My Wifes Favorite Lover

Author's Note: I was at least 1000 words into this when I realized the nameless narrator and wife are the same characters as in "I Heard Him Leave." The lover in that one and this one are different people, though. I hope that other guy is around somewhere, because I think she needs him, at least once in a while.

*

He buys her gifts. He's a middle-aged single man who knows about me and what we do, but doesn't like to think about it. He pretends he's courting her. He gives her flowers. He takes her to dinner at expensive restaurants. He buys her clothes and jewelry. He makes love to her tenderly and conscientiously. He pouts when she leaves to come home to me.

He's NOT my favorite, but it isn't about me, is it?

She's tried the young, dumb, and full of cum pickups in clubs, one or even two at a time. Yes they're good looking, yes they're good fucks -- or if not good, at least they recover quickly for the second round -- but they don't care about her. They don't treat her with respect. They act like they're making a porn, not making love.

I like those ones, a little. The drawback with them is that I don't get to see everything, which I really love. I'll go to the clubs and sit in a corner while she dances and picks them up, or lets them pick her up, but whether it's a quickie in a car, or a trip to an apartment, I don't really know what she does with them. I have to wait for her to tell me. Still, seeing the start is arousing. Those guys inevitably try to "wreck her holes." That's not her ideal. I love seeing the results when she comes home walking funny, and when she shows me her gaping pussy, or cum leaking from her ass, or crusted on her face or in her hair.

She'll do that once in a while, but it's for me, and HER doing something for ME ends up detracting from both of our experiences.

I like the guys who are actual bulls. They want to fuck her in front of me. They understand my desire to be humiliated. I love it when I can sit in a chair and watch them pleasure her, use her body. I like when they want to compare dick size (they better really be big, because mine isn't really small. That's just how the game works), when they have me put it in her or thank them for fucking her so well, when she talks to me about what they're doing, how big their dicks are, how they're stretching her, they're touching a place inside her that I can't reach. I love to see her face when she's lost in passion, having an orgasm. I think she's most beautiful with a big dick in her mouth, or cum sprayed on her face.

But too often, for her, those experiences become self-conscious. One little misstep or misstatement and she's aware that the bull is more into fucking with me than fucking her. She feels used as a tool to fulfill his fantasy and mine. She feels disgust for herself, and for me. Sometimes her anger and disgust with me leads her to mistreat me after he's gone. I love that experience in the moment, but the aftermath is a strain.

So she found him, and they go on dates. I hate it, but I hate it the way cuckolds like me do. I spend her date time fantasizing about what they are doing. I imagine how big his dick is. I picture them: kissing and making out, caressing each other. He's stimulating her nipples, taking her bra off, going down on her. She's pulling his dick out, caressing it, rubbing it on her face, and sucking on it. They're going at it in cowgirl, missionary, and doggy positions (she will never do doggy with me, even when she lets me penetrate her).

By the time she comes home I am in a total frenzy.

My cuckold shame intrudes at odd times in our daily life. She tells a friend about her delicious dinner at an expensive restaurant I've never been to, or a new bar or club, a cocktail she's had. She brings home flowers he gives her and I put them as a centerpiece on the dining room table, where they mock me for a week or more. I find the lacy underthings he bought her in the laundry hamper for me to wash and dry. We're out at the pub, and I realize she's wearing earrings, or a bracelet, that he gave her.

I tried to compete. I took her out to dinner at the newest, hottest restaurant, and gave her a set of earrings. It was the night before our anniversary, but that's when we could get into the restaurant.

She looked at the prices on the menu and asked, "Why did we come here? We can't afford this place!"

I said, "It's for our anniversary. And I got you this." I gave her the little box with the earrings.

She looked at them, and at the box, and said, "These must have cost way too much."

I protested.

She looked at me closely, and realized. She took my hands in hers and said, "Honey, you can't compete on money, just like you can't compete on dick size or endurance. But you don't need to! I love you. When you buy expensive things, you're spending OUR money. You are my coworker and financial partner. I love you for that, and need you to be that. Our money is for the things we need. Tomorrow you will return those earrings and get our money back. But here's a gift I bought for you." She handed me a wrapped box. I unwrapped and opened it, just as the waitress arrived. I stared in dread and fascination at the cock cage, while the young woman smirked, waiting to set my plate down.

My wife said to the waitress, "Take the food and packaged it for us to go, please." To me she said, "I know you don't need to wear a cage, but it excites me to think about you having it on while I'm fucking. I'm going on a date tomorrow on OUR anniversary, and you are going to stay home, locked up."

I hate that fucking cage.

