The Cuckold

You receive the text at precisely 3 pm while on a conference call with other programmers on your current project:

--Guest for dinner and overnight. Home by 730.

Panic sets in, and, while the other conferees are still making small talk waiting for the last tardy arrival, you begin to plan, surreptitiously making lists while an interminable PowerPoint presentation drags on.

You begin to worry about what is in the freezer for dinner, perhaps pork tenderloin, or steaks--no, that's not appropriate, what if the guest is a vegetarian? But how many vegetarians do you know? You begin to text the question to her, then realize that she would not appreciate a text coming from you when she's in the middle of high-level negotiations.

So you fret, and then decide to risk meat. You rush to the store for wine, then scurry to get everything ready, finding ten minutes to change the sheets in the guestroom, setting the dining table for three.

Precisely at 730, you hear the garage door lifting, and you know she is home. While this would not ordinarily cause you to pause or panic, in this case, you know she'll be expecting perfection when she walks in the door.

Finally, the garage door opens, and you hear her heels clicking on the tile floor of the mudroom--a sound that never fails to send your heart tapping in time. As she rounds the corner you are, as always, struck by how beautiful and confident she is. She looks around the kitchen at your preparations for dinner, and pats you on the shoulder as she walks by, an approving gesture that makes you smile. But you are immediately aware of someone entering the kitchen behind her, and your heart sinks as you see a man, tall and broad, handsome and self-assured. You've met him before.

She reminds you that his name is Mike, and you shake hands like any two men circling each other, as she continues on through the kitchen, telling him where the guest room is located.

You finish off the pork chops under the broiler, giving the mushroom sauce a stir. The scalloped potatoes are browning in the oven, and the green beans are gently steaming. It appears you have chosen the perfect meal for this very healthy and masculine man. Lucky you.

You finish dishing up food as you hear them back in the dining room, and she comes in briefly to take the wine you have breathing on the counter back in with her. She pauses at the door and asks if you are ready.

You look up, and don't know whether to laugh or cry. She looks amazing: her blonde hair flows away from her face, and she is wearing a vintage lounging jumpsuit from the 70s, soft white silk with wide bell bottom pants, and a halter neckline. Her jewelry is gold, and the pendant she wears around her neck dangles in between her breasts, only serving to highlight her creamy golden skin. It is clear she wears nothing underneath: her nipples are stiff, taut peaks beneath the soft white fabric of the halter, and as she turns, the thin fabric reveals she wears no panties. She is barefoot and gorgeous. She takes your breath away, after ten years of marriage. She is a goddess, sex incarnate. You want to weep.

She is your wife, but she has dressed for him.

-----

Dinner passes in a blur. She sits at the head of the table, you on her left and him on her right. He is polite to you, but as the meal stretches on, it is clear they have been engaged in this dance for several days now. They are colleagues on a negotiation team, and they speak their own language, discussing their challenges and their expected victory the next day. It's too soon to celebrate, but they clearly assume they will prevail. They are giddy with the excitement of the chase, and are both slightly intoxicated with the power of their positions. In this case, they are equals: two beautiful, confident professionals who are at the peak of their careers.

They don't leave you out, but you have no idea what to say or how to contribute to the conversation, so you serve the meal and speak when they speak to you. He's from Chicago, single, and a bit younger than she is, but he's clearly infatuated. And why wouldn't he be? She's beautiful, powerful, and strong. And so is he--he's tall and muscular, and you sense he is an alpha male, as unlike you as he can be. For this week, they are a match, and from their conversation, you understand that this jousting for position has them both throbbing with a visceral excitement.

You sit watching this play from the sidelines, half-excited, half-terrified as you watch them, listening to their banter, knowing that this man will fuck your wife before the night ends.

-----

You clear the dishes as they move to the den and listen to them continue to talk while you wash and load the dishwasher. They decline coffee, but you hear the clink of glass from the other room, and you know that they have availed themselves of the liquor you set out on the bar. When you enter the room with your own cup of espresso, it is to find them sitting on the couch, turned to face each other, their knees barely touching as they continue to plot and plan the next day's maneuvers. Only one lamp is on, and music plays softly on the Bluetooth speaker in the corner. It's a scene set for seduction, and for a moment, you waiver about joining them.

They both stop to compliment you on the meal, and you take a seat facing them both, a comfortable chair a few feet from the couch that reinforces your feeling of being a part of the audience. They quickly return to their intimate work conversation as they drink their whiskeys. They've both consumed wine and the excellent twelve-year-old scotch, but neither seems affected by the alcohol; you, on the other hand, would have already been ready to dance on the bar or sleep in the corner.

You watch as their bodies move closer to each other, continuing the mating dance they started days ago. The inevitable conclusion to this erotic fencing match is taking place on his sofa, and while part of you is afraid to watch, you cannot tear yourself away.

And for better or worse, you know it's coming soon. Their talk has become quieter, as they lean in closer to each other, and you can barely make out the words. You are as forgotten as your cold espresso, but you cannot move, cannot stand up or protest or leave, and you watch as they begin to touch each other more often, lingeringly.

