Trudy Ch 05 Helpless

As you may recall, I had suspected that my newly found cuckoldness may in fact be over before it truly began....I was not really sure what the fuck I was now to be honest, confusion taking residency in my mind, but there was a more master and servant relationship between myself and Trudy now, similar to the one she had shared with Soloman.

I guess to a large extent, I was a cuckold. I still worshipped my wife, feared ever losing her, but still revelled in her being fulfilled by other men (preferably as I watched), I had no real inclination of ever being unfaithful to my wife and intended to remain devoted to her....accepting that I was lucky to still have her....but at the same time, for a guy with an IQ that would see me accepted in to MENSA...I had been the most dumbest fuck in the history of dumb fucks.

I mean, I don't know what I was actually thinking would happen when my fantasies became a reality, believing we could deal with this...confident it would bring US together, make US stronger - equal participants in our new way of life - not actually be marginalised, as she became empowered, which is what had happened.

Funny how the placing of a space within a piece of text can change the whole context of it...for example "the pen is mightier than the sword". Now if that phrase had been written removing one single space between two of the words (plus the addition of a comma) so instead it read "the penis, mightier than the sword" that would be much more accurate!!

It goes to show how blinded men can be when they allow themselves to be led by their cocks. How could I not have figured out that by becoming cuckold, that the chances of me ever fucking my wife again (in any way) would be absolutely sub zero...?! I mean to you reading this, it must have been as glaringly obvious as Pamela Anderson's tits bouncing up and down in the title scenes of Baywatch...unavoidable, unmissable...right?

The revelations from Trudy; the expertly delivered pipe bombs of "oh by the way, I only fuck black cock now" followed immediately by "congratulations you are now part of the one thing you wanted to avoid; a completely sexless marriage"....was one of those penny dropping moments where you slap your hand to your head, Homer Simpson style, "Doh!".....

I didn't even twig after the first pipe bomb....knowing her pussy was off limits, yes, but still naively thinking, even expecting, that I would still be allowed access to her arse after we got back home from our trip, leaving her vagina to the exclusivity of the black bulls. I had actually preferred her ass, as you know, I felt "big" inside there, and she could feel me for a change.

When the second pipe bomb dropped, it was like Nagasaki and Hiroshima rolled in to one...the Enola Gay of sexual enlightenment....and devastation. Ahhhh....OK then so you mean I get to do absolutely zip, nada, nothing, fuck all, ever, other than provide love of a platonic kind...the complete polar opposite to my ultimatum that "I wouldn't live in a sexless marriage". EPIC FUCKING FAIL.

So what now...? That's what we talked about....right from the start of our heart to heart, she had told me that she loved me, and always would. We had shared, and endured so much together, I was the father of her / our kids and was a great Dad.....and in her words, no-one would ever love her like I do, or would ever sacrifice so much to make her happy like I had done....damn fucking straight there...home run.

But...we most definitely would never have sex again. She said that, although being a cuckold would generally mean me being faithful to her, not taking any other lovers, that she thought this was bollocks...and if I wanted to have sex with other women that she was fine with it....fairs, fair in her eyes...she had no intention of leaving me or divorcing me, and if by occasionally getting sex from other women meant I could cope with the situation better, and it helped me deal with shit, then she had no cause for complaint.

She kind of missed the point, but I was humbled by her concession...more than that really.....she could have walked away from me, she could have divorced me and fucked any black cock she wanted for the rest of her life and not give two shits...but she didn't want to...she wanted us to change the parameters of our agreement, our life together....but she wanted more than anything to share this new chapter, as just that....together - but with her now in control of her own sexual destiny. I was relieved....though was not sure who would want to fuck the likes of me on purpose, at least without cash changing hands!!

We had to agree new rules....and so were born the 10 cumandments.

