Too Exciting Ch. 04

Story Info
Nick describes how he cuckolded Andrew.
4.9k words
4.4
19.6k
8

Part 4 of the 5 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 02/23/2017
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
NSCarter
NSCarter
309 Followers

[Note to readers: Don't start here! It is better to start with Chapter 1 so that you will have some idea of what is going on. For those of you that have read this far please remember there are two narrators: Nick writing the main body of the text, and Lily adding her comments (without Nick's knowledge) in italics.]

Chapter 4

In which Nick decides to finish with Sandra – is reminded of a shameful episode and learns to see it in a new light

I was going to have to do something I hated; to be the one to break off the relationship. What was I going to say when Sandra wanted to know why? In a moment of detached insight I realised that an outsider might see something rather cold in a man who could be thinking like this only minutes after his lover had gone.

Maybe she would notice that where once I might have invited her to stay overnight, or at least walked her home, which was not that far away, I now called a taxi, by that pretty much deciding that she was going whether she liked it or not. But then again it was not really me that she was going to bed with but rather what I think of as 'the mask', and I am no longer sure that the mask is the blessing I used to think. And this time I had been thinking of that disturbing girl in the room below, even while Sandra had writhed beneath me, and I had even for a moment worried that I might inadvertently have said Lily's name, but if I did she had not noticed.

Wow. I must be getting to him already. This is great – kind of a literary version of 'mirror, mirror, on the wall ...'

The next morning, returning from a book-buying expedition I had occasion to think of the mask again.

There should be a special word for when a revelation forces you to reinterpret a remembered episode. It would have to be one of those long German words like Schadenfreude; drawing on my schoolboy German maybe something like Speichererdbeben – a 'memory earthquake'. My Speichererdbeben concerned a rather exciting, if also shameful episode. The one time to my knowledge I had cuckolded someone.

Nick? Cuckold someone? I never knew you had it in you. I want to know more.

The whole scenario was bizarre from the start. An invitation out of the blue, from Andrew Barnett. I had known him from the university chess team, and given that I had first replaced him as captain and then dropped him from the regular team, it was hardly a good basis for a life-long friendship.

The problem with Andrew was not his chess; unlike me he was willing to put in the hours learning opening theory; but rather his mental strength, his will to win, or rather lack of it. In practice sessions he was the one everyone consulted with difficult endgames, on how to solve the hardest problems; but in a competitive game it all changed. He made stupid beginner's mistakes, taking way too long to think about standard situations, leaving himself in terrible time trouble.

As much as anything else it was curiosity that made me accept the invite. Andrew wanted us to play chess and, basking in the glow of the recent success of my first novel, I was quite willing to let Andrew have the cathartic experience of beating me, of being able to say 'he may be a famous author but I wiped the floor with him'.

When I turned up at the house I got more than one surprise. I had assumed that Andrew would be in a bachelor flat, either excessively tidy or a squalid pit. But no, it was a decent-sized detached house in a good neighbourhood. And there was a pretty, rather diffident wife!

Inside I laughed at myself for all my misconceptions, how I had got it all so wrong. So much for the perceptive novelist!

The wife, Faith (a name I would never have dared to invent in the light of what was too happen), struck me as being ideal for Andrew. She was rather shy, only briefly meeting my eyes before glancing away and actually blushing in a rather fetching manner. 'Demure' was the word that came to mind, with a rather old-fashioned dress and those tight little Victorian style high-heeled ankle boots, which for some reason I have always found a turn-on. Their home was rather more stylish than I would have imagined and the art on the walls a little more edgy than I would ever have expected.

And Andrew was different. More comfortable in his skin, and his eyes had aged far more than the years would allow: there seemed to be a look of cynical wisdom in them.

Since Faith was inclined to stick around I tried to engage her in small talk, although it was rather hard going. She worked in a second-hand bookshop, which was a perfect fit with the impression she made on me. I could imagine her hiding among dusty bookcases, an unknowing object of lust for lonely furtive old men of all ages, until one day Andrew had mustered the courage to ask her out. And she sang madrigals in a choir. Candlelit frigid churches and men with overly neat beards and badly-knitted jumpers.