After that date, she came home, VERY late, carrying a shopping bag and wearing a different dress from the one she went out in. It was red, skin-tight, short at the hem, and deep in the cleavage. It was more appropriate for a tiny twenty-something, than my fortyish wife. Still she's in good shape. Her b-cup boobs might sag a little, and maybe there are some stretch marks on her belly and her butt. A dress like that smooths all of that out. The décolletage showed she wore no bra. The tightness of the dress revealed she now wore a thong. The only thongs she owns are ones he bought her, and she didn't wear one when she left the house. I should know, I helped her choose her clothes and get dressed. Frequently she'll have me wear one of those thongs when she goes out to meet him. That night, with the cage, she didn't.

"Help me get this dress off, and hang it up," were the first words she said. "God, what a fun night! We went shopping for clothes. The dress is sexy isn't it?"

"You're sexy," I said.

"I felt sexy in it. I'm going to wear it again, for him."

She never wears dresses except on dates with him. Even on those club nights picking up young men, she'd wear a modest skirt, and maybe just unbutton her blouse a little.

"What do you think of the thong?" She asked, giving a little twirl. It was black, lacy, nearly nonexistent.

"It makes your ass look even more delicious than usual, I said, "and it shows that your pussy hair is more trimmed than it was when you left the house."

"Oh yes, I let him give me a trim. Here, check it out. Help me get these off." She sat on the edge of the bed, and lifted one leg, then the other, as I slid the thong off. The skimpy material at the crotch was soaked and clotted with their mixed sex juices. I could smell it too. Kneeling at her feet, I handed it to her. She held it bunched in her hand for a minute, then put it on my head, like a hat. "You look pathetic like that," she said. "You are pathetic, so it suits you."

She was wearing a different pair of shoes also. She'd left in simple flats, these were high heels, higher than any pair she owned, with thin straps around the ankles. They were the kind of "fuck me" shoes that make a woman's ass wiggle with every step, and push her chest forward to display her breasts. I removed them for her, and kissed her: ankle, instep, toes. The smell of new leather, and stale sweat made my head swim. I sucked on her big toe, and she sighed, then put her other foot against my forehead and pushed me away. "Not yet. Maybe later."

She went on, "He bought me this necklace too. Do you like it?" It was a simple gold chain with a heart pendant. It looked great against her tan chest, and I told her so. I noticed she had a hickey, and her nipples were puffy and erect. She cupped her breasts, smiled knowingly, and told me, "Yes, he sucked and kissed my nipples for a long time -- actually, two times, because he came in the dressing room at the boutique and kissed them until I moaned out loud. I was so wet. He slid two fingers in my right there, with some other woman in the next changing stall. God, he's so sexy!"

She was sexy! I was happy that she'd had that time away from the day-to-day concerns of our lives, that she'd been free to be her sexy self. My cock ached in its cage.

"Guess where he took me to dinner?"

I could not have been more miserable. Or more inwardly thrilled. I knelt at her feet while she told me the same waitress who'd smirked at me last night had smiled as the lover held my wife's hand, poured wine from the expensive bottle he'd ordered, fed her a taste of the food on his plate, touched her knee under the table, stood behind her and set his hand on her neck, bent to kiss her.

She glanced down, "Your dick is as hard as that cock cage will let it be isn't it?"

I nodded.

She reached forward and adjusted her slimy thong on my head, so that the crotch rested over my nose, and I peered at her from the leg holes. She twisted her fingers into my hair and pulled my face to her crotch. I tasted the matted evidence of their love on her mound as I smelled it in her panties.

"Yes, clean the mess he made in my pubes. I bet he'd like it if we shaved me, but I like the way they hold all my juice and his cum for you to clean up."

I licked away at them. The thong waistband rolled up to the bridge of my nose and cut right over my eyes and cheekbones as I dipped lower to tongue her clit. It rose and swelled to meet my touching tongue.

"Oh, that's good," she said. "We went back to his house. He's had a soaking tub installed in his master bedroom, and had placed roses all around. There must have been four dozen. The lights were dim. He has a fabulous sound system. Sexy smooth jazz played from speakers you can't even see. We took a tub together and washed each other, touched each other. He penetrated me with two fingers again. I held and massaged his erection. He isn't much bigger than you, but I can feel the difference."

I licked around the opening of her pussy, cleaning up crusted secretions and slimy smears. I put my tongue tip along the side of her labia and ran it up and down, then swirled it over her clit before doing the other side.

"Very nice," she said. "Not a soaking tub surrounded by roses in a mansion master bedroom, but a tongue bath from an attentive pussy slave. Variety is the spice! He has these wonderful big soft Turkish towels and a warming bar beside the tub. We dried each other and he laid me down, spread my legs, and used a small sharp pair of scissors to trim my pubic hair away from my pussy lips. Then he went down on me. I was already so wet and open. He plunged his tongue deep into me, then sucked on my clit. I shuddered and shook within moments. I think it's the fastest I've ever climaxed in my life. And I'm sure his tongue is longer than yours. Maybe a little raspier, but maybe that's because when you lick me there's always a lubricating coat of another man's cum."

