The humiliation was now complete, and Sean was loving it.
He was down on his knees on the kitchen tiles wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties, and his wife's lover's cock was in his mouth. It was a beautiful thing to behold (and taste). Long and proportionately thick, from behind its bulbous pink head until it disappeared, at a slight curve, into Gary's dark-brown bush. Sean was pleased to discover it was not all that much larger than his own, especially in length; it just possessedâits owner didâfar better stamina.
As Sean's tight, wet lips rode the shaft his right hand cupped, and fondled, Gary's balls, which most definitely were bigger, plumper, fuller than his. Likewise his left hand had reached behind and was squeezing and caressing the firm, if somewhat flattish, flesh of Gary's right butt-cheek. Not unlike his own. It was an expert, all-encompassing, tour de force effort, one egged on by Gary's mantra, now being repeated in a somewhat dreamy state:
"Suck it...that's it. Love it, faggot...Worship it..."
If Gary's genitals served as a surrogate god at that moment, Sean, all mouth and hands and painful knees, worshiped as a submissive and worthy acolyte. A supplicant and True Believer. A virtual sacrificial lamb in scant blue microfiber.
Sean, as was his wont, had been fluttering around the house doing housework in said panties when the doorbell rang. It was a Saturday morning, about ten-thirty and Sean wasn't expecting anyone. Far from it. His wife Carol was out of town visiting her sick mother and Sean, ever since he arrived home from work late Friday afternoon, had been enjoying having the house all to himself. Their daughter Gloria was also away, though on a more permanent basis. She was in her second yearâa precocious juniorâat a liberal arts college upstate. She wanted to be a poet.
Because of his state of effeminate dress, or undress, just for such an occasion as this Sean kept a pair of slacks and a pullover top draped over the back of one of their barstoolsâone out of view of the front doors' curve of paned lights, just in case someone tall enough got adventurous and peeked in. Panties now hidden from view, Sean walked to the vestibule and looked through the spyhole, expecting Jehova's Witnesses.
Instead Gary was standing there, looking like he'd just gotten out of bed and had slept in his clothes from the day before. Before Sean turned the brass deadbolt he prepared a little speech, a mildly reproving one:
"Did you forget, dude? Carol's out of town. She won't be back till Wednesday."
Despite his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance, it was Gary who was standing there looking Sean up and down. As if there were something wrong with HIS attire. Despite the prepared speech, it was Gary who fired the first round.
"Can I come in? We need to talk."
We do? Sean asked himself. What about? "Carol's out of town."
"I know. I know," Gary said impatiently, inviting himself past Sean into the vestibule. "I need your help today."
With what? Sean wondered. Gary was a craftsman, good with his hands. He owned guns; could hitch a trailer up to his pickup (now parked in Sean's driveway) and back it up, first try. He liked to fish and sometimes hunt. There were several pounds of ground venison in their freezer, thanks to him and his rifle. Gary made good money fashioning fancy pieces of custom-made furniture for rich people. He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted in life; what his goals were. He was disciplined; practical; a precisionist. He had aforementioned stamina. He read Ayn Rand.
Carol wasn't the first. He had a reputation for horning in on the wives of his friends: lesser men in his dark eyes who were married to women who wanted, needed more than their limp-dick husbands could provide. Carol probably wouldn't be the last notch in his proverbial leather gunbelt.
Gary needed Carol's wimpy cuckold husband's help? Really? What possibly for?
They landed in the kitchen, Gary, per usual, leading the way. He looked not only disheveled, but a little panicked. Sean wondered if he should offer him something. A cold beer? It was ten-thirty in the morning!
Gary's back was to the four-burner Viking stove. He said, "I have to know something. Don't sugarcoat it for me..."
His affair with Carol had been secret at firstâthe first few times. Then Carol announced one day, almost with a tone of contempt, what had by then become obvious: she was screwing Gary. There was no point keeping it secret any longer; no need to feel guilty because she was running around behind Sean's back. Then she went into a version of her oft-repeated spiel: about how if things didn't improve in the bedroomâshe'd been warning Sean for a couple of years nowâshe was going to have to go outside their marriage for fulfillment. Now it had happened. So there!
