Reluctant Cuckold Ch. 02

In Chapter One, A Rude Awakening, Billy learns that his wife Sally is cheating on him with Dan, a man whose cock is much bigger than Billy's. Now, if he is to save his marriage, Billy must adapt...

Friday night we had an early light supper, a quiche I'd made and some salad, and then, though I dared hope she would not, Sally left the house at seven-thirty, same as every Friday. A peck on my cheek at the front door, an embarrassed wave goodbye while getting in her car, and she was gone, heading for her weekly romp with Dan in his apartment.

I noted she was wearing the same short skirt and low-cut blouse she'd worn the week before. Maybe Dan had said he liked the outfit. I might have called it slutty if she'd asked my opinion. Hardly the sort of clothes a woman should wear out at night alone when her husband of ten years, who has never cheated on her, is home tidying up the kitchen.

How sexy she looked. Her perky tits braless, nipples prodding the silken sheen of her blouse. The shadows under the hem of her tight skirt inviting any man to wonder about that timid glory hidden within, her funky treasure.

I didn't know what panties she wore, or whether they too had been favorited by Dan, or maybe were a gift from him, something he'd bought at Wal-Mart. "Here you go, babe," he would have said, tossing them at her. "A token of gratitude for all our fucking." Something with lace around the edges. Or novelty panties: pussy galore... Dan was here...

You idiot, I thought, pushing buttons on the dishwasher to start the cycle. You dunce. What makes you think she's wearing panties? A sick feeling settled in my stomach, disturbing the shrimp and onion quiche still there, and I was queasy enough that I had to sit at the kitchen table several minutes before getting up to start a load of laundry.

So many details, a tornado of them swirling inside my head. The delicate folds of her pussy lips. How, when she is aroused, they swell. Her musky smell. And the taste of her! The way she wriggles and grinds against my busy mouth when I work her clit. Later, I sometimes find wedged between my teeth a pubic hair, wiry and black, and floss it free.

My favorite position: I am sitting up and she is on my lap facing me, my cock inside her. I can lift her holding the cheeks of her ass, up and down, or pull her closer, her tits crushed against my chest. We would fuck like that, sometimes pausing to swig from a bottle of water before resuming. And sometimes we would come to a stop and hold each other in interlude, her pussy gently clenching my cock—clench, release, clench, release—and my cock throbbing slightly. We would notice then the moonlight shining down through trees outside the window.

Oh Sally. Beloved Sal. My sullied gal. If only my cock were bigger, this well-hung man, this Dan, could not have cum between us. I know there are those who would blame you, darling. They would say you should be true. But I know how much you love me.

Size matters, how can it not? My dick is of average length according to my research. And it stands ready for service when called upon. But a dick like Dan's, a full foot long when erect, so stout and solid, thick blue veins along its shaft—it is more than just a cock. It is an avatar of fertility, an emblem of the urgent lust driving every species—a mythic beast poking its head up through the mists of time. I have held his dick. (It's a long story, literally. Chapter 01...) I know the heft of it. I made it cum—felt his hot seed surging through the shaft, within the grip of my two hands, up to the peak, soon to be white-capped: a Mont Blanc of cocks, a Mount Everest! How could any woman not want it inside her? How could she not prefer the way it fills her? How could it not give greater, deeper pleasure?

Sally was probably there by now, in his shabby one-bedroom apartment overlooking the freeway. It was exactly 16.2 miles south/southwest—not as the crow flies, but as the spying husband's odometer reads.

When the laundry was started—I was doing a load of colors, mostly tee shirts and jeans—I went into my den, poured myself a small glass of scotch, and sat in the recliner trying to not think about what Sally and Dan were doing.

I knew what they were doing because part of our arrangement is that afterwards Sally tells me. It's always too much information, which I regret having, but we both feel that this new openness in our marriage will work only if there is transparency.

I always wait up for her. Sometimes she stumbles in at three in the morning, but usually closer to midnight. She's hungry, like an athlete after a big game, and asks me to fix her a sandwich. And sitting at the kitchen table while she eats, she tells me everything.

"Dan hardly talked tonight," she will say. "It was just wham bam wham bam wham bam. Not that I'm complaining." Or, "We broke the bed."

"Did he go see a doctor about that rash you noticed?" I might ask. And she will shrug. Dan's health, and by extension ours, is something of a sore subject.

