Well, my heart hadn't exploded on me yet, I thought. I guess I was going to survive this afternoon after all.
My wife had laid down beside me with her head on my shoulder and actually, apparently, drifted off to sleep, in spite of the fact that her "pillow" was still trembling and occasionally twitching. My breathing was just now returning to normal.
Well, she had had quite the busy day already. She had just administered a delicious handjob and an expert ruined orgasm on me, and she's told me that requires a certain amount of concentration. That was after a four-hour drive in traffic. And before that, I knew, at least one vigorous pounding underneath my barrel-chested sixty-year-old father, who was now her lover.
I closed my eyes and tried to maintain my steady breathing. Already, my testicles were beginning to ache beneath the chastity cage where my cock was already straining to get hard again. That's the thing about ruined orgasms; they drain me of my semen, but without any spasm of pleasure; and without any calming refractory period.
We had just crossed a bridge, I thought. Or rather, we had crossed it a month ago, and I had just now turned around to confirm that we had also burned it behind us. It had been two months since she had first started teasing me with the shocking notion of cuckolding me with my recently-divorced father, who was visiting us for the weekend.
For a month, I had known that she was just playing with me, tantalizing me with an incredibly illicit and rather humiliating fantasy. But the more we played at it, the more I reacted to it, the more we realized that we were both drawn to immersing ourselves in the experience for real. She was attracted to him, despite or because of the age difference, and the physical and psychological differences between him and me. She understood better than I did how I craved the cuckolding experience. And she was growing in her own sense of empowerment, the notion that she was a woman who might do *anything.* Even fuck her husband's father.
So by the time, a month ago, that she suggested that she would go visit him, ostensibly to help him paint his new apartment, while I was in Atlanta on a business trip, I knew at that point that we were moving from fantasy to reality. And that's when I could have said no, that's far enough, let's keep this as an incredibly erotic fantasy between husband and wife. Instead, I feigned... uncertainty, or at least, helpless surrender. Which she read as, "Yes. God yes. Do it, Michelle, do it. Go and offer yourself up, open yourself up, to my dad, to my own father, let him take what should be mine and make it his..."
Even then, though, through another month and two more visits, we continued to tease each other, this time playing with the fantasy that her visits were completely innocent. But this afternoon, I hadn't been able to take it any longer. I had to break character and ask her. And she told me, and I was sure that this time everything was the truth. My father had been fucking her, repeatedly and with willful intent, for a month. And he knew that I was a cuckold, my manhood locked in a little cage while my wife came to his bed and spread her legs for him.
She suddenly made a little snoring noise, and I chuckled in spite of myself. For all of the excruciating, delicious angst this game was causing me, I didn't doubt that she loved me, nor did I fear losing her. (Where else, she had sometimes asked me, was she going to find a man who challenged her intellectually and let her explore other sexual experiences to her heart's desire?)
I gently stroked her bare shoulder and shook my head. No, what was so exquisite about this whole endeavor was that the other man was my father... that, and the fact that Michelle *knew* that. Ever since she had introduced this idea, I had been scouring the internet, looking for forums and erotica that might help me understand why it gripped me so. Nothing that I had found matched my experience.
Every story, every dubious personal account that I found, had the same dynamic. An alpha male dad, a captain of industry. A lazy son, skating through life on his looks and his daddy's money. A young woman who was a slave to her hormones, surrendering to the charms of her husband or boyfriend's dominant father.
That wasn't my reality at all. First of all, Michelle was completely and utterly in control. But my dad was far from dominant, from alpha, and that had always been the case. He wasn't the kind of guy who grabbed life by the horns and bent the world to his will. My dad was just a decent guy, comfortable to be around. Kind to clerks and waitresses.
I had never questioned that he was proud of me, my grades, my scholarships which had spared him the difficulty of paying for the college education with which he had no experience. He hadn't understood my professional choices, my decision to run a non-profit organization instead of becoming a high-powered attorney. But he told me often that he was proud of me. At least, he had, before he found out that I was a cuckold.
"Hey there." I turned my head to look at my wife, who had stirred from her little nap and was looking up at my from behind her pretty lashes, her head still on my shoulder.
"Hey," I said. "Did you have a nice nap?"
"Uh huh," she said, closing her eyes again. "Did you get one?"
I snorted. There was no fucking way I was going to be sleeping any time soon after the revelations of the past hour.
She burrowed her head into the side of my neck, affectionately, and stroked my chest with one hand.
I exhaled deeply. "So," I said, eager to finally talk to her without being on the verge of an orgasm, but also oddly nervous. "It's all real."
"As real as the day is long, baby," she assured me.
"Well, I'd, um... I'd like to know... everything."
She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me with a face full of... tenderness, I guess. Her full breasts fell together, alluringly -- she had removed her translucent blue bra before napping -- and I was mesmerized by the sight, by the elongated areolas surrounding her relaxed nipples, the tiny blue veins. And perhaps, tiny suggestions of little bruises? Images flooded my mind of those breasts in my father's greedy hands or mouth, nipples rigid, and my penis began to strain in its cage again.
She still had on the matching panties, though, and she still had the fine little chain around her waist. She ran her fingers over it, and asked, "You want to hear about him buying this for me?"
I gulped. Well, I had other things in mind, but yes, yes, I nodded. I want to know everything.
"He was so cute," she chuckled, pressing into me and drawing one warm soft thigh up over mine. "We went to the mall, into one of those little boutiques, and made him tell the salesgirl what he was looking for..."
"Oof," I said, both for my own sake, and for his.
"He told her, 'We're looking for a waist chain, for my..."
His what, I wondered. His lover? His daughter-in-law?
"My ladyfriend," she finished. "And the girl led us over to a display. And no, I didn't make him tell her what I was going to be wearing on it."
"Hmm. Were you wearing your wedding ring?" I knew my father no longer wore his.
"Of course," she replied. "I kind of flaunted it.
"We walked around the mall with my arm up around his bicep, between his arm and his chest, like this," she said, moving to demonstrate with me. "And honestly, Ryan... he didn't touch me or try to hold my hand or anything, but he was just beaming."
"I'm sure he was."
"Hmmm. Well, I'm not sure it was the spectacle you're imagining. No one was staring or anything. After all, a man his age and a woman my age together, it's not that remarkable."
I suppose not, I thought; not if they don't know that the man is your father-in-law.
