Happy Place

We all have them. Some of them are locations. Some of them are activities. Some of them are done in solo while others involve people.

Mine includes elements of all three. Today's happy place occurred in my house, specifically the living room. Drill down a bit deeper. On the couch in our living room.

She took me to my happy place. Our relationship is symbiotic. She indulges me and I indulge her. She's not always in the mood to indulge me. Most days she's perfectly happy with vanilla. I tell her when she wants vanilla to go see him.

Barbara laughs when I make that comment.

She then asks if I'm turning down an offer from her.

"Certainly not."

"I hope not." She looks a bit cross with me.

Vanilla with her is different than vanilla with him.

Vanilla with me involves a lot of kissing, breast play, and me performing cunnilingus on her, followed by brief intercourse. Vanilla with him involves kissing, breast play, no cunnilingus, but long intercourse. Vanilla with me is an orgasm for her and an orgasm for me, followed by cuddling, and falling asleep. Vanilla with him are lots of orgasms for her and two to three for him. They also cuddle, but she never spends the night. They have to exercise caution and avoid scandal.

Of course, people watch, tongues wag, they purposely probe, not because they disapprove, but out of curiosity. Curiosity is hard wired into us. I've been on the receiving end of a lot of innuendo, but so has she. Her brother and sister actually confronted her and asked if she was having an affair. She lied and told them no. I've had more than one drunk man or woman comment to me about chummy the two of them are, how much time she spends with him. One was dead serious when he asked. The look on his face, exasperated.

"How can you stand it?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "It just doesn't. They're friends."

"But even if they're not doing anything, it's time she's spending with him."

He was insistent.

"Not just time, but emotional energy. I'm all for helping out a friend, but doesn't he have other friends besides Barbara? The last time he got hurt she was over there every day, cooking and cleaning for him and who knows what else."

"She was just being a good friend."

She's a good looking woman so I wasn't surprised when he said, "I wish I had a friend like her."

It was obvious what he was implying. He'd fuck her if given the chance.

"Be nice to her. Want another beer? How's work?"

I winked. Changing the subject he knew he had said his piece and it was time to shut up.

"He's a lucky man to have a friend like her."

"I agree, but she spoils me too."

"Bullshit. Not like she does him. Miller."

I went to the refrigerator in the garage and got us each a can.

I spotted Barb, smiled. She smiled back. She was talking to my friend's wife.

She raised her glass. I knew that signal. I went to the kitchen, poured her a fresh margarita, exchanged glasses with her, I even got Cyndi a fresh margarita.

I heard her tell Barbara, "Joe's so nice, the way he treats you."

She said she would tell me, "He always appreciates comments from other women. It's pretty rare for me to say anything. I've grown to expect him to treat me a certain way. If he didn't I'd give him an earful."

Cyndi laughed, "I've seen you mad. I wouldn't want to be on your bad side."

Barbara admitted, "I rarely get mad. You've seen the one time I did. I get more annoyed with Joe than mad. If he forgets to do something I asked It's annoying. I remind him and he does it. He doesn't purposely defy me."

I moved out of earshot.

My buddy, Brett, was waiting.

"I'm standing here dying of thirst. Sidetracked by Barb? She needed something. A drink."

I handed him his beer.

"You know where the frig is."

He laughed.

"I got her a fresh margarita. One for Cyndi too. You'll thank me later for being such a good host."

"Cheers," he said before taking a big swallow. He was still grinning when he lowered the can.

He knew what I meant. Margaritas made Barbara and Cyndi horny, She'd wear his dick out later and by the time Barbara finished with me I'd have a sore neck, jaw, and tongue. One time she got so into me eating her she thrust her pelvis up and gave me a bloody nose. Was quite a mess because I didn't stop, not when she was that close. A couple of tissues shoved up each nostril I pleasured her with my mouth again. I've had at least a dozen bloody lips from her pubic bone. A little bit of pain and discomfort intensifies the experience. I've had buddies tell me how raw their cocks were from fucking all night. I nod my head, but my commiseration is faked. My penis is small. I climax fast. The on,y times sex has made it raw is when she's edged me for hours giving me that pain mixed with pleasure I desperately seek.

I don't share the intimate details of my marriage or sex life with anyone, not even Brett, and he and I go way back.