Her Friday evenings with Dan are formulaic and predictable, much like porn videos. They tend to start in the living room, where horny Dan, waiting for Sally to show, is naked on the pleather sofa, one hand idly petting his cock. There is a knock at the door, and in comes Sally, love of my life. Dan leaps to his feet, his cock bouncing around, and immediately starts pulling her clothes off, tossing them this way and that. He grabs at her ass and squeezes her tits, and starts licking and sucking on her neck, which he thinks is erotic. Sally spares me any mention of prolonged French kissing.

She reaches down and finds his cock and starts working it, knowing that the sooner she gets him hard the less wet her neck will be.

When her hands have worked their magic, Dan grunts and pushes down on her shoulders—the universal sign for get on your knees and suck my cock.

Down Sally goes, kneeling on a carpet that has likely not been vacuumed for a year, full of bits of Cheetos and potato chips. Dan's glorious cock is in her face, sticking straight toward her mouth. She takes hold of it with both hands. Leaning in, she licks at his cock's head. Then she takes it in her mouth. Soon she is sucking at it noisily, slurping and moaning, still holding the base of its shaft with her hands. She is doing this as a gift for him, in particular moaning for his benefit, but Dan becomes impatient. He wants control, so he grabs the back of her head and starts pushing his cock farther in her mouth, as far as he can make it go. Her mouth and throat are just a warm wet hole to him—someplace to put his dick.

She is gagging and gasping for air, struggling against the force of his hands.

Abruptly, he pulls his cock from her mouth. It's plenty wet and he wants to fuck.

"Bed," he says. He extends a hand and helps her to her feet, then follows her into the bedroom, watching the sway of her ass as he strokes his hard cock. When they are in the bedroom, he says, "Doggy," and waits as she climbs on the bed and kneels on the mattress, elbows down, knees apart, presenting him her luscious ass at the bed's edge. Delirious with the smell of her wet pussy and the glimpses he's getting of its pink interior, he steps up behind her and steadies himself to enter.

The blunt mushroom head of his cock starts to nudge its way in, Dan guiding with one hand his hard shaft, making sure he does not poke at the pink little pucker above, nor slide stupidly below the target, into the air between her legs. This is the highlight of Sally's week—what she tells me she lives for. Dan easing the big head in, pushing apart the petals of her pussy and moving deeper, her tight warmth soon enveloping maybe a third of his shaft.

This far in, he places both hands on her hips, just above the globes of her ass. He grips and holds her as he starts to work his way in deeper. He backs out some and pushes in again, each time a little farther.

"Oh my God!" Sally cries.

"Yeah," Dan says. "Here I come."

And he shoves his cock in all the way for the first time. He keeps it there, grinding, his balls up against her.

"Oh God! Oh God!" Sally shouts. "Yes!"

She starts wriggling, her ass grinding against him.

"Oh shit," she says. "I love your cock!"

The full sheathing of his cock in such a wonderful place as my Sally's pussy, with her plump ass pushing back into him, gives Dan a moment of joy. And with great enthusiasm he begins to fuck her: pulling out, then pushing in, slowly at first, but with gathering speed and momentum, starting to shove really hard on the in strokes, his body slapping against her ass each time he bottoms out.

"Oh Dan!" Sally cries. "Yes, baby! Fuck me!"

Dan keeps plowing into her with force, grunting from time to time. Both of them are getting sweaty.

Her first orgasm arrives, making her quiver and shake uncontrollably. "I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" she screams. He holds onto her more tightly and does not skip a beat. No sooner has the first wave of ecstasy washed over her than another one begins to build as Dan keeps slamming into her.

Without warning, he pulls out. There is the sound of his cock popping free of her pussy, then Sally whimpering in disappointment.

"Turn over," Dan tells her, and she does, quickly. She scoots farther onto the mattress, knowing he will want to come up on the bed to fuck her. She grabs a pillow and positions it under her ass, so he can get deeper inside her, and she settles back, legs spread, knees bent, feet in the air. What a lovely view Dan has as he climbs up onto the bed, in between her legs. He brings his cock to the wet entrance of her pussy and insinuates its head, then pushes all the way in and resumes pounding her. She wraps her legs around him and is bouncing on the mattress, receiving with ecstasy the fury of his fucking.