Despite the apparent change in him, in other ways the evening had corresponded more to the Andrew I remembered. Insecurity and bluster. He wanted to play chess, and this time he was going to beat me. He suggested putting money on the game, a thousand pounds, and Faith had responded, with a very young sounding voice, slightly pleading,

"But Andy, you know we can't spare that kind of money. I'm sure that Nick being a successful author and everything, it would just be small change to him, but that's almost a month's salary for you".

Even at the time I felt like taking her on one side and telling her that was the worst possible approach she could take. Pointing to my success was going to 'push all his buttons', and I wondered how she could be married to him and come out with something like that. Well actually I was mostly wondering how she could be married to Andrew at all.

From there the discussion had careered out of control and somehow arrived at the stakes being my thousand pounds on one side and the chance to bed Faith on the other. I was never sure how that suggestion had even arisen – I certainly hadn't suggested it, I'm just not that kind of man. It seemed so sordid and tacky, although of course, if I am honest, also incredibly arousing.

I smell a rat here, Nick. But I bet you didn't.

There are so many chaotic vignettes in my memory of that evening. Her face burning red and telling Andrew that he had better win because she wasn't going to rescue him. Andrew assuring her that there was no way he would lose. I was telling myself that, at least for Faith's sake I was going to have to let the fool win, and feeling rather irritated that I was going to have pay a thousand pounds as the price of being the good guy at a time when my success was more about reviews than cash and it could not easily be spared.

I remember her scent. It was a mix of perfume and strangely, the smell of mothballs. Since then that camphor smell has been an erotic trigger for me, though I've never admitted that to anyone. And I remember the heat of her body, not warmth but heat. Even though she was only standing close and not touching me, I could feel it. I remember her telling Andrew to concentrate and stop boasting because if I won she would ... and then she left it unspecified.

At some point Andrew's hand trembled as he moved a piece. The wrong piece. Irritated beyond belief by the guy's behaviour I decided to punish him and do my best to win. Of course I would not be bedding Faith. After all that would be tantamount to rape.

I think not actually Nick – not rape at all, and if anyone was being taken advantage of then perhaps it was you.

And there it was. Not some drawn out ending to be won by attrition. A clear forthright checkmate, a bolt from the blue. Shock on Andrew's face, and a gasp from Faith. Then Andrew coming out with all sorts of stupid stuff and promising to get the money.

It was enough to make me want to punish him a little further,

"Come with me Faith. Show me to the bedroom". It took a moment for me to realise that this was me speaking.

And she did, without a word, slipping her small slim hand into mine and leading the way up the stairs. There was silence behind us and neither of us looked back.

The bedroom was a surprise. Warm dark colours. A strong rustic wooden four-poster bed. There were candles spread around the room and stern African-looking masks in dark, almost black, wood hung on the walls. There was a tall full–length ornately framed mirror on a stand in one corner.

Faith closed the door and then stood, utterly passive, with her back to it, eyes downcast.

"Look, Faith, don't worry, I'm not going to take advantage of this, it's just he deserves a bit of a fright." It cost me something to say this as I was more and more aware of just how gorgeous she actually was, and the situation did have its dark eroticism.

'No shit Sherlock' as they say. I do hope we are going to get some serious bonking. This is hot!

Her next words, when they came after a pause, caught me completely off-guard.

"Don't you find me attractive? You don't want me?" She asked in a flat, small, miserable voice, and slowly raised her eyes, full of tears, to look me in the eye.

And then I was holding her. Me, who never does anything spontaneous. Holding her shaking body, so small and fragile, and kissing her, first on her eyes and then on her lips. Her on tiptoes.

With my last reserves of chivalry I asked,

"Are you sure you want this?"

"You won. I'm your prize."

The words came out slowly, and then something shattered within, and she spoke in a voice that was louder and almost harsh,

"I want you to fuck me. I want you Nick. Please don't ask any more, just take what you want".

