Cucing the Snowbound Couple

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, and NTR. If this isn't the fetish for you, don't waste your time reading the next (however many) pages, then waste my time sending me hate mail. If you DO read it, and DO send me hate mail, then I'm going to assume you really did enjoy it, and are struggling to not admit it to yourself.

Otherwise, I love hearing from fans, and welcome any suggestions, thoughts, criticisms, or fantasy ideas. Enjoy!

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Day Two...

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I awoke the next morning to a dull pain behind my forehead, as though my brain had sprouted a cartoon fist and was currently beating it against the inside of my skull, hoping to escape. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts and remember where I was and what happened. Sleep has a wonderful way of making us forget something devastating. If you lost your job, there's a few moments when you first open your eyes were you don't remember your financial hardship. Or if your granny dies, you have a brief time where all is right with the world and she's still alive. Or if your wife had drunken sex with another man...

I sat bolt upright, suddenly remembering that I was in my honeymoon cabin. The bed beside me was empty. Not just empty, but made up and looking like it had never been slept in.

Then the images came flooding back: My wife writhing in pleasure on the couch as a simple drunken goof-around had turned on itself. A man we had only met just yesterday, lounging beside me on the couch, grinning at me and telling me how good my wife sucks cock. The way my wife's face looked— eyes shut, mouth wide, as she fed herself with his enormous manhood. Them silhouetted against the warm roaring fire, my wife on all fours, and him making that cock disappear inside of her over and over again. But the worst was the image of her straddling him on the couch, their lips locked together in a passionate kiss as they rode each other to orgasm.

The memories alone made my stomach knot. Had it all been a dream? A drunken hallucination? Just a crazy one and done fling? Or was this all the beginnings of something much much worse?

I went to the bedroom window and glanced out. I groaned. The snow was still tumbling down, not as hard as yesterday, but hard enough to make my life difficult. And the accumulation made me gasp. There had to be a solid three feet of it on the ground. It took me back to the blizzard of '96. I had been in elementary school, and the sky had literally fallen overnight. School had been cancelled for two weeks. I had been delighted at the time. Now I felt helpless dread.

His car was still here. I had been praying that he was gone, had taken what he wanted from us, and had slipped away like a departing phantom. But seeing his car there, parked beside mine, made this all too real.

I hesitated at the bedroom door, afraid of what I'd see... afraid to show my face and reveal my embarrassment. Part of me didn't want them to know that I was miserable. I know it sounds crazy. But when you grow up being bullied, you still want to carry the illusion of dignity with you, no matter how defeated or humiliated you feel.

They weren't in the living room. The faint sound of music was emanating from the kitchen, along with the smell of cooking food— breakfast meats and eggs.

I didn't know what to expect... or hoped to find when I entered the kitchen. Maybe them acting normal, like it never happened?

Instead, I found Brett busy in front of the stove, wearing just a set of plaid flannel bottoms. He was naked from the waist up, his back looking like a bag of ropes— just smooth muscle.

Some relaxing Billy Joel was playing from a travel speaker. Alexandra (aka "Alex"— my wife) was seated on the counter, mere feet away, watching him cook and making light hearted banter. She wasn't wearing pants, I noticed. The oversized shirt she wore was the matching flannel shirt from his pajama set— it was much shorter than the one she borrowed last night, but this one hadn't had its buttons torn off. She kicked her feet slowly, her bare legs sexy and sinewy.

When they saw me, much of their conversation died. They smiled casually, but it was more of out politeness.

"Hey champ," Brett said. "How do you like your bacon? Crispy or floppy."

Before I could answer, he and my wife glanced at each other and giggled, trading juvenile snickers over the somewhat sexual remark.

For some reason, I had trouble finding my voice. "Umm... floppy," I said, which earned another snicker out of him. Maybe his height was having some sort of effect on me. At 6' 8", he towered over me. I felt naturally compelled to fall into line. At 5'11", I wasn't exactly a small guy either, and I was solid enough to not question myself in a fight but... I already knew that if it came to fists, Brett was one foe that I couldn't beat.

