The Duke of Cucks Pt. 01

The Duke of Cucks

Part One: The Duke's betrayal

Revelation of a wife's infidelity might lead a husband to react with violence, maybe even homicide, against one or both offenders. This was not how William "Duke" Forster responded to his wife's illicit and aberrant affair. It might have gone that way, were it not for how the indiscretion was discovered. Had Duke walked in on his wife in the throes of passion with her lover, he might have reached for a gun. But that's not how it happened; his discovery was serendipitous: a series of related coincidences blunted, and then redirected reaction to his wife's disloyalty.

Duke and his wife, Rose, had been married over ten years. Duke was older; she thirty-five, and he forty-six. She was a statuesque Texan (once a Miss Texas runner-up), a big buxom blonde bombshell, with long legs and a plump juicy ass. Duke was a big guy, 6'3" and almost as wide. Big in nearly every way. His big personality turned an old barn in Upstate NY into a thriving bar and restaurant. He was big-hearted, helping and supporting his community, a gregarious "gentle giant," who rarely spoke above a conversational tone.

Duke's shortcoming was just that: he was a giant "he-man" with a teeny tiny penis, which had disappeared completely below his enormous "bar belly," as he called it, over the last ten years. As may be expected, this attribute had significant effects on the couple's sex life. In the past five years, the couple had gone from rare to zero sexual contact. Duke had been effectively rendered asexual. He thought about it occasionally, but did nothing. No porn, no flirting, no masturbation... nothing!

Rose resorted to artificial aids; she had vibrators and dildoes hidden away, and used them regularly, especially when Duke worked late at the bar. Rose had an odd relationship to sex. Her strict Southern Baptist born-again parents had instilled in her great shame about sexuality and insisted she had to save herself for marriage. When she married Duke at 27, she had only had one sexual relationship, a brief and painful affair her senior year at a Christian college.

Rose regretted it and sought to forget that one sexual dalliance; so, she rededicated herself to the notion of procreative sex, exclusively within marriage. She "re-virginized" herself, remaining entirely celibate, no men, no dildoes, no masturbation... nothing. However, though she worked hard to repress it, she was plagued by lurid sexual fantasies, she couldn't quite explain. She prayed for God to punish her and take away these ghastly thoughts.

Rose presented herself to Duke as an unsullied religious virgin. Duke--because of his small problem--was not exactly a ladykiller. He'd had a couple of unsatisfying sexual encounters, and shied away from approaching women, in that way. In their small town, he remained the popular local high school football star, but never made a move. Before meeting Rose, he lived a "bachelor's" life alone in the hayloft, turned studio apartment, over the bar.

Rose interviewed for a waitress job and Duke fell in love on the spot. Her religious conviction helped him get over his fear of approaching her. He figured if she had never had sex with anyone, she would be less disappointed with what he had to offer in that vein.

They did nothing more than mild kissing in their six-month courtship; he hadn't even fondled her enormous breasts before marriage. In fact, not even on their wedding night because they missed their plane and ended up spending the night at an airport. The sex didn't work really from the start; Rose pretended it was fine, but over time, the frequency (never high) reduced to nothing and neither seemed to mind.

When they were first married, at least he was in better shape; but even so, it was not pleasurable to her. Duke's current lack of sexual interest pleased Rose. She had been loyal, but she was still troubled by grim sexual fantasies and had come to dread sex with Duke. He would thrash on top of her to get his wee pecker into her for a minute or two, gasping for breath like a landed carp. As she lay there, she'd speculate: if he had heart attack and collapsed on her, his bulk would crush and suffocate her. She didn't miss sex with Duke; but did miss the attention.

About two weeks before discovering her infidelity, Rose announced she was going to visit her sister in Dallas, for ten days. The second night she was away, there was a "break-in" at the bar; it was nearly imperceptible to all but Duke. The odd thing was there were no signs of forced entry. Even Duke would not have noticed, except the office door, which he triple-locked the night before, was only double-locked. The bar was his baby; he had built almost all of it with his own two hands, as he often mentioned. He knew every square inch of it intimately.

His suspicions aroused, he carefully inspected the safe inside. Anyone else would have missed it, but after 20 years of working in a place he built; he noticed a faint new scratch on the floor by the foot of the safe, as if it had been dragged out, and then pushed back. Later, while stocking the bar, already on alert, he noticed a $300 bottle of cognac missing.

