Cuckster Corey Strikes Again

What are we going to do about Corey? He first made an appearance as the cuckolding boyfriend in "Abbie's Juicy Journal," (www.literotica.com/s/abbies-juicy-journal) which ended badly for him. Yet despite suffering a broken nose and a blow to his ego in that story, he failed to learn a lesson. Now he's on a rampage, wrecking homes and breaking hearts and we can only hope that someday it will all catch up with him. But it probably won't today. BTB fans be forewarned: you'll find no retribution or remorse in this tale of exultant adultery. If it's BTB that you need, then, like all the wives in this story, you are fucked.

Cuckster Corey Strikes Again

Her name was Michelle, and she seemed to enjoy flashing the diamonds of her wedding set, quietly drumming her left hand on the polished mahogany of the meeting room table and looking down at the big glittering stone every now and then during her team's presentation. Her features were a little sharp to be barbie doll-pretty, but her long nose was balanced by a full, pouting mouth and the overall effect was sensual and almost beautiful in a distinctive, unconventional way. She was in her mid to late-20's, stylish in the fashion of most of the studio's female junior executives. Tailored suit with a pencil skirt, a scoop-collared white shirt, a little brassiere lace poking out, a little cleavage. Light make-up perfectly applied. Manolo Blahnik heels. A Michael Kors handbag with the logo proudly displayed. It was their uniform.

Corey deduced that she had only recently been married and the ring was a relatively new to her. It was certainly a sparkler; it must-have cost her new husband a small fortune. He observed that the state of matrimonial bliss had not deterred her from a bit of flirtatious behavior. When that boring nerd, Nathan Dench, and his assistant in the research group delivered their findings from our focus groups, she and Corey exchanged furtive eyerolls and she sent a sexy smile in his direction.

When it came time for the marketing group to present, Michelle took the lead. Her voice was assured and steady, her mannerisms exuded a practiced confidence. When she had done, she earned the compliments of the exec VP in charge of our campaign. So, Corey observed, she was smart as well as sexy. Corey smiled at her across the table and mouthed a "congratulations." She smiled back.

Was she flashing a little bit when she crossed her legs, dangling one of her heels from a red-polished toe? Was he reading too much into it? Maybe, but his antennae were twitching, and he filed her away in mental compartment reserved for future prospects. Another married woman with potential. As always, the prospect was a big turn-on. His antennae weren't the only thing that was twitching. He could easily envision the way her young breasts would look as he unhooked her brassiere. He could anticipate the firm gym- toned muscles of her thighs, the delicious oyster taste of her lubricated pussy, damp with arousal. She would be silky and snug and would let out a sexy gasp as his jumbo-sized cock stretched her passage for the first time. There was just something juicy about fucking married women and cuckolding their husbands. It was going to take some effort, he decided, but he was going to find some way to fuck this girl.

Corey's confidence grew in part from a face that most women invariably regarded as handsome. Deep blue eyes. High cheekbones, a head of curly light brown hair that was just beginning to recede. His Roman nose had been perfect until that guy Scott, a husband he had cuckolded, unloaded a sucker punch on him in the bar of a Mexican hotel. His nose hadn't quite been restored to its original shape, but his women told him it gave his face more character. Over the years, Corey found that his moviestar handsome face was often enough to get him through the front door. It gave him confidence, and with confidence came a certain measure of fearless charm. His assurance was additionally bolstered by the equipment with which nature had endowed him. Once he got past that front door, and women glimpsed what he had to offer, intimate female hospitality was virtually guaranteed.

He knew he was a freak of nature. In one of his earliest childhood memories, he could recall a summer gathering of cousins at his Aunt Roberta's house at their Van Nuys home. They had one of those cheap, circular, above-ground swimming pools and all the little kids had been splashing around, naked, staying cool in the hot Southern California mid-day weather. When Corey stepped out of the pool, Roberta, his dad's sister, looked down at his four-year-old boy parts and turned to the other adults. "Oh my god," she said. "Look at the size of his pecker. He's going to be huge." Corey was deeply embarrassed by the comment and quickly covered up with a towel.

