The Cuckquean 2: Butch Desires.
Warning:
This story is titled The Cuckquean 2: Butch Desires. However, the 'cuckquean' in the title refers to the main character, Jemima Khan. There is little cuckquean action in this story because it relates more of Jemima's origins and her sexual desires, including how she loves to be dominated by masculine-looking, butch lesbians. Some of Jemima's subsequent stories will return to the story's origins—a submissive, bisexual wife who loves bringing home sexy young things so she can be 'cucked' by her husband. Most of the characters from the first Cuckquean story reappear in this episode.
Jemima Khan kissed her husband, Cillian, goodbye and watched as he strolled through the gates leading to the X-ray machines at Melbourne's International Airport. Cillian and some of his ex-teammates headed to Bali every year at this time. Her pussy throbbed as she anticipated her evening to come. Jemima had promised the butch lesbian bartender at The Fox Hotel in Collingwood, Melbourne, she'd return when her husband took his annual break with his ex-teammates.
Jemima knew Cillian and his mates would spend the week fucking every slut and ladyboy that would let them. She didn't begrudge Cillian this week's break, nor did she feel any jealousy over the girls he'd fuck. After all, Jemima spent this week indulging in her own fantasies. Jemima was bisexual with a strong preference for women. Yet, somehow, she'd fallen in love with Cillian, a man almost five years younger than her.
Cillian was a listed AFL player when Jemima met him. She and Cillian believed he was destined for greatness. Unfortunately, Cillian's ability to read the play and get himself to the right areas of the field was always a step slower than his opponent's. The big lummox tried, tried with everything he had. He trained hard, worked hard, and listened intently to his coaches. But after three fruitless years, the inevitable happened, and Cillian was delisted.
Without much hope, Cillian put his name into the draft, but his worst fears were confirmed, and he wasn't picked up by any of the other teams. Defeated and deeply ashamed, Cillian reluctantly made his way home to the enormous house in Melbourne's Brighton he shared with his wife, Jemima. To his surprise and endless gratitude, Jemima's love for him was unaffected by his self-perceived 'failure'.
Jemima, a radiologist with Melbourne's Royal Children's Hospital and a soft porn star under the pseudonym Jemima Starr, loved her big lunk of a husband to distraction. Jemima knew her husband wasn't the brightest star in the night's firmament. That, in fact, Cillian was borderline dumb. But the big guy had a big heart—a heart large enough for the emotionally fragile Jemima to hide inside.
Jemima was the seventh of seven children and a disappointment to her parents. Despite the marriage her parents had arranged for her, Jemima chose to continue with her education and become a radiologist. Then, as if to further rub her parents' faces in her disobedience, Jemima had married a white man, a Roman Catholic white man to boot.
To punish her, Jemima's father, Arjun, kicked her out of the inner family. Although her beloved older brother, Jaspirit, and her mother, Waheeda, ignored Arjun's edict and regularly made time to see her, Jemima could no longer attend family gatherings and events. Cillian's love for her and his steadfast support of her had allowed Jemima to come to terms with her banishment.
It was the night after Cillian had stared down her father that Jemima had first brought a young slut home for her husband to share. Two things happened that night: 1. Jemima realised she couldn't live without regular woman-on-woman sex. And 2. She loved watching her husband's big, thick cock splitting open some pretty, young slut's cunt, especially if she (Jemima) was bound and helpless when Cillian did it. From that night on, Jemima often went hunting, looking for a fresh, legal-aged, bisexual woman to take home to her husband. Jemima hardly ever missed her prey.
On a Friday night, depending on customers, The Fox doesn't close until after one a.m. Just before midnight and dressed to the nines in a Phoenix Rising Coloured Rhaine Midi-Cowl Bodycon dress, Jemima slid gracefully out of her Uber, opened the door and strutted into The Fox. The patrons at the door momentarily stopped talking as an exquisite piece of loveliness glided past them, her hips swinging sexily above her black 7-inch heels and with a pencil straight seam running up her stocking's length.
Striding confidently to the bar, Jemima waited for Leslie the Lezzie, the butch lesbian barkeep, to notice her. Leslie, who'd often fantasised about Jemima returning but hadn't the courage to call the beautiful Indian woman, almost dropped the schooners she carried when her eyes hit Jemima. Unawarely, Leslie's tongue reached out to touch her suddenly dry lips.
Jemima smiled at one of the men sitting on a stool at the bar. Bamboozled by Jemima's elegant beauty, the man quickly stood and offered her his seat. Thanking him with a soft touch on his flushed cheek, Jemima gracefully slid her shapely rear onto the stool, purposefully allowing her ass to touch the man's groin as she did.
"Co-co-could I buy you a drink?" The man stammered.
Turning her liquid-brown eyes onto the young man, Jemima flashed her massive diamond engagement and wedding rings to the man and replied, "I would, but I don't think hubby would approve, do you?"
"Ahh, probably not," the man regretfully agreed before turning to his mates.
"Jaysus!" The man's avowed bachelor friend muttered. "Even I'd give up dicks for a chance at that!"
Jemima, who had heard the 'not so whispered' comment, smiled at the pair and sultrily said, "And it'd be worth it, too."
Jemima turned her attention back to the bar. Leslie, ignoring other patrons who had waited for longer, handed Jemima an expresso martini before returning her attention to the others. Smiling enigmatically, Jemima appreciatively sipped her drink and waited until Leslie could speak to her.
As Jemima sat, Gayle and Lynne, The Fox's owners, took time to chat with her, trying to work out how their best but studiously single bartender knew the stunningly gorgeous woman sitting straight-backed and proud at their bar. They'd seen the massive rocks on the newcomer's finger and hoped Leslie wasn't making a grave mistake and becoming involved with a married woman.
Jemima handed Gayle her platinum credit card to ease any concerns she was mooching off Leslie and skilfully deflected their questions. Approaches from other patrons were met with a distant look and a raised hand so they could see her wedding rings. Insistent approaches were chased off when Leslie glared at them over the bar. Women and men approached Jemima in equal numbers, and although a few of the prettier girls would have been of interest if she was hunting for Cillian's benefit, Jemima was uninterested in them tonight.
Finally, nearing two a.m., the bar emptied enough that Leslie could stop for a time and talk with Jemima. Standing near the gorgeous woman, Leslie, her typically uninterested libido sending warm pulses into her hair-matted pussy, furiously dried and polished glasses to place in the trays to be returned to the long fridges under the bar, ready for tomorrow's rush. She had desired the exotic Indian woman since Jemima's unexpected appearance the month before. Many times, Leslie had gotten Jemima's card out, only to chicken out in the act of dialling, unable to believe the beautiful woman wanted her to call.
Now, a month later, almost to the day, Jemima was before her again, and poor old Leslie could not think of even one thing to say. Leslie saw Jemima looking amusedly over her glass at her as she dried and polished. Taking a deep breath, she blurted, "I'm sorry I didn't call. I wanted to, but I couldn't believe you wanted me to." 'Fuck! Even her laugh is beautiful,' Leslie thought as Jemima's chuckle chimed in her ear delightfully.
"I did say I'd come and see you when my husband and his friends took their annual trip," Jemima smilingly said. "Today's that day, and here I am."
