The Cuckold Waltz Ch. 1

Do you ever lie in bed late at night and wonder: 'How the fuck did I get from there to here?' Three nights in a row trying to get comfortable on a granite-hard bed in the ice cold guest room – no wonder friends rarely stayed a whole weekend – had given me plenty of time to think about that. And to regret what I'd done. Okay, perhaps not so much time to regret as, well, time to regret being found out.

At least it stopped me worrying about what would happen once she threw me out and I was left living in a drab little flat, with a staircase reeking of cabbage and flatulence. She'd probably let me keep this bastard bed as a form of punishment. Somewhere I could sit sewing back on the sleeves of the shirts and jackets she'd thoughtfully cut off when in the full throes of her righteous wronged-woman rage.

A car swung into the close. I tensed. Was it her? It drew to a halt outside. No, she would have parked on the drive. The engine continued running. Chances were it was a taxi. She'd gone out about six, slamming the door and crunching through the gears - just in case I had forgotten that I was officially The Enemy - not saying where she was going or who with. However haywire things had gone, though, she wouldn't leave the car. I was sure of that.

"That's very, very kind of you," I heard her say, deliberately and loudly. Shit, she sounded pissed. Maybe there was enough time to throw on a pair of trousers and climb down the drainpipe and head for the hills before she got upstairs.

The taxi driver said something I couldn't catch and she laughed that dirty laugh she had, the one that always seemed at odds with her slightly demure, though immaculately presented, self.

Four-inch heels clatter uncertainly up the pathway. Pissed, she would probably march in here and set about me with a giant frozen haddock. Deep breaths, I told myself. With a bit of luck she'd just stumble off to what was no longer 'our room' and sleep it off. Then I could sneak out early in the morning and hope the storm had eased a little by the time our paths next crossed.

After a few fumblings and muffled swearing, the front door opened. Loud footsteps on the stairs. Not even a detour to the kitchen for a drink of water. She probably couldn't wait to test the efficacy of the electrodes with the special genital attachments I feared she might have been out buying.

The bedroom door swung open; a click of the switch and Jackie was there, leaning on the doorframe in the sudden flood of light. She was definitely pissed. This could be bad…very, very bad. Mind you, at least if I needed long-term hospital care I'd have a roof over my head for a while. And, of course, there would always be the nurses as a bit of compensation. If dick-less men could enjoy such compensations, that is.

Her dark blonde hair was showing signs of having been caught in a high wind or something. Slightly dishevelled, she didn't look as if she was about to strike.

I wondered if the relief I felt was just a false sense of security. After all, there was still an outside chance that the electrodes and the haddock might be concealed in the skin-tight electric blue mini-dress that had been sprayed on to her curves. Was it new? I hadn't seen her wear it before. And why was I wondering about that at a time like this?

Hanging on to the wall, she slipped off the shoes and advanced slowly, sensuously almost, across the room, stopping a few feet from the bed. A distinct ruby flush confirmed the pissed diagnosis. Her brown eyes, which for the last few days had eloquently spoken of a huge, hard anger, were as soft as they always had been before she had called me into the kitchen and showed me her discovery. I like to think that she overreacted a tad. I mean, what kind of woman flies into a rage over a pair of cunt-stained knickers, even if they are someone else's cunt-stained knickers? Okay, most women.

Her body language was different now. She was less rigid, less threatening for a start. Even though the next time I would see her would probably be when she flung my shoes out of the bedroom window after me, I took on board the fact that she looked very, very sexy indeed. Not that tall, but slim and soft, with legs that were longer than they had any right to be. A Raymond Chandler line came back to me: 'She was a blonde, a blonde to make a Bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.' Of course, lovely as she looked, the only thing likely to be going through a window, stained or not, was me.

Then she dropped the bombshell.

"I'm horny and I need a fuck," she whispered, then she giggled through the hand that had moved up to cover her mouth, as if she couldn't believe what it was saying.

I must have misheard. It wouldn't be the first time. I stared at her mutely. I may have said: "Sorry, what was that?" Or I may have just cleared my throat and eyed the distance to the window.

Then, for the benefit of the newly dumb adulterer, she repeated it more loudly, and, just to make it perfectly clear, added: "I've got a wet cunt and I want a hard cock." She stressed the words 'cock' and 'cunt' in case I missed them.

Now, all she had said to me since Tuesday had been those three little words – "You fucking bastard!" – so things appeared to be looking up. "Right", I said contritely, contrition being the best defence. "Anything you say, Jackie. Anything you say."

What the hell had she been drinking? When did they start selling 'Forgiveness Juice' in pubs? Was she all 'loved up' E or something? Still, she wasn't shouting at me, so perhaps it wasn't a trap after all. Maybe she was after a fuck for old times sake. And who could refuse her that? My sense of shock started to ebb away. Little did I know how quickly it would return.