By the time he was in middle school, he had become self-conscious about getting naked in the locker room. He could tell that the other boys were sneaking glances at his cock, which had already grown to almost seven inches unaroused. At the time, Corey thought it was a deformity. But by the time he got to high school, and it had grown to its full thick nine inches, he began to take some pride in it. He was aware that he was a very good-looking kid, but of average athletic ability and average smarts. He'd begun to intuit that the distinguishing characteristic dangling between his legs might somehow be central to his future. By the time he reached his sophomore year in high school, the girls had begun to validate that intuition. An afternoon spent with slutty little Marlena led him to become the first boy in his class to get laid. Word spread quickly. From that day on, he saw knowing smiles and heard an occasional giggle as girls passed him in the high school's halls.

Corey's childhood and adolescent years had been fraught with family tension. His parents had separated for almost a year when he was just ten years old and though his father eventually moved back, the relations between his parents remained chilly. His father was withdrawn and distant His mother was frequently absent from the dinner table and nowhere to be seen at breakfast. Although Corey didn't quite grasp the concept or the implications at the time, he came to understand that his mother had friends of whom his father did not approve. Later, of course, he learned that she was serial cheater. His dad was a cuckold. His mom was a slut.

It was a Tuesday, a day when he could sometimes leave his office at a reasonable hour.

He loved his job at the studio, a job he'd acquired through the recommendation of one of the ladies he'd seen off and on over the years. After working as long hours, most often outdoors, as a production manager on film sets for years, the new position as head of promotional video production presented a cushy, well-paid change of pace. And he loved driving on and off the studio lot in his new Lexus 500 sports car. It made him feel important and glamorous and privileged.

Tonight, he would have dinner at Ca Del Sol, his favorite restaurant, joined by his frequent Tuesday night companion, Deniece. They'd share a bottle of red barolo and feast on platters of the restaurant's signature ossobuco beef shanks before hopping over to his place for an evening of bedroom fun. Deniece was supposedly enjoying a "girls night out," a routine tradition in her marriage, one that coincided with her husband's regular Tuesday night poker game. Corey once joked to Deniece that he was the biggest winner in that poker game, and he wasn't even at the table. She didn't laugh. Deniece was one of those women who, despite being a very willing and enthusiastic sex partner, occasionally exhibited a spot of remorse. He could see it on her face moments after they'd disentangled from an orgasmic session of furious fucking. Her satisfied well-fucked smile would fade and her eyes would turn guiltily inward. He always let her rest quietly in those moments.

Corey was accustomed to receiving those mixed signals and had learned to read them, knowing when to soothe a lady's conscience and when to just back off and allow her to have her feelings. He was aware that for many of his married companions, an emotional tightrope had to be traversed. Deniece, he understood, was in a Cuckold Type A relationship. Corey graded his adulterous affairs as Type A, B and C. The A's were wives who were participants in a clandestine affair, concealing all from their husbands. The husbands of the B's knew of their wives' infidelities and either condoned or accepted them but had no wish to participate. The C's were a very different experience. They were all-in. They were sometimes in the bedroom or just outside, watching and possibly masturbating. Or, in some cases, they wanted a piece of the action, preparing their wives, undressing them, eating their wives' creampies or even providing Corey with some preliminary oral stimulation. The cuckold classifications were fluid: type B's would sometimes move to type C. Type Bs would have a change of heart, causing their wives to revert to type "A." Etcetera.

Deniece was dressed casually chic on this night, sporting a cotton jersey tank top that accentuated her small but perfectly shaped breasts, just snug enough to display the shape of the nipples that poked through the fabric. A pair of wide-legged trousers and mid-heeled sandals with a single delicate strap set off her fashionable outfit. Cory appreciated that Deniece always made some effort to dress up for him. She was a fine-looking woman, he thought, with and without her clothes.