Several months earlier Gary had broken up with his latest, greatest girlfriend. And as usually happened in those cases Gary started showing up on their doorstep like a habitually stray dog. If Sean and Carol were having a cookout, they'd invite Gary over. If the married couple decided to go to a movie on Saturday night, Carol began to insist: "Let's invite Gary to come along." Their normal twosome dates became threesomes, albeit platonic ones.
As time went on Gary became ever more adventurous with Carol. "Fresh," is how Sean's wife began to describe their old friend. "Freshie," in the noun form. She also began playfully referring to Gary as "my boyfriend."
"Let's invite my boyfriend Gary along."
Because Sean never pushed backâhe was enjoying himself; the spectacle of another man moving in on his wifeâGary got bolder. And ever bolderâwith his hands. At the movie theater Gary always insisted on going down the row after Carol but ahead of Sean. Later, when the lights came down, Sean would side-glance at Gary's right hand sliding over onto his wife's partially bare thigh. His behavior in the privacy of their home grew more blatant. In the past he would let it go at standing behind Carolâclose behind herâmassaging her shoulders as she worked in the kitchen, or sat on a barstool sipping her margarita. But now, whenever Sean left the room, the put-upon husband noted, either spying through a window or around a corner, Gary's hands would circle around to Carol's breasts. Sean also noted that Carol didn't protest; didn't push him away. Gary would also nibble her neck, whisper in her ear...
"The very least you could do is tell him to knock it off," Carol, hands on hips, said to Sean one Sunday morning. "Stand up to him. Be the man of the house for once."
Carol shifted her weight, cocked her head. "You know what he asked me last night? He asked me who wears the pants in the family. You know what I told him? I told him it was like you'd become my househusband."
Carol passed a smirk. "You know what else? He said that you like it when we flirt. He says you probably get off on it. Do you?"
Sean didn't answer.
"I shouldn't have referred to you as my househusband. I should've called you what you really are: a Dickless Wonder, Sean."
A one-note laugh of derision escaped Carol's painted lips. She shook her head. "You just stand there watching. Why? What happened to you? Just because you've reached a certain age...," perhaps referring to the unfilled prescription of Viagra on Sean's dresser, "it doesn't mean you have to stop being a man. I don't get it. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Sean remained silent. He had a hard on in his pants and wondered if it showed. It was as if his wife's tongue were a whip and it was lashing his erection. He loved it, the abuse. Carol walked away, shaking her head.
If this moment was the bridge that lifted to let in the pirate's ship, the day the pirate (to continue the metaphor) set foot on shore and began his ravaging was probably a Saturday evening just two weeks later. Gary was over, of course, and Carol brought up the subject of a new release rom-com she wanted to see. Sean protested that there was an NFL playoff game in progress. Into this pouty breach stepped Gary, who offered, pirate outfit traded in for something chivalrous, to take Carol to see dubious movie. "I love rom-coms!" he declared.
Carol and Gary returned home from their first twosome date rather late, around eleven, even though the movie supposedly ended at 9:35. A date indeed! The next day Sean, his balls depleted from the night before, asked his wife how the movie was. She shrugged evasively, almost guiltily it seemed to Sean, and informed him he'd been right. The movie sucked. They'd walked out.
"What did you do the rest of the night?"
Another evasive shrug. "Drinks. Something to eat." She looked up at her husband, tellingly: "Gary's a lot of fun to be with. It was fun."
Translation: As opposed to being out with you after 21 years of marriage.
Post-confession, about the till-then secret affair, Sean theorized that a) either they'd never gone to the theater and instead went straight to Gary's house, and his bed; or b) they indeed walked out of the movie, after which: see above.
Sean even considered that the whole thing had been set up in advance. Carol floated the idea of the movie knowing that Sean wouldn't want to go. At which point Gary would volunteer his services as surrogate husband, and the two of them would be free to go out on their first date. Etc, etc.
Since another couple of weeks passed before Carol made her unapologetic confession, this scenario fit in just about right. They fucked at Gary's that night; then they fucked here or there several more times, as opportunities arose.
