From Cucked Husband to Sub Wife Ch. 02

From Cucked Husband to Sub Wife

Chapter 2 A Twist of Fate

For years, I could not get that scene out of my head, but I never shared it with anyone. What I most thought about it, I realized, was that all of the things he had done to her and or made her do, she had asked--no, begged--for! The power he had over her was mind-blowing, but her continual reaffirmation and commitment to this man and his cock was what got me. She did all these things eagerly and apparently of her own free will.

That was ten years ago. I left the job that fall to back to college. However, what I witnessed that day had a profound effect on my developing sexuality. As I replayed the scene over and over in my head, often masturbating to it, I consciously fantasized about myself in the role Mr. Jenkins, the powerful Dom. But that truly was a fantasy, since I lacked the requisite equipment. My well below average endowment was an unlikely contender for the part. So, I fantasized about having a big dick like his to let me wield power. But it must, by necessity, remain a fantasy.

In my last year of college, not long before graduation. I met a girl, Lori. She was gorgeous, lightyears out of my league. She was, however, like me, a socially awkward science nerd, which allowed us to get close enough to find we had a lot in common. I had seen her around a few times, but he had never officially met until we were in class together and ended up in the same group for our final project.

Like Mrs. Smith, she had great big titties, except, Lori had great big nipples to go with them, which would harden at the drop of a hat. They were so much fun to suck and nibble, like huge meaty erasers. She was also tall and shapely with nice curves. She was, at least four inches taller than me and could easily pin me when we play-wrestled.

Except for witnessing that scene, and lots of masturbation, I was a virgin, though not for lack of trying. Lori, was a science geek from a super religious born-again family, so she seemed even more virginal than me. She seemed shy and reserved and told me she was saving herself for marriage.

We got together, eventually we graduated with engineering degrees and both went to work for the same firm in Houston, and got married the year after graduation. Once married, our sex life, was just okay. I would do a lot of mouth work on Lori, however, she made it clear early on that she would under no circumstances suck my peenie (that's what she called it).

Usually, after I would eat her out and she came, I would poke my peewee pecker into her a few times and come in less than five minutes. She would then push my head back in her pussy and make me eat the cum out of her pussy. While I was quick to come, I did have a quick recovery time, so we might do this routine twice or even three times in a session.

After working at my company for a few years, I got the opportunity to transfer to the New York office with a big promotion. Because I was making a lot more money, Lori was able to get a part time job at a smaller company. We made the move, and I was happy to be back home in New York. We bought an apartment five blocks away from my old deli job. Before the move we had spent some time trying to get pregnant, but it had not happened. We thought we could proceed with the project after the move.

After months of trying, we were both tested, and it turned out--surprise, surprise--I had a very low sperm count and would be unlikely to sire children. Lori was bummed, but I was doubly so, after all it was me that was unable to perform my manly duties.

I was depressed, feeling worthless, emasculated, un-virile and lacking self-esteem. Lori suggested a little getaway, and we decided to go skiing in Vermont. We rented a private après ski chalet made reservations at the most romantic restaurants. But on the first day on the slopes, I broke my leg and had to be rushed to the emergency department.

Back in the city, after a month of a cast and three weeks on a brace, my orthopedist recommended physical therapy. Because I was still in a brace and crutches, Lori came with me to the appointment. We sat in the waiting room to be called in. I had not been assigned a therapist, so I looked at the list on the board, and one name stood out: Jordan J. Jenkins, MSPT. I never knew Mr. Jenkins's full name, but he was listed as J.J. Jenkins on the delivery receipts. What were the odds?

One hundred percent it turns out.... I recognized him as soon as he walked over to us, with his clipboard of medical information. However, I was quite sure he did not recognize me, as he could barely recognize me when I made regular deliveries and saw him more or less weekly. To him I was an insignificant servant, who rather anonymously brought him groceries. To me he was now a sex god whose exploits had afforded me many masturbatory delights, the image of whose cock was seared into my memory and fantasies. My wife jumped to attention and gave a broad smile as soon as he approached.