He grinned at me, that charming wide grin that had apparently worked so well for him in the past. He was so good looking that it pissed me off more. He could have any girl he wanted. Yet he had set his sights on my wife. Maybe it was the circumstances— alone, snowed in. She was the only woman, and a damn good looking one at that. Even in the morning, she looked hot. Her dark brown hair was messy, cascading around her face and framing her like a lioness. Maybe it was just me, but was she glowing? It was only natural he'd want her. Hopefully once the trip was over, he'd find someone else to move in on.

Why was I making excuses for this guy, after what I saw??? I snapped myself out of it.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I asked Alex. Already I could feel the knot of dread tightening in my belly. I almost instantly second guessed myself for even speaking up. I guess I was always a path-of-least-resistance type of guy. And I knew that this wasn't a conversation that would go well. I'm not a confrontational dude, and I was afraid that this would blow up in my face. I'd much rather just stay quiet and pray to god that the situation would resolve itself.

"Sure, what's on your mind?" she hadn't made a move to hop off the counter. She merely swung her legs back and forth and took a sip from her coffee mug.

I hesitated, glancing between her, and this tall sculpture of a man beside her. "Alone," I said after a beat.

For the briefest moment, I saw the flash of annoyance on my wife's face. Just a little shake of the head, and the tiniest eye roll. She looked apologetically at Brett, like they hadn't just had sex, and he was a guest about to overhear a completely unnecessary couple's fight. Then she hopped off the counter. Her shirt rose up her hips, and for a second, I had a flash of just her panties beneath. Apparently she hadn't felt it necessary to retrieve her gym shorts that she usually sleeps in.

She followed me around the stone fireplace and into the living room. "What's up? Do you want some coffee or something?" She folded her arms.

"What's going on here?" I asked, ignoring her question.

Her brow furrowed. "We're having a friendly conversation. What's your problem?"

"You know what my problem is," I deliberately kept my voice low. "You had sex with the guy, Alex."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes again, as though I was angry about the most trivial thing in the world. "That wasn't anything. We were all drunk, and we had a threesome. A threesome that I asked you about, and that you agreed to," she reminded me.

I was stunned. Was she actually blaming me for this? But she said it with such conviction, that it gave me reason to pause and rethink last night. It was a crazy blur, yes. And much of that was because of the liquor. Maybe I had, although if so, I definitely didn't remember. Ever the push-over, I softened. "I didn't agree to it," I insisted. I rubbed my head. "Maybe I'm remembering it wrong, but I thought it happened... organically."

Alex sighed. "I didn't exactly hear you objecting when I was rubbing your cock with my foot. You were enjoying it at the time. I can't build a time machine and go back and undo it all, just because you're feeling insecure about it the next day. Somebody always gets weird after a threesome. You just have to power through it because that's not fair to everyone else who had fun. If you and I had one with another woman, how would you feel the next day if I started grilling you?"

Now the details were coming back more clear. "Threesome?" I asked. My voice rose a little, but not the mighty roar that I wish it had been. It came out sounding like a whine. "You barely touched me. I had to move your foot on my cock just to get any action at all. Instead, all you did was fuck Mr. Moneybags in there."

Alex sighed again. "I would have gotten to you, but you left early. You just got up, and walked out of the room. I didn't know where you went or if you were coming back. It's not like you said goodnight. You bailed and left me with a stranger. So what was I supposed to do!?! Just stop?" Now her voice was raising, and Alex can get pretty scary when she's pissed.

I stood there, completely dumbfounded. I'm not the best at arguing, mostly because I get so wrapped up in someone else's points, that my brain seems to freeze like a deer in headlights. I was mulling over her point— that I'd gotten up and left. That much was true. And I guess I didn't expect her stop just because I did. But I was so heavily considering that maybe I was to blame for this infidelity, that it wasn't until much later that I came up with the counter argument that the only reason I'd gotten up and left was because she was barely touching me.

She shook her head like she couldn't believe me, her eyes flicking up to the ceiling in exasperation. She was on the offensive, and I was wondering how the hell the roles had been switched. This was my argument, my point to bring up, and yet now I felt like I was the one being put in a position to apologize.

