Futa and The Cuck's Wife Ch. 02

Andrew awoke in a fit, gasping for breath, as he were, eyes gaping open at the ceiling with a nagging burn up his ass so far up he wouldn't dare scratch it. The bed was familiar, and he looked up to the ceiling, it was the same, usual, but no, there still was a moist sensation around him. Looking to either side of him, the bed covers were wrinkled. Shaking his head to the familiar and welcome scent of the morning breakfast, no doubt, being prepared by his wife, he went to his wardrobe, fetched on an entire suit of clothes and cleaned himself off.

It must have been a dream, he thought to himself as the thoughts of what he thought was absolutely horrifying and impossible couldn't have happened. Isabella, that was her name, was it? She mustn't be real. The water, hot on his skin formed against him, the soap and suds falling down the drain as he considered the possibility that this wasn't a dream, and his marriage was. . .what the hell was it then? On thin ice? He knew that wives of servicemen often cheated, but this? No. And the—the cock. It was far too long to be considered anatomically possible.

He turned the water off, dressed up on his sleeve, put his deodorant on before he walked down the familiar steps, the burn forcing himself to hiss with each passing step. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gay. Not gay. But if it was a dream then . . .could he have been repressing something all this time? Some hidden desire? There wasn't anything that he could latch on to. He didn't have a porn addiction. Yes, the occasional watch to get himself off while he was away, for he would never dare hookup with a fellow service person, woman, man, or otherwise. He loved his wife, but a sinking feeling came upon him as he turned the hallway into the kitchen.

"How's your ass, my little cuckie?"

His wife was standing in the kitchen preparing a full-fledged breakfast. It was Monday morning, he reckoned, considering the time of day, it wasn't too late, but surely, Isabella had to work. She was here. God. No. This wasn't real! Isabella was dressed for work, a suit that spoke money. A horrible contemplation he thought of it, but that was a fine-looking suit. Either some rich person threw it away at a discount place where she would have picked it up or. . .or. . .Isabella was some executive or worse.

"Get out of my house!" he stammered. "You don't—"

"Now, I asked how your ass was feeling," Isabella flipped her hair back, lips pulled back to a frown. "And I meant that with genuine concern. This is how you treat me? Emma, can you believe him? This was the man you—"

"No. No. No." He slapped his palm on the table. His wife turned to him.

"Hon—"

"Emma, how long has this been going on?" he asked. "How long. I know I'm gone—"

"Six months," Isabella answered quickly. "I moved into this house, six months ago."

"Moved in!" He snapped, furious. "I've been nothing—"

"You've been not here, Andrew, and your hospitality is waning. If you don't like it, I can move out, it won't be—"

"No!" Emma cried out, finally turning from the stove. "Andrew, she can stay, honest."

"Honest what?" he asked. Isabella had his wife around her finger, or more specifically, that gargantuan sized cock that was—where the hell did she hide it? Isabella stood up, and walked to his wife, took a plate of eggs and bacon and sat back down.

"Andrew," she said, eating her food. "I know you're upset, but trust me when I say, it isn't her. It's you. Rather, the lack of some adequate assets. Especially in the pants, and when you are here, apparently, just isn't sufficient." He felt like her words were wrapping around his lungs, unable to take a breath. Was she a succubae? They aren't real! No. "But trust me when I say, I mean no ill will to you. Now, I suggest you take some rest, I reamed your ass a little hard last night. I apologize."

His wife took the dirty plate away and Isabella was on her way out the hallway with a briefcase. "Now, I have a very important case I need to argue. At court I go, so when I get back," she winked at Emma. "You and I, Andrew, will have a nice little discussion. I'll come by, pick you up. We're getting dinner."

"No!" he shook his head.

"Oh, you will," she winked at him. "You and I will be getting to know each other. Since we share the same roof, we should know every bit about one another. Every bit. Small and otherwise."

She slammed the door behind her. Chills up his spine, and his ass still hurt like a bitch. He turned to his wife, who looked somber as she served two plates of homecooked breakfast, steaming. The scent was nice, a small distraction, but his heart and mind were already preoccupied, he forgot that hiss heart and chest felt entrapped. Shaking, he wanted silence, but he wanted to know. No. He already knew. He wanted to know the why.

"Honey," he said, putting the fork down. "How long has this been happening?"