"I am his wife," she beamed at him, while taking in his rugged good looks. Lori could be flirty from time to time, especially when drunk, but it was always, it seemed to me, a bashful kind of flirting and never serious. I described it as G-rated, Disney movie flirting, at best.

Seeing him in this context suddenly made me anxious and jittery. "Yes, Sir. This is my wife," I said. I don't know why I called him "Sir." Freudian slip perhaps. My mind kept going back to that scene. I tried to make my nervousness seem related to the injury, but it was hard to think, with images of that day bombarding my mind, and my wife fawning all over him.

"Am I allowed to go in with him?" Lori asked like a young girl asking permission to go to a slumber party.

"You are allowed to do whatever you'd like, young lady," he crooned, and touched the tip of her nose. She turned almost beet red instantly, and I could tell she was flustered and aroused by his attention.

We went in; he asked some questions about the leg and my progress convalescing. Then he said I should "disrobe" pointing me to a hospital gown, and walked out saying he would be back in a moment.

When he was out of the room, my wife just looked at me and whispered, "WOW, he's really something, isn't he?" I wasn't sure if she meant the old-fashioned philandering (verging on sexual harassment), or how hard she had been drooling over his physique. I didn't want to think too much about it. I was distracted by the fact that she was helping me take off my clothes, before the guy with the biggest dick I had ever seen came to exam my upper thigh.

She sat in the chair across from me her face blushing red, and glowing like a shiny beacon of embarrassment and/or lust. I told her I was thirsty and asked her to get me a soda from the vending machine, just to get her out there. She seemed a bit put out, but eventually agreed and left to get it.

When Mr. Jenkins came back into the room, I was laying prone on the examination table, a paper-thin hospital gown on. He helped to turn me on my good side, then kneaded up my leg from about the knee up to high on my thigh close to my crotch. His manner and manipulation were very professional. But, laying as I was, his crotch was just about eye-level. I tried desperately not to think of his cock, but being in the same room with it, and having to close my eyes to not see its outline in his pants made it impossible.

Knowing there was just thin layer of khakis between it and me, put me in quite a state. The harder I tried to avoid it, the more I fixated on it. When I opened my eyes, his crotch was right there... I could make out the outline in his pants. When I closed them, images would flood my mind: Mrs. Smith's beautiful tits, his cock, her astonishing submission to him, his cock, Mr. Smith's total emasculation, His cock, His Cock, HIS COCK! With the war going on in my head, my little pecker sprang to full attention.

I don't know if you've ever tried to keep an erection--even a little one, like mine--hidden while wearing a hospital gown, but it presents some intricate logistical problems worthy of NASA engineers. Luckily, just then, I was still on my side and the folds of the gown afforded me some cover, but I was in fear of the moment I would have to turn onto my back.

Mr. Jenkins's hands were now working near my upper thigh just inches away from my tiny peenie in its most excited state. As expected, the very next thing he said was "would you turn onto your back for me, Mr. Cochran."

I planned my turn carefully. I would, first casually poof out the front of the gown with one hand, then roll in one swift motion onto my back, furtively holding the front of the gown out with my hand. Except, the brace had just come off for the first time in weeks and my leg was clumsy as hell. I meant to swing it out about a foot, so it would bring my body around without causing much disturbance in the gown.

But rather than swinging over, my leg kicked out to the side, turning me over quickly, but spreading my legs far apart and making the hem of the gown ride up in front to just below my crotch. And, as I tried simultaneously to poof out the skirt with my hand, instead of giving myself room to hide the erection, I yanked it the rest of the way so that my tiny pecker could be seen standing straight up like an engorged golf tee, to all and sundry.

But, just at that moment, my wife burst through the door and bounded into the room, with a big grin. I wasn't completely sure if either caught sight of my shame. He turned instantly toward my wife, and I hoped he missed the show. He stood between me and the door, and I was fairly certain he had blocked her view, but I couldn't be sure of the angles. Neither one reacted, so I assumed I was safe. The fear and anxiety over being seen quickly relieved me of the problem--my penis wilted to its more usual inch and half flaccid state.