But his precious Scotch collection was left intact. He didn't want to worry Rose, so he didn't mention the break-in, when they spoke on the phone that evening. The whole thing spooked him; he suspected an employee, so told no one. That morning, he arranged for the bar to be outfitted with an alarm system and surveillance cameras, early the very next morning, before anyone arrived. The bar didn't open until noon; he was always there hours before anyone else.

When Rose returned from Dallas, he told her about the alarm, but the cameras completely slipped his mind. They were strategically placed to be indiscernible. The first three nights, he checked assiduously in on the bar on his cell phone. Every twenty minutes he checked the video feed. Everything was quiet; by the third night, he took only one cursory look; by the end of the week, he totally forgotten about them. When Rose returned, he showed her how to use the alarm, but she was not great with these things. Because of his suspicion of an employee, he told her not tell anyone.

Rose would regularly close the bar on slower nights; she'd come in a couple of hours before closing, and Duke would go home to rest. The Tuesday after she got back from her sister's, she volunteered to close for him. She would normally pitch-in at the bar on and off during the day. During her trip, Duke exhausted himself having to do it all. He knew he would not get to sleep, so she suggested he take a pill, he added a swig of vodka.

The next day he awoke refreshed, though groggy, his wife's warm body lying next to him. He reached behind him and spanked her plump bottom playfully, but got no response; she seemed dead to the world. He decided to let her sleep, got up, went about his business, and headed to the bar before the crew arrived for lunch prep. When he got there, he found the alarm had been tripped the night before.

Then, he saw the alerts on his phone, he hadn't heard the night before: "Alarm activated 11:36 PM," "Alarm triggered 11:43 PM," "Alarm de-activated 11:44 PM," "Alarm activated 4:48 AM." Probably nothing, he thought. She set the alarm, forgot something and tripped it and reset it... but the re-activation this morning? Hmm. Maybe a glitch, maybe the power went out... who knows...? It was Tuesday night. The bar generally stayed open as long as someone was actively drinking; 11:30 was usually the upper limit on a Tuesday night.

He went on the app and reviewed the surveillance footage of that time span. At 11:42 the door opened and Rose and someone else (not sure who from the door, but a large man) walked through. She gestured him forward with her hands in the dimness of the outside light, and turned toward the light panel and the alarm. The man walked behind the bar familiarly and poured two drinks. Unwittingly, he looked right into the camera over the bar.

Duke recognized the man as Trent Lacey, a new regular, who he specifically remembered not being at the bar the previous night. Trent boasted being a retired Wall St. guy who had taken his golden parachute early and landed in the country for the simple pleasures of rural life. He was big like Duke and about the same age, but in much better shape.

Trent shared Duke's passion for single-malt Scotch Whisky and didn't mind plunking down $100 bucks for a shot of Duke's rarer stuff. Most of Duke's prized collection was for show, not drinking. He had a half-dozen $4000+ bottles, not to mention the $10K bottle of fifty-year-old MaCallan in the safe; he had shown them all to Trent.

On Duke's cell phone screen, Trent and Rose sat close, talking and drinking at the bar, then made out. He whispered something in her ear, and she led him by the hand back to the office. Duke's mind was reeling and his anger rising as he followed them, switching between cameras from the bar to the hallway and into the office, where he had two cameras, one focused from above the door to the window, and one on the safe in the corner, on the wall opposite.

In very short order, Trent got Rose naked and groped her big fat tits. It had been some time since Duke had seen his wife's naked body. The last few of months, she'd been on a strict diet and exercise plan. This was not unusual, from time to time she would go on a "health kick" for a while, sometimes she even lost some weight, but it would come back. This time, she had even hired a personal trainer down at the gym. Though still plump, it was clearly working, and she was looking sexier than she had in years.

As he switched between cameras to get the better view and paused and focused in on her glorious tits as Trent mauled them, he felt something he hadn't in a long time. His little pokey twitched, surprising even him. He felt down for his tiny package and rubbed at it through his pants. A moment before that, his head had been filling and being consumed by rage and despair, but unexpectedly, he--subconsciously--eagerly awaited watching what would follow.