"Too right, anything I say!" she said, a harder edge to her voice now. She began to pull the dress up over her thighs, wriggling a little as she did so. Fucking hell! She wasn't wearing knickers AND she'd shaved her cunt. I mean, she hadn't shaved her cunt for me for about two bastard years!

She smiled as she saw me staring at her. "Do you like my bald cunt?" she asked matter-of-factly. "You know, the taxi driver liked it. He liked it a lot. I showed him as I got out of the cab. He didn't charge me. Wasn't that nice of him?"

Head reeling, confusion swimming round my overloaded brain, I managed some sort of grunt in reply.

"Mmmm, yes," she said. "It was very, very sweet of him. I hope he drops me off next time! She looked towards my lower half concealed beneath the covers. "Are you nice and hard?"

Of course I was hard! This time I managed to blurt out the word "uuuuuhhh!" and she laughed that laugh. "Good, because I'm going to fuck your brains out. You know, perhaps I should have shagged the taxi driver before I came in. Hmmm, yes, I think he might have liked that."

What the fuck was going on here? Six hours ago, she wanted to kill me and now she's standing there naked, gently circling her clit with her index finger and offering to fuck my brains out, while wondering if she should have shagged the cabbie on the way in. My pretty, bright, placid, slightly shy wife had been taken over by porn star aliens and is now slowly, slightly clumsily, straddling my face.

Mid-straddle, she stops as if struck a by a thought. "You've been a very naughty boy, haven't you? Putting your fat cock into some little slut's cunt and leaving all your spunk up inside her. Very, very naughty."

Amanda is not a little slut, I thought. She's a respectable married woman. But I say nothing, following the old Chinese proverb that says something about the wisdom of silence. Besides, saying anything might seriously damage the new and bizarre rapprochement that has been established. I nod, not sure whether she can see me.

That's when I realise she is soaking wet, juice streaking her upper thighs. I am enveloped in the heady aroma of her cunt.

"What do naughty boys deserve?" she asks almost sternly.

Spanking, I wonder? But Chinese wisdom prevails. A quick shrug of the shoulders marks me down as the dunce of the class.

"Naughty boys deserve naughty girls," she intones. "And I've been a very naughty girl."

Cunt-flashing the taxi driver? Yep, that's pretty naughty. Oh, but there's more. As she lowers herself down on to my face I realise just how naughty she's been. I can smell it. Spunk - and obviously not my spunk, either. Another man has been fucking my wife. How dare they do that to me!

"Naughty girls need cleaning up to get rid of the evidence, so no-one knows how dirty they've been," she says as she begins to rub herself across my face. "Lick it. Go on, clean my cunt so no-one knows what a dirty little whore I am."

She's never been 'a dirty little whore'. But, despite myself, I begin to lap at her. Slowly at first, then more urgently to match the increasingly fierce thrusts against my mouth. It doesn't quite taste the same as mine, but it is recognisably male cum. I am angry, confused, horrified and at the same time, for reasons I can't fathom, incredibly aroused. And another thing, Jackie doesn't know it but this is a taste of my own medicine in a way even I could never have foreseen.

"His cock was bigger and fatter than yours," she said, a touch unnecessarily I thought. "My cunt was so full of him and his balls were sooooo full of cum I thought I'd drown when he emptied inside me. So big and so hard. And such a great fuck!"

Now, that kind of talk isn't really designed to boost a man's ego, but I wasn't in a position to complain, not least because I had an extremely sloppy cunt pressed hard against my mouth and talking wasn't one of the options available to me.

"And now you're going to fill me up with your lovely cock, and empty all your hot spunk up into my dirty little cunt."

That was more like it! I returned to my cunt-licking with renewed gusto. She stopped abruptly and, in a flurry of limbs, slid down my body and smoothly impaled herself upon my dangerously engorged cock. I was in her to the hilt immediately. Christ, he must have been pretty big, I thought nervously.

Within a couple of minutes, I realised that I couldn't stop myself. I started to spurt inside her. Any chance of stopping the flow was ruined by her almost inaudible: "Fuck it up me! Go on, fuck that hot cum into my sloppy little hole! Mix it with his spunk, then lick me out again."

Never in eight years of marriage had she talked like that. But, again, I didn't complain.

She tumbled off me and I had to struggle to slow my heartbeat. I lay there for a moment, amazed, shocked, disgusted and still bloody horny. She was grinning slyly at me.

"Well," she said. "You started it."

And I couldn't argue with that. Here I was, the cuckolder cuckolded and Jackie didn't know the half of it. And, as it turned out, neither did I. But we'd find out soon enough. And I still hadn't worked out how I got from there to here. But we'll work that one out next time.

To be continued (if anyone likes it, that is!)