The Ballad of John and Al Ch. 05

"Your fiancé reminds me of my wife," Warren said.

John looked at his older friend but didn't say anything. He just swirled his whiskey glass, making the ice clink. So, Warren had deduced his secret. If Warren had figured it out, who else had?

"I mean, I'm just observing," the silver-haired humanities professor continued. "Watching Al flirt -- even flirt with me -- on Sunday brought back some ... fond memories."

John turned in his seat in the little chair on Warren's balcony, and crossed his legs to hide his growing erection. It was incredibly exciting and humiliating. He was mortified.

"Forgive me if I'm jumping to conclusions," Warren continued. "My wife liked to play ... this game with me. I'll shut up if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"No, that's okay," John said. In truth, he desperately wanted to talk to someone.

"So, she did more than flirt. We didn't even know the word 'cuckold' when she started seeing other men. This was before the internet, you know."

"Mmmn," John nodded. So, Warren was assuming he knew what "cuckold" meant. Pretty big assumption. He did deeply appreciate Warren coming out in this way, though. But he didn't want to appear too eager to hear more.

"Yeah," he finally conceded. "Al and I are playing that same game. Or, we're starting to."

"I kind of figured as much," Warren said, gently. "Oh, not from watching her. I could tell on Sunday from watching you.

"Sorry. I don't mean to offend. But you had that 'first-timer' energy about you." Warren sipped his drink and watched his young friend take this in.

"Don't worry. I doubt it was obvious to anyone else. I'm kind of attuned to these things."

"Because of your own experience," John surmised.

"Exactly."

"So," John asked, suddenly grateful to have someone to talk to about his secret kink. "How was it ... how did you get started?"

"Oh, we had been married for seven years. We were, like, 31 or 32. This was in 1989. We were happy but stretched too thin, with our careers and two babies, slipping into that phase when couples let intimacy go by the wayside. Then one day she told me that the plumber we had in had made a pass at her, and she told me in such a way to let me know she had kind of liked it but was comfortable telling me because she had nothing to feel guilty about. Apparently, I responded quite ... vigorously." Warren smiled, and John felt like he was almost blushing on his older friend's behalf.

"So then?" John prodded.

"Well, let's just say our sex life was completely re-invigorated. Based entirely on teasing, and role-playing, about her accepting the advances of other men. It was wonderful, picturing my darling Elise as a much more sexual creature than I had ever allowed myself to think of her, even though I was certain she was just enjoying teasing me because it was a safe way to put a spark in things. I began to want her to do it for real but didn't think she ever would. And then ... she did."

John nodded, appreciating the insight. "And ... was it ... okay, when it happened?"

"It exceeded every expectation," Warren replied. "And not just the first time."

"Yeah? Well, I guess that's good to know."

"So how long have you been talking about it?"

"A couple of years," John replied.

"That's good. So she's had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea that it's not just some passing fancy. You've talked about it outside the bedroom?"

"Oh yeah."

"Discussed the possible consequences?"

"Uh huh." John paused. Which consequences, exactly? The concern that it might damage or destroy their relationship? Sure. He wasn't quite ready to admit to Warren that they had, of course, talked about the possibility of Al getting pregnant. It wasn't something that he wanted, but he had assured Al that if it happened, they would keep the baby.

Warren didn't push.

"Yes. Lots of guys think they want to be a cuckold," the professor offered. "But then they have a hard time dealing with it once it's real. Once it's too late."

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" John asked.

"Not a bit. I just want to equip you to fully enjoy the experience. Al is a beauty," Warren said. "The guy who gets to enjoy her is going to revel in her.

"And, he's going to enjoy experiencing her in a way you'll never be able to match. She can be utterly uninhibited, free of any future doubts or recriminations. Just pure sex, with no thought of reciprocity or... Well. He's going to give her something you can't give her, and she's going to give him something you'll never get.

"But it hasn't happened yet, has it?"

"Not completely," John answered, honestly. "I don't think. She's been teasing me with the idea that she's stringing him along..."

"Mmmm. You enjoy the slow burn," Warren suggested. John nodded.

"Yeah, I get that. Elise was a master at that. Years of teasing. The thing is, once she took a bite of the forbidden fruit, she really jumped ahead much more aggressively than I ever expected."

