Candy S Dandy

A cuckold adventure in Millie's Vast Expanse

© Copyright 2021 by Millie Dynamite

This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote any lifestyle. This is merely a representation of the fantasy of the cuckold lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are drawn from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional. This story contains some sex and violence. If you have an issue with cuckoldry, humiliation, domination, or any other trope in such fantasies, you should read no further. If you like such stories, I hope you enjoy what follows.

* * * * *

In the Expanse, people, like water, seek out their own level. Meet Candy, she married for money. Meet her husband, Jeffery. As he always did, he married for love, using his money to purchase her undying fidelity, along with a vow of everlasting love. Everlasting love is an expensive commodity and requires sacrifice beyond cash. Fidelity, well, faithfulness can't be purchased or even rented. A wealthy cuck just doesn't understand until he is forced to do so.

Their world is about to collide with reality. A cuckold is a cuckold before he understands he's a cuckold, time to wake up and smell the cheating, taste the cum, and accept his place in the world.

"

Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night

!"

Betty Davis as Margo in '

All About Eve

'

Jayden and I meet a few weeks after he transferred to the Naval base outside of town. I sat on a barstool sipping my Pappy Van Winkle when this tall African American man in full dress uniform sat next to me. He wore Captain's bars, possessed an air of authority. I nodded to him when perched on the next stool. He returned my nod with his own acknowledgment. In a deep voice, without turning toward me, he said, "Yo."

"I'll have bourbon. Pour a shot of Evan for me," he said to the bartender. He spoke genial enough. Still, he gave an order.

"Give him a double of Pappy. Nothing too expensive for our servicemen," I told the bartender. Turning to the Marine, "My way of saying, thanks for your service."

"Well, sir, thank you," he said, glancing at me. "Quite generous of you."

I nodded to him, continued to sip my bourbon, lost in thoughts as I studied a picture of my wife. The warmth of the booze passed over me. I sensed his eyes staring at me, taking a sideways glance at him. The Captain studied me, scrutinizing my face. After a few moments, he turned his attention to the picture in my hand. I turned and stared at him, a smirk twisted onto his lips. With his long, thick index finger, he pointed at my photograph.

"She's grade-a-looker, sir," he said. The sir sounded different from before, a somewhat disdainful tone, like a putdown.

"Yes, she is," I said, ignoring his tone. I continued with pride in my voice, adding, "We have only returned from our honeymoon."

He licked his thick lips, reached over, and took the picture from my hand, ogling the image of my wife with obvious lust in his eyes. He studied her photo for a moment, handed me the picture back. Took the Pappy and sipped some from his glass.

"Let's move to a booth and visit," he said.

"I don't think..." he broke in on me.

"I said let's move to a booth," he repeated. "This isn't a request, mister." He spoke with the self-assured confidence of a man who orders men about for a living. "Give us the bottle and put the Van Winkle on his tab," he told the bartender. Joe handed him the bottle, not asking me for permission.

This man's familiarity with having his way was oblivious. The Marine stood, walked to a booth, turned back to me, and pointed to one side of the booth. Standing like a statue, he locked his dark eyes on me. I sat with an emotionless expression, with perfect posture, motionless, I guess trying to show him I didn't take orders.

"Here, now," he said as he snapped his fingers. Without waiting on me, he sat down and put my bottle in the middle of the table after he refilled his glass. Fixing his eyes where he ordered me to sit, without so much as glimpse my direction. I don't comprehend why I immediately moved to him. But rather than sit, I stood next to the booth.

The Captain turned his head to me, snapped his fingers again, pointed to the seat across from him. The scowl on his face spoke volumes sending a shiver down my back.

I sat in my designated spot, meekly following the order. Sitting down across from him, I picked up the bottle, started to pour myself more. He grabbed my wrist, a firm, painful grip, twisting my arm. He pushed downward, forcing me to put down the bottle.

"You don't need more right now," he said. "Finish what you have first." Letting go of my wrist, he glowered at me with cold, dark eyes.

I let loose of the Pappy's, placed both hands on the table. He put his dark hand over my pale white one. A sly grin passed over his face, and he said, "Your wife is a lot younger than you."

"Twenty-five years," I told him with some measure of pride.