"She moved in—"

"Six months ago. How long has this been happening? How did you meet her? Why is she here?"

"Because," she said, her hand atop his to comfort him. "What she said was true. I have needs. I wanted a child, and for whatever reason, you couldn't do it."

"But I—"

"Are overseas, and that's important," she acknowledge. "But I really needed you here more frequently than that, and especially since she—has the qualities I need that you are unable to provide."

"Then why didn't we talk about this? You could have been honest. We could have done something that wasn't—this!" he said. "I don't want her anywhere near me."

"She can be a little much to handle, in more ways than one, but I don't need to tell you that," she bit her lips. "But why don't you and her have the night together. I can—"

"No. Absolutely fucking not!" he snapped. "No. I don't like where this is heading—"

"Andrew, Baby—"

"Don't Andrew Baby me," he said. "You're having an affair—"

"One that we can all benefit from," she said. "I'm pregnant."

"With Her baby. That isn't mine," he replied.

"Andrew," she said. "I need you to accept this."

"Accept what?" he felt a tug at his heart, and honestly, sick to his stomach he wanted to vomit from the constant heartbreak.

"It's going to be fine," she said. "Look, all you need to do is hear her out, go on your little date tonight. While you're gone, I'll make the bed for you two. It will be like I'm not even—"

"That's the whole point! I wanted to spend my time with you not—" he stammered. "Whoever that is."

"She's going to be part of us now, Andrew," she finally snapped. "I need you to accept this. Otherwise, there simply won't be—"

"Be what?"

"Be us," she said. "I love her. I love you too, Andrew, but I need to look out for what's in Isabella's child's best interest. After all, who knows when he or she will come out of my womb."

"Oh my God!" This was all a bad nightmare. Had to be. The heartbreak. The threat of divorce. His inadequacy in the bedroom. What next? Was he going to get a discharge notice in the mail? The mortgage wasn't even paid off yet!

"Andrew," she put her hand on his shoulders, and he stifled his own tears. "Just take tonight, listen to her. She can be very. . .persuasive. It will be fine. Trust me."

He inhaled heavily through his nose. "Fine," he allowed. "But I'm going to be miserable the entire time."

"Do, try to enjoy yourself with her," she smiled.

***

It was much later in the evening. Nervous as he was with this new reality, this, futa, his wife called Isabella, whatever that was. He wasn't in the times, he didn't bother with social intricacies, especially with how frequently he was at home. Maybe that's what led to all this? Not thinking clearly in the slightest, the doorbell rang. Why did she even bother?

He walked down the hall, his wife disappeared, and he opened the door. Isabella was there with a bright smile on her face, the suit was stunning, even in the light from the porch. Her hair tied back, and her bust, not having seen it before was impressive, but not obnoxiously huge. She stepped inside and kicked her shoes on. Her hand pat his face, gently pressing against it like he was a dog.

"One moment, dear Andrew," she said. "Let me get into something a little more presentable."

He waited as she walked up the stairs to presumably his bedroom. No matter, whatever the cost might be, he presumed, she moved in and lived with his wife full time, making full use their bedroom, the one only he and Emma were supposed to share, but now, it belonged primarily it seemed to Isabella. Sharing the wardrobe, and the likes. He didn't see much different in the room from this morning, nothing to alarm him that someone else resided in his house. Nervous as he was, she finally came down in this gorgeously tight green dress that amplified her features, pressing her breasts upward. She smiled and brushed her chestnut hair behind her ears.

"Let's go, little cuckie," she smiled, taking his hand to exit the door. The humiliation was pulling on him, oppressive, more so than basic camp was. More intimidating than a drill instructor. What he wouldn't have to take that, and then when his eyes glanced downward, expecting to see some kind of bulge, it wasn't there. Where did she hide it? It was too big to be kept hidden.

Taking his hand, she pulled him down the sidewalk, down the side street as they talked about trivial things, how the day was, and what they did, pretending they'd known one another all this time. Which, he didn't. He just met her last night, and he regretted every minute of it, even now when he looked at her car, and impressive Lincoln. Gods. She's a lawyer. This was his worst nightmare. She could talk around his head in circles if she wanted to.

He never did like lawyers.

