The Cuckquean Dream

Vicky admired the rippling mountain of muscle directly above and in front of her as masculine hands pushed her ankles up higher, and then higher yet again. Behind him she could see the ceiling of her living room high above, her back on a sturdy long coffee table.

His low, resonant voice spoke plainly "Does that feel good? Can you take more of it?"

"Oh yeah, give me more." she replied, quite matter-of-factly, grinning.

She grunted as he thrust forward again, her legs going even higher, her calves stretching as she felt the warmth of his body pressing against the back of her thighs, her groin. She continued to work her hips upward, sweating a bit. Finally she was reaching her limit, he had her totally stretched out.

She finally blurted out, "Oh god I can't take it anymore. Down, down..." He obliged, moving his large frame backwards and bringing her ankles back out with him.

"Hell yeah girl, good job!" He exclaimed with a smile, reaching out a hand to help her upright again, "That's twenty reps! You're killing it!"

She smiled broadly back at him, reaching for his hand and sitting up. She really liked Jim, her personal trainer, though she couldn't deny that her primal appetites may have affected her decision making process. She was reminded of it constantly, as all two hundred and forty pounds of his chisel-sculpted, ebony-skinned body dangled in front of her eyes like a prime steak wrapped in gray spandex. At that he was a stellar trainer: in their increasingly long post-workout lunches he had explained his career ambitions in Sports Medicine, and how he was working as a trainer to afford grad school.

Jim was none too upset about the arrangement, either. A quick pickup in the gym had instead turned into a lucrative client relationship. He had first seen her on the treadmill from behind, watching her firm butt sway with each stride. Her blonde hair all wound up in an improvised twirl, she had flashed a smile at him as he walked past and turned back to try and steal a glance at her face. That day she saw his face on a business card tacked to the locker room bulletin board and e-mailed him. He had quickly learned that established women in their 40s, left wanting for very little, were much more willing to pay the high price he had set without haggling down. Especially if they wanted house calls.

Sitting up again, she reached her dainty hand out and grabbed onto the pillar of Jim's neck, pulling herself forward and resting the other hand on his firm chest. "Do you have time for a cooldown, Jimmy?"

He looked around at the family room of the large home, noticing the framed pictures of Vicky's very white, very nuclear family. It had always made him a bit uncomfortable, feeling like an intruder in their home. "I don't know Vicky, we got started a bit later than usual. It's almost 4pm."

"Oh please, he'll be working until after I'm in bed," she groaned, instantly wishing she had not brought up her husband. It didn't make her feel good to think about. Steven was her loving partner of 15 years, and a good person at that. He worked hard to help others in his career, and he was a consummate family man. Her problem wasn't with what he was, but what he wasn't. Vicky had been a bit of a firecracker in her early years - she had quickly learned that bombshell blondes can usually get what they want if they put a little elbow grease into it. And she had, repeatedly over the years, abused that fact. But as the coke-fueled beach orgies of her twenties became a distant memory, she still craved some excitement. Even if she didn't need a village of young men anymore, she still craved the excitement of a muscular body to overpower her. Sometimes she still found herself masturbating in bed next to her sleeping husband, wishing he would tie her up, take her, call her names. Things that Steve just couldn't bring himself to do, things that he had tried before and failed miserably; feeling that it just wasn't him, that he didn't want to punish his wife.

Her conscience hadn't stopped her from cheating before, but it was complicated. She wasn't heartless, after all. She loved Steven. But in the times of the year when he would always be at work late she found herself wanting desperately. One time on a trip to visit her hometown she had found herself in her hotel room, letting a young man eat her out. It opened the gates, and within a year, internet cybering dalliances turned into meeting random men to fuck it out once or sometimes twice a year. Jim was her first cheating partner that wasn't a one-off.

