you say be gentle?" She asked my neighbour with a giggle, and dragged her sharp fingernails over my helpless ballsack.

She delighted in my cries of discomfort and shock, pulling my thighs further apart as the innocent girl guiltily appreciated the throbbing pangs of sensual pain she was sadistically causing.

I squirmed but her arms holding my thighs apart were deceptively strong. Her eyes stared straight at mine, taunting me to beg for mercy. To plead to her for clemency and accede to her playful dominance.

But I wouldn't. I glared at her, refusing to surrender as her fingers dug into my sensitive genitals and her lips pursed in concentration. Her fingers squeezed my tender spheres, smiling as my cries became vocal and loud.

"You OK over here?" Faith asked; my anguish attracting her attention.

"I'm just taking advantage of squeezing his nuts while he's helpless," Kayleigh replied, laughing as her hands gripped my tormented gonads.

The torture was eased when our teacher instructed the tops to untie the balls and she demonstrated a "Bottle Top Knot." It looked simpler than the original knot, and tied around the base of the balls and was secured with a couple of half-hitch ties, before dangling the rope between her partners legs. "For adding weights," she suggested and Kayleigh's eyes gleamed.

Her fingers were rougher than before, tying the two loops into a simple array of twists and turns and sliding over my balls as I submissively lay in front of her. She pulled on my genitals, making me wince and then tied the her bottle of water to the end.

I felt little as I lay down, but a click of her fingers indicated I was to stand up. I stood gingerly, slowly getting to a squatting position before the water was ready to be lifted by my balls. I panted, unlike much I had done that weekend, groaning as my testicles stretched downwards to take the full weight of the bottle.

It was pain. A forceful, deep, intense discomfort that lifted that water from the floor as Kayleigh smiled, watching my facial expression of agony fade into one of relief.

Her foot aimed at the bottle, sending the container swinging backwards and into a large arc that had me howling with pain. For a moment the pendulum hanging from my testes and my cries of anguish made me centre of attention.

Everyone stopped and watched. Everyone saw my hands dropping to relieve the pressure in my aching balls and fall to the floor to release the weight on my ballsack.

Kayleigh smirked; she rubbed the inside of her thigh as she hauled me back to standing, taking her water bottle in her hands and untying the weight from my testicles, before leading me around the hall by tugging on my sensitive orbs.

The pain was intense; a gentle pull from her had me yelping in discomfort, but before too long, Faith wanted her rope back and Kayleigh begrudgingly unshackled my intimate parts from her sadistic games.

"Just when I was enjoying myself," she moaned.

Bryn overheard. "I'm going to a cross-dressing talk." He looked at Kayleigh with a conspiratorial smirk. "Catch you later! Oh, and this is Lee."

He introduced us to the man he had been tying up; the shy statuesque guy had a boyish charm but was clearly in his early thirties; he was apprehensive and reticent, shrinking under the sudden attention.

I found his diffidence alluring: the uncertain body language and bewilderment in his eyes made him look like prey. "You on your own?"

He nodded; my lips clamped together as his eyes flicked towards the sadist inches from me. He opened up over lunch. The hosts had provided a giant buffet in a cool marquee and Lee, with his short brown hair and washboard stomach, lost his timidity.

He was single: a man who fantasised about submission and had even paid to visit a dominatrix but admitted to being overwhelmed by rampant sexuality on display.

There was a hotness coursing through him; whether it was his reserved behaviour or his sexy body, the thought of playing with the naturist made my cock stand and leak precum onto my shaft.

And then there was the chatter; Kayleigh had him admit his sexual fantasies: submission and masochism, forced bisexuality and extreme genital torture. Every admission reddened his cheeks further, every muttering of masochistic desires was a torture in itself.

He bared his soul and his inner imaginations to a stranger.

After lunch, Kayleigh teased him in the extensive gardens. She toyed with his sensitive prick and rolled his cock in her hands, pinching it to cause winces of pain. She flicked her lips against his nipples and then bit on the sensitive flesh. She smoothed her hair and gripped his cock tightly, bringing the submissive boy to his knees until he begged for mercy.

Kayleigh showed no mercy. She told him to utter a safeword and his lips mumbled incoherently. His eyes were filled with terror, his body quivering with excitement and fright as Kayleigh brought her bare foot into an arc and slammed into his cock.

He collapsed in pain. The screams echoed off the nearest buildings and she glanced towards me; it was one masochistic torment that I had placed beyond my red lines. Lee was swimming in his deepest fantasies, perversely enjoying the chronic pain in his balls and squirming as blows hammered into his crotch while prone, on the ground.

She ordered him to stand; telling him to take his torture "like a man." Moments later, her knee to his genitals caused the tortured man to collapse once again, yelling as his hands felt for his agonising cock.

He squealed his safeword for Kayleigh to ease off her torture and she clicked her fingers at me. "Kiss it better."

Her mouth creased; watching as Lee tensed, squirming as I knelt down between his legs. The blunt head of his cock looked enticing, the shaft of his cock smooth and hairless.

He winced as my lips planted a delicate kiss on the purple end of his dick. It tasted slightly acidic, a musky, febrile taste that excited the bisexual fervor in my brain and had my damp cock leaking once more.