"You'll never hold on to her if you don't let her have some real freedom. Women are strange creatures. I figure you have one failed marriage already or more."

"Two," I admitted. The man talked about what a young woman needs. I realized he meant to let her have lovers. Anger flared in me, "This isn't any of your concern."

He clutched my hand again with a vise-like clutch. The cold smile faded from his face, replaced by a stern glower.

"Making your business, my business," he said. The threat in his words was not subtle, no lost on me. At last, he released my hand, picked up his drink. "Mighty fine bourbon," his voice and attitude returned to an icy, cold detachment.

"I'm going to fuck your wife," he said, his confidence resonated in the tone and timbre of his announcement. "How'd you like things if I let you be in the room while we fuck?"

"What," I said.

"Your ears didn't deceive you," he said. His voice's deep tones resonated in my ears. "I'm going fuck your wife. I'm willing to let you be present while I do."

Starring at me, his face emotionless, frozen in a stern gaze. Dressed in his blue marine uniform, his dark russet skin and commanding presence combined to make me less. Self-worth evaporated as I became less of a man, far less manly than him, less valuable. An understanding dawned inside my mind. Yes, a man such as this Marine Captain, his wishes outweighed my concerns, wants, and needs making me less meaningful than this dominating personality.

"You aren't going to fuck my wife," I said, my voice broke as I spoke. This man shook me. The assurance in his physical, his dominating presence frightened me. "You can't have her," I said, like a boy threatening a classmate who would beat my ass without breaking a sweat. But, no, this isn't the issue; I was a boy confronted by a man.

"You don't mean what you said," he said. "After all, son, you don't want me to hurt you."

No, this wasn't a threat directed at me. I don't understand how to explain this. The words weren't a threat. They were a promise, a fact, indisputable, and understandable, for the Captain was able to hurt me. From the bottle of expensive liquor, he poured my glass full. "Now drink down the booze, rethink your position." Turning his head, he glanced at the bartender. "Hey, Joe," he said in a loud voice, "Can I use the back room for a few minutes?"

"Sure," he said. "But, this time, you'll need to clean up after you're finished."

Images ran through my brain, a slow-motion video of a Marine beating the shit out of me in the backroom. His dress uniform had ribbons and medals adorning the dark blue material. This man was a combat soldier, while I'm an accountant. The closest I'd ever come to a fight, as an adult, ended in disaster, as guy 20 pounds lighter than me kicked my butt...you guessed right, the conflict was over a woman.

"So," he said, "What's your name?"

"Jeff, Jeff Richards," I said.

"Well, what do you say? Want the back room, or you going to agree?"

"She'll never let you," I said.

"If this is the case, no sweat, I walk away," he said. "But Jeff, ole boy, the decision is hers, not yours. You will tell her as much. Agreed?"

In my mind's eye, a vision of those enormous fists of his beating my face to a pulp. With resigned compliance, I nodded agreement. He told me to give him my wallet, I complied. He opened the billfold, went through everything, taking my license out. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, wrote down the information. A moment later, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Swiping here, touching something, he took a pick of my driver's license, sent the image to someone, and called them.

"Hey, Steven, Captain Andrews here. Can you tell me if the information on the license I sent you is accurate?" he glimpsed at me. His face grew sterner, "Naw, nothing much, checking him out, he had a scrap with another driver. Want to be sure he doesn't back out of his commitment...Give me the whole nine yards...Oh, you don't say, the usual, line them up for me."

He terminated the connection. He returned the license to the proper folder, thumbed through my money, credit cards, and the few other things in my wallet. When he Handed my billfold back to me, the man's appearance softened. He reached into a pocket on the uniform and pulled out a golden cigarette case and lighter. He took a smoke out, tapped the cigarette down on the table, and lit his smoke. The cigarette sat between his full lips. Sucking in the fumes, deep, holding the vapors deep, for a moment, he exhaled the thick smoke.

"So, the first wife racking you over the coals financially?"

"No, no kids with her, and she remarried."

"And the second one?"

"I have child support, but I can handle the payment," I told him.

"What's the new wife's name?"

"Candy."