John nodded, taking it in. The two of them savored their whiskies and stared off into the sunset.

"You've jumped out of airplanes?" Warren asked.

"Yeah. It's part of the training."

"I have not. It must be exhilarating. I've often heard people describe the thrill of cuckolding by comparing it to jumping out of an airplane, and wondered if it was true."

"Well ... yeah, it sounds right."

"I take it you work out," Warren continued.

"Yeah."

"So, what's the term? Training to failure?"

"Yeah, that's the term," John acknowledged, referring to the practice of lifting weights until you reach the weight where you can't finish ten repetitions. So you know you haven't left something on the table. "So you're saying...?"

"Do you want Al to just fulfill all the fantasies you already have? Or do you want her to take you beyond anything you've ever imagined?"

John realized his erection was almost painful. Just from talking. To his older neighbor.

"Have you done that? Trained to failure?" John asked.

"Lifting weights, or watching my wife make love to other men?" Warren sipped his drink.

John didn't respond. He just waited for his friend to continue.

"Well, I haven't done that kind of weight training, or jumped out of airplanes. But I've run marathons. I know what it's like to reach the point where you think, no, that's it, I can't go any farther. And then you do. That's exhilarating.

"You think you can handle that?"

John drained his glass, and considered his response. "I don't know."

"Oh, I think you can," Warren assured him. "What's the phrase? Feel the burn."

***

John lay back on the bed, as instructed, and watched with anticipation as Al swung one leg over him and mounted him. She was wearing one of his Navy t-shirts, and nothing else. He knew he couldn't touch or see her breasts -- those belonged to another man now, and he didn't know who it was. It drove him insane with lust, and with excitement at the cruel game she was taunting him with.

He tried to lie still as she positioned her slippery labia along the shaft of his turgid erection, pressed down against his belly, and began to slide up and down along his length. He reached up to grasp her hips, to help manipulate her in her undulations, but she grabbed his wrists.

"Huh uh," she whispered to him. "Those are his now, too."

He gasped and groaned, but compliantly let her place his hands back down on the sheets on either side of his body. "Your hips are his now, too?" he croaked.

"Mmm hmm," she confirmed.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on not erupting up over his stomach yet. What did that mean, he wondered? What exactly had she offered up to his mysterious rival, that now meant that he himself could no longer place his hands on his fiancé's waist?

"Don't worry," she said, anticipating his question. She ground down harder on him, coating him with her natural lubrication. "I haven't let him do this yet.

"If I had, we wouldn't be doing this right now."

He opened his eyes again and looked into her face. She was smiling, playfully, but her eyes were wide with wicked excitement. This was the game he had agreed to play, the game of her choosing. They had talked about her cuckolding him for two years, and when she had agreed, it was on her terms: he couldn't watch. He couldn't know who the other guy was. And everything she gave to her new lover, she was going to deny him. The game was underway now, and he was finding it even more erotic than he had imagined.

Then she closed her eyes as she tilted her pelvis in such a way that she was dragging her clitoris over his shaft. She quivered in pleasure but continued to direct the action.

"Or this," she continued, reaching down to wrap her hand around his erection. She rose up on her knees, pointed him upward, and impaled herself on him.

Both of them groaned in unison as he slid easily up inside the velvet sleeve of her pussy and situated himself up under her heart. For John, the pleasure was exquisite, but also exquisitely familiar. He felt a little bit more under control, no longer on the verge of premature ejaculation. As long as Al kept her devious little mouth shut!

She placed her hands on his chest and began to gyrate on top of him. He started to reach up to grasp her at the waist again but remembered and stopped himself. Damn! What in the world had she done with the other guy that gave him the exclusive rights to seize her hips in his hands, if not this?

"What?" she asked him, obviously reading his aroused but perplexed expression.

"I'm just ..." he began, then paused. He was picturing one of the other ways he loved to hold Al by the waist. When he had his face between her legs, the backs of her thighs on his shoulders, grabbing her and pulling her toward him as she writhed, and her giggles turned to gasps and moans as he hungrily drove his tongue into her and then wickedly lashed at her engorged clit.

So ... were her hipbones off limits to him now because Mystery Man had had that pleasure?

"You're just what?" she asked, twirling a strand of her long hair around one finger.