I had never experienced this. A beautiful woman simply giving herself to me. Someone else's beautiful woman. A switch inside me clicked to a different setting. One that had not existed for me before that.

In a low firm voice I told Faith to light the candles and then switch off the lights, which she did, seeming comfortable to be told what to do.

While faith lit the candles, with an almost religious reverence, I quietly turned the key in the lock and left it there. I had no wish to be bludgeoned to death by a jealous husband while in the act. For a moment I imagined the blurb on future copies of my novel, so far my only novel,

'Nick Carver died violently in the arms of his married lover. Whatever masterpieces he would have gone on to write died with him, a martyr to bourgeois morality ...'

Well it would have made my agent happy of course, selling lots more copies.

This fantasy dissolved as, her task completed, Faith walked back to stand before me. Without a word I steered her to stand in front of the mirror, with me behind her, and I delicately lifted aside her long braided hair, leaving the nape of her neck exposed.

Since there was obviously no-one else to take into account, I took a while to examine her delicate beauty, noting those tiny little wisps of the finest hair that had escaped the braid. Then I kissed her, gently, little more than brushing her with my lips, and a barely audible sigh escaped her.

I examined the two of us in the mirror. Faith standing with her hands hanging loosely by her sides, her head slightly tilted forward, her eyes closed as far as I could tell, simply waiting for what I would do next.

I could not recognise myself. This was a different Nick to the one I had shaved in the morning. Of course to be practical about it this was all about the candle light heightening mystery, deepening shadows and flattering people; but it seemed to me that I was someone else's fantasy figure, come to life.

I kissed down one side of her head, starting just behind one of her almost elven-looking ears, and she very slightly leaned her head to the other side to give me access. While I did this I also took hold of the zip and pulled it slowly to halfway down her back, the quiet clicking noise it made magnified in the silence of the room, so that her dress hung open at the back and off her shoulders, allowing me to give her another longer kiss just above her collar bone. Faith's skin was almost too soft to be skin, covered in the finest possible fur, too fine to be seen by human eyes.

I stepped back from her and, surprised, she opened her eyes to look at me in the mirror.

"Take off your dress, Faith."

And she did, simply, slightly awkwardly, and I took it from her and laid it on the armchair. She was now standing in the same place in her simple plain underwear and shoes, still facing the mirror.

"Take off your bra, Faith."

Her cheeks were burning even brighter, and the top of her chest was also flushed, looking almost like it had been stained by strawberry juice. She did as she was told and held her bra out to me. I put it on the chair. She had her hands held awkwardly in front of her breasts.

"Put your hands down beside you, Faith". My voice was still low, quiet and uninflected. After the slightest hesitation she did so. I stepped up to her again and reached round with one hand to caress down from the base of her neck with the palm of my hand until I reached her nipple, which was standing out, looking almost painfully hard and I cupped her small, beautifully rounded breast from underneath. At the same time I leaned my head down on the other side to kiss the place where her shoulder became her neck. I felt her making another capitulation inside, letting go of shame.

Again I stopped and stepped back.

"Take off your panties, Faith."

She went to take off her shoes first, but I stopped her.

"No, Faith, not your shoes. Just your panties." I allowed my voice to be a little harsher, administering a rebuke.

She did what I said, although awkwardly, almost staggering and I guessed that she had never taken off her panties while wearing heels. But I did not step up to help her.

Faith now stood in just her shoes in front of the mirror and this time her eyes were fully open, examining herself as though the woman she saw was a stranger to her, which I guess she was. Without the shoes she would have just been naked but like this there had to be another word for it, though not any that she or I knew.

In no hurry, I enjoyed the view. And now she made no effort to cover herself, only catching my eye in the mirror, her pupils wildly dilated in the dim light. The contrast between my still fully-clothed form and hers was stirring me in a way I had never known, and her as well I suspect. I turned her towards me and gently lifted her face up to meet me, kissing her fully on the lips. At first her response was passive but then she began to respond, and at that point I stopped again and pulled away.