He got in the passenger seat, and sat, put the seatbelt on, and she did so in kind. He felt her venom gaze glance over to him, and her hand reached out, the darkened parts of the street was somewhere, where no one could see them, and the lights from the nearby houses seemed off. He didn't imagine they were going out this late, but her hand stretched forward, and touched his crotch. Blood flowed to his penis, a flicked up his pants.

"Someone's excited," she smiled.

"Can we—"

"Oh, Andrew, cuckie," she said, patting the bulge in his pants gently with red painted nails. "I live for the hunt, my dear. One little dinner, and we'll talk." Her hand unzipped his pants and pressed inside it. He put his hands, trying to pull her wrist away, only he was met with a slap across the face. "Now, now, don't ruin this for me, Andrew. It won't go well for you if you don't."

"I'm not consenting to sex," he said. "I'm drawing the line here."

"Oh," she chuckled, her fingernail brushing against his now throbbing cock. "Did you not hear me? Last night, remember. I don't need nor want your consent."

Her hand pulled out his penis, and it throbbed in her hand as she rubbed it up and down gently, before taking her fingernails, scratching the bottom of his testicles with it. Oblivious to all around him, baffled even that this heinous, and public display of carnal desires was overtaking him, and anyone, God forbid, dared to see him. Return from an indecent exposure charge was certainly going to get him discharged quite dishonorably.

She stretched forth herself down on him, one hand brushing up against his shirt, pressing himself into his seat. Glancing down, he saw her lips open as she descended on his dick, and her tongue swirled around it before she bobbed her head up and down. The warm mouth, the firm, yet wet tongue moving up and down the shaft was by far, the most pleasurable experience he ever had. Yes, dare he say, even Emma's blowjobs weren't nearly this good, and he came immediately into her mouth. She stopped sucking him off as his cock softened again, and she turned to him, some white semen dripping off the side of her lip. Both hands cuffed his ears as she pulled him in for a kiss, her tongue pushing his semen into his mouth. Again, and not for the first time today, did she make him want to vomit, but he didn't. His tongue swirled around, and he tried to tongue punch his semen back into her mouth, but she retreated. It dripped from his mouth, and instinctively, for reasons he couldn't comprehend, he sucked it back up before it fell to his pants and swallowed it.

"You don't last very long, do you?" Isabella laughed, putting the car in gear. "Now, hurry, zip that up before the general public sees what a disgrace you are."

***

Andrew found himself in a place he never thought he'd see the inside of it, and he wondered, out of all the places Isabella chose to take him, why here? He could never afford it, not with Emma, but Isabella. . .why did she think he'd be able to front the bill for this? The violinist played, taking custom requests, red carpets, and fine tables with several sets of forks and knives, and several plates and bowls, designed for the snobbiest of rich people, and thought for just a minute. . .was he taking her out? Or was she taking him out? So many questions, and this was the first date he'd had with anyone who wasn't his wife. Not that he made it a point to date other people, he loved Emma dearly.

The white cloth was abundantly clean, and he felt anxious as he looked at the menu. It was a fine selection, and he couldn't deny it. But everything, and he means everything was above $40. A glass of beer, an entrée, and app, dessert, if it was named, it was as low as that, and as high as a c-note. He traded a glare at Isabella who apparently already had her choice made for her, winking as she rested her chin on folded hands propped up by her elbows.

"Oh, get whatever you want," she said. "My treat."

"Who did you kill?" was what came out of his mouth.

"I'm a lawyer," she said. "Money is not on short supply. Don't worry about it."

A waitress came by, and they ordered their meal, and he felt absolutely nervous. To say the least. Put him back on the front lines, nothing was worst, no that was absolutely better than ordering food that his meager salary couldn't pay for. He looked at her, slouching his shoulders, feeling self-conscious that he was even doing this. Hell, Emma pushed him to accept this little date.

"Don't be coy with me," she cooed, and he felt her foot touching his crouch, already, the second time unprompted, but while he didn't care for it, she made it abundantly clear with a hardened slap across his face in the car, she didn't need or want his consent to touch him. Or Emma. "Let's start with the basics shall we, as I'm sure, your dearly beloved wife has told you some about me, and you got to experience all of my. . . .assets to your heart's content."