"Candy's dandy," he said, lifting his glass. He put the cork back in the bottle. "Drink up, Jeff, boy." He glanced at his wristwatch. Swilled down the rest of his glass. Standing, he strolled to the bar and handed the bottle to the bartender. "Put this in my stock, okay, Joe." He turned to me with a grin on his face. "Let's go to your place. I'm ready to fuck your sweet, Candy bitch."

Everyone in the bar rubbernecked in my direction. The eyes of everyone in the bar seared into me. Without any proof, which I didn't need in this case, I sensed their pity, too soft a word, disgust. The humiliation washed over me in a crashing wave as the inability to lock eyes with anyone took hold of me. As if I was his prisoner, he led me out of the bar. One man turned to his friend, halfway covered his mount, in a semi, hushed whispers, "Pore cuckold bastard, the black will ruin her."

He had me climb into his car. With a stern glower, the Captain gazed at me as he started the car. With a smirking smile on his face, he glared into my eyes. The Marines dark eyes burned into me, and his contempt overwhelmed my own self-worth. I realized he believed he was superior to me. He reached over and put his bear-paw of hand on my shoulder, squeezed till a hard twinge of pain erupted.

"Don't think I don't distrust of you. Because I can spot a cuckold wan-a-be a mile away, boy." The boy burned in my ears. "You haven't accepted your role. Not yet, I'm not letting you chicken out, you'll keep the bitch, I'll be the one fucking, hey, boy, this is the way things are in your new world."

I wanted to believe he was wrong, but I didn't. I had this sinking sensation, like a man who can't swim anymore, submitting to the ocean, plummeting into a watery grave. This Marine found a buried desire, one I feared was always inside me, this terrible desire. Both my exes had other people in their lives, and I spent hours thinking about them fucking with each of their new lovers.

This horrible nagging thought bugged me how wonderful it would be to see Candy fucked. But not like this. This was beyond embarrassing, degrading me with others understanding what was about to happen. He'd made the announcement in a loud, commanding, and clear voice.

I didn't want to admit to myself, she'd submit to his seduction. I hoped she'd slap his face, cuss him, shout to him, "Hit the fucking road, bub." But, inside my brain, a niggling voice called.

"She'll let him do what he wants, out of fear if nothing else, or worse, from desire."

****

Vacuuming the hall, I barely caught the door open and close. Glancing up, my husband was standing in the doorway, with a sad expression on his face. This sadness gave him a miserable, lost appearance. Next to him stood a Marine in his snappy, navy-blue uniform. A striking man with dark skin, the brownest eyes, and a muscled frame, which his dress blues strained to contain. I figured he might be in his early thirties.

"This is Captain Andrews," my husband said. Looking down at the floor, he moved his toe in a strange circular motion on the tile. "I brought him here to meet you."

The Captain tossed his hat on the table next to the door and walked toward me. A brimming grin covered the man's face. In a few short strides, the Marine marched right to me, switched off my vacuum, and pulled me away from my task. Taking my arm, he led me to the living room, right in front of our fireplace.

My husband closed the door standing in the distance, viewing but not reacting, as if his feet were in cement. He spied on us from a space of fifteen feet as this stranger guided me away from him. I realize my husband would never put me in danger. Yes, he's a wimp. Still, he would never allow anything terrible to happen to me.

His sweet disposition drew me to him. Well, his sweetness and his money. I remember when we first met. A pleasant thought of how I took no time at all to grow used to him sitting at the bar and gabbing with me. Once, he confided in me how terrible his marriage was and how he needed a friend. How to say this? Things happened. But in our romance, I still had to be the aggressor due to his passive personality in all things not concerning business.

At business, Jeffery is ruthless. In any other thing, he is passive, close to spinless in confrontations, so he avoids them. In the decision at home, Jeff yields to my wishes. In the bedroom, he is submissive. All these things drew me to him, not the spinless part, not the yielding to anyone in a bar, a restaurant, or on the street to avoid shouts or threats. Who can love a piece of man which strips his manhood? If I'm honest, I miss being with a man who wanted me and showed me he did.

The black visitor took me in his arms, his face descended toward mine, his lips pressed against me. I put my hands on his muscular chest, pushing to no avail. He kissed me, his thick lips pressed against mine, heat jumped from him to me. I continued to resist trying to stop kissing him, fighting the part of me which wished our embrace not to end.