They wasted no time in preliminaries after arriving at his house. No drinks, no chitchat. Straight to the bedroom. Corey's home in Laurel Canyon's Wonderland section was well-suited to his lifestyle. It was a small one-story two-bedroom mid-century house, with one bedroom converted to an office. The backyard was not spacious, but the trees and shrubs and the placement of the property provided complete seclusion. A small pool, surrounded by paving stones, a couple of plush lounge chairs and a hot tub fit neatly within the narrow perimeters of the pocket-sized yard. A sliding door at one end of the bedroom faced the pool, and on many sunny weekend afternoons, a sexual episode would bubble out from the king size bed, continue on the pads of the lounge chairs and splash into the pool or the hot tub. On the other occasions, events might unspool in the reverse, with some hot tub groping or a pool-side blowjob transitioning to more conventional positions on the king-sized bed.

Tonight's visit with Deniece would be a strictly indoor event. He stood with his back to the bed and pulled her close, caressing the side of her face with one hand before leaning in and kissing her deeply. They stood that way for minutes, their hands exploring on top of their clothing before beginning to undress each other, not hurriedly, but with practiced, languid intention. He lifted her top above her upraised hands and undid her brassiere. She was in her early 30's but her breasts were still as upright and firm as a teenager's. Those nipples that were so promisingly displayed by her shirt did not disappoint. He took one in his left hand, bent over to take the other between his lips. She tugged at his belt, undid the snap of his jeans and bid him, silently to assist in disrobing. Naked now, they fell together on the bed.

Corey often reflected on how different the sexual practices were that he enjoyed among his different partners. With Deniece, sex almost always began in a 69 position, with her pussy resting on his mouth. After sweeping to and from on the lips of her pussy and swirling briefly inside, his tongue performed a tap dance on her clitoris, causing her to squirm and take his cock deeper into her mouth. "Yes, right there, don't stop," she directed, unnecessarily. They'd been at this long enough for him to know the drill. As his tongue lapped lightly at her clit, he pursed his lips and began to suck on it, creating an in-and-out motion by drawing it in and lightly blowing it out, consistently, with no rhythmic alteration for three or four minutes while she writhed above him, her own mouth creating the most exquisite sensations on his throbbing cock. She began to tense and buck and he knew she would cum soon in this position. He knew, too, that when she did, she would oftentimes squirt. Of all the wives he had been with in recent years, Deniece was the most reliable squirter. And tonight, it was a big one.

It grossed him out at first, that gushing discharge of liquid on his face and open mouth. It was a heady mixture of female nectar, pussy mucus and a bit of urine, fairly sweet in flavor, with a musky, quintessentially female smell. Over time, he had come to savor the taste, the smell, the incredible animal action of her squirting. As always, she was panting and giggling as he gently lifted her off his face, a little self-conscious, embarrassed by her messy sexual response. He grabbed for the towel he'd knowingly placed nearby, wiped his face dry and prepared for some good old missionary-style fucking. She had a tight pussy, but her natural lubrication would make for an easy entry and he hoped he could last for a few minutes before cumming. If not, no problem. There would be a second round tonight, for sure. As she guided his thick cock to her vaginal lips, He wondered if she squirted like that on her husband and if so, whether he appreciated just what a wonderful gift it was.

Friday was a brutal day at the studio. He and his team were racing to complete a project that had to be delivered before the weekend. At 5:00 pm, he called his lady, Isabella, to tell her he'd be running late, and it wasn't until 6:30 that he drove the Lexus past the studio gates on Lankershim Boulevard and steered it toward the 134 Freeway heading to the eastern part of the city. There hadn't been much time for a proper lunch that day and he was hungry, his stomach anticipating the great meal he knew Isabella would have prepared. The food would have to wait, he knew, for them to complete a round of mind-blowing sex. He was OK with that. Both the sex and the meal would be uniquely wonderful.

Isabella was married to a teamster, a man who drove the big movie trucks long-haul to far-flung film locations. He had been a member of a film crew that Corey had worked on back in his production manager days and Corey had met his wife, Isabella, at the show's wrap party. Isabella and her husband, Miguel, were in a Type B cuckold relationship. Miguel, who would be on the road for weeks at a time, knew his wife was fucking around but didn't want to know any of the details. They had an arrangement: Miguel was free to find sex partners on the road and he allowed his wife the same privilege. They agreed to be discreet and to reserve their extramarital activities for those weeks, which could often stretch into months--when Miguel would be out of town.

