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by Richard Clear
I definitely didn’t chose to become a cuckold. It had never been a fantasy of mine. I married a woman eight years younger than me, a beautiful Eastern European girl who I met when I was a research assistant at a local University.
She was in a study group I ran and for me it was love, lust, everything at first sight. I was head over heels, but I was very nervous as I had very little experience with women and sex. What clumsy advances I could muster the courage to make made it more obvious I was sweet on her, and she played along generously. She told me she liked my shyness. It was clear from the start that we are complete opposites, she is a party animal and I’m a bookish introvert, but we hit it off, with her firmly leading and setting the pace of our courtship.
She was very forward and outgoing generally. I took her on a lot of dates but we didn’t do much sexually before getting married. She claimed to be religious, but I think she knew if she dangled sex before me like a carrot I would be in a hurry to marry, and of course she’d be able to stay in the country. Not that that had occurred to me, I was so love-blind. For months we would just kiss, although occasionally after a lengthy petting session, if I begged her she would unzip my trousers, lift out my desperate, erect penis, and use her hand give it the ten or so strokes it needed before ejaculating messsily onto my shirt. Then she would leave me to clean myself up. I felt ashamed and wanted to go further, but just having her see and handle my naked erect penis and see how much she turned me on was pretty exciting for me.
After our hastily-arranged wedding, naturally I thought we’d go further, but even on our wedding night, all that was on offer was handjobs as usual. By now we were living together in my small apartment. We were sleeping in the same bed, but she wouldn’t let me make love to her. I became desperate. She was so slim and beautiful, and she was my wife. Many times, I practically begged her to let me have proper sex with her.
The answer was always no. Her cruelty began to anger me; the honeymoon was most definitely over. I became short tempered with her, and her attitude changed too. I demanded to know when we could become intimate. “Soon” she said. One night, to be fair, she was true to her word. She arrived home from yet another night partying with her friends. I could tell straight away that she was a little drunk, and again I pleaded with her to let me inside her. This time I practically cried.
She looked at me with pity, then she winked at me and lay down on our bed. My mind swam. What was happening? Incredibly she lifted up her sparkly top to reveal her breasts (which I hardly ever saw), and raised her short skirt to reveal her shaven vulva (which I had never seen). As I stared slack jawed she snapped at me, annoyed, “Come on then. Do what you want.”
You’d think I’d have been delighted but I was so shocked by her tone, her unexpected slutty actions and the general sudden turn of events that any erection was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. I just carried on staring. “Come here,” she demanded.
Shaking, I moved nearer. She put her hand on my crotch, and unzipped my soft penis. Now it was her turn to stare. I felt my dick shrivel up into my body. “Smaller than usual.”
I had no idea what to reply.
“You are all talk,” she said with a sneer.
Then she snapped her legs shut, got under the covers and went to sleep. I joined her in bed but she roughly pushed me away.
That night I tossed and turned for hours, my mind full of chaos. Finally with the recollection of seeing her private parts for the very first time, I felt my penis thicken. I remembered her jibe about being ‘smaller than usual’ as my organ filled out to its maximum length of around four inches. Being careful not to wake my wife, quietly I masturbated to orgasm ejaculating into a Kleenex from beside my bed. Then the sudden sound of her laughter revealed that I had woken her while masturbating. She cackled like a witch and said to me in utter disgust, “You rather fill a tissue than me.”
So over the months, what would have been obvious to most men slowly began to dawn on me. I’d been played. A young woman had found a sucker she could walk over, for a residents permit, a home, meals and spending money. What was I getting in return? Nothing but the occasional pity handjob. Even now she had begun to insist that these fleeting moments of intimacy were delivered with me wearing a condom. God forbid she should have to deal with my semen. Any other handjobs I had to dispense myself just to ease the maddening tension of having to live and sleep next to a gorgeous 20 year old woman who I wasn’t allowed to touch.
So if you’re thinking that my new wife had a low sex drive, think again. Now my eyes were open, the clues added up quite clearly to suggest she was getting action elsewhere. She would go out to nightclubs with her friend, an equally pretty redhead, wearing clothes that might make a stripper blush. It wasn’t unusual for her to return in the middle of the next day. She wasn’t working (I was and of course I paid all the bills) so she was in no hurry to be anywhere.
I became obsessed.
I had to know for myself what (or who) she did when she went out. On one occasion early in our relationship I asked if I could join her on one of her nights out. She practically laughed at me. So my only option was to follow her. I had become a sad and lonely stalker of my own wife.