"That was—"

"Hush," she winked. "I'm talking, Andrew. Please don't interrupt me." And with that, he felt her shoe press down on his crotch, a sudden pain shooting up through his nerves. "Now, as I was saying, I'm Isabella, I'm a lawyer, and I own my own firm, you understand. I specialize in many sorts of litigation, which is why I can afford to take someone special out to a place like this. And that car. I am quite thirty, you understand, as such, I'm quite active. When I'm not up in people's business, I enjoy a nice little book, or a good plow, if you take my meaning. Now, I've heard about you, Andrew. A strong young man, serving our dear country in all its glory, and I thank you for your service. I hope you'll grow to thank me for mine. By my service, of course, I mean me taking care of your wife while you're away. Now, I understand you're here for how long now?"

"Two—two weeks," he stammered. The food came at last, and they ate and shared small talk together, and each word, Andrew spent time meticulously calculating the words which he might speak. No telling how a lawyer will twist it and stab him with the law. Gods. She was going to be the end of him.

"Tonight," she said. "When we get back, you're going to show me how committed you are to your wife. I don't think I need to tell you how easy it would be for me to simply buy another house, take her with me and never see you again."

Was she honestly suggesting such a devious ploy? If so, what did she stand to gain by telling him this? And if not, why not do it now and save everyone the time and energy for dealing with the inevitable? Did she get some satisfaction out of this? He looked into her eyes, and she winked, giving him a smirk with a curl upon her lips as if to tell him she was reading every thought inside his head, and confirming that she had a sadistic streak, and was going to take it out on him. What did he do to her?

"And I think that part of you wants this," she said. That was the furthest thing from the truth. "Because you accepted this date with me. You permitted a little bj in my car, came in my mouth like a goon, and even accepted that Emma is pregnant, with my child." He gasped at that. "Oh, yes, and I don't like leaving my children, rather, the prospect of abandoning them is cruel, wouldn't you agree? So, clearly I can't part with Emma now."

"I can't—how is that even possible," he inquired, chewing on a piece of meat that had no taste to it. "You're—"

"I'm a futa, and yes, I assure you I'm virile, and am very capable of spreading my seed all over," she had no shame with a smile like that. Here she was in public, not bothering to hide the expressions of her debauchery! "Now, I don't mean to take your wife from you, far from it. You see, this is what our arrangement ought to work is like this. Emma loves me. She is pregnant with my child. You love Emma. Emma loves you and wants this to work, and if she's happy, so am I. So, I need to make you comfortable with this."

"No," he said. "Not after last—"

"Don't give me last night as an excuse to not try to make this work," she frowned. She flagged a waitress down and asked for the check. "Last night was, well, I was really fucking horny. And I was already balls deep, so—"

"Have you no shame!" He snapped. The waitress came over with the check, and Isabella paid for it.

"No," she sneered. "None whatsoever. Are you ready, Cuckie?"

The name, out in public was like a dagger twisting into his chest. He felt the staring glare from the waitress as she scoffed at him, turning away with the cast in hand as she took the bill away. His hands shook, and he wanted nothing more than to punch Isabella in the face, but it was clear, if he did that, she would press charges against him, and not only would he ruin whatever chance he has, if he even has one, with his wife, and his marriage, but also he would get discharged from the service. Isabella had him stuck with an iron grip, and she knew it, and was using every opportunity to tighten her clutches on him. She told him she had no interest in taking Emma from him, but now that seemed to be false. She was enjoying tormenting him.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go, and not make a mess of things."

Trapped, he obliged, leaving the restaurant, and they went into her car, and drove off. While she continued to talk, he stared out the window, ignoring ay and all sexual innuendo and advances she made, trying to humiliate him in the privacy of her car. He spoke not a word, not at all, and was eager for this horrific date to be at an end, but his relationship, no, servitude to her wouldn't end when the night was over. The car parked in front of his house. At least, he thought it was his house, still. Should be in his name, but if Isabella was a Lawyer. . .was there a way she could have taken it from him without him knowing? He was still paying mortgage payments on it.

He sighed. This was his life now, he considered as he opened the door, and Isabella, the futa, rushed out the side of the car and grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him down gently with some playful laughter as if he told a joke that was objectively funny, or they'd been long time lovers. Both of which weren't the case, and he walked up to the stoop of his house, and opened the door into it, which, regrettably, was empty, for his wife made it clear she wasn't going to be here for this tonight. Isabella, much to everything Andrew was in complete dismay over, was going to have him all to herself tonight. And that was the last thing he wanted.