Unsuccessfully Cuckolding On 25th

Description: Deluded Old Hotwife Seeks Bulls in the Caribbean: Ends Oddly.

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### Copyright © 2023. This is a copyrighted work. Unauthorized use is prohibited rights reserved by the author.

My contribution to the Literotica 25th Anniversary Challenge.

Disclaimer. Humor (sort of). Although "Satire" in ancient Greek has relevance to half-goat, half-human, sex-obsessed fauns (like Phil/De Vito in "Hercules"), there is not much sex in this story, in fact, very little, badly done, and disappointing. I want to reverse the tropes, invert the stereotypes, and ridicule what is serious. Voicing the unspeakable.

If you are only looking for graphic descriptions to masturbate to in a hurry, just look for another tale on this plentiful site.

I only hope to make you smile (perhaps just giggle under your breath).

No relation to reality, in a fantasy universe where there are no sexually transmitted diseases. Each Caribbean Island is a beautiful destination and the population is fantastic. Any references to real-world things or people are entirely coincidental. All characters are over 21 years old. Do not try to imitate them at home, the characters are played by professional actors.

English is not my native language, please forgive my mistakes. ###

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- - - - - Chapter 1: 25 minutes of insight into mainstream porn sites.

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My wife had discovered my browsing history: a list of embarrassing and obscene sites.

I had allowed her to discover me. As usual.

We had been married for almost 25 years, our two children had already flown the empty nest, and sexual activity between us had declined year after year, as it does for all couples from what I know. Dozens of comedians make jokes about this, and the whole theatre laughs nervously, I assume it happens to everyone.

Oh, well. In the stories I read on sites like Literotica, in the caption pictures and pornographic films, it would seem that the only way to keep the spark alive is for her to become a dirty Hotwife, craving for lustful and well-endowed Bulls; and for me, to become a sad loser willing Cuckold.

Maybe it's my fault, that I only select those? Or is it the fault of the algorithm, which proposes those to anyone who accesses a site? Or is it a form of propaganda, to delegitimize all the husbands in the world? Or is it the fault of human biology, which induces women to reduce sexual activity with their Beta Provider husbands, seeking to be fucked by lusty Chad Alphas, perhaps rough and unreliable, but remarkably endowed by Nature? I don't know.

From what I read, the answer would definitely seem to be yes.

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We rarely made love when we were young, and almost never after 25 years of boredom. She had always been very inappetent about sex, almost as if she didn't care ("as if human life could ever have any other purpose," Betty & Veronica would have commented!).

And it wasn't my fault! I was ready for anything, any activity, any position, any time of day! And I don't have a small penis (I compared it to others at the gym) and I don't have premature ejaculations, I am romantic and faithful, in short: none of the usual excuses used by feminists to normalize cheating acted out BY WIVES (always double standards, eh!).

Let's simply say that I had an average sex drive, while my wife had a sex drive close to zero.

Ambra knew that I used to spend whole hours masturbating, wanking like a pack of monkeys. She didn't give a shit as long as I didn't bother her with my demands, my urgings, my legitimate needs under the laws of the State, and of the whole of Mankind.

Sometimes he would tell me, in no uncertain terms, "When you're done masturbating, remember to throw out the garbage" or "Between your little wanks, can you pick up the mail from the outside box? There should be Coupons for Soap."

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That morning, I had left my PC open on purpose, and right in the kitchen, hoping my wife would use it to look up cooking recipes. The first few days I wasn't getting anything, so I set up a video so that it would inadvertently open while she was cooking.

I finally managed to get caught. A folder with an unsuspected secrete name ('__PORNO! DO NOT OPEN CONTAINS PORN PHOTOS AND STORIES') contained folders and files with unsuspected names such as 'Giant Black Cocks for Her Bukkake' and 'Smiling Wife Impaled by Bulls in front of her Husband'.

I sincerely envied those couples who practiced the Lifestyle. She always appeared elegant, joyful, and full of energy. He appeared defeated and resigned, but consenting and happy. Even if she received two cocks at a time while he was forced to jerk off in a far corner.

I could tell from the burning smell that she had stopped cooking the roast, and she started reading. As usual.

But usually, she read useless novels about vampires and werewolves in the Victorian age... pages and pages of boring descriptions of Manors and Manners... an absolute bore. Now instead he was reading the things I was reading.