After a bit of detective work one night, I was pretty sure of the bar she’d be starting at where I could maybe watch her to see what she did on her nights out. I tried to change my usual appearance a little and my modest disguise I slipped into the crowded, noisy venue. Through the heaving bodies eventually I spotted my wife and her friend looking stunning as ever in low cut clothes, make up and hair immaculate. The girls weren’t alone. They were each accompanied by a male, older guys in their late forties.
Both tall and muscular. The one closest to my wife’s friend was a white blonde guy who looked thick and lean like a personal trainer. But my wife was being pawed by a huge black guy who could be a boxer or a nightclub doorman. My heart pounded in my throat as I tried to move closer without being seen. Body language said everything. Both couples were getting intimate, but the black guy was leaning up against my wife from behind, wrapping his huge arms around her waist, which looked tiny in comparison.
I could hardly look, but felt compelled to. I was nauseous with jealousy. I watched her jokingly try to shoo away his meaty hands as they roughly explored her body. Her protests were going to do nothing. He was going to take everything he wanted. Right there in the crowded bar he nuzzled her neck as his hands stroked her tight stomach, then her buttocks, then seemingly found their way between her bare legs and up to her crotch.
I saw her laugh and push him away. But as both couples suddenly got up to leave the club, hand in hand, I guessed they were going somewhere where more than just his hands would be in play. I watched them leave. The place seemed to spin around me. I felt sick at what I’d seen. But I also realized at some point I had developed a powerful erection.
The journey home took an age as I battled with my sadness and anger, choking back tears through the rain. When I reached my empty apartment I sat down on the bed. My erection had gone now, I just felt sick. I tried to sleep without success for hours.
When morning came, I rose from bed, exhausted. After a shower I found that now, once again, the memory of my humiliation had physically aroused me. I caught my reflection in the bedroom mirror. My penis was sticking out of my naked body giving a salute of involuntary excitement.
My erection wasn’t going away, in fact it was only getting harder. Giving in to the inevitable, I began to pleasure myself. I picked up the frame of our wedding pictures, and used the image of my pretty wife as stimulation. As I stroked my hard dick, I thought of the huge black man in the club and what he was probably doing to my wife, right now. I pictured her naked, on all fours, like the girls in my adult magazines. Offering her naked bottom and wet vagina to her man. And I pictured him taking up the offer, putting a hand on each buttock, then slowly pushing his long, thick, black penis into her body.
I don’t imagine she would make him use a condom, or that he would agree in any case; he didn’t seem the type. Maybe they would go for hours, him manipulating her body into every sex position in the book, before he decided it was time to finish matters, and with a groan and one final thrust empty his testicles deep inside my wife’s passage.
Away in my fantasy world I pounded my rod, each stroke taking me closer and closer to orgasm. I was oblivious to the world. I didn’t hear my wife’s key in the door. Only when I heard her clear her throat did I look up and see her alone in the door frame, still wearing her party clothes, but like her hair, somewhat disheveled. She would have seen a naked man sitting on the side of the bed; looked shocked, and guiltily snatch his hand away from his erect penis. Then our eyes met. Once again, I had no idea what to say. But then my body spoke for me. Without warning, three or four jets of sperm shot out of my hard cock, as I suddenly climaxed.
My wife’s look was one of surprise, then of pity. Silence seemed to last minutes. Then, in her thick accent, she finally spoke. “I saw you in club last night.”
I was speechless.
Eventually she continued, “That guy fuck me of course. And his friend fuck me, too. And some other guy we met.”
She waited for a reaction. But I just stared at her, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. My nudity leaving me feeling very cold by now. My own semen dripping down my stomach and trickling between my legs.
She looked me up and down. She moved closer. Then she pointed to the door to our small living area. I was confused by her gesture. Then she snapped, angrily. “You get off bed. Is my bed now. You jerk off somewhere different.”
Obediently, head down, I shuffled out of the room, still naked. I heard the door slam behind me. Things would be very different in our relationship now I knew. I couldn’t even pluck up the courage to knock on the door to ask for some clothes to wear, so I could go to work. I phoned in sick and spend the day naked in my own living room, while she slept.
But some time around the afternoon as I thought about everything that had happened, once again my penis thickened ready for play. I guess I was a cuckold husband now. I didn’t have a choice really. But maybe I could learn to enjoy it.