Cuckold Club Brads Story

I still haven't figured out how they got my name and email address. A cuckold club? What will they think of next? There are support groups for everything else. Why not one for cuckolds? Like the rest of you, I clicked on the "Reply" button. Six months later, here I am.

"Hi, I'm Brad, and I'm a cuckold."

"Hi, Brad."

This may sound crazy to some of you, but I enjoy watching my wife screw other men. It's like watching a porno video with her as the leading lady, only it's live, which is even more exciting.

Heather and I got started with this cuckolding stuff six month ago. It was just a week before I got my first email. I'm still stunned you found me so quickly.

We had been talking about my sharing her with other men for a couple years before we got up the nerve to go through with it. I'm the one who had to get up the nerve. She was ready the first time I hinted I'd like to watch her getting laid. Her eagerness scared me a lot, but I finally convinced myself I really meant it.

We were returning from a vacation in Florida. Heather was wearing a halter top which didn't cover most of her ample breasts and a pair of white shorts that displayed her fabulous legs to the world. Her shoes were a pair of high heeled sandals. She wore the halter loose so she could flash her nipples at me or anyone else looking our way. Her blonde hair cascaded down to the middle of her back. High cheek bones, emerald green eyes, and a persistent smile completed this vision of loveliness.

Going through North Carolina, we passed an Army base. A group of soldiers waited at a bus stop. "Let's give one of them a ride," Heather said spontaneously. The junior ranks don't have much money. With the current world situation, it was the least we could do to show our support for the troops. One man with a small travel bag stood apart from the rest. I stopped the car beside him. Heather rolled down her window. "Hey, soldier," she called to him in her sweet, sexy voice, "where are you heading?"

"Philadelphia, ma'am," he said.

"We're going that way. Hop in."

He wasted no time opening the back door and getting in. "Thank you very much for stopping," he said as we reentered traffic. "The bus to Philly isn't due for another forty-five minutes. My name is Johnson, Ron Johnson." Heather turned around to introduce us to him. As she turned, her right breast was fully exposed. I saw this throat tighten in the rear-view mirror.

"What takes you to Philly?" I asked, trying to make conversation and to hide the fact that I knew what Heather was doing.

"Visiting my family, sir," he said. His eyes were locked on Heather's nipple. "I ship out with my company to the middle east next week."

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

"Six months," Ron said. "I won't be in a combat zone, but it's going to be pretty tough in some respects. When you go to another country, you have to abide by their customs. Where I'm going there will be very little entertainment. We can't take hand-held video games, stereos, most books and magazines, and especially any pictures of wives or girlfriends. Even a simple portrait is prohibited."

She looked at me and grinned. "How about memories?"

"I don't follow you, ma'am," he said. She pulled both of her breasts out of her halter. "I see," he said slowly. "Thank you. That will make a very nice memory. Sir, it's very kind of you to permit your wife to...to...to do what she is doing." Heather unhooked her seat belt and climbed into the back seat with him. She pressed her body against his and stroked his leg with her hand. "Sir, are you sure this is all right with you? I don't want to cause any trouble between you two."

Heather's intentions were as obvious as her taut nipples. It was time, as in the old saying, to fish or cut bait. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Two years of talk was about to become action. "You need a good memory for the conditions you just described," I said. "Pretend I'm not here."

Heather placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face toward hers while I adjusted the mirror to be able to see them better. Hesitantly his lips met hers in a couple timid kisses. When he was convinced I wasn't going to interfere, their kisses became more prolonged. Her arms encircled his neck holding his lips to her neck. She loved having her neck kissed. I've spent up to half an hour kissing her neck and throat. He was taking his time as well. We were six hours away from Philadelphia. They had lots of time. He was young and eager. He sucked on her tits after about ten miles. Apparently, he did something right. Her breathing slowed and deepened almost immediately. She untied her halter at the neck and back and dropped it to the floor.

She unzipped his fly and extracted his rigid seven-inch cock. She engulfed the head in her mouth and applied suction to it. After a short struggle he had unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, giving her greater access to his manhood. His cock and balls protruded through the opening of his army-issue boxer shorts. She cradled his balls in one hand and held his dick with the other as she sucked greedily on him. His breathing deepened as she made him even harder with her hungry mouth. His valise fell to the floor as she turned and stretched out. She yanked her shorts and thong off. Without hesitation, he buried his face in her pussy. She moaned as his lips traced her outer lips with his tongue. Up and down he licked her delving deeper into her inner lips and finally to her clit. Her moans turned to gasps and pants as he expertly twirled his tongue slowly around her button. For someone so young, he was well trained in eating pussy. After five minutes, she demanded he fuck her.

A blast from a truck's air horn snapped my attention back to the road. My stiff dick straining against my zipper made maneuvering the interchanges around Richmond challenging, especially when trying to keep an eye on the back seat and 0n the highway at the same time. By the time we got onto I95 heading toward Washington, he had filled her pussy twice.

She made eye contact with me in the mirror and spread her legs. The sight of his seed dripping from her hole was too much. The moment I saw it, I soaked my pants with my own jism. "I think he enjoyed what he saw," she whispered to Ron. Heather picked up her thong and used it to wipe her pussy, then stuffed it into an outside pocket of his valise. "Shouldn't you keep that?" he asked her.

"Take it with you wherever you are going. I'll let you put it back on me when you get home."

There wasn't any applause for my story. No one gets a hand at the end of their tales.

Heather and I still pick up soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen at bus stops. It's the least we can do to support our men in uniform.