We talk about planning another fishing trip.

"Joe, that was fun."

"Yes, it was."

"Took you a few days to..."

I interrupted, "Get less domesticated. It always does and then it takes a few day to reacclimate myself. Barbara gets me going in the right direction."

He laughed, "I bet she does."

We played horseshoes.

Barbara came outside.

"Joe, I need you."

"Be there in a minute."

She gave me 'the look'. Hands on her hips.

"Now," her voice louder and tone sharper.

"Coming."

She went inside.

Brett laughed, "She looks mad."

"Annoyed."

I didn't tell him, but if she had been mad she would have come out into the yard, grabbed my ear, twisted it, and marched me into the house. She definitely wasn't mad and sex with her later was definitely not off the table.

Brett and Cyndi had arrived hours earlier than our other guests. It gave the four of us a chance to catch up, even though we did it separately. She and Cyndi occupied the kitchen while Brett and I worked the grill or smoker. This party was for her friends from Zumba. They weren't people we socialized with often. She expected me to mingle and play host, get people their drinks, and engage with them. It wasn't difficult. Their husbands were in the same boat, attending a wives' party. I split my time between grill duties and bartender. Parties were about the only time Barbara ventured into the kitchen these days. She is an excellent cook, but about a decade ago she said she was done making us meals.

"The community college and Y offer cooking classes."

She didn't order me to learn to cook. She just said she was through preparing meals. She offered me a solution. The other option was we eat out all the time. Expensive and high in calories. I enrolled in classes. Discovered I enjoyed it. Still wasn't wild about clean up, but I'd always done the cleaning after Barbara nuked the kitchen.

She also decided around that time frame to quit doing housework. It robbed her of her time at Zumba or her other fitness classes. During the past decade she had become quite the gym goer. I liked the effect. She looked great, had a lot of energy, and felt great about herself. She was a MILF.

I was no slob, but I was bald to the point I decided one day to shave it all off. I had love handles in spite of a flat stomach. I looked like a middle aged man. She had aged better than me. I always thought her family carried the Osmond family gene. They all looked young.

The husbands migrated to the back yard. Brett or I grilled. Horseshoes, washers, corn hole. Dominoes for later. The party was a success. Guests left drunk, full, and happy.

Brett and Cyndi left. I wasn't close to being drunk, but I had been outside all day and it had been warm. Brett and I had policed the backyard while Cyndi cleaned the kitchen. Barbara had told her it wasn't necessary. Cyndi assured her she liked cleaning. She told Barbara to take a break.

Barbara later told me she sensed Cyndi yearned to be bossed around. I said it was possible. She tested the waters. After she sat down, she asked Cyndi to get her another margarita. Cyndi did before going back to cleaning.

We three finished cleaning up. Time to go our separate ways. Barbara said she was too drunk to stand up. Brett and Cyndi bent and gave her a hug. I walked them to the door. We exchanged goodbyes, laughed about Barbara because they had never seen her drunk. I told them margaritas can sneak up on you which is why I stick with beer.

Cyndi said, "Tell Barb I'll call her tomorrow to see how she's doing."

"I will."

Brett had a grin on his face. I knew he was thinking I was going to get real lucky with Barb being so drunk. Cyndi was pretty buzzed and clinging to her husband. He was definitely going to get laid, maybe more than once.

I closed the door and headed to the living room.

Barbara was drunk, but she was also horny and she definitely wasn't interested in vanilla.

She had gotten up, put a blanket on her leather recliner, peeled off her shorts and panties, lifted up her Zumba themed T-shirt, and freed her breasts from the sports bra she was wearing. She was back in her chair, legs draped on the arms of the chair, revealing her hairy, pink gash. She was playing with her nipples.

"Take off your clothes Joe and join me."

I stripped. Her being so fit intimidated me with the beginnings of man boobs to go with my love handles. It was only a matter of time before I got a beer belly and I couldn't see my little dick unless I extended my neck or looked in the mirror. My imperfections didn't seem to bother her,

Nude, my penis hard, I stood there.

She slurred, "Where's your cage? I want to see it in its cage. Go put it on. Hurry."

I scrambled to the bedroom, found it, willed myself to get soft, and put it on.