I glanced over at Jeff, standing with this odd, mysterious expression on his face. When he realized I understood his, he turned away, studying a painting of me on the wall. When he believed I'd change my attention, he turned back.

Understanding of the situation escaped me for a moment. So, I closed my eyes, still struggling, pushing on the man's chest his arms. The Marine wound his long tongue into my mouth. Relentless, he continued his assault on me. His hand roamed my body. I flushed with excitement as his embrace engulfed me in emotions and passion. We broke apart for a moment.

"Oh please, sir, this is wrong," I exclaimed. Turning, I gawked at my husband. "Dear?" I asked, and he understood the question.

"It's okay," he said. "If you want to, I'm fine with this. If you don't..."

Before he finished, I turned back to the man, wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him to me. All I had needed was permission. Since forever, this dark taboo had burned inside me, fascinated with the African American people surrounding me growing up in my bigoted home and community.

The supposed wrongness of the desire tempted me, intrigued me. The fear of my father always kept me from acting. My father was nowhere near, and my husband gave me his blessing. I believed he wanted this to happen. For my part, I was not about to question him about him being fine with what would happen.

The fire crackled and popped as the flames inside the fireplace burned. At the same time, our passion flared. I began to undress this towering, Nubian God. All the while, his hands tugged and pulled on my clothing. When the dress didn't slide off my body quickly, he ripped the garment from me with a savage, wanton eagerness. We sank to the floor. With a tender softness, he teased me, licking my body here, a light biting me in this place, and I gave in to his hankering hunger.

The order of things became a blur, hands here, lips kissing body parts, our bodies entwined on the living room floor as tongues danced in one another's mouths. The room had a yellow glow from the light of the setting sun flooding through the oversized picture window at the front of the house.

I touched the rock-hard muscles of this aggressive man, and my own will evaporated. A real man desired me in a manner my husband didn't match. He lay on his back and guided my head to his crotch. My insides convulsed as my mixed emotions rooted into a flaming desire. I stole glances at Jeff, a gloomy, intense countenance on his face, his tiny dick poking straight out in loose-fitting golf slacks.

In a flash, I realized Jeff liked this, my husband enjoyed the experience. Still, I appreciate he hated what was happening. The cuckold stood powerless to stop this. The sad truth was, Jeffery had the right to terminate this strange experiment right up to the moment he told me he didn't mind if I fucked this man.

The fact was, he lost his rights to the exclusivity of my body when he gave me permission. Truth is, if he hadn't given me permission, I'd have sought out this man behind his back. Things were better this way, in the open and honest. Besides all those things, my body belongs to me, and I determine who fucks me. After all, Jeffery was born to be cuckolded. Lucky for him, he earned lots of money for me.

I sucked on the man's huge, black cock for such a long time. I played with the Captain's beefy balls as I sucked the bulbous, black knob and some few inches of his splendid cock. In truth, this was all I able to fit in my mouth. When those balls raised away from me, retreating a bit, I understood what was about to happen.

I sensed the semen ridding up his magnificent pecker, the skin of his dick rippling as his load built, as cum traveled toward my mouth. The hot nut juice shot from his dickhead, with tremendous force. Much of his baby stuff spurted down my throat. Cum filled my mouth, so much so, some leaked, dribbling down on his belly and ran down his mahogany shaft, covering my hands in the process.

"Don't swallow it, baby. Come over here, boy," the Captain said to Jeff. "Come eat your reward."

Jeff walked over to us. The Captain snapped his fingers, pointed to the floor, and Jeff, without resistance, knelt.

"Spitball him, baby."

Taking Jeff's face in my hands, I pushed my lips to his and forced the cum from my mouth into his.

"Eat your reward down, boy. Now put your ass back over yonder and eyeball this, play with yourself, cucky boy."

Jeffery did as he was ordered. I realized Jeff was frightened senseless by this man. The strangest thing was, I believed that Jeff didn't mind eating cum.

Returning my attention to Captain Andrews, and to my surprise, the fucking monster cock hadn't gone limp. Captain Andrews laid me down, positioned himself between my legs. His full lips pressed against my labia, and his long, plump tongue snaked out, running over the sensitive flesh, exploring every fold, flicking across my clit.