She has another orgasm, calling out his name.

And I, in my den 16.2 miles away, I cum too. Sprawled in my recliner with no pants on, jacking my cock until I shudder with pleasure and some cum oozes out onto my hand. Only one orgasm to my Sally's many. And nothing so dramatic as when Dan's Mount Vesuvius will explode. I wipe the cum from my hand with a Kleenex and toss the wadded tissue—my little trophy of participation—into the trash can.

The laundry is done, and I put it in the dryer. I check my phone. It's ten-thirty and no calls or texts from Sally. No photos, thank god. I do not need them. Unlike Dan, who seems to have almost no imagination, I have an enormous engine of creativity. There is no limit to what I can conjure up.

I return to my recliner still half naked and start gently working my cock, teasing it back to life. It will come along, I know, when I resume reviewing What Dan is Probably Doing to Sally Right Now and How Much She Enjoys It.

Sally is still on her back, her ass propped on the pillow, legs akimbo, feet in the air. She is shuddering violently with her third orgasm as Dan, our earnest interloper, bathed in sweat, is banging away with frantic intensity, his huge cock frothed along its shaft with Sally's juices plunging in till his crotch slams against hers, then pulling out halfway and slamming deep into her again, over and over, fierce and unrelenting. He is so close to cumming, and this is all that matters. Sally's fits of pleasure—her convulsions as she clutches to him, calling his name ("Dan! Dan! Dan! Yes! Yes!")—drive him on.

Last week, when things reached this point, the bed collapsed. Gave way with a splintering crash. Mad with frustration, Dan grabbed hold of Sally and stood. Facing him, still impaled on his rock-hard cock, her arms and legs wrapped around him, she held on for dear life as he walked out of the bedroom and carried her to the table in the kitchen. Dan brushed aside the few things on the table—an empty pizza box, salt and pepper shakers, a paper towel roll—and lowered Sally until her pink ass was on the pine veneer. He resumed slamming his big cock in and out of her, quickly recovering the full force and fury that had destroyed the bed.

And here, unable to resist a slight assist, I ammend the tale: Sally, my beloved, quivering and shaking in the grip of yet another orgasm as Dan too begins to cum, and slipping into a kind of delirium, felt the table giving way beneath her—its legs splaying out. She and Dan, still fucking, both now cumming, fell among pieces of the shattered table down to the floor which also gave way, and they kept going, down into the apartment below, where a shocked newlywed couple watched with mouths wide open as Dan finished in the rubble, pumping his hot cum deep into my wife before uncoupling, standing with his wet shiny cock still mostly erect, the last of his cum dribbling out, and apologizing to the couple.

"Sorry, folks."

And they, religious, modest, and now morally traumatized, the young woman staring at Dan's massive cock with a look in her eye her husband has never witnessed, as well as a wetness in her pussy she is glad he does not know about, just as the husband is hoping she does not notice his own penis starting to stiffen, whether because of lovely Sally naked on the floor, clearly so well fucked, or the sight of Dan's exceptional cock.

"I'll get you a pair of Bobby's shorts," the young wife tells Dan. To hide that thing. She comes back with a towel too, for Sally.

"Put this on," she says, handing Sally the towel. So my husband will stop gawking at your wonderful tits and frothy bush.

The shorts are a pretty good fit with one notable bulging exception.

"Come on, babe," Dan says, leading towel-wrapped Sally to the door. "Nice to meet you folks," he says. "Sorry about the ceiling."

"Drop by anytime," the young wife says, and she and Bobby laugh nervously.

And I cum in my hand.

Sally gets home about one-thirty. She's so tired, she doesn't even want to eat. She certainly doesn't want to talk. "I'm just going to bed," she says.

I'm sitting on the sofa, where I've been waiting.

"Listen, Sally," I say, and she hesitates on the stairs.

"Yes?"

"I think maybe we should get some counselling."

"I've been thinking the same thing."

"Oh," I say, surprised. "Well, good."

"We'll talk in the morning, honey," she says, and she trudges upstairs. I hear her going into her bedroom and shutting the door.

I turn off all the lights downstairs, put away the plate of brownies she never noticed, and head up too. There are some wet spots on the wooden stairs. I run a finger through one of them and sniff it. It smells like the wadded-up tissues I threw away earlier. Dan's cum, still leaking from her ravaged pussy.