Please note: This story involves themes of cuckolding and female-led relationships.
Thanks for the feedback on chapter 1. I was really pleased to hear that some folks enjoyed it.
I plan to write at least two more chapters. I'm a pretty slow writer, though. I hope you'll check back from time to time for new material.
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Chapter 2
I lay next to her, listening to her soft, measured breathing. She'd drifted into sleep minutes after rolling over on her side, my hard penis trapped between her cheeks, completely at peace in both mind and body. It had been a big night. She'd spent the evening before taking her first lover. Then, she'd returned to a massage by her loving husband (me) and plenty of reassurance. She had been magnificent. Everything had been perfect. It had been her evening and her triumph.
Then, there was me. Where she was complete, I was a mess. My full cock was swollen with need. Adrenaline coursed through my body. I was practically vibrating with arousal. I ached. I suffered. For although last night had been the most erotic of my life, my wife had still asked me not to come. I had to trust her. To be honest, it was more than that, too. I relished the opportunity to obey her. I don't know how I'd made it this far, though, especially with relief so close at hand. Just a quick trip to the den for a little private time and I'd at least have had a chance at sleep. It was very, very tempting. But when I tried slipping my hand under the covers and swirling my fingers in the pre-cum that had accumulated there, I knew I couldn't take it further. Her disappointment would be more than I could bear.
I started to slowly run my fingers up and down my shaft. Just lightly, teasingly. Not quite enough to work toward orgasm. I simply couldn't help myself, but strange as it may sound, it helped center my thoughts. I gathered a little of the slickness on my index finger and circled it on my sweet spot. Dangerous, but nice.
Longingly, I glanced over at her sleeping form, the white sheet draped across the small of her back, almost, but not quite, revealing the sweet cleft of her bottom. I smiled. It struck me that the sheet was a perfect metaphor for my fantasies. I could easily have taken what I wanted by simply moving it. But it was the longing, the aching, the needing that I craved.
My mind was spinning. I thought of all our conversations and of the excitement which had led up to last night. I remembered the heady times we'd made love, arousing ourselves with tales of cock-heavy strangers sliding into her warm, sweet depths. We'd come so far, and yet I wondered if I was prepared to ask her to take the final step. You see, as much as we'd already shared getting to this point, I had still kept my final secret from her. To be her cuckold was glorious, but I wanted more. I wanted to worship her, and to make her my queen. I craved the privilege of being owned by her, body and soul.
It was turning out that my mind was even harder to calm that my body.
I remembered when thoughts of cuckolding first joined us in our marriage bed. We were masturbating together, one of our favorite things to do when we feeling horny and naughty. We'd lay next to each other in our darkened bedroom, slowly teasing ourselves. Drawing out our pleasure for hours while we took turns spinning fantasies for each other. And as each of us drew close to climax, the other would make love with their voice, whispering their darkest thoughts into their lover's ear, stoking the fire within. In orgasm, we acknowledged the power of our partner's erotic gift, revealing our souls as we surrendered to pleasure in full view of the other. When I saw my wife begin to move her hips, a sure sign that she was building toward her peak, I loved to slide my fingers into her warmth. It was as if could know her completely at that moment just through my hand. I could feel her fingers stroking her clit, first with strong, easy strokes, but then becoming more and more frantic as she got closer. She strummed with a speed I could never match or even quite believe. Her breath would start to catch and I could feel her hips push eagerly against my fingers. I'd fuck her with my hand, first tenderly, and then with mounting force. I knew that she wanted to be used hard when she came. Her hips would move faster and faster, then suddenly stop and tense. And when the waves hit, I could feel the lovely mouth of her womanhood grasping greedily at my fingers. I always felt so close to her then, and I signed my love with a tender kiss on her wet lips and swollen clit.
That particular night, we'd brought some wine into the bedroom and pushed some pillows up against the headboard to sit against. I don't remember that we intended to indulge in our special story time, but as we talked and the glasses were emptied, I couldn't resist turning to her and slipping my hands into the loose pajamas she was wearing. Her breasts were as soft as doves, and I teased her hard nipple for a moment before bringing my hands down to cup her heavenly mound. She sighed and welcomed me, sliding down a little to push against my hand. I began to to run my index finger along her slit to coax out her arousal.
"Mmmm. That's so nice, Honey," she whispered. "I didn't tell you, but I've been a horny girl all day. Ahhh!" She arched her back in pleasure. "Touch me some more. Please?"
How lovely she was. I started gently circling her labia just above her clit and snuggled in against her breast. "Your pussy turns me on so much. I'm rock hard for you. And what about you? Are we starting to get a little wet?" I asked, teasingly.
"You know I am. I'm purring." She unbuttoned her top with one hand and pulled my mouth to her sweet breast. "Would you tell me a story while you touch me? Make me come under your hands. I want you to watch your wife come."
"My little goddess," I murmured, molding myself against her soft body, "Let me make you feel good. Come for your husband. You're so beautiful and it makes me so proud."
I then began to weave the tale that marked the first, uncertain step on our path. The journey that led us here, to a sleeping, contented wife, and her aching, swollen cuckold. It was just a fantasy about a MFM threesome. Truthfully, I don't even remember it that well, but you'd have thought I was Leo effing Tolstoy that night, judging from the way she got off. And as for me, the thought of watching another man sliding his hard cock into her aroused me like no other. I pictured her wrapping her legs around his strong ass and welcoming him into her body. I'd been searching for a way to suggest that image to her until I hit on the idea of a threesome. I didn't even know the word "cuckold", then, but I knew what I needed.
From that night forward, another man would always join our special nights. I'd work in different threads, different scenarios, but I think she noticed that the stranger was always positioned as the focus of her attention. "It turns you on to think of me with another man, doesn't it?" she asked one night, smiling. "You never told me."
I avoided her eyes. I was a bit ashamed of this one. "It's true, Honey. I don't know why, but nothing gets me hotter than picturing you opening yourself up to him."
She gently took my chin in her hand and brought my eyes around to hers. "Don't worry, My Love. It is a hot thought, isn't it? That's why we do this, to turn ourselves on. Besides," she grinned, "I like it, too."
After that, she would often find ways to tease me with our shared secret during the day. When she'd come home late from work, she might make a reference to having had to meet her boyfriend. When I asked if she'd mind if I went out golfing, she'd casually mention that she owed her friend a blow job, anyway. Then, one unforgettable afternoon at the park, she pointed out a shirtless young man and whispered in my ear, "I'd love to grab that hard ass and pull him inside me. I wonder if he'd like to fuck me? Should I ask him?" The way she looked at me (and him) I wasn't sure whether she was kidding or not.