After 25 minutes my wife arrived in the living room, all angry and red in the face: perhaps from anger, perhaps from excitement.

With her hands on her hips, she proclaimed: 'I have discovered that you are a maniacal pervert and a perfect asshole. Very well. I just read two very popular articles explaining what a poor woman has to do when her husband turns out to be a loser."

I looked at her a little worried. What articles? I had left links to very informative stories about Lit, but they were not articles about sociology or sex therapists.

"This one, and this one. The first was written by Maria Sanchiez-Taliafiero: "Cuckold Is the New Black", on the Sheffitonporn site. It says that every happy woman lives as a Hotwife and makes her loser husband a poor Cuckold.

The second, "Santa Jamailoupe On My Mind: Big Bamboo and Biggest Smile", by Jenevieve Duval-Dupont, on the website "The Porn Vicess", with fancy illustrations, suggests the Caribbean island of Santa Jamailoupe as an ideal destination, with addresses of the best resorts. Here is what I have decided we will do.

25th May will be our 25th wedding anniversary, I want you to book a holiday in Santa Jamailoupe and then I want you to get me adequate Bulls to make you permanently Cuckold forever. And between now and May, I want you to prepare yourself properly.

I want a notarial deed in which you agree to be cuckolded. I don't want you to buy a chastity cage to wear every day, because seeing your erect cock always makes me laugh.

From this day on you will be forbidden to fuck me: penetration in the vagina will be reserved only for Real Men, certified Bulls. You are only a loser and will be able to have simple little wanks without bothering me or annoying me with your begging.

However, both the two articles I read greatly emphasize the Empowerement that comes from getting fucked by strangers with huge dicks in front of your loser husband, who hopelessly jerks off while watching. And of course, all the lady writers reiterate that it will be your obligation to eat Cream Pie, every time, ha, ha! I have never swallowed, but you will have to swallow it always, without leaving a single drop, ha!

Furthermore, I want you to buy handcuffs, plugs, leashes, all the tools you can..."

"And assign me a safe word?"

"A what? The two articles I read don't mention it. A Safe, for my jewellery?"

"No, a safe Word, to interrupt in case of urgency or problems..."

"Bah! Who gives a fuck about your problems!" she snorted, very bored.

"But sweetheart..."

"I'm not your "Sweetheart" anymore! From now on, you must call me "Ma'am"! It says so in Duval-Dupont's article! If you want a password, it will be Santa Jamailoupe"

Her screams forced silence, but that word was too equivocal. In a low voice, I suggested: "But, Ma'am... you need a strange and unusual word, if we are on holiday in Santa Jamailoupe, I may use the word to say "Who knows if it will rain tomorrow over Santa Jamailoupe" but it is not a safe word..."

"Whatever. I'm already furious because I burnt my roast, and excited because I read these things. Go masturbate in the bathroom as usual, and don't bother me. Your Safe Word will be... "Oklahoma". There's no need to mention that state while we're in Santa Jamailoupe."

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Over the next few months, my wife became increasingly obnoxious and overbearing. She forced me to lick her pussy and ass every day, and it bothered me a lot at first, but she didn't care. I bought handcuffs, leashes all sorts of things, and booked into a particularly good hotel, with St. Andrew's crosses hanging on the wall of the junior suite, and the private jacuzzi inside.

She had read that a submitted husband was obliged to lick the pussy at all hours of the day and night. So, she would wake me up at three in the morning. And if I complained, she would say "Ha! But when they woke up Corinne Cléry in "Histoire d'O", you were all cheerful!"

"But that was just a movie, a talented actress pretends to be sleepy but instead she's awake, and the lighting props make it look like it's the middle of the night but instead it was 10 am..."

"You are awake by now. Lick my anus, my pussy, and make me orgasm!"

On top of that, she farted.

Oh, dear!

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- - - - - Chapter 2. Some differences between "my wife" and "a hotwife".

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At the reception of the resort, my wife also picked up the business card of a stud: Billy Turnbull. The name was promising.

As soon as we entered the room, Ambra ordered me to strip naked and hang myself from the handcuffs of St. Andrew's Cross. She then phoned Billy Turnbull and arranged an ASAP appointment.

Mr Turnbull arrived. He was magnificent: 6 feet tall, 6 sculpted abs, and earning a six-figure salary, expressed in some Caribbean currency. While my wife drooled as she looked at him, I pondered how silly it was to obsess women all over the Western world with a nursery rhyme that only makes sense in English (because anyone who measures height by the decimal system cannot expect 1.90 meters, 19 abs, and 19 digits).