Jim carefully considered his options, trying not to be distracted by the feminine hand sweeping down across his abs and then gently running a fingernail along the length of his manhood, which was pulsing and straining against the stretchy fabric of his exercise outfit. He stared at the forty-something woman sitting before him, admiring the work he had done. Vicky was still a head-turner, her blonde hair framing a pretty face that had to be inspected closely to see the telltale signs of aging. Months ago she had come to him complaining that her stomach felt chubby and that her thighs were too big - he had almost laughed, as her body was nowhere near what he would have described as chubby, but he could understand how a woman with her self-image might struggle with the concept of her body having flaws at all. In those months they had tightened her up, though not to Vicky's satisfaction as of yet. Her body was frankly still exquisite, a thing of beauty any man would appreciate even if it was in its middle years. And he was no different.

The hand around his neck squeezed, and the other deftly reached for the waistband of his workout shorts and pulled. He sighed as his erect member shot upward, released from the fabric. Vicky smirked as she took it in her hands, jerking it lightly and looking up at him. It was enormous in her hands, her thumb and middle finger not even touching wrapped around it. She scooted in toward him, continuing to jerk her hands over the sweaty pole and taking in his musk as she brought it just below her chin, his sack resting against cleavage between her tensed arms. The jerking and how it made his balls slap against her soft skin was too much. He grunted and gave way, throwing his workout shorts downward and stepping out of them. Vicky let out a cute squeal and eagerly pulled her shorts down, exposing a wispy blonde bush matted with sweat, her pink labia already opened up. Her legs spread wide for him as she reached out and grabbed the dick again, pumping it generously, wanting it at full-mast before he took her. She swore the thing looked bigger than the water bottle she had on the table as she guided it to its destination.

An anguished cry shot out across the room as the head popped in; somehow she had still not adjusted to the width of it in the past weeks. He held her ankles wide, struggling to resist the urge to thrust forcefully. They both watched in rapture as each tiny little movement back and forth made more and more of the dark shaft disappear between her lily-white thighs, both of them groaning as each inch increased their pleasure by precisely that much. He was entranced by how her little pink inner labia gripped and stretched with each thrust, a sharp contrast to his color. Their desperation matched a made-for-tv miniseries: no foreplay, no details, just two bodies desperate to fuck each other senseless. As it reached the halfway point the thing was wet enough to be bold, and he finally lost control and rammed it in, watching her sports-bra clad breasts shake and settle from the blow. Vicky wailed loudly, one hand grasping the table for dear life as the other struggled to find whether it needed to be squeezing her own breast or rubbing her clit.

His firm hands came to grip her hips and he used the leverage to easily toss her back and forth on his rod, much to her amusement. Again and again the tip bashed against her cervix, the pain of it a delicious, worthwhile pleasure. She watched his abs ripple with each thrust and lowered a hand to her most delicate spot, feeling her thighs begin to tighten.

*******************

"That's bullshit, Carl, and you know it," Steven spoke with disgust, "the family has been in the area since 1962. They have children. Grandchildren even. One of their sons is in medical school!"

Steven knew this case was in the bag. He continued to build up leverage against the forces trying to deport his clients and explained them to Carl, his government liaison, hardly paying attention to what he was saying. It was nearly 4pm and he was ready to leave. He wasn't worried, he knew that the documents he was nearly finished preparing would put the case to rest. He couldn't drop it on Carl yet though; he had to keep him in the dark. Steven shot a glance through the glass of his office to his secretary, Maria, making a circular hand motion in the air and pleading with his eyes.

She immediately saw and reached for the phone. Smiling, she had mock panic in her voice as she interjected into the conversation, "Excuse me Mr. Reilly. Your wife is on line two and it's urgent."

Steven smiled back, giving a thumbs up, "Shit. Thank you Maria. Look Carl, I gotta run, but I'm confident I'll have something to you by next week and we can finally put this thing to bed. I'll get you on Monday or Tuesday." He hurriedly put the phone down on the receiver, relieved.

Maria watched him start to collect papers from his desk, stuffing his bag with the notes he would need if he wanted to work from home later in the evening. He was leaving a bit early and that meant so could she. She adored Steven, or Mr. Reilly as she still called him, despite his insistence she call him Steve. Nearly half a decade ago he had saved her brothers and sisters from deportation and had paved the way for them to eventually achieve citizenship. He had done the work pro-bono at the time; partially because he was a good guy and partially because he was earlier in his career and needed the reputation boost. Years later, when she turned 26 and tired of having her ass grabbed at the local Hooters she had found herself working at, he had offered her a job as a secretary in his legal office. The reasonably generous hourly rate and benefits had completely transformed her life, enabling her to have her own place and help her own relatives when they were in need.

