The Occasional Cuckold Pt. 01

The Occasional Cuckold

My wife and I grew up in the same tiny town, though not quite at the same time. She is a few years older--which she never lets me forget. She babysat my sister and I, when I was 12 and my sister Carrie 9. I had a huge crush on her. She was a high school senior, dying to get out of our little Podunk town, and I was a skinny, nerdy 6^th grader, just discovering girls didn't have cooties. She was one of the few people that got "out" of our town. In fact, she left right after high school graduation immediately after prom. She dreamed of being a Broadway actress and took off for New York City.

She spent ten years there trying to break into show business, but mostly worked at a diner to pay her bills, or so she told me. She had done quite well, eventually owning the diner. But when her mother died, she decided to move back home to take care of her grieving old dad. I was one of the first people to see Kathleen when she got back in town. I had taken over my mother's realtor business (the only realtor in our teeny town). Her parents had run through their life savings caring for her mother before she died, and her dad had to sell the house.

He was living in a makeshift apartment above the Henderson's garage three blocks from my house. My parents had retired down in Florida; they refused to live through one more Northeastern winter. My sister was off to college, so it was just me living in our huge 5-bedroom house on Main St, and running the family realtor business.

Kathleen came in looking for a proper house to care for her father and a commercial space to re-establish her diner here, in Honeyvale, our small town. The commercial space turned out to be easy; she bought the old mill, which she would renovate into a full-service bar/restaurant. She seemed to have unlimited funds and was ready to pay cash for everything. Housing was much more difficult. There just wasn't very much inventory.

She was staying out at the seedy motel by interstate, with her dad still in the Henderson room. I was living alone in a large Colonial, so I proposed they could stay with me. After much hemming and hawing, she agreed. I had never really gotten over my crush, and eventually we got together. We got married after a year of them living with me. Her father died the year after that.

I thought of us as a very happily married couple. She was gorgeous, her face a perfect oval, her fair freckled skin radiant. Her flaming red hair in curls around her shoulders and she has the cutest button nose, brilliant blue eyes that shine like diamonds. Her body is just as magnificent. She has big natural pendulous titties with knobby pink nipples.

Our sex life, I thought, was happy and creative. She was very demanding of sex. I had never been very well-endowed so I spent a lot of time eating her out; she would demand it, often forcefully. She would push my head into her hairy bush and guide me by the hair to do what she wanted. I would get so horny from this, that I would often barely get in her pussy before I came. When that happened, she'd push my head back down there and to lick her clean. We were married three years, acted like newlyweds, our businesses were thriving. Life was good!

It was the week before homecoming; something neither of ever paid much attention to. The town was making a big deal about it this year because our most famous alum, was running for US Senate, and was home for a visit. I got home from work and found a flyer for the big high school dance on the kitchen table. The band playing was the Rambling Flamingoes, who, I learned from Kat, had played at her graduation.

She seemed excited and nervous for a whole week. I had no idea why she would care about who played at a high school dance. Because our town was so dead, and we had limited graduates, high school dances were highjacked by the adults, who would have a communal event side-by-side. The parents (and even adults without children) would use the opportunity of kids being busy, to have a night out. We had never been to one, but suddenly Kat had to go to the big mall two towns over to get a gown for it.

She said she'd pick me up a new white shirt and get my good suit cleaned and pressed. I was flummoxed. I tried asking for an explanation, but she played it off as just something to do. The Wednesday morning, just before the big dance, she was up with the sun, like a farmer, which we never did. Normally, she'd waltz into her restaurant at ten, as the head chef was in the middle of lunch prep, and I'd never scheduled a showing before eleven, if I didn't have to.

She was gone all day; when she got back, she had bunch of shopping bags. She bought two gowns--she couldn't decide which one was right. She showed me the gowns, holding them up in front of her. But in the other bags, I spied items that looked like lingerie, which she did not model for me. She looked through the bags for the shirt she had gotten me. As she did, I could spy other items she wasn't showing.

There were these shoes; I couldn't quite make out how they could possibly work. They were like super high heels, with the foot seemingly on tip-toe. Some of the lingerie was really racy. I was salivating; I figured she wanted to surprise me with those later. She also handed me a small gift-wrapped box.