1. We would never have sex again (in any form). Though we could sleep in the same bed and cuddle, any attempt at trying it on would result in a swift kick in the gonads (or less dramatic, she would sleep in the (locked) spare room till my urges passed). I wondered if I would ever be so overcome with lust, that I would do a "Shining" and smash the door down with an axe shouting ..."Here's Danny"....no probably not.

2. I could, if someone was so desperate to want to, and I actually wanted to, fuck other women - though she had no desire to watch, unlike me.

3. She could fuck whoever she wanted.....whether I was there or not, but would always try and take images / video or even send live footage, if I wasn't there. No promises, as it was up to the bull and not always possible re connection etc.

4. She would attempt to try and find a sexual partner with me at least once per month, allowing me to watch...more if the opportunity arose. At least giving me some 'regular' gratification if sex with 'other women' was not working out.

5. She would never have sex with someone and hide it...she would always tell me where she was going and/or what she had done, if it had been a spur of the moment thing. Ditto for me, I just had to let her know if I was going to see someone else.

6. She would try her best to meet only strangers and avoid as much as possible repeat performances / regulars to avoid the risk of developing feelings for another man and making their trysts more like an affair.

7. If she ever did develop feelings for someone then she would be honest and not leave me dangling.

8. Ditto for me.....hahahahaha...yeah right...

9. She would use protection, unless she was utterly confident the guy was clean...no more risks like Soloman and his brothers, and the multiple cockfest at Tonys friends party, now that the thrill and ambition of being seeded by black guys had been largely acheived.

10. No-one in our families or friends must ever get the gist of what our lives were like...no girly gossip to her bitches at work, and no loose tongues. We had kids and 'a social standing' to protect. People can be so judgemental about things these days, especially on social media..no way did we want that kind of news on Facefuck or Twatter.

Just to get it out there, so I can stop mentioning myself, if I ever did think about sex with another woman when I beat myself off, albeit it rare, she would always be oriental or Japanese...eastern. I do not wish to offend anyone out there, but I think this is an ego boost thing, given my own insecurities; although I do find such women incredibly beautiful, with a naive, subservient, willing to please persona (kindred spirits) the most attractive thing about them is their men. Hey, trust me I am not trying to put anyone down, but the mess my mind is in, any small positive I can find is clung on to, so no offence but, I had read somewhere that eastern Asian guys are in the "red zone" for average cock sizes of men around the globe at about 4.3" when hard...this would make me relatively "big" by comparison on average, and therefore gave credibility to my fantasies where such ladies were concerned.

OK...enough now, and back to Trudy, now that we had (again) put down the building blocks of our future realtionship. Her next encounter turned out to be a little disturbing, and dangerous, with an unseen twist, that even she did not see coming....

She came home one night and told me she going away with work again, this time for a week. This was nothing new, she travels pretty frequently in her job - hence my lack of suspicion when she rang from London that time, having to stay another night unexpectedly...

Unusually, this time she was going to Zambia...not your usual business trip location is it? (Yes I did make jokes about all those black cocks at her disposal). But Trudy's company had a vested interest in the cotton trade out there...and needed to make sure their investment was performing to plan, and that forecasts were going to be met.

It would involve travelling around the country to visit different production plants in a 4x4 vehicle mainly, though one location was so remote it would need an internal flight in a small aircraft.

She would be escorted by one of the local company's executives based in the capital Lusaka, and a driver - except for the trip to the remote region when only the executive would travel (no room on the plane, and if there had been it would still be cheaper to leave him behind anyway until they got back.)

She would stay in a hotel in the capital on arrival to meet up with her chaperones, and also after the tour, before flying home. In between she would be staying in accommodation built within the grounds of each ginnery, a common practice given the lack of hotels and the need for quarters to house various visiting and on-site management.

She flew out via Jo'burg in South Africa on a Saturday...business class both legs, arriving in Lusaka on Sunday and being collected by the driver in the 4x4. He was an unnerving man, moody looking, and quiet...he spoke only two words to her during the trip to the hotel "hello" and "goodbye" and she was glad when he left, leaving her to just catch up on sleep and kill time until Monday morning.