We played with chastity from time to time, but I was never locked up full time. The only time I wore it was when she asked me to. Those times had become more frequent, but a lot of the time it was not while she and I had sex, but in the hours leading up to it.

Getting ready for dates with him she insisted I wear it because she wanted to make sure I stayed on edge or I was overcome with some he-man urge to fuck her and exercise my dominance. I liked it because it took me to a happy place. Submitting to her while she dominated me was so much easier when my penis was in chastity.

Bathing, shaving, picking out her clothes, dressing her, putting her shoes on her, walking her to the car as she went over a list of things for me to while she was with her lover, her kiss not on my lips or cheek, but air, me telling her she looked beautiful. I would tell her I loved her. She would answer, "I know."

Knowing it stung to not have her reciprocate she would puff out her lower lip, tell me to smile, and to behave, meaning no masturbation. She trusted me to keep myself locked up.

I returned to the living room.

"Stand in front of me Joe. Cuckold Joe." She laughed. Once she caught me reading a story written by someone called Cuckold Joe.

"Since your name is Joe and you're a cuckold did you write it?"

I said, "I wish. He's a good writer."

"Get up."

I surrendered the chair. She read it page by page some parts aloud.

To say it was humiliating was an understatement. After she finished she said, "You're right. He is a good writer. Who are your other favorite authors?"

I named a half dozen.

She smiled, "You have too much free time on your hands, I need to find more things for you to do."

She never did, but she did lift her skirt and told me to get to work. Our cunnilingus was a frantic coupling of mouth and genitals. She commented on how quick she orgasmed.

"I guess I'm a fan of Cuckold Joe's too."

She got up, rearranged her skirt, and told me to resume reading.

She did remind me not to let my reading interfere with my domestic duties.

I promised her I wouldn't.

She asked, " Where's dinner and my iced tea?"

I closed the browser.

"Coming up."

She left the room to change. When she returned I handed her a glass of iced tea. I also told her dinner would be ready in ten minutes. She sat at the table. We talked about our respective days. I served her, then me.

We ate and continued our conversation. It was the kind of conversation we both wished we would have had decades earlier. We had stumbled into cuckoldry and femdom more by accident than design. What little she knew was because of what I had told her.

Her affair made me a cuckold; it happened before I shared with her my fantasies of other men having her. Our journey into femdom was also happenstance. She simply stopped her housewife duties. I assumed them which triggered the release of feelings I had long suppressed. That submissive double barreled shotgun had two triggers. My eager assumption of those duties released a bossy side of her she always had, but suppressed because society told her men didn't like bitchy, bossy women. She discovered in our little circle they had gotten it completely wrong.

We finished eating. I told her I had cheese cake for dessert, but didn't know if she wanted to wait until later.

She assured me, "I'm never too full to turn down cheesecake."

I got us each a piece.

"It's delicious."

She put her fork down, "Joe, does reading that stuff really turn you on?"

I admitted it did.

She then confessed, "Me too. We could try some of those things."

"I would like that a lot."

"Why don't you buy one of those cages? And a big dildo. Maybe even a harness so you can wear it. And I think you should wear condoms most of the time when we do it. Don't you think you should write it all down? And a contract. I like that. Make it all legal. I never thought about you shaving down there, but why not."

I agreed to everything.

And now I'm standing in front of her as she surveys my body. She signals for me to turn around.

"Touch your toes."

I do.

"I can't believe you shaved your crack. Doesn't it itch?"

"Just following orders. You said from now on you wanted me hairless."

"Don't shave your arms, legs, or chest. People will think you've got cancer and are having chemo. Besides, I like the hair on your chest. You may stand up and turn around."

I did.

"Get on your knees and come here."

I do until I'm between her legs, my stomach touching her wetness.

She pulled on her nipples, then twisted them, making them hard.

"Suck them."

I did one then the other.

"That's enough."

She placed both hands on top of my head and pushed down.

I rested my body onto the backs of my calves. She pulled my head towards her.

I had already extended my tongue in anticipation of this moment.

I licked up and down the insides of her lips, paused to flick and suck her clitoris. Even though her legs were spread she wanted more of her clitoris exposed. She reached down and spread herself further apart. Her clitoris hung like a tiny speed bag. I pummeled it with my tongue, up, down, right to left, then left to right. I then pursed my lips and sucked on it.

