Her juices were flowing down his face and onto the pillow. He was grunting as he licked, another sign his own orgasm was approaching. She decided to let him climax and to quit fighting the onset of hers. The two of them groaned in unison as they climaxed, he into his pajama bottoms and she at the end of his tongue.
Her legs felt heavy and weak. She told him to scoot over to the center of the bed. She brought her other leg onto the bed and continued kneeling. His head remained between her legs inches from her crotch. She rested her ass on his chest. "I hope I'm not crushing you, cuck."
"You're not," he assured her.
"That was so good. Did you?"
He sounded ashamed, "Yes."
She soothed him, "That's okay. I wanted you too. You earned your climax being so good the last few weeks, and especially tonight. I'm glad you didn't question me when I canceled our plans. You just went with the flow. That was much better than last time. Remember what happened last time."
"I do," he quietly replied remembering how furious she had been, how she gave him the cold shoulder the next day, pacing the house like some caged animal, waiting for the kids to leave, how the instant they left, she unleashed a verbal barrage telling him how he embarrassed her, asking him if he forgot who was in charge, demanding he go upstairs and wait for his punishment. He had hustled upstairs, stripped, and bent over the side of the bed, exposing his bottom to her. She appeared a few minutes later, opening the door with a flourish scaring him, slamming it hard enough to crack the frame, and using one of the ping pong paddles from the table in the garage lit his bottom up. She didn't stop even after he started crying and continued even as he begged her to. What stopped her was exhaustion.
She pulled her panties off, told him to lay on the floor, and with his ass beat red and throbbing rode his face in lightning time to an orgasm. His penis stayed shriveled. After she flooded his face she got up, went to the bathroom, urinated, came back, and told him to get on the bed face down so she could see her handiwork.
The bruising scared her. She felt bad for going overboard but reminded him as she applied ice and lotion he had no one to blame but himself. She reminded him she loved him, but it was his fault he needed disciplining. That had been years ago and he hadn't repeated that mistake again. He never questioned her decisions in public and rarely in private. She was the boss.
She thought, resting her bottom on his chest, her sex wet, puffy, pink, the hair matted, his eyes glued to her vagina's entrance, "they had come a long way." She felt very open, knew he was picturing a cock going in and out of that all that tender flesh, a soft, liquidy cave he would never dip his spelunker in again. She had let him get close the last few years, only to change her mind at the last minute, guiding his head to her clitoris, her hand wrapped around his shaft, using his penis to rub herself to orgasm, continuing to rub until she orgasmed again or he came, then making him lick her clean and to another orgasm.
Before, they hadn't been able to be as open. Neither was comfortable discussing what happened. As he got emotionally better able to handle her betrayal he found he needed to know details for the last piece of the puzzle to be complete, humiliation. She shared only the sparsest of the details at first and still held back details she wanted only her lover and she to know, but she needed her cuck as a sounding board for her relationships rarely had only a physical component, but an emotional one.
For being her husband he provided remarkably sage advice on how she should handle a lover. He was a cuck, but he thought like a man and he provided her insight into how a man thinks.
She looked down at him, feeling stronger than she had in a long time. Her affairs made her feel in control. "Cuck," she asked, "do you want to hear about my evening?"
That crack in his voice when he answered delighted her, "Yes, but only if you want to tell me."
She liked his answer, always remembering to defer to her. She scooted down his chest, scooped his head up as she lowered her mouth to his and kissed him. His face smelled of her juices. She licked his cheek commenting, "I taste good. I do want to tell you, but only if you promise to stay awake. Otherwise it can wait until tomorrow."
She knew fatigue set in after he climaxed and it was late, but his answer would be a sign he remained committed to the journey.
"Yes, I'll stay awake."
She got off of him, "Good. I'll be back in a minute. You did hang my nightgown on the bathroom door."
"I did," her cuckold answered.
She returned a few minutes later, after having brushed her teeth, and urinated one last time for the evening. She didn't tell him to get up as she wanted him to wear their scent the entire night and to feel the cold wet spot in his pajama bottoms as a reminder of his status.
She got in bed, turned towards him, and with her eyes locked onto his, her mouth an inch from his, began. Her hands under the covers she unbuttoned his pajama fly and extracted his penis. It was soft, but if past performance is an indication of future reliability she knew it wouldn't be soft for very long.
She looked into his eyes, thinking how he was aging well, appreciating his devotion to her. She loved her cuck and was glad they were growing old together. She softly asked, "C, do you know what serendipity is?"