"So has he ... gone down on you?"

She laughed, "Oh, God no."

John was struck by her response. He was partly relieved, but also ... well, what had been so funny or outrageous about the question?

"Baby, that's going to be your job," she said, answering his unformulated question. "Soon it may be the only job you have!"

He gasped, and she paused again in her slow riding motion, as if aware that one extra little squeeze from her vaginal muscles right now would push him over the edge.

"You wanna see?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer reached over to pick up her phone off the nightstand, being careful to not move so quickly that her fiancé's cock would slip out of her. Then she plopped down on top of him and sat still for a moment scrolling through her phone while he nudged up inside her, and while she tried hard to pretend she was ignoring him.

She handed him the phone. He took it and looked. And had to resist the urge to spurt inside of Al, who was mercifully continuing to sit motionless on top of him.

The bottom half of the screen was filled with the image of Al's magnificent ass. She was on her knees -- on her knees and shoulders, apparently, based on the angle of the photo, which was obviously taken from above and behind her. No way this was a selfie. Someone else must have been holding the phone when this was taken.

Probably the same guy who had just splattered an enormous load of shiny semen all over the small of her back, all the way up to where her yellow t-shirt was bunched up around her shoulder blades.

"Oh, God ..." he moaned.

She took the phone away from him and set it down. She moved her hands up to his shoulders, and lowered herself until their faces were millimeters apart. He could feel her breath, hot and sweet, on his lips. "Don't worry. He's not fucked me yet."

"Uhhhh," was all John could manage.

"But he really wants to. Really, really wants to."

"Hrrrmmmm," John grunted. Well, of course. What male wouldn't?

"And I really want to," she continued.

John let out a little gasp.

"You know, once he does, we can't do this anymore."

Yeah, he knew. He understood her rules. This is how she had spelled out her plans for cuckolding him. It was crazy, stupid for him to go along with it. But that's just what he had done.

"So ..." he had to ask.

"Yeah, baby?"

"So ... how is it ... that ... he owns ... your ... waist and your hips now ..."

"Oh, yeah. That. Yeah, I let him slipdog me." She held still again, took a strand of her hair between her fingers, chewed on it coyly. John was stunned. For one thing, he didn't recognize the term, although it wasn't hard to figure out. Slipdog. A hot dog, plump and pink, and slippery, nestled between her buns. But not his hot dog. Some other guy's. Slipping. Sliding. While that guy grasped her waist and pulled her back against him. Sliding forward, deep between her cheeks, his fleshy underside dragging along over her tender puckered little anal orifice, which she had never let him penetrate; then back, the other way, until his swollen knob glided all the way down over her perineum, perilously close to the lower folds of her vaginal opening. And ... had she let him apply some lube? Or was he slipping through nothing but the spreading moisture from her natural excitement, supplemented by his own steady stream of pre-ejaculate?

And he had been feeling possessive about her waist!

Meanwhile, she was reading his face.

"You know ... bun-humping," she offered, helpfully. "A tube steak sandwich."

Jesus, he thought, since when did his fiancé know more Urban Dictionary sex terms than he did? And what did that tell him about whoever it was who had knelt behind her, taken ownership of her slender waist and flared hips, and stroked his hard cock between her upturned butt cheeks until he exploded all over her back? Had she picked up the coarse, juvenile terms from one of the Odd Couple, handsome young Matt or his goofy-looking red-headed roommate Nick? Was it Trent, the cocksure Army Ranger? It could still be Dan, the vapid bodybuilder. Or, hell, was it Jimmy, their heavy-set and unappealing old neighbor? He seemed like the pervy type to spend his days learning new phrases on porn sites.

She seemed to sense that his befuddlement was outweighing his horniness, and he was no longer on the razor's edge of orgasm. So, she lowered herself onto his chest and began to work his cock inside her again, gently moving her pelvis in a circle, squeezing and releasing.

"Love me?" she asked.

"God, yes."

"Mmm, good," she murmured. "Is this still what you want?"

John drew in a gulp of air. At the moment, he couldn't imagine anything being more erotic or exciting than the game she was finally actually playing with him. "Uh huh."

"You're still enjoying this?"

"Uh huh." He felt himself starting to slide down the slippery slope toward orgasm again.