At 0830 the next morning "moody" was back, but this time with the executive.

Stephen, was a tall elegant man, clean shaven and lean, dressed business casual, shirt open at the front by two buttons...chest hair peering out at the top..he introduced himself then said ..."I hope Bala here was on time last night at the airport and looked after you...he's new to the role" (Bala looked out of the corner of his eye at Stephen, it was a look of contempt, for checking up on him)..."It was all good"...said Trudy, not being entirely honest.

He was good looking in an understated way, but unlike her meeting with Tony in London nothing passed between them when they shook hands.

They placed their luggage in to the car and set off for the first site, about 3 hours away.

With little else to do en route but talk, they had asked about each other, the usual stuff, talked shop about what Trudy needed to see and accomplish during her visit and Stephen also acting as tour guide - pointing out things as they drove by and explaining about life in Zambia.

Bala said nothing the entire journey. Stephen did not bother to try and include him either. Clearly maintaining a pecking order. Trudy did notice Bala a few times though, looking at her in the rearview mirror - unsettling her.

Stephen was one of the privileged locals, born to a prosperous family, well educated - mainly abroad including a year in the UK - and was now building a career for himself. Oh..and yes his family had servants running the household...still commonplace in Zambia, remnants of British colonialism. That explained his aloof manner towards Bala, and no doubt Bala's obvious silence.

I won't bore you further with details of the business stuff...but having completed the tour of the site and talked turkey, it was time to settle in to the accommodation quarters, shower, eat and then turn-in ready for the next days travel to another location.

It had electricity from diesel powered generators, running water, a fridge and cooking facilities, a single bathroom, two bedrooms (thankfully, because she was sharing the quarters with Stephen) and a sitting area - with a TV but nothing worth watching on it. Her bedroom was spartan. A single bed with mosquito net, with clean cotton sheet and pillow case, a bedside table, a chair and a rickety wardrobe. That's it.

(Bala slept in workers quarters, elsewhere on site, Stephen had said dismissively.)

She went for a shower first. As she was undressing she noticed a bowl on the window sill full of condoms...and became quite disturbed as to why they were there. Feeling very alone and vulnerable instantaneously...her mind beginning to think of all kinds of scary possibilities.

She showered quickly, wrapped a towel around her and retreated to her room to dress, emerging 10 minutes later to eat.

One of the local women had prepared food for them, placing it on a table with a single candle burning in the centre; one of her other duties on top of cleaning the quarters and also doing her stint in the production rooms. Trudy immediately wondering again about the condoms and whether other duties were also performed by the local girls. She was pretty damn on the money, as she soon discovered.

She also wondered about the candle and hoped Stephen didn't have any ideas about this being a romantic meal.....of any kind.

Stephen clearly adopted a superior attitude towards the girl, but also on occasion towards Trudy when his guard slipped and he forgot himself (and to all other locals they had met during the day). He was seemingly held in high regards; considered as a more important caste than the others, and not just because of his managerial position. Tribes and Chiefs still control many communities in Zambia; although English is the official language, there are over 70 known languages across the various tribes. She suspected that to some, Stephen would be considered akin to nobility.

The harsh, dismissive tone of his voice and the obvious disdain in which Stephen treated the local woman in particular made her very uncomfortable, but she said nothing...reminding herself she was the in someone else's backyard and would be around this guy for the rest of the week, whether she like it or not.

Just as they had finished eating the lights went out, everywhere, all across the site machinery shut down - in total darkness. The candle the only thing providing any kind of illumination.....she was so relieved it was there now.

Stephen explained that it was normal. They shut the generators down for periods at a time, especially overnight when work was not being completed, in order to save fuel. She elected to go to bed at that point, not wanting to sit in semi darkness and chat shit with a guy she was not that fond of.

She left Stephen and the local woman, locked her door and got in to bed, and drifted off...it had been a long day and she was still slightly suffering from the effects of the long journey over the weekend so sleep came quickly despite her anxiousness.