She lifted her ass off of the chair grabbed my head and said, "Lower. I want your tongue in my vagina."

I obliged her. When I wasn't French kissing her vagina I was thrusting my tongue in and out of her vagina.

"Clean me out Joe. Get it all."

There was nothing foreign in there as she hadn't been with him, but we both liked the imagery her words created.

With her ass on the seat she thrust her pelvis into my face.

"I'm fucking your tongue baby. Feels so good."

No trip below her waist was complete without at least a few swipes of my tongue on her anus. Besides, we didn't want her orgasm to happen too quickly. I left her vagina and headed down.

"You nasty boy. Lick it. Stretch it open. Stick your tongue up there, cuck. You're inside me. French kiss my asshole."

After a good amount of time she decided it was time for me to make her cum.

"That's enough. My vagina. Oh yeah. French kiss it."

Those familiar sounds of uh, uh, uh, uh got louder and faster. I could feel her body stiffening as her orgasm hit her. She bucked against my face hard.

Overstimulated, she put her hand on my forehead and pushed me away.

"Too much."

I wiped her juices off my chin.

I stayed on my knees while she lay with her legs wide open.

"Can you get hard?"

"I think so."

"Take your dick out."

I hadn't locked it so it was just a matter of separating the cylinder from the base.

Since entering chastity my penis was unpredictable. I had an erection before I put the cage on. I damn sure wanted to have intercourse with her. She was inviting me to fuck her, but my penis was soft.

"Give me a minute Barbara."

I used my hand to make it hard. I had to be careful because there were times when I did this I came before I even achieved a full erection.

That night my penis cooperated. I got a nice firm erection. She made me work for it. She leaned against the back of the chair. Her bottom was at the edge of the seat. Not waist high. I had to bend my legs, support myself using the arms of the chair. She purposely made it uncomfortable. I guided myself in while she played with her nipples. I paused for a minute which she reminded me was a no-no.

Intercourse with her was always done at full speed.

"You only have one minute."

She began counting backwards, "60, 59, 58, 57,"

It was annoying.

I thrust like a man possessed.

She was twenty seconds from countdown when I let out a big groan and ejaculated.

She gave me another half minute to savor the experience before telling me, "Time's up. Take it out. Quick, quick."

I groaned at having to leave the confines of her warm, wet, soft vagina. I not only came fast, but after I climaxed my erection rapidly wilted. Her boyfriend not only had great staying power, but he was still able to maintain his erection after climaxing and fuck her again.

I thought aloud, "It just doesn't seem fair."

She asked, "What doesn't seem fair?"

I told her. She laughed. She asked if there was any margaritas left. I told her I thought there was.

"Pour us each one."

My penis was wet, a bead of ejaculate was hanging from the tip. She pointed it out. I wiped it off and without thinking licked it from my finger.

"Gross," she said.

As I poured us drinks she said, "That was nice. Was it good for you?"

"Very."

I returned with our drinks.

She still had her legs open.

"Sit."

I positioned myself right in front of her. I could glance down and see her wide open vagina. She took a sip of her drink. I watched her abdominal muscles tighten as she expelled my seed.

"Lick."

I lowered my head and licked up my just expelled ejaculate.

"There's more," she said before bearing down.

I licked it up too.

"Thanks. Now that that's done we can relax and talk about the party."

We sat there a good half hour, me on my knees in front of her, she with her legs open wide back against the chair. She said she had been really drunk, but she had been thinking about sex with me all day.

She then shared two bits of news. Her boyfriend had called during the party. She took the call in the kitchen. He asked her what she was up to on Sunday. She told him nothing that couldn't be worked around. He told her he had tickets to an afternoon game. She said she'd love to go.

"You'll have the house all to yourself tomorrow afternoon, but before I leave, you and I have some unfinished business to take care of."

"What?" I asked really not remembering.

"You don't remember."

"No, I don't remember."

"Let me jog your memory. I told you I needed you. You told me in a minute. You're going to pay for that lapse in judgment."

"Yes ma'am."

I finished my drink.

"Now or tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. I'm too tired right now. Help me up Joe."

I did.

She hugged me, her pubis against my soft penis felt nice. She told me my face smelled like sex. We kissed. It was open mouthed, but short.