"Even the stuff you're denied?"

"Uh huh," he confirmed. Then he had to ask her. "Are you having fun?"

"Oh my God," she gushed. "Fun doesn't begin to describe it."

"You're really getting off on the power of this, aren't you?" he pushed.

"Ohh, baby, you have no idea. I had no idea. It's way, way hotter than I ever imagined.

"I can't wait any more. I'm going to fuck him, baby," she whispered. "Isn't that what you want?"

John let out a little moan.

"Tell me," she pushed. "Tell me that's what you want. That you want me to give him my pussy, let him make it his, so you can't have it anymore."

Fuck, he thought. What man in his right mind would say "yes" to that? Why was some twisted part of his own un-right mind screaming at him to say, "Yes! Yes! YES?"

Instead, he was about to answer her with several spasmic pulses of semen. But just before he did, she pulled herself off him.

"Ohhhh," John groaned, secretly pleased that he hadn't cum yet; that she was going to keep pushing him past what he thought were his limits. "Jesus, Al."

She scooted down lower on the bed, between his legs, her eyes on his the whole time. "God, I do love seeing you desperate," she purred.

Then she took his twitching erection, slick with her juices, in her hands and began to stroke him.

"Oh?" John ventured, half afraid of the answer, half craving it. "I still get hand jobs?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "Why, don't you want that?"

"Oh, no, by all means, proceed!" John laughed, and then sucked in his breath as she swirled her thumb over his sensitive knob. "I just thought ..."

"You thought what?"

"Well, I'm not getting blowjobs anymore. I thought maybe I lost having your hands on me at the same time."

"Nope. I didn't use my hands with him."

John propped himself up on his elbows to study her face. She was trying to hide a grin.

"He made me get on my knees and put my hands behind my back."

John flinched, both from arousal and offense. "He made you?"

"Well, he told me to. Same thing."

Fuck, John thought. Who was this asshole? And ... Al?! He knew she had a submissive streak. They role-played with it themselves. But with him she was just role-playing. He was safe.

"Go on," she said. She was stroking him lightly, avoiding edging him toward the inevitable. "I know you want to ask."

Ask what? John wondered. His mind wasn't tracking. He couldn't really even recall all of the potential suitors she had teased him with on Sunday afternoon. His brain was fully occupied trying to imagine the scene itself. Was the guy standing above her? Or was he sitting back in his favorite chair, with Allison on her knees between his open legs, her hands submissively crossed behind her back as his hand tangled into her golden locks and he drew her mouth down onto his shaft?

"Yes," she answered her own question. "He came in my mouth."

"Al!" John gasped. And then suddenly, he was cumming too, in spite of her gentle little butterfly strokes that had been intended to keep him on the edge.

"Yeah," Al said, watching him spurt all over his stomach. "But, like, a lot more than that."

"Al..." he moaned.

"I mean, it felt like a lot more. I didn't see it."

John's head was swimming, swimming in his own usual orgasmic bliss, and in a kind of shock. Oh, Al! Al! He had only cum in her mouth once, and she had spit it out, and told him it was nasty, and hadn't given him another blow job for weeks. But, this other guy???

"It was gross," she said, making a face. "But it's what he wanted, so ..."

Fuck, John thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. But even as he felt himself fading into his post-orgasmic slump, he recommitted himself to riding this out.

Al got up off the bed, reached down to pick up her panties, and stepped back into them. "You should probably have cum inside me when you had the chance," she said, with an apologetic shrug. "Tomorrow, he wants my pussy."

***

"I've got to say," Al said. "I don't get this slow burn thing."

"Hmm," Warren replied, sipping his coffee. It was brisk out on his balcony this morning, and he and his beautiful young neighbor were bundled up waiting for the sun to clear the treeline. Al was wearing the most clothes he had ever seen her in, and she was just as delightfully attractive in multiple layers as she was in a bikini, or her Hooters uniform.

"I mean, do you? Is that how you like it?"

"Yes," he answered.

"And did your wife like playing that way?"

Warren smiled. "For a long time, yeah. It was like it was her idea. But then at some point ... she just kind of ... took off with it. Like the slow burn lit the fuse to ..." He made a gesture with his hands to depict a bomb going off. "P...kewwww."