He Won't Last a Minute

"That's all he's got," my wife, Elise said, looking at me, her face softened, but still flushed from her love making with Mr B.

Naked, I stroked my cock as she had ordered me too, while they lie spooning on the king-sized hotel bed.

His hand cupped her pussy. He dipped a finger in her and as he did I felt my wife's eyes on me, watching me watching her. I wondered if her vagina hurt as he fingered her. He'd fucked her every which way, drying out the condom he wore. Twice, she'd instructed me to lubricate him with my hand.

Mr B lasted much longer than I last. Elise wasn't used to such heavy continuous thrusting. Since she began cuckolding me, she lets me inside her only a couple times a month and when she does, I often can't help myself and cum within minutes after just a few thrusts.

We'd met with Mr B a few times. Each time, I'd watched them from a chair across from their bed. Mr B liked to cum while on top, in missionary position, enveloping my wife as if he needed maximum contact with her body as he ejaculated into her. He had blonde hair, quick blue eyes, was tall with broad shoulders and possessed a physicality that made him a notable presence. Though I'm not small I felt slight near him.

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This time, they visited together in the bar downstairs while I arranged candles and music in the hotel room we had on the twelfth floor. The big window looked out over the city that twinkled with the rush of human activity. I thought leaving the curtains open would tweak my wife's secret exhibitionistic need.

They began kissing and caressing the moment they arrived to the hotel room. She reached for his cock with an urgency free of inhibition. She wanted him. I watched her hand. Its persistence mesmerized me. He pulled her close, cupping her bottom. Soon, they were in bed, naked, in a world of their own. Their heat for one another rose and abated and then rose again. Their rhythm varied, like water in a river, flowing, pooling, then flowing again. He took her from behind, then from the side. They rested and kissed. He whispered in her ear. She laughed. When he wasn't in her, her hand went to his cock like a magnet to steel, as if that one effort was the whole point of this night.

After a lull, he started into her again. He worked his way to orgasm. She gave way, kissed him with her eyes closed, as if under anesthesia, and in that reverie I watched her succumb. She moaned and cried out as he overtook her, his lovemaking subduing the last of the good girl in her. Toward the end, just before he came, he began hammering his pelvis between her parted legs, his round buttocks rose, in and out, in and out, until with a grunt and a final stab-his ass cheeks clenched, his cock, which I couldn't see, buried in her-he came. She wrapped her arms around his lower waist pulling him deeper, closer as if she wanted more than anything to feel impaled by his masculine spear, to feel his victory, and the gratitude that coursed through him, a gratitude she'd caused. She stayed pinned beneath him. He whispered in her ear and she laughed again and he kissed her on the cheek twice before he rose slowly. In exhausted contentment, he let out a long sigh.

"Oh, that was good," he said, stretching his arms wide.

Elise giggled. "Definitely."

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My wife loves men. She loves their desire- the maleness in them that can't help but protrude. She loves their greediness, and how they're able to hide it in their humor and say it with their eyes. She's loves how a good man will absorb her burden, even carry it for her for little more than a smile. She loves their invasive hands, which make her wet, and their nascent hardness, which tells her a truth she wants. She loves their urgent thrusts, the piston like jerk in the cocks, swelling for her, ready to burst. She loves absorbing a man's power, getting all of him, his genuine self, until she's drained him, until there's nothing left and he's limp and soft beside her.

She once said, "Feeling a man cum in me is better than having an orgasm myself."

I know all this because she's taken all I've got. Because she's drained me many times, left me ragged and depleted, laughed out loud, and sent me scurrying to open the front door when other men have knocked. I've never know a woman like her, never had a woman show me her sexual joy so plainly. She's been so much, so much, so touched and taken, so harshly and lovingly entered and still she remains, in a way, for me, pure, unsullied despite how she's been ravished, how other men have sent their stickiness deep inside her cunt.

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"I want you to cum for us while we watch you." She smirked, spooning with Mr B, her confidence high, her eyes cool like icy sidewalks.

"But I want inside you darling." I said, suddenly feeling desperate.

"I know you do." She turned and looked over her shoulder at Mr B.. "Should I let him inside me?"

"Sure" he said, as he pulled on her nipple. "I want to see that."

She scoffed. "He won't last a minute. Lately he cums like it's the first time he's ever done it."

I sighed, but was grateful to hear Mr B's request. "What a good guy," I thought. He must enjoy watching. I took a deep breath and could feel my cock harden a little and twitch with a sensation that left me right on the edge of orgasm. I didn't touch myself again for fear that's what would happen. My cock, which had been pretty hard, grew softer and drooped. I was, you might say, kind of erect, like the erection a guy might have a few minutes after he's cum, still thick and lengthened but clearly droopy and uninspired. That's part of my problem. It's not just that I cum quickly, it's that my cock isn't very hard when it happens. I go in soft and come out shriveled.