She awoke with a start. Immediately alert, senses straining - what had disturbed her? A noise of some kind..she could hear muffled noises through her door...then a low voice speaking in an alien tongue...

She tried to concentrate hard, coming to her senses slowly from her slumber, a slow realisation of what had awoken her...the unmistakeable sounds of the sexual act - not love making though, but raw sex.

She listened intently, to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall, Stephens room, and could hear the creak from the bed moving in rhythm with their entwined bodies (she could only assume it was the "cook" Stephen was screwing). Other sounds reached her ears, panting breath, soft moans, whispered words, slapping noises as thighs rammed buttocks (or was it something else?), brushing noises on the wall as body parts came in to contact with it, muffled words, and then the unmistakeable sound of release....her first, then him......and then inexplicably the sound of sobbing, which Trudy could not compute.

........and then it began again. Despite herself, despite her vulnerability in this remote place Trudy found that she was aroused by the noises, the voyeurism was making her skin flush and her nipples harden....she reached down between her legs and found she was wet; and having made the discovery, she decided to explore further, her fingers continuing the expedition. She fed off the muffled noise from the room next door to fuel her own imagination, and she proceeded to probe and tease her pussy and bring herself to climax, in perfect tandem with the activity next door.

Shortly afterward, doors opened and closed, then when all was silent again....Trudy fell in to a fitful sleep.

The next morning Bala drove them to the local airfield; they were in the air 2 hours later heading for the private landing strip forming part of the next production facility. On arrival, they got through the formalities of business, before retreating to the accommodation quarters...very similar to the previous night...same set up, all built to a matching blue print, routine in a land with nothing to do...no wifi or broadband to kill time surfing the net.

Reluctantly she took a shower, noticing again condoms on the window sill, this time in a vase.

She could not believe she had said it, but she had asked Stephen about the condoms...he dismissed them being there with quite a reasonable explanation. He told her that the local women worked as cooks and cleaners for the production sites across the country, and earned a small wage for their trouble (earning in a month what some people earn in less than a day in other parts of the world)....some of the local women chose to offer additional services to the men working at the site to increase their earnings, hence the need for condoms and the practice of safe sex, due to the increase in aids / HIV positive cases in Africa. A need which went beyond sex transacted for money, but everyday consenting sex; and the supplies of condoms were therefore provided by charities and health organisations. He admitted not all of the women entered this vocation willingly, some were forced in to it by unscrupulous family members, who took much of the extra money for themselves...acting almost like pimps in the west. In his view this was nothing to do with him or the business, it was a fact of life, supply and demand and even good for production...a screwed man being more hard working than a frustrated one.

It was all very groundhog day really. Power cut on cue around 9pm....followed by retreat to the bedroom...followed by being woken in the night by persons engaged in sexual activites, but this time from the main living room area.

This however was different.....the sobs were heard during sex not after the event, and the woman that they came from was clearly distressed.

She tiptoed to her door against all better judgement, the floor made of stone and silent under foot. Slowly, she unlocked her door, opening it slightly and peering through the gap.

In the distance she could see Stephen's naked silhouette, his back to her, stood in front of the table...his hips moving back and forth, a sheen of sweat glistening from him in the candle light. She knew he was fucking a local woman...she could see her feet either side of him, obviously lying with her own back on the table...face up...and she could see her discarded clothes with his on the floor. She could also make out her soft sobbing and was guessing she was not a willing participant in this coupling.

Stephen's murmurings implying the same....it sound like he was telling her to hush, threatening her as he continued to pound his cock in and out of her.

Trudy did not know what to do. She was in no position to intervene without putting herself in danger..all she could do she decided, was to stay hidden but watch, so she could at least bear witness to the 'attack' should the girl actually decide to report the "rape"....as this is what it appeared to be to Trudy. She doubted though that Stephen would ever be accused, and had probably done it before. If only she knew.