What happened next shocked and further aroused him. Trent pushed his wife onto her knees in front of him, near the safe; she instantly placed her hands behind her back as if by rote; he tied his belt around her wrists, pulled her "big hair" sharply back and spat in her mouth before striking her face hard with his large hand. He had her pull down his zipper with her mouth, and out popped Trent's huge cock. Duke gasped audibly, when he saw the giant just inches from his pious wife's mouth.

Trent Lacey had appeared in their small town six months earlier, and Rose had been with him for almost four. At first, he "jokingly" flirted with her at the bar: "why if you weren't married to my good friend Duke..., woof..." She'd wave him off, but was thrilled by the attention, even if ironic. That's how it started; but when Duke wasn't around the flirting was more serious, less ironic, and the look on his face suggested true interest.

One night she was closing up, when he made sure to be the last one at the bar. He made the move she had been fantasizing about. That night, he fucked her right on the bar, balanced on a barstool, after sitting her up on the there and eating her out like she was the catch of the day. After that, it became a regular thing on nights she closed the bar. The bondage stuff started a month after. She was quite naïve about sex, especially for a hot wife nearing forty.

She had remained a virgin almost all the way through college, but then hooked up with a star athlete at the beginning of senior year. She had enjoyed it very much, but she thought they were in love and would get married. For him, she was just a fuck. Not what she expected from a boy at Christian college. They had done it three times, when he dumped her. In fact, it was immediately after the third time. He had been rough with her, even as she complained, and when he was done, he said:

"Hey, bitch! Get dressed and get the fuck out. You're just like fuckin' a dead fish, whore!"

She felt so guilty and unclean that she didn't have sex again... until Duke. Even before he put on weight, she didn't enjoy sex with him. Duke was like a giant kitten; he'd lick her all over to make up for the tiny peenie. He would lick her pussy, but it wasn't pleasurable, and she couldn't very well instruct him. At least, the arrogant college boy had a big cock and didn't fuck like a kitten. She loved Duke, and once sex was removed from the equation, she felt--oddly--closer to him. He was kind to her, protective, and very supportive; she didn't want to hurt him. But... something was missing.

Then... Trent became the third man with whom she had ever had sex. Once she had his big cock inside her, she thought of him as the only man for her. He had been so patient with her, exploring her fantasies and desires slowly, talking to her casually and easily, sometimes lewdly about fantasies she had deemed forbidden and had tried to repress.

Mostly, he knew she didn't need a kitten and recognized her submissiveness from the start; she needed discipline and training. He brought her along slowly; started with simple sexual commands "suck my cock," shifting from terms of endearment to insult: from "sweetheart" to "slut." But had been taking more and more risks with her, tying her up, striking her lightly with a belt. She had responded well and was always eager for more.

As it turned out, she lied about going to visit her sister in Dallas; she, in fact, had been tied up in Trent's basement, where he used and abused for ten days. She could hardly restrain her excitement as she waited for his visit, that Tuesday night. Sunday morning was the last time he had used her. Not "made love to" not even "fucked," but "used"; that's how he taught her to think of it. She was dying to be "used" that night, eagerly dripping below.

She was disappointed, when he hadn't shown up by closing time. Just after ten, the bar was empty, and she let the bartender, the last staff members, go home. Shortly after 11:30, she decided Trent wasn't coming, and closed up the bar including setting the new alarm, cleverly hidden inside the electrical panel box.

She couldn't believe Duke had installed that stupid thing, "what the fuck does he think is going to happen to his precious bar," she thought. He told her about the "break-in" and his suspicion of an employee, but she thought he was just being paranoid. She could couldn't even see the scratch on the floor (or distinguish it from all the other scratches) and maybe the brandy was gone a long time ago. It wasn't like they sold much of that stuff; nobody bought Duke's fancy booze, except Trent. She knew everyone on staff and didn't think any of them capable of it.

As she was about to get in her car, Trent turned into the parking lot in his BMW. She called him out for being so late; she was irked by his lack of care. But... it was delicious to her that he didn't need to fawn all over her like Duke; he was a dominant man who knew what he wanted and that she would give in. She rushed to open the door and went to turn the lights on and reset the alarm she didn't get to mention to Trent. As soon she let him in the door, he went into his dominant role and put her in her comfortable sub place.