Corey enjoyed his visits to Isabella's home in El Sereno, partially because she was a great cook. Her family had come immigrated from Oaxaca, Mexico, and she would work for hours in preparing the intricately spiced chicken mole.

Unlike most of Corey's adulteress ladies, Isabella had no pretensions to the aesthetic conventions of Hollywood chic. Although she exuded an earth sexuality that Corey found alluring, she was in her mid-40' with a bit of a paunch around the middle and a big ass. In Corey's view, the latter feature worked to advantage because in addition to being good company and a great cook, Isabella was one of the few women in his sexual history that would enthusiastically take his cock up her ass.

Isabella greeted him at her door wearing a long cotton apron over a black brassiere and black underwear and nothing else. "Good to see you, cariño, have a little drink," she said offering a small tumbler of powerful Oaxaca mezcal. "I thought we'd maybe go into the bedroom for a while before we sat down at the table for dinner." She said this to Corey as if it were a novel idea when, in fact, they'd been following agenda for the entire 18 months of their intimate acquaintance.

Corey excused himself to use her bathroom and, as he unzipped in front of the bowl, he could see her enema bag and tube hanging from the sides of her shower. Isabella, he noted gratefully, practiced impeccable anal hygiene. She never failed to present him with a squeaky clean asshole.

Isabella was sitting on the bed when he returned to her bedroom and watched him as he quickly shed his clothes.. She stood to greet him, leaned up to kiss him on the mouth and took his cock in hand. She gently massaged him to a state of complete arousal, then sat back again on her marital bed, pulling his hips toward her and taking him in her mouth. Neither of them wanted their oral sex play to be prolonged. It was simply the appetizer before their sexual main course, Isabel rolled over on her belly and Corey lay briefly on top of her, kissing her neck, taking her long black silky mane of hair in one hand and reaching the other around past her ribs to cup one of the breasts that were flattened against the mattress. His mouth trailed down along her spine, kissing her as he ran his hands along her smooth brown skin, finding his way to the crack between those two great globes of flesh.

He spread her apart and looked at her puckered anus before diving right in, inserting his tongue into her rectum. She began to moan, squirm and move her ass in a slow, sensual circular motion. Although she had cleaned thoroughly, her asshole still retained an earthy taste. Not a bad taste, not acrid or gross, but a taste like nothing else in his experience. He had never performed analingus on anyone but Isabella and hadn't expected he ever would. But there was something about this woman that invited this very specific, very kinky form of intimacy. Corey spread her ass cheeks further apart and pushed his tongue deeper inside, breaching her sphincter and reaching about an inch into her lower bowels. Her moaning became more pronounced, the circular motion of her ass quickened. It was time to move to the second act.

She kept a special water-based lube on the nightstand. It was called Swiss Navy and Corey was always puzzled by that name, but appreciated its effectiveness. She sat up and reached for the bottle, swung herself around just enough to help apply the clear liquid to Corey's cock. With his cock lubricated, Corey moved it between the crack of her ass. It looked like an impossibly large object to insert into her small, tight opening. But they had done this many times before and he knew just how much pressure to apply, just how fast she could tolerate his entry with minimal discomfort. He pushed forward and felt her wince at first contact, then relax as he paused, the head of his cock just nudging past the outer rim of her sphincter. He waited a full minute, then continued to push. One more inch. Two inches.

"Are you OK," he asked, leaning down and speaking softly into her ear.

"Si si. Dios mio, yes," she said. "Just be slow, amor. Exactamente asi. It feels incredible."

He pushed in one more inch before withdrawing a bit and beginning to slowly, gently pump against her, getting just a little bit deeper with every motion of his hips. The tightness of her butt, the smooth feel of her rectal tube, so different from the moist softness of a vagina, could make him cum too quickly if he weren't careful. The grip on his cock was uniquely, impossibly tight. He focused on the movement of her ass beneath him and on the movement of her wrist, which he could see folded between her legs as her hand furiously worked her clit.

She shouted in Spanish when she came, quivering and bucking her ass up to take him even deeper inside. He didn't last more than seconds after that, his spasming cock spurting hard inside her. He collapsed on top of her, his face buried in that mane of hair, smelling her, tasting the sweat on her neck, kissing her ear.