Besides, I thought that statistically, it was very rare to meet such a tall man; I once read on the internet that they are less than 2% of the male population. Of which, very few have such a high salary (salary depends on study not height), and of those with a high salary, very few have sculpted abs (name me one billionaire who does not have a belly above the waist, excluding athletes in their youth, and film actors).

And in my thoughts, there was also the issue of fidelity. Let us assume that my wife finds a male 6 tall, abdominal 6 and salary 6: what kind of behavior should we expect from such a guy? He will be the object of desire of thousands of females, including some 18 years old, some 6 feet tall, some professional models, pole dancers, and surfing champions.

And the technique? My wife is reluctant to suck him with her mouth, does not know how to do footjobs, and believes that the anus is exclusively an exit and never an entrance. But such an attractive man, 6+6+6+6, will at the very least demand to have it held in his mouth, and all that.

While I was thinking those things, my wife approached Mr Turnbull with the cockiest face she had ever displayed. Unbuttoning her blouse, she said to him, "So, let's say I'm the hotwife, you're the Bull, and my cocky husband licks your balls?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, there must have been a misunderstanding."

"But how? We came to Saint Jamailoupe on purpose!"

"Madam: unceremoniously, you are at best a 3. The ad spoke "BULL for Madam ranking 10", you see."

"But I'm a 10! And anyway, grammatically, the ad made it clear that it was the Bull that was ranking a 10!"

"Look I don't have time to waste. Mine is already a very hard job. I don't let a man touch my bollocks, anyway. And you, lady, I wouldn't fuck you even if you paid me. Goodbye." He turned and walked away.

My wife blurted out, shouting, "But I have never paid for sex."

"Well, I guess he's denied this poor man's offers dozens of times every month... if she'd been a little more discerning, she could have received dozens of orgasms from him."

Billy Turnbull walked out without saying goodbye, while my wife cursed profanities. A first time, indeed.

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Furious, Ambra went down to the reception desk and asked the first African-American she met (an errand bellboy) to follow her to the junior suite.

The dialogue that followed was surreal.

Ambra walked in and the bellboy followed her. Then he saw me hanging naked from St Andrew's Cross, with my cock half erect.

"Ah, no, ma'am, I thought you needed the luggage. No, that's not in my job description, I'm sorry."

"But at least let me see your gigantic black cock!" pleaded my wife.

"Madam, please! I have a normal-sized penis. But what is this obsession with Caucasian women? You focus too much on a dozen rappers, five basketball players, and a handful of football players. Look, lady, all black men are not six feet tall. I, for example, am 5'2" tall. Generalizations are a symptom of silly racism. If you are under the illusion that black people are all as tall as Will Smith, it is because you did not notice that in the series "Will Fresh Prince of Bel-Air", Cousin Carlton (played by the talented actor Ribeiro, whom we all admire) was as tall as me. And the character (not the actor) supposedly had an average-sized penis."

My wife was exasperated. "At least unzip it and show it to us!"

Luckily I was gagged. Otherwise, I would have burst out laughing.

The bellboy recoiled, "Madam, I am not homosexual. I have never shown my penis to a man, and certainly not to an unknown tourist, who could sue me tomorrow and get me fired!"

"But I read that all Bulls rejoice at the idea of having their Big Bamboo cleaned of cum and vaginal juices by the tongue of my horny cuckold husband!"

"That's enough, ma'am, otherwise I'm going to start throwing up. Ew!"

Hanging on the cross, I gasped. But not from excitement, from laughter.

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For the whole week of the holiday, my wife tried to seduce some stud. She would go to bars and restaurants alone, almost naked, in low-cut dresses over wide cleavage, and skirts with a slit that reached up to her navel to show everyone that she was going Commando underneath.

Sky-high heels, a chain with a key on her ankle, an ace of spades drawn with a black felt-tip pen, and another key on her necklace.

Nothing. She was getting nothing.

On the last day out of desperation, she bought a t-shirt that said "Someone who loves me brought this to me from Santa Jamailoupe."

She turned it inside out to hide the printed phrase, and on the back of the t-shirt, she wrote "I am a Hotwife. Please fuck me." He went into the bar winking at everyone.

Nothing.