"Look, honey! I got you a little gift, too. But you can't open it until I tell you, promise?!"

I took the box, which I instantly thought may be a watch. It was small, but had some weight to it. I shook it and got no sense of it. "Okay, thank you, honey. This dance is kind of a big deal to you?"

"Oh, no hon! Don't worry; it's just a fun thing to do. We never do anything, and everyone's so excited this year."

I guess... But why had she said, "don't worry?" That disturbed me, but I convinced myself it was "just an expression." I couldn't stop thinking of seeing her in all that lingerie and those shoes! She also smelled delicious, like a mixture of a fine liqueur and a tropical fruit. Her face was even more radiant than usual, her eyes more sparkly. She had obviously spent some hours at the spa.

I was really turned on just watching her twirl around the house; I was sure, I'd get lucky that night. When we were going to bed, I expected her to come out of then-suite bathroom in one of the risqué lingerie ensembles I had noted in the bags, but she was wearing old pajama pants and a thin threadbare sweatshirt, a pretty clear signal; but I tried, nonetheless.

"Oh, Aww, no, baby, not tonight. I am too tired. Raincheck?" She intoned.

"Raincheck." She kissed me, turned over, and was dead asleep in five minutes.

I laid there thinking through the past week or so, just confused. Well, I thought, the big dance was in two days and then everything would go back to normal. And maybe, I'd finally get to see her in one of those outfits. I went to sleep hopeful.

The next day we had a brunch with the business group sponsoring the preparations for the "future" Senator's visit and then came home. She had to head over to the restaurant to supervise preparation for the candidate's special dinner, to which we were invited, but she said she had to work the whole time and it would have been awkward for me to be alone.

I was actually happy for the time alone. I had been so turned on by the whole lingerie expectation that I was eager to have a bit of time alone with my recent porn fascination... big black cocks. I had recently developed an attraction to these videos. I was never much of a masturbator or porn fan, but Kat had suggested it, to help with what she called my "preemies." She suggested I could masturbate on my own and then be able to last longer with her.

We had watched one together "to get me started." When she opened the porn cite, there was a list of the popular clips. She clicked on one titled "Black Monsters Destroy White Wife's Holes," before I had chance to see what else was on the list. It started mid-stroke, with one big fat cock sliding in and out of this white girl's ass, while another assaulted her mouth violently. I was instantly in awe and so horny.

After a while of just watching naked on the couch, with my dick stiff and erect, my wife leaned over to me. I looked over at her. "Don't look at me! Keep your eyes on the screen!" She purred in my ear and jerked me off. I came in under three minutes.

"Awww!" She cooed, as she wiped and scraped the cum off my dick. She opened her mouth looking at me and nodding. I opened my mouth, and she fed me my cum, and had me suck on her fingers, until my dick was cleaned off. "See, you do that a few times, then when we have sex, you'll last longer. But I don't want to see it, okay? You do this by yourself whenever you want."

I agreed, but it never really worked as intended. She was vehement about not wanting to see me masturbate. I had to time it just right, and even when I had masturbated just before, I couldn't really hold it back; I'd still come with just a few strokes in her pussy. Her rule was I had to make her come first with my mouth, as a kind of guarantee. But it took so long I would always be overexcited by the time I got in her pussy; the videos only made me hornier all the time.

I watched BBC videos exclusively, and many of them had to do with white wives being gangbanged, while the husband watched. I started my session, while Kat was at the restaurant, by looking through my list of recent views, I opened one I was eager to get back to and began my session. I had found it best to just watch and not touch my penis as long as possible. I was really getting into it, when the landline phone rang.

This was rare, but it was always either a scam call or the restaurant. I saw it was the restaurant and figured it was Kat for something important. I picked up the phone; it was Megan, the head chef. She wanted to know if Kat was on her way back yet. I was confused and said she had not been back. "Oh, she said... never mind, she said she had to go for something she forgot, but maybe it wasn't at home? Sorry, bye."

As I hung up, I was somewhat disturbed, but I didn't think too much about it. It could have been anything: she had to pick something up at the store, or was still on her way. I picked up my cell to call her, but decided against it and restarted my video and did my thing.