"Aaah!" he cooed, "your better half returns, hee, hee, hee." And, my wife guffawed, as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

I hadn't noticed immediately because of my apprehensive state, but Lori's look had changed drastically since she had left ten minutes earlier to get me a soda from the vending machine in the waiting room. When we arrived, her hair was in a simple ponytail; she didn't have her "face" on, just a subtle red lipstick; she wore a button-up blouse, like a man's dress shirt and a knee-length business skirt.

She had since, done up her hair, undone the top three buttons to her top, and hiked up her skirt to display most of her thighs, and just a hint of her plump rear, whenever she leaned over. Her makeup was all done and her lips sported a sultry crimson gloss. He devoured her with a leer, as she walked into the room. When they made eye-contact, I could see the lust in her eyes. I recognized it as a much more powerful variety of what I had only ever experience in milder form.

Her eyes were wild; they darted around the room until they met his, but she could only maintain eye-contact in short intervals (as if looking at the sun) then she would look down at floor subserviently, and finally slowly scan his figure from toe to head, but pausing always at crotch level. Most of this was done with just the eyes, but her head sometimes followed along. The grin on her face never faded.

"Hon?" I said finally, pulling her out of her revery, "did you get my soda?"

"Oh... yeah...uhm... sorry, I couldn't find change." She responded in a detached tone. It was not like Lori to lie even about little things. She was the person who would say, "yes, that dress does make you look fat." She would never make up excuses for not wanting to do something "no, I don't want to go to your stupid party" she said to a friend of mine she didn't particularly like.

One could easily collect five dollars' worth of coins by going through any purse she owned. This was an obvious lie. It was a regular joke with us that she could use them for weightlifting, or to fight off a mugger. This really scared and somehow titillated me. She was so distracted by her attraction to this man that she didn't even bother to come up with reasonable lie. I felt angry, disrespected and humiliated, but somehow turned on by it. How could I object the her response, when he seemed to be having a similar effect on me?

When Mr. Jenkins finally turned toward me, he was again the professional physical therapist and continued the office visit accordingly. He explained the course of treatment, demonstrated exercises, and explained the length of the process. He said I had lost a lot of muscle mass in my leg and had to rebuild it before I could put full weight on it, etc. He also said future visits would take place in the common exercise space, which was like a high-tech weight room, and I could wear loose shorts and wouldn't need the hospital gown.

I was happy to hear this, hoping to avoid future embarrassment. I asked how soon I could start getting around on my own, thinking I had to remove Lori from this situation before something irreversible happened. I would have to come in twice a week for three weeks. He said, I might be able to change to a cane, start putting weight on it, and get around better in about two weeks, but the brace had to stay on the full three weeks.

Lori and I did not speak at all on the cab ride home. No anger, just a mutual denial to confront the elephant sized cock in the room. As we got further from the clinic, her face began to return to the one I knew well. She smiled sheepishly, but there was also a trace of that look of lust still in her eyes. I was shocked by my own reaction. I had never seen Lori like this, and I should be fuming, but every sting of humiliation turned to arousal and lust.

When we got home, I wanted to take nap to recover from the ordeal with my leg. She was very tender and accommodating asking if she could help with anything. She made the bed comfortable for me, put a pillow under my leg, made me hot cocoa, and basically tucked me in for a late afternoon nap. She even laid down in the bed to keep me company.

I fell asleep, only to be awakened about ten minutes later to my wife's writhing on her side of the bed. When I looked over, I saw that Lori was naked with half of her right hand was shoved in her pussy and was puffing for air with the thumb of her left hand in her mouth. Her face was pure lust now.

When she realized I was awake, she practically jumped onto my face. She managed to move me down the bed, and straddled my head shoving her very wet cunt in my mouth. I lapped it up instinctively, while she ground her hips into my face, not really letting me breathe. I pushed my tongue into her as deep as I could. She was so open and wet, that I could get my whole tongue and part of my face in there. I could still barely breathe, but I continued to fuck her pussy with my tongue, alternating between shoving it up there and assaulting here clitoris, which was swollen, enflamed from her rubbing, and engorged like a tiny dick.