He places his half-full whiskey glass down on the sofa table behind the couch, and his hand reaches to push back a lock of her hair that has fallen forward. You know that the moment has arrived: his hand trails down her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, and then he strokes the inside curve of her left breast with the back of his hand. You hear her audible inhalation, see her lips part and her eyelids lower, and you cannot look away as her nipple hardens beneath the silk.

You watch with growing fascination and dread as they kiss, first slowly and then with increasing fervor and passion. His lips leave hers and trail down the side of her face and neck, and your traitorous mind predicts that his mouth will capture the nipple he had so recently toyed with. You are right. The halter is pushed aside as she reclines back against the arm of the couch, and his mouth captures her nipple. You know that breast, and you know that nipple, and you know how sensitive both are, so it is no surprise that she moans in pleasure as his mouth sucks and his teeth nibble there.

Her hands are in his hair, urging him on, and now he slides his hands under her ass, cupping those firm cheeks you know so well. He abandons one breast for the other, then moves up so he is lying on top of her, their hips aligned, and you note with distant but acute concern that their hips are moving in time, that even without removing their clothes, their bodies have read their immediate future. Suddenly she pushes him back, and they laugh softly as she takes control, him leaning back and her straddling his legs. She reaches up to cup his face and kiss him deeply as he squeezes the cheeks of her ass, kneading the flesh beneath the white silk. He pulls her into his body, and she grinds down on his cock.

You're almost panting now, and you feel your own cock straining at the zipper on your jeans, begging for release, but you cannot imagine touching yourself, becoming part of this. It seems wrong to be aroused, wrong to want to voyeuristically partake of the energy that fills the room.

And then the choice is taken away: suddenly he pushes up from the couch, still holding her ass, carrying her out of the room in a move you could not have emulated had you tried. The muscles in his arms flex as he lifts her, and she rewards him with another kiss. And you hear them laughing as he carries her to your bedroom.

-----

You lose track of time as you sit there in the half darkness, your forgotten espresso cup carefully balanced in your left hand. From the bedroom you hear them, her moans mingled with his muffled shouts as he cums. After awhile, you lose the erection you had when you watched them, and then--astonishingly--you drift off to sleep, sitting straight up in your chair, still holding your cup.

You wake suddenly to see him back at the couch, naked and holding his whiskey glass, and you cannot avoid the thing you want least to see: his cock, standing erect and slightly away from his body, glistening with what you can only assume is their mingled cum.

He looks directly at you as he drinks the rest of the whiskey, then he speaks: "She wants you to come watch."

Your stomach lurches--how could she? How could you? But you and he both know that you will do as you're told. He turns to leave the room, and you put your cup aside and follow him to your bedroom.

The light is off, but the bathroom light is on and the door is open, and in the borrowed light, you see her lying on the bed. She's reclining back on her elbows as if she had all the time in the world, naked and damp and freshly-fucked. Her hair is tousled, and her lips are puffy and red. She's overblown and gorgeous, and she doesn't even look in your direction as you enter the room. Her eyes are only for him, and as he knee-walks across the bed to her, a sexy smile spreads across her face. He slides right up in between those spread legs, and his cock easily parts her pussy lips.

You take the chair across from the bed, wondering what to do with yourself, feeling embarrassed and ill at ease. But no matter: they don't know you exist. From that first slow thrust into her cunt, he has begun fucking her, his ass squeezing and pistoning in and out of her in time to her moans. She's no longer looking casual; he leans his head close to hers and you can hear the dirty, nasty words that drive her crazy but that you're too shy to say: slut, cunt, whore, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me bitch. And she gives it back to him: fuck me, you asshole, goddamn son of a bitch, stud, fuck that cunt, harder, harder, faster. Her arms are around him now, urging him on, her legs clamped to his hips, her feet pulling him in tighter, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. She begins to pant, to wail, as her orgasm crashes into her, and he groans as he thrusts harder.

And you know he is cumming. Inside her. No condom, no pulling out. You realize your mouth is hanging open only when it snaps shut, as you're watching him spill his cum inside her.

And you realize you've never been more excited, your cock has never been harder, as you watch your wife being fucked by her lover.

Before you can process the thought, they've moved, and she has pushed him back onto the bed, rising up and straddling him. You'd be limp as overcooked pasta now, but he is hard as a rock, and she pulls his cock back towards her to stand tall beneath her. She moves slightly, back and forth, and you watch as she uses his wet cock to rub her clit, to pleasure herself again. He lies back against the pillows, his hands behind his head as he watches her in the semi-darkness. She seems barely aware of him as she rubs his cock along her slit, gasping a bit as the head pops off her clit. Finally, he seems to tire of her teasing play, and he thrusts up with his hips, trying to push inside her; but she's in charge and not ready to give up her masturbation with his cock. She laughs a little as he jerks his hips up again, his cock sliding to the side instead of finding its way inside her cunt.

You're watching from behind and to the side, and for a moment, your discomfort lifts as you admire your wife: you've only seen her from beneath as she fucks your cock, and this view gives you a clear vantage of her gorgeous ass, the twin globes of her cheeks full and round as she straddles his thighs. Her legs are strong and smooth, and you can see below her, his balls squeezed into the narrow space. You breathe shallowly through your mouth, your cock hardening painfully.