"Unbutton my shirt, Faith." It took her a bit by surprise. Perhaps she imagined I would undress myself. But she did what I said, fumbling with them in a way I found far more exciting than any dexterity would have been. When she finished she removed the shirt from me and I did not stop her and her reaction when her fingers touched my skin was as though it burned her.

I took my jeans off by myself, imagining that if we tried it any other way the two of us would end in a tangled heap on the floor, spoiling the atmosphere that was building. When I had done that and was just standing in my boxers, and they were tented by my erect cock, I spoke again.

"And now my pants, Faith." This time she was faster to respond, but awkward. This was clearly not something she had done before. And it was all the harder to ease it past my erection. When it sprang free she stopped.

"Oh".

"What's the problem? You've never seen one before?" I asked, allowing myself to tease her slightly.

"It is so ... big". Even in that moment, carried along as I was by arousal, I thought it an absurd pornographic cliché and had it been some other more confident, experienced woman I would have thought she was just playing along, or even mocking me since I was perfectly sure that the size of my equipment fell into the 'average' category. But as it was I just assumed that poor Andrew was significantly underendowed, perhaps explaining much about his character.

I could not resist.

"Kiss it." She looked unsure, not of whether to do it, but of what to do.

"Get down on your knees before me and kiss my cock".

And she did. A light brush of the lips on the tip and then down the shaft, for some reason bringing to mind an image not of the traditional butterflies, but of moths; those large soft furry ones that would mob the lantern at night when I went camping as a kid.

And then she looked up at me, her eyes suddenly huge and innocent next to my corrupting phallus.

"May I touch it?"

The question surprised me. Then inspired by the spirit of the moment,

"In a little while, but first you must answer a question".

She dropped her hands to her sides, now looking a little puzzled, but answered me,

"Yes, of course."

"Faith, what do you fantasize about? Sexually?"

She looked up at me, almost as though pleading with me not to make her do this.

"I ..." And she stopped. And so I prompted her,

"When you lie in bed here in this room on your own, and you touch yourself, what do you picture?" There was a pause, without her even opening her mouth, but she looked over to one of the masks on the wall, and then she began in an even quieter voice,

"Sometimes I imagine that they come to life and ... I have to serve them." And Faith looked so mortified at this confession that I almost laughed. In another context I would have rushed to reassure her that everyone had fantasies, that this was just a variant on the anonymous stranger idea that turned many women on, that she was not particularly depraved. But instead I left her kneeling there, walked across and lifted a mask from the wall and was pleased to see it had a strap behind it, otherwise the practical side of my nature had been thinking that to stand with one hand holding a mask to my face while ravishing her would rather spoil the effect.

It had been made to be worn, the mask, although from the dust on the strap hadn't been, at least for some time. It fitted easily on my face and I even found felt padding where it touched, making it rest where I could look out through the eyes. It had a strong musky, resinous smell; not unpleasant but powerful and seeming to have a stimulating effect.

The mask on, I walked back to where Faith had stayed kneeling with her back to the mirror. I stood now once more before her and in the mirror was an image that has stayed with me since that night. Her pale back and the single braid of dark hair stretching down to the small of her back, her feet stretched behind still in the dainty little boots, and above her a pagan deity, cruel and remote, without thought of mercy, accepting the sacrifice of this maiden's chastity as his due.

"You may now touch it". Even my voice now wore a mask. Deeper and harsher, with a hint of a growl. Expressing only power and command.

Faith now looked up at her fantasy come to life and slipped into a trance-like state.

"Yes, my lord". And this time I did not even feel the slightest urge to laugh or suspect that she might be mocking me. This was how it should be and now events would take their pre-ordained course. And they did.

Faith held her hands on either side of my cock, as if praying, and perhaps she was. Her fingers lightly stroked down each side of my manhood, which was both harder than I could ever remember and yet in a sense almost numb, and next to her small slim hands it seemed larger than before, as though it was not really mine but that of the one whose mask I wore.

Faith looked up at me, expecting to be told what to do. I was happy to oblige, telling her to take my cock into her mouth. She was wonderfully uncertain about it, anxious to please but clearly with little idea of how to do so.

NSCarter
NSCarter
309 Followers
12