I moved towards the bed and Elise opened her legs as Mr B slipped into a nearby chair to watch.

I rose over her. Her body was febrile. My thigh touched hers first and the contact felt like a homecoming, as if I hadn't realized how far from her I'd been while she was fucking Mr B. That feeling upped my need and I needed her terribly.

Elise didn't reciprocate. She parted her limp legs, left her arms at her side, and when I entered her she made no noise. I struggled to get it in and once inside I softened, though the warmth of her vagina radiated through me. I lifted my head to kiss her on the mouth. I wanted to seal myself to her but she turned her head away, toward Mr B and whispered, "No. Just fuck me."

She was humiliating me. More and more she was feeling comfortable doing this, pushing me into submission. I wanted to merge. She wanted separation. It pricked my desire. This was not a reunion fuck. I was not "coming home," to my wife, reclaiming her, uniting in a wondrous merging. No, this was rejection, a brief play, probably for Mr B, to put him on top, to assure him. But a play too for herself, for her own power. My shaft shriveled, my balls swelled, and spit. I was large and small at once. The humiliation rose through me as if I'd been injected with heroin.

I came.

I hadn't been inside my wife more than ten seconds. I kept thrusting to try to fake it. I wanted to hide my face. My pelvis felt numb, shrunk away in an anxiety of embarrassment. Her hands pressed on my chest, pushing me off.

"You came didn't you?"

I looked out at the city lights. They were like man-made stars, magnificent, sparkling with power.

"Yes." I continued looking away.

"See? I told you, he cums like it's his first time," she said.

Mr B was standing next to the bed. He had his long thin cock in his hand and it was as hard as I've ever seen a cock. He knelt on the bed and Elise reached for him. She pulled him down over her and reached to put him inside her. I might as well have been invisible.

He whispered to her.

"Don't worry about it," she said.

I realized he wasn't wearing a condom.

"He's not wearing a condom," I said quietly.

She closed her eyes, as if to focus on the sensation. "I know. I want to feel him cum."

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Elise drove us home. I slumped against the passenger door hypnotized by the passing telephone poles.

"Darling, you know I love you. I love our life together. There's so much we can share besides sex."

"But I want sex." I tried not to sound whiny.

"I know you do." She smirked. "You want it so much you practically cum just thinking about it."

I was quiet.

"Look, you're a cuckold. That's what you've always wanted and dreamed about. Now that I've given that to you it's too much for you. We'll deal with it. Maybe some prolonged chastity will help. No orgasms. Think you could go 90 days without an orgasm? It'll be like a reset. I'll enjoy Mr. B while you learn control. Let's try it, darling. I know it'll be a stretch. But I want you to go 90 days without cumming."

"Sure." I said flatly.

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Thirty days into my chastity I came home from work and noticed my wife's car in the garage. She was home early. I went out to the backyard and noticed, through a crack in our bedroom curtains, my wife lying on our bed. I crept closer and peeked in. She was on the phone but had her white vibrator pressed between her thighs. She was masturbating.

The sight of her, immersed in pleasure, on the phone with Mr B, jolted me, as if I'd suddenly encountered a rattlesnake. Small needles spread from my twitching and thickening cock. I shuffled my feet, my balls swelled, and I felt that unwelcomed tickle at the base of my shaft, a sign I knew, meant I was suddenly right on the edge. I looked away. I inhaled and tried to hold it off, but I couldn't control myself. My penis spasmed several times, spitting out enough cum to stain the jeans I'd worn to work. I turned away and stomped my foot. I'd never done this. I didn't think it was possible. I felt alienated, caught in a spell over which I had no control.

I peeked again. Still on the phone, my wife arched her back slightly and raised here hips. She was having an orgasm. I waited until she'd hung up. I untucked my shirt, passed her in the hall with a light kiss hello, then rushed to my closet and changed pants.

As we sat at dinner she asked, out of the blue. "Have you been a good boy?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, flushing.

"I mean have you been touching yourself? I saw you watching me this afternoon through the window and I imagined you reached inside your pants and jerked off. Did you?"

"No. I didn't touch myself."

"That's good. You know, I thought just seeing me on the phone with Mr B might have made you cum in your pants, without even touching yourself. Can men do that?"

"I think so."

"Stand up let me see if you've got a cum stain there."

I rose slowly and stood before my wife who grasped my cock hard through the crotch of my jeans.

"No stain. Good boy. Maybe this chastity is helping with your problem. Do you think it is?

"I hope so," I said, looking away.