I didn't hear when Kat got in that night; it was well after midnight, and the next day she slept until ten, then went right to the restaurant. We were hosting a luncheon for the graduates. We did not get a chance to talk; she came back home in a whirlwind and had to go back to the restaurant for dinner service because they were booked solid. Again, she didn't get home until really late; we had not said more than a few words to each other for three days.

The next day she slept in, and laid around until it was time to get ready for the big dance. She spent an inordinate amount of time in the bath. I knocked on the door, then just kind of barged in to check on her. She hadn't heard me; she was in a kind of trance. I saw her with one of her long legs perched on the edge of the double sink, with the mirror she normally used to apply makeup reflecting a totally bald pussy I had never seen before.

Her fire red bush was a major personal trait, I had never seen her naked mound before. She was applying rouge to her pale pussy lips, which was strange enough, what really surprised and shocked most, though, was on the freshly waxed mound, where the dense red bush had been, was a discrete tattoo in the shape of a spade (♠) with a "Q" on one side and "BD" on the other.

"Honey??!!"

"Oh, sweetheart! I am sorry." She look over at me uncertainly then at the reflection in the mirror. "I will explain it all to you, I promise, but we have to get going, now! Don't worry, come on."

"Well, I wouldn't worry if you wouldn't keep telling me not to worry, or knew why you had a queen of spades tattooed under your bush." A month before, I would have had no idea, but then I knew exactly what it meant, from the videos I had been watching.

"I know, I know, Martin honey, and I will explain all that, but just trust me: it'll be better for you, if we don't keep him waiting."

"Waiting?! What! Who?"

"Just trust me, honey, okay. We'll be alright! Here, help me finish getting ready; he will be pleased to know you helped prepare me for him."

"WHAT! This is crazy, what are you talking about?"

"Look here, Martin! We don't fuckin' have time for this shit! Just do as I say... okay... honey... please?! See that leather strap on the toilet? Hit my pussy with it. He likes it to be red before he starts. C'mon!"

I was in complete shock, but she kept pushing me; I was moving like my feet were melted to the floor. I couldn't believe or understand what was going on with my wife, whom I loved and trusted completely up to this point. She hurried me through steps in her preparation. I had to put on her garter belt and garters. Dab rouge on her big pink nipples--"he liked them to be darker"--and a number of other humiliations to prepare her, for whom? I still didn't know.

I was still totally in the dark, when we were finally ready to go; I had a fleeting thought it might have to do with the Senate candidate, but he was a white guy, and everything started after band flyer. It must have to do with the band.

At the dance, we saw people we hadn't seen in years, we were mingling and eating hors d'oeuvres and drinking, feeling a very "reunion" vibe. The kids' party, in the gym had a DJ; the Rambling Flamingoes were just for the adult side in the auditorium. Kat regularly scanned the stage where the instruments were all set up, but the band was nowhere in sight. She looked nervously around, and struggled to maintain a calm demeanor.

She was usually great at chit-chat, but was not really paying much attention to what was being said. Finally, Harold, the emcee for the event, got up to the microphone, said a few words of introduction. First, he called up the senate candidate, who spoke for a few minutes about how good it was to be home and his campaign. As he was getting off the stage, a tall handsome older Black man approached the candidate, and they shook hands like they were acquainted.

Harold held the mic up to introduce the band.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are honored tonight to have the great Rambling Flamingoes with us once again. Their longtime manager and leader will introduce the members of the group, give it up for Darnell 'Big Daddy' Clinton!"

"Evenin' folks!" he said in deep basso-profundo and paused for effect, then waved his arms, for more adulation. Pretty much the whole town had turned out.

"I don't know if ya'll heard me; I said: 'evenin', folks!"

"EVENIN', Big Daddy!" The crowd cheered.

"Yeah! Da's right! Ladies and Gentleman, I'd like to introduce the Rambling Flamingoes: on bass..."

He proceeded to introduce the six members of the band, as they came out. Three of them were large Black older gentlemen, like himself; the drummer was a skinny young white guy, the piano player was a young Black woman with a big gorgeous afro that defied gravity. And the singer was large older Black woman with an incredible presence and a voice that could fill a stadium.