"I knew this would happen," she said. "I knew that the first time I tried to get a little crazy in the bedroom for you and try something wild for us, you'd get all freaked out by it. It's not always about you, you know. You're the one who suggested it in the first place, and now that I followed through, you have a problem with it."

My jaw dropped. "I suggested it? I did no such thing!"

"Oh yeah?" She cocked her eyebrow, her arms resting on her hips, as though she was daring me. "You really want to go down this road? Last night in the hot tub, you suggested I hook up with Brett."

"What? No I didn't!"

"Yeah... ya did. While we were fooling around, all that talk about your damn stupid porno movies where the couple gets stranded with a hot stranger. That was all you! I was just playing along. Then you suggested Brett."

"I suggested Brett because he was standing behind you," I said. She looked validated. I shook my head. "I mean, I didn't suggest him. I said his name, because I thought he'd left and then I saw him standing behind you like a crazy person."

She folded her arms, still looking pissed. But then she glanced to the kitchen, then back at me. "Look, it happened. You can put whatever twist on it that you want. But the fact is that none of us are going anywhere any time soon. So we can either go forward from here and move on, or we can spend the next week, or possibly even more, snowed in a tiny house, fighting over the fact that you're pissed off about something that happened last night while we were all drunk. But I gotta tell you, Sean, if I spend a week fighting with you, it really raises some doubts with me about our marriage and if we should have done it at all."

There it was— the ultimatum. She was holding the relationship hostage until I calmed down. In hindsight, I know what I should have picked. But at the time, I was scared, hurt, and wanted some reassurance. She made a lot of points that I thought were valid— I hadn't said no to the threesome. We were drunk. I had just up and left the room, with this expectation that she would follow me like a dog on a leash. Maybe I really was being the unreasonable one here. And I didn't like the thought that our marriage could really be over because of a misunderstanding and a lack of communication on my part.

I caved and sighed. "I'm sorry." I said. "It was just weird, the whole thing."

Her face softened slightly. "I'm sorry too." She gave me a warm hug that felt good. "We can't go back and undo it now. We just gotta power through it."

We returned to the kitchen and I felt like a scolded child. I could see Brett holding a knowing smirk on his face, not looking up from his cooking efforts. Alex either didn't notice, or pretended not to.

The three of us sat down to eat. The table was small and intimate... just a little too small for three. Our knees were practically touching. I was dead silent. Alex conversed with Brett— asking him about where he was from and what he did for a living. He was from Upstate New York, and I guess worked for some business that his daddy owned. Real shocker there. I could hardly bring myself to listen to it. Almost like last night when we had our "threesome", I felt like I didn't need to be there. That I was the third wheel.

Alex's words played over and over again in my mind. I had caved in, because I'm an introspective guy. And I guess she made sense at the time, but as I sat at the breakfast table, I got to thinking more and more about her argument. And though I felt resolution immediately at the end of our fight, the anger and self doubt were bubbling quickly back to the surface. We hadn't resolved anything!

But it was too late. The fight was already concluded. I hadn't said my peace at the time, and now my chance was gone. It's not like I could really set up the argument again, without risking a serious altercation and losing Alex.

Finally Brett asked, "So what do you want to do today?"

Maybe there was more anger than I thought just below the surface, because without thinking, I blurted out. "I think I'm going to unbury our cars, and shovel out the driveway." I was hoping that my voice had enough of an edge to convey that I was going to take an active approach to getting this guy to leave, so I could repair the fragile cracks in my marriage that he caused.

They must not have gotten the hint, or they didn't care. "Wow, someone is being ambitious," Alex said over the rim of her coffee. "That's a long driveway."

"I mean, it's not a bad idea," Brett commented. I didn't see it, but just then, his hand slipped beneath the table and gave my wife's thigh a discreet little squeeze. They exchanged a glance and a little smile. That part I did see.

I inwardly sighed. They hadn't caught on at all to what I was saying. So wrapped up in themselves. I did what I always do— I took the passive aggressive route.

I decided to press a bit harder. "You know," I said. "If the three of us work at it, we could probably have the car and the driveway unburied, and have Brett on his way home before the snow piles back up..."

Brett gave a nonchalant glance out the window. "I'm not going out there," he scoffed.