Suddenly he grabs her hips, and this time his upthrust cock finds its way home--all the way home. He grins at her indrawn breath, but she has the last laugh as she begins to ride him, her hips jerking back and forth, her tits bouncing as she begins to cum. His breathing is ragged, and he continues to pull her hips back and forth even as she cums, her back arching and her head hanging. You think he'll cum watching her this way--you would--but instead he rolls to the side and pulls her off, sliding her off his cock.

Wetness dribbles across his thighs and leaves a trail of cum on the sheets as he moves her unresisting body to her stomach, wedging a pillow under her belly and spreading her bent legs. Her ass is presented now, and she half-heartedly protests as he readies her body, then she groans deep as he thrusts inside her cunt again, ramming his cock home. They're both panting too hard to speak coherently, but they're still breathing filthy, sexy words at each other, still demanding their pleasure. He reaches forward and takes her shoulders in his hands, pulling her back onto his cock. Her words trail off to whimpers of pleasure as he continues to pound her pussy harder and harder until you can't imagine she can feel anything anymore, and then he shouts and grabs her hips, his ass thrusting forward, and you know that he is cumming inside her once again.

They slump together for minutes, him still inside her, as she lies panting, her face pressed tightly into the bed, as you watch, holding your body completely still, now breathing through your nose as quietly as you can. You don't know if you want to be noticed or not.

Finally, he pulls out of her, his cock still semi-hard and dripping with their juices and walks out of the bedroom--you presume to the guest room.

You wait for interminable minutes for him to return, but as the moments tick away, you realize he is not coming back.

And you watch as his cum begins to trickle out of her gaping pussy.

You've never seen her like this, exhausted and sated. All too often, you cum too quickly, and she is left unsatisfied and restless. But this--this--is how she should look, beautiful and satisfied, her hair tangled and matted, her face turned just slightly to the side, her eyes closed--is she asleep?

Moving as slowly as you can, and as quietly as possible, you get up and move toward the bed. You are fascinated by the cum leaking from her puffy cunt, puddling beneath her on the sheet. His exit left a trail of drying cum on the inside of her thighs, and you are reaching out your hand to touch it before you even know what you're doing.

She moans in her sleep, and you stop short of touching her skin, waiting until her breathing quiets again. Then your finger touches her thigh, where a shiny stripe of half-dried cum paints her golden skin. You follow the trail, up, up, up, to the reddened and hairless lips of her cunt, where translucent semen pools just inside. You slide your finger gently inside--it is soaking wet and so very hot.

She doesn't move as you finger fuck her, slowly and gently, his cum acting as lubricant for your penetration. And suddenly, more than you've ever wanted anything, you want to slide your cock inside her. Do you dare?

For long moments, you simply stare at her ass in the half-light, holding your breath as you examine this overwhelming desire. And then with your other hand, you unbutton your jeans, pulling your cock out through the Y in your briefs. You're struck by the sight of your cock in your hand, as hard as it's ever been, but still much smaller than his. Your other hand continues to slide your forefinger in and out of her cunt as you move closer, in between her legs. Her ass is still perched high on the pillow, and it takes nothing for you to kneel behind her.

You pause for a moment, your little cock in your hand, the head just outside her pussy lips, and then you slowly and carefully slide it inside her gaping cunt. The sensation is exquisite: she has been fucked so hard that you barely feel anything as you slip inside the lips, and the walls are stretched and soaked. Inside, she is a drenched inferno, hotter than anything you have ever felt.

You look up to see him standing in the doorway, naked, watching you as you slide inside your sleeping wife.

You stop, suddenly apprehensive: is this allowed? Can you touch your wife again? As if he has read your mind, he smiles, a slow, half-sided smile that chills you even as it gives you permission.

"Fuck her," he says quietly, a challenge or permission, you don't know.

And you do, one, two, three strokes, but it's all too much for you--the long build-up, the intense, excruciating feeling of wet heat, and your small cock cums in throbbing jerks that make you feel as though you're being drained.

And he watches you, his mouth locked in that smirking half-smile. As your softened cock slides out of her, bringing with it another river of cum, he grins. "Didn't wake up at all," he says, and then turns and leaves the room.

-----

You sleep the sleep of exhaustion, after gently cleaning her and making her as comfortable as you can. She snuggles into the pillow with a smile as you turn off the lights and lock the house, sliding naked into bed beside her, just to feel her heat to warm you from a foot away. You think you won't sleep, but you do: a deep, dreamless sleep that reminds you of the nights when you were a child, after playing all day long in the hot summer sun.

That sun is slanting through the windows when you wake, and you watch it for a brief moment as you lie there, allowing the truth of the night before to dawn. And you realize that the bed is shaking slightly. You turn to look, and there she is, bent over the bed, as he fucks her from behind. They're both wide awake and fully dressed, and they are quietly intent on what they're doing. You lie there naked, watching them, your cock soft and dry, as he cums inside her again.