"Big Daddy" Darnell, jumped off the stage spryly for a large older man, then meandered over to where we were greeting and waving at people as he came. The band began to play.

"Well, Kathleen Davis, as I live and breathe!" Davis was her maiden name.

She offered her hand, and he clasped hers in both his giant paws, then gallantly brought it to his lips and kissed it, lingeringly. I was now sure this must be the dude all the preparation (the rouged nipples, the spa, the ♠, was for. He pulled her toward him, and subtly led us off away from the people we were near and the sound of the band, until we were relatively isolated, and he whispered, so I could just hear.

"How's ma favorite whore? Is ya' pussy wet for me, baby?"

"Yes, Big Daddy!" she staged whispered, making sure I heard.

He finally looked at me and the look on my face must have given away my astonishment.

"Big Daddy, this is my... uhm... husband... uhm... Martin Cosgrove." She said nervously and deferentially.

"Bitch, he don't know? do he?"

"No, Sir! I couldn't quite tell him, Sir."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance UhmMartin." He said and stuck out his giant bear claw.

"It's... just Mmmartin." I stuttered nervously.

He tightened his grip mid handshake, until it hurt my hand, then he pulled me in and whispered in my ear: "You don't think, I fuckin' know that, uhmMmmartin. Your name is whatever the fuck I say it is. Understand?!"

"Yes!" He tightened his grip further until I said, "Yes, Sir."

"Kathleen, I got the band booked in that fleabag on the highway, so we'll be using your house tonight. Somma the boys might be over later. I just have to do a little of the meet and greet; you and the uhm...hubby, go wait in the limo for me. I don't want you hanging around in heah. All these bumpkins ogling you in that dress, wid yo titties all hanging out."

"Yes, Sir, Big Daddy!" Kat cooed sweetly. I couldn't believe how obedient and docile she was with him. She was usually agreeable to me, unless she lost her temper, but I couldn't order her around like that.

We went back to the limo and waited, as he commanded. He was true to his word; it was maybe half an hour until he sauntered into the limo. While we waited, I again asked Kat who this guy was, and she said, he was the manager of the Rambling Flamingoes.

"So, all your prep and warnings about being late was for the manager of an R and B cover band playing a high school dance?"

"No, he's much more than that, obviously, but he'll explain. Just know this: I do love you, but I can't talk about who he is. I can tell you that I am his submissive and agreed long ago to obey his every command. I never really knew how to tell you, and I didn't expect him to come up here again. I thought I'd just be seeing back in New York and you'd never meet."

After much probing, that was as much as I could finally get from her, before he came into the limo. My mind was racing, but getting nowhere. I kept going in circles. She said she still loved me, but how could this work. I felt humiliated and distressed, but images from the videos I had been watching kept playing in my head, but with my wife as the slut and Darnell "Big Daddy" as the big cock.

"You, uhmMmmartin. Drive your car back to yo house, we'll meet you there. I have private business to discuss with my ho." He gave me a look that made me just click open the door and follow his command.

On the drive home, I was livid, gutted, despondent, and aroused at the same time. My mind lurched from topic to topic; my heart felt like it would leap out of my body, and I was hyperventilating. I felt beyond betrayed. I sobbed wildly and loudly. It took me forever to get home; I turned down random roads, paused when I couldn't see the road for my tears. A few blocks from our house, the limo passed me going the other way. When I got home, I found them in the living room.

He made the couch he sat on look small, in fact, the whole room shrunk by his presence. My wife was kneeling between his wide-spread legs. He was inspecting her like a horse trader overlooking a mare. She kept her hands behind her back and her eyes down unless he asked her to respond.

"Well, you took your sweet time, faggot!"

"Uhm, I'm not..."

"Stop! Look, uhmMmmartin--shit, I don't like that anymore, from now on you're... erm... Martina... no wait, Tina. Yeah, Tina! You're a faggot, if I say you're faggot, and you'll suck cock too, if I tell you to."

"What!? Who do..." I began to raise my voice, but thought better of and words died on my lips.

"Honey, please just do as Big Daddy asks; just admit you're a faggot; there is no shame in it, baby, just admit it, hon!"