He wasn't quite the masculine, virile stud of a man that she constantly found herself fending off or entertaining in her own neighborhood; but she found him attractive none the less. He was in reasonably good shape for someone twenty years her senior, with an average build and only the smallest hint of a gut. She found his hairy body and male pattern baldness sexy, reminding her of an American action star she couldn't remember the name of. Further it reminded her a bit of a father, a kind one; the one she had never had. Over the past years getting to know him she had found herself becoming increasingly flirtatious with him, a game they both found immensely entertaining. He always indulged in it without letting it go too far, and she respected that.

Well, usually. Two years ago they had a Holiday Party for the firm, and as was commonplace in the office drinks were flowing liberally. She was several shots deep and bold enough to aggressively encourage Mr. Reilly's consumption. Once he was good and sloshed, she told him to meet her in his office in five minutes to discuss a call she had gotten about a case. When he entered about seven minutes later, he was surprised to find all the blinds closed. No lights were on, and there wasn't a sound in the office. He decided to sit down at his desk and wait for her. Upon falling into his chair and turning he was taken aback by the vision in front of him: Maria was sitting, legs to the side, under his desk. Her blouse was halfway unbuttoned but she was otherwise entirely clothed. It was hard to remember anything about that night, but the one thing Steven remembered vividly was the way she hungrily unzipped his slacks and enveloped his cock in her mouth expertly, it's average size a breeze for Maria to handle. He wasn't sure it ever left her mouth until he was wildly bucking his hips, watching his semen drip in little streams down her chin and down into the gorgeous valley of cleavage between her blouse lapels.

And Steven had trouble shoving that image from his mind as he walked out the door of his office, glancing down at the generously exposed cleavage Maria had presented that day. He didn't do much to discourage her from wearing appealing clothing unless he had recent complaints from other partners at the firm, which were not common. He felt his libido stir as he walked by and saw her smooth, young thighs pressed together. He placed a kind hand on her shoulder, the thumb grazing the skin of her collarbone.

"You're a life-saver Maria. If it weren't for you Carl might've kept us here until tomorrow."

"Oh please Mr. Reilly, I'm only returning the favor," she winked at him. "Besides, your wife has urgent matters for you to tend to, no?" On her shoulder she rested her hand atop his, squeezing gently with her manicured red nails. They both felt the jolt.

He rolled his eyes back at her, sarcasm on his tongue. "Oh yes, terribly urgent I'm sure." He realized as the words left his mouth that Maria was referencing their phone excuse, and that his response was more akin to an admittance that the only urgent matter his wife typically needed him for was a financial one. The kids had left the nest, but the spark of their early years hadn't returned as they expected. The empty house, in his mind, was more a memorial to all the fucking they weren't doing on every surface of the home. He hoped Maria didn't catch his meaning, though he suspected she might.

Maria deflected, not wanting to imply anything that might stress him out, "Get out of here, go home early!"

"How generous of you." They exchanged a knowing smirk, and he waved, taking in a last glance of her cheery face before walking out the main door and heading toward his car.

He thought again about Vicky, his wife. He certainly felt some shame over what happened at that Christmas Party, but he had never allowed it to happen again, as he had sworn himself that night. That shame was tempered by circumstances though; for over a decade he had suspected Vicky of cheating on him. He never found proof, but there were breadcrumbs all over. His wife's friends' accounting of various stories did not always sync up and corroborate each other, especially that time all the girls had flown off to Mexico for a bachelorette party when a friend had re-married. When texts became commonplace, he would awaken to find her texting in the dark, clearly being cautious not to let him see the screen if he walked by toward the bathroom. One time he did laundry for her when she was sick, and he found suspicious stains inside her panties. Too big and thick to be her body's, and they hadn't fucked in months. Still, he knew he was a somewhat jealous man. He tried to smooth his mind over as he took off down the road, wanting to enter the home calm and collected as ever, lest they get into a snit over a minor miscommunication.