I blinked stupidly. "What do you mean?"

Beneath the table, his hand continued to roam Alex's strong bare thigh. She held onto her mug tightly, her cheeks reddening slightly as she fell quiet. The sensation of him so boldly doing this right in front of me must have been a new and exciting thrill, because her legs slowly parted. His hand roamed higher.

"I mean, my car struggled to make it up here on a clear day," Brett prattled off his point with confident composure. His sleep eyes and easy smile were making my blood boil. "And in case you didn't notice, it's the freakin' storm of the century out there. You could spend all day shoveling, and that car isn't going anywhere. I'm not wasting my time."

One long finger moved between my wife's thighs. She jumped a little as he ran a finger teasingly over her panties. Her cheeks flushed harder, and she held the mug higher in front of her face to keep me from seeing that she'd bit her lip.

"Besides dude. We're on vacation," Brett said, ever the smooth talker, even as he was basically fingering my wife mere inches from me, and I wouldn't even come to find out about it until much later. "We've got a house full of food and booze. A running hot tub. And plenty of logs for the fire. Plus, a total hottie who's not wearing any pants," He smirked. "I don't know about you, but everything I need is right here," he winked at my wife, and she dropped her eyes to the table. A little smile lingered on her lips, even as her hips began to wiggle and move, responding to his touch.

I saw the exchange— the little coy smiles that they traded. "You know, I'm tired of you," I said, jumping up from my chair.

"Sean... don't start," Alex scolded.

"Sean, it was a joke. I was making a joke," Brett sighed, even though his hand never left the warm inviting spot between her legs. Even with me getting angry. If I had been just a little less blind and a little more vigilant, I would have seen his arm, extended over into her space... into my territory. "I mean, we've been dancing around what happened last night a lot. Are we not at the point where we can just laugh it off?"

"No," I insisted. "Because I don't think it's very funny. This isn't your cabin anymore. You didn't book this time, I did. I'm paying for this trip. Nobody invited you here, and honestly, you're ruining this for both of us."

He looked over at my wife, knowing just who really had the final say. "Alex, am I ruining your trip?"

She shook her head. "Sean, you're being an asshole," she glared at me, never breaking a stare, even as Brett slid his finger around her panties, and sank it into her warm wet folds. "Brett isn't the one ruining our vacation right now. You are. Brett's just asking for a place to stay for a couple of days— out of necessity. You and I have the rest of our lives to spend time together— which lately I'm starting to question if you keep acting like this. Brett staying with us for a few more days isn't going to break us. If anything does that, it's you, constantly flipping out like this. We discussed what happened last night, and we both agreed to move past it. Do we need to discuss it again?"

I shrank away. "No," I said and could barely hold eye contact as I dropped my dishes in the sink. But as I looked out the window at the snow, I knew that there was no changing how I felt. "I'm going out there to shovel anyway." I said firmly.

"That's not going to change things," Alex said. "Brett will leave when he's comfortable driving, and not a second sooner."

"No, no," Brett laid a hand on my wife's arm— the one that wasn't buried between her thighs. His thumb caressed her skin. "Let him. It would probably be a good idea to get an early start on shoveling out anyway. And besides. I think your husband could stand to burn off some energy right now."

They were basically talking about me like I was a temperamental child. I was so angry in that moment, I was literally shaking with frustrated rage— probably the reason I didn't see what they were doing beneath the table.

I stormed from the room and made a beeline for the bedroom, throwing on my snow pants, heavy coat, and gloves. I was preparing myself to take action, and get this driveway cleared, and get this guy out of our lives.

In the kitchen, Alex and Brett made no move to leave the kitchen table. Brett continued his gentle exploration of my wife's pussy. Her legs were trembling, her eyes on him. She bit her lip and gave tiny little thrusts of her hips to meet his finger.

"You are so wet," he smirked as he finger fucked her. Alex didn't make a sound. Barely reacted. Just a slight nod of her head, and half closing of her eyes.

They were mindful to watch for me, but Alex also grew more bold— thrilled by the risk of me catching them in the act. Her hand slipped beneath the table and sought out his lap. She found him tenting in his pajama bottoms.