"Bitch! Did you make sure I can use you all night!?" he shouted.

"Yes, Sir. He took an Ambien, with a vodka chaser; he'll be passed out 'til morning."

"Very well, slut. You know what tonight is, bitch? What will you give me, whore?"

"My... my... my ass, Sir. I will give you my ass to fuck."

"Ummm, hmmm! and such a delicious ass it is" and he spanked her big ass right at the crack. She purred in reply and held it out for him to spank again.

Once he had her on her knees in the office, he made her beg to suck his big cock. But grabbed her throat roughly choking her.

"Pweth, may ah thuck yer cock, thiir," she begged trying to keep from swallowing the wad of saliva he had spat into her mouth. He had taught her it was for lubrication while he throat-fucked her.

"Very well, whore!"

He plunged his cock down her throat, and she took it like a champ. He had trained her with dildoes; when they started, he could only get about half his cock in her mouth. But with patience and persistence, she now swallowed it whole and only gagged when he wanted her to. She felt it harden inside her throat that always pleased her and she made sucking motions and twirled her tongue around the intruder. When he was balls deep, she lapped at his big balls.

He pulled out of her and stuck his big balls in her mouth and made her suck on them. He slapped her face relatively hard and told her to look up at him. She looked up full of submission wanting even more humiliation from him, to serve him better. He had whipped her for the first time this past week, while she was "at her sister's."

A "light whipping," he told her, to train her for more later. She had seen the marks it had left in the full-length mirror in her dressing room, when she got home, and felt the bruises as she put on her clothes; it felt so decadent, like he was there with her. She had to be careful Duke didn't see, but he hardly noticed her anyway. It was thrilling to have them there, and he couldn't even tell. Like her lover was touching her, "using her," with Duke in the room. That thought gave her a clitoris a twinge.

"Alright, whore! Ass up head down." Trent roared at her back in Duke's office.

She did as commanded, but she also knew he would want her to arch her back and "present" her ass, so she dropped down to her shoulders, and stuck her luscious ass up in the air and spread her cheeks apart with her hands revealing the base of a butt plug lodged in her hole. He had made her wear it to prepare her for his cock. The whole night she kept feeling it there reminding her this would be the night he would use her ass for the first time.

The wet slimy feeling of the lube making her even hotter for his cock to finally pierce her anal cavity. He yanked it out and made her gape her asshole. He waved his big semi-hard dick at her body then began to piss in the open ass crack and directly into her hole. He put the cock right up to it and pushed a finger into each of her holes.

"Push out, slut!"

Most of the ten days with him, she spent wearing plugs in her ass and cunt, now she could gape on command. He pissed directly into her holes and called her "a nasty bitch whore" for it.

"I am! I'm your nasty bitch whore, Sir. Thank you for showing me that and pissing in my holes, Sir that feels so nice and warm. May I taste your piss, please, Sir."

He moved over to her head, placed his left foot, with his fancy Oxford shoes, on her back, and pissed down the side of her face and she slurped at it as it ran down. Then, of her own accord, began to slurp it up off his shoe and the floor. "Such a nasty fuckin' slut!" He chuckled.

He brought out some rope from a tote bag, lifted her back up on her knees by her piss-soaked matted blonde hair. He looped the rope around her neck, leaving two ends to bind her big tits together at their base, so they became projectiles. He folded her back into the ass up head down position and continued the rope ends between legs. He popped plugs into both her holes and used the rope to keep them in, and finished with the rope, by tying the ends back around her neck.

"You nasty fucking piss-whore, look at the mess you made in here. I want you to lick up this piss until it's clean. You don't want your tiny-dicked cuck husband finding out! Understood, whore!?" And he walked out of the room.

It was a huge effort for Rose to get around, let alone lick up the piss off Dukes filthy office floor. She struggled mightily to wriggle herself around slurping up piss. She did cheat a little, using her projectile tits to wipe up some of the piss. But she rubbed her nipples raw on the rough pine floor. She pretty much got all the piss up, but he was gone for a while. She waited it seemed like forever, her aching tits feeling the salty piss burn into them. She moaned and groaned from her predicament and the feeling of the plugs inside her.