I couldn't take much of this before I would suffocate; I wasn't sure I would last past her orgasm, when she shouted "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonnaaaa!" Her orgasm was probably the most intense I had ever seen her have. Her spasms drove her cunt even further onto my mouth, and now her knees were drawing together squeezing my head to its limit. When it was finally over, she flopped off me to the side leaving us both gulping for air.

"That was nice, thank you, baby," she said in a raspy sexy voice I had never heard before.

"My pleasure, hon." I responded sincerely.

"Too bad we can't... you know...do you want me to do something for you?"

"Would you mind?"

"After that?!" She peeled off the covers, which were still over me, pulled down my pajama bottoms to reveal my small, but intense hard-on, shiny with precum. She scooched down so her head was on my stomach and reached for my tiny erection.

"Wow, that really got you excited, huh? Look at your little guy so stiff and wet."

"Yes, I love eating your pussy, babe." Which was true, but there were all kinds of thoughts going in my head contributing to my erection.

She began twirling it around her fingers lightly, spreading the precum all over my little guy, holding it between her fingers and sort of twiddling them together. Then she made a tight little fist around my teenie pecker and began pumping it with vigor. She knew I wouldn't last long at this rate, so she was obviously "goal-oriented." Sure enough, like Old Faithful, I erupted around her fist.

It had been a while, so there was a lot of cum, for me. Using both hands, she brought it to my mouth. This version of this game we had not yet played. Lori did not often give me a hand job, but when she did, she would just wipe it up with paper towel. Usually, I would come in her pussy and eat her out after, but eating cum out her hand seemed different. I hesitated for an instant, but she persisted, and I quickly relented. Soon, I was licking her fingers clean of my spunk.

The next two and half weeks went by in pretty much the same manner. After each PT sessions--like clockwork--Lori would be all worked up, and we would go through a version of the same routine, sometimes twice in an evening. Because of her "concerns for my leg," however, we never got to intercourse. I would ultimately come in her hand, and she would feed it to me.

At the clinic visits, I was much safer in the common area with the rest of the population, but from a distance, I would often spot Lori and Mr. Jenkins chit-chatting in corners of the room, smiling and sometimes laughing out loud. Their postures and closeness implied a kind of intimacy that gave my heart a jealous pang each time. I was in tortured state of denial. I simultaneously convinced myself it was just a harmless crush and I had nothing to worry about; but lived in state of constant jealousy and fear that it was not.

The third week, I was finally able to get around on my own and could go to my last appointment, without Lori. In a way, I was happy she wouldn't be there, and that all this would soon be over. I imagined a time when I could say to her, "remember that time you had a crush on my physical therapist and we had all that sex." I would miss all the sex we were suddenly having, and would miss my fantasies of Mr. Jenkins's cock, which had not dissipated even in the common room.

I no longer fantasized that I would have a cock like his; I now imagined what it would be like "have" Mr. Jenkins's cock in my mouth or even in my wife. I didn't really understand where all this was coming from. While what I had witnessed, with Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Smith was such a touchstone, I had always thought of myself a straight man with healthy lust for women. I couldn't understand why I as so aroused by the idea of my wife's lust for him.

At the last minute, I got a call from the clinic; my final appointment was moved from 10 am, to 4:30 pm (the last appointment in the office). This was fine with me, but the receptionist also reminded me the last appointment would be in the private treatment room, not the public space. This me both thrilled and filled me with apprehension, but at least Lori would not be there.

After waiting longer than usual (it was nearly five before I got into the room), most of the other therapists were gone or were straightening up to go. The receptionist brought me to the room. I had not yet seen Mr. Jenkins. When we got in, she handed me the dreaded hospital gown, and said, "the therapist needs to examine your leg. Sorry, you'll have put this on."

"Ugh!" I said, but took the gown and followed orders.

"Listen, would you tell him I've left. It's already late and I have to pick up my kids."

"Sure." But just as she walked out, he was coming, she and told him herself.