******************

Not long after, his car pulled up to the townhouse they had on the Northwest side of the city, making him anxious to get out of his suit, it being rather hot that day. He paused for a moment as he approached the door. He heard loud groaning coming from inside, and after waiting a moment he laughed lightly to himself. "Incorrigible, that woman." Every few weeks for the past months, he would return to find his naked wife truly taking advantage of the empty home: watching hardcore pornography on the living room TV, sprawled out on the couch with her thighs spread wide, usually an enormous dildo buried inside her. It drove him wild, and when he walked into this situation he had come to expect some wild sex, a precious thing that came around to him in his marriage only every so often. He felt his loins stir again as he gently keyed the door, not wanting to interrupt her.

The wet sounds of sloppy coitus reverberated through the entry hall as he opened the door quietly, accompanied by the squeals of a woman and the grunts of what sounded like a bull of a man. "Oh god it's enormous, it's so much bigger than my husbands, I'm gonna cum!" he heard a sultry voice gasp out between high-pitched squeaks. Steven grinned and walked toward the living room, his pants tight. As he usually did, he came around the corner behind the couch, wanting to catch her in the act before he revealed himself. But he was entirely unprepared for the vision before him.

Standing in the center of the room was a towering black male, easily a foot taller than himself. Upon his thick arms laid the white thighs of his wife, spread entirely open, a raging hard-on buried deep in the pink valley between. He grunted heartily as he used his muscle to lift her up and down upon it, re-impaling her again and again as she wailed, both of them facing the same direction. Her breasts flopped lewdly up and down in the sports bra as she bounced, her jaw agape. She leaned back into him, "Fucking fill me up! You like the thought of that creamy load dripping into my panties while I'm cooking him dinner later, don't you?"

Clearly the words inspired the man, who stopped tossing her up and down and began to feverishly pump himself in and out, the rod a blur as it flew in and out of his wife's sloppy, dripping cunt.

Steven stood stunned, mentally wrestling with the image, and beginning to feel his own furious anger raising with his blood pressure. He watched as the cock continued to pound her until it didn't, thrusting in entirely with a final grunt. He recognized the telltale signs of his wife cumming as she grit her teeth and screamed through them, wincing. The stationary member, base still visible and wet at her vaginal entrance, visibly pulsed as the man unloaded inside his wife. Moments later bits of white froth began to bubble out, her insides reaching capacity as it started to drip onto the carpet. It was in that moment Steven's mind snapped, some ten seconds after he had taken in the sight.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" he bellowed, charging into the room.

***********************

Moments later, Vicky frantically tore across the room in tears, running away from them both. She had grabbed her workout shorts from the floor and instinctively covered her groin, which struggled to conceal the viscous white streams going down her thighs. Steven was shouting incomprehensibly, hands in the air, finger pointing aggressively in Jim's face. She was terrified her husband would be leaving the house in an ambulance.

But Jim was keeping his cool. It was modern-day America and he was in a white lawyer's house. He was already terrified of the consequences, but he would be more so if he beat this man to a pulp. Beyond that, he truly didn't have anything against Jim. In fact, he actually felt kinda bad for the guy who had just walked in to witness him destroying his wife's most sacred areas. Jim struggled for words.

"Look man, I w-" he started before the furious smaller man erupted.

"WHAT? You were WHAT, you Terry Crews piece of shit!" Steven's flailing arms erupted into a swing at Jim's face, a swing that Jim easily deflected with a small movement of his arm.

"Fuck," Jim said loudly but plainly, looking over at the sobbing Vicky, his seed still leaking from her and dripping down her leg. He realized there was only one right thing to do, and that was to leave. He quickly moved away from Steven, grabbed his shorts and gym bag, walking into the hallway. He was relieved that the angry husband did not follow. Quickly throwing on the spandex shorts, he hustled toward the door and turned back to see them one last time, Steven standing with his fists balled.