Two hours later he crossed out "please" and added, "I Beg You". Zero.

Two hours later he added, "I'm giving $200 to whoever cum in my face".

Nothing.

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- - - - - - - Chapter 3. "Before now I had never paid for sex. Before now..."

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Even more furious, Ambra returned to the junior suite. I had been hanging from St. Andrew's Cross for six hours straight. Dear reader, do you know what happens if you leave a human being handcuffed for six consecutive hours? First, he urinates on the floor, and then, no matter how hard he tries to restrain himself, he shits on the floor.

If your wife is a pervert with the golden rain kink, she might find this amusing.

My wife, by the way, in years had never allowed me to own a dog, precisely because she didn't want to clean up shit, and now she was celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary with her hands in shit, and her nose pervaded by the stench! Ha, ha! And it was all her fault! I would have shouted the Safe Word, but only drool and saliva came out of the gag, and no one was there to hear me.

After she had cleaned up the shit (and I had taken a shower), she decided that before giving up she would go through with it.

She called herself a cab and gave orders to take us to the worst slums of the underworld. She cuffed my

Boldly, she turned to a young girl walking down the street, wearing a threadbare T-shirt and jeans so short that I could see the entire curve of her buttocks. I saw belts that covered more than those frayed jeans shorts.

"Listen, young girl. You're an adult of legal age, aren't you? Good. Listen to me. He's just my loser-cuffed husband and you don't have to mind him. I need to be fucked by one or two BULLS. Before now I've never paid for sex. Before now ... but today ... Do you have a brother, a cousin, a friend who is interested in cashing 500 American dollars?" said Ambra in a cocky voice, waving five bills with Benjamin Franklin's face on them.

The little girl must have been very attuned to Bob Marley at 4:20 because she looked at us with vacant eyes and a strange slowness in her voice. "I'll see what I can do for you, Sister in Sisterhood" she murmured, mentioning waiting for her in a small shady alley.

"I am not your sister, whore!" squealed my wife. But it sure looked to me like they were sisters instead: even though my wife's black hair was fake dyed blond, as false as her soul.

As the adult stoned girl walked away, my wife had me on my knees, naked, my wrists cuffed to my ankles. She unbuttoned her shirt to the navel so her Bulls-to-be could see her boobs in full view when they arrived.

The little girl returned with two boys who must have been in their early twenties. Black as the ink of this tale, and yet, covered in raunchy tattoos. One of the two must have been a Deatheater, judging by the skull and the snake on his forearm: who knows if pressing the tattoo would have made Voldemort appear. The other was a living paradox: on his muscular breastplate was a blond portrait of Thor, and standing upright above his navel was a huge Mjollnir hammer. I was about to start a discussion about the unacceptability of cultural appropriation, but suddenly I thought that maybe the hammer represented the size of the erect Beast... the words muffled in my mouth before I was forced to swallow every last one.

My wife fiddled with the gold necklace to which the key to my handcuffs was hooked.

Turning to the two young studs, Ambra began to repeat the phrase she had memorized, perhaps she had read it in Taliafiero's article, "Before now I had never paid for sex. Before now..."

"Shut up, bitch. Give me the money, the rings, and the golden necklace." Said the Deatheater.

"How again?"

The other, Thor, snapped a switchblade, pointing it at my throat. I was on my knees and handcuffed...

"Do what my bro said, bitch. Take off your clothes and these nice shoes, I'm sure we can sell them for a good price. How much money do you have in your bag?"

"A thousand dollars in cash... a perfume... but leave me the wedding ring!"

"What for? You can tell very well that you are an old whore! Sluts like you don't deserve to keep the marital ring."

Long short story: they stole her purse, smartphone, tablet, a thousand dollars in cash, Victoria's Secret lingerie, Manolo heeled shoes, Chanel perfume, and everything else. All the things I had given her! At the airport duty-free shop I had filled her with gifts as usual.

An old cell phone and a dirty T-shirt were stolen from me. At the duty-free shop, she had not bought anything for me. If I were to use my salary to pay only my expenses and not hers as well, I would be rich. But I am just a fool and don't count for anything.

Without a phone, we couldn't even call a cab - which we couldn't have paid for anyway.

The girl, who was a huge fan of Bob Marley, kindly called a cab for us. "Thank you, thank you!" whispered my nude wife in a low voice, trying to cover her pendulous tits with her hands.