I plunged my tongue into her open love canal, tongue-fucking her desperately and grinding my nose on her clit. I felt an oozing liquid release from inside her into my mouth.

"Don't try to compete!" She accompanied the command with a cuff to the top of my head. "Open your mouth and suck my whole pussy. I want every drop he shot deep inside me to drain into you now. After I came, we went to bed. I knelt between his legs and used my hands to guide his dick to my lips. I kissed the tip, licked the length, I tilted it upward and sucked his big balls into my mouth. I wanted to dip down and dart my tongue into his asshole, but I know he doesn't like ass play. That's why, nice as he is, he would never be enough for me. Sometimes I need my face to be brutally shoved into a man's sweaty asscrack, that's why I need my abusive slut-sessions, and every day I want a tongue in my bunghole, that's one of the things you are good for."

I licked lower, pushing on the backs of her thighs.

"No! Not yet. You can lick my ass later. Put your mouth over my clit and suck and lick like your life depends on it.

"I so wanted to suck him dry. I put my mouth on his cock and went down until my gag reflex sent my throat into spasms. I held us there, while my eyes watered and I felt like my dinner was about to come up. He moaned his pleasure, but pulled me away and up telling me not to do that. He wanted to cum deep inside my pussy, he said, not in my mouth. He wanted to give me more orgasms until we came together. And he did. I straddled him and rode him, grinding on him until I orgasmed and fell to rest my head against his chest. I squeezed him, and twerked my hips, and as I came again he grabbed me by them while he bucked up against me and shot ropes of cum deep inside me. I doubt you've licked it all out yet. Then we cuddled and caressed each other. He told me how sexy I am, how lucky he is. He bent to lick at my nipples and began to kiss his way down my belly."

She stopped talking and held my head pressed against her with one hand while she bucked up against me and shuddered her way through a climax. Her thighs scissored close around my ears. She moaned and panted, then pushed my head downward.

"That was good. Now leave my clit alone for a little while. I'm all wet down there again. Clean it up.

"I stopped him from going down on me. He said he didn't mind the mess, but I insisted. I ached for him to do it. I couldn't very well tell him you would be disappointed if he licked his own seed out and I didn't bring any home to you. I told him it was too nasty for me. If I let him do that, he'd be another you. It's tempting to have TWO cucks, but then I'd have to find another him, a lover I could respect and want to please. So he fingered me, and I held and caressed his dick, and it got hard again. We fucked missionary-style, and I wrapped my legs behind his back. Then he rolled me back until my thighs rested against his chest and calves were behind his head and he pounded me. His dick hit my g-spot again and again. I left a huge wet puddle in his bed. I lost count of the deep waves of orgasm that washed over my body. We switched to doggy style and I squeezed my thighs together to tighten myself so he'd feel some friction. He finally lost control and jackhammered me the way I really wanted him to by then. He held my hips so hard I think I have fingermarks. He clutched my breasts and pinched my nipples. I screamed at him to fuck me fuck me fuck me and fill me with his cum. And he did.

"After we caught our breath he apologized for being such an animal. I told him the time comes when a woman needs a man to be an animal. I told him I loved everything about our evening together."

She rolled over. "You can lick my ass now."

Her buttocks were pale globes with pink blotches where her weight had pressed against the bed, and as she had said, fingermarks from her earlier encounter. I pressed my face between them eagerly, inhaling the sexy musk. As directed, I licked. I reached the base of her pussy, the actual opening to the floor, and swiped my tongue upward through the valley of my desire to the crinkled rosebud I so love, and beyond. I did it several times and both felt and heard her relax. I swirled my tongue and probed into the center of the bud of love. She spoke in sleepy tones over her shoulder. "You're such a submissive pervert. You would rather suck another man's cum from my pussy and eat my dirty asshole than fuck me, wouldn't you?"

I pushed harder and felt the rubbery muscle ring loosen to let my tongue tip in. My dick ached and burned in its cage as I burned with shame and desire.

"Answer me!"

"It's true. I would."

"I knew it. So this is your anniversary gift."

She reached her hand back and slapped it against the side of my head. Something small and metallic whacked me. I pulled my head back enough to see that it was a key on a chain.

She said, "Unlock the cage and take it off. Use my new thong to jack off while you lick my ass."

Overwhelmed with lust and gratitude, I took the key. I pushed my lips to her dark star and kissed and sucked. The muscle and the flesh around it flexed up into my mouth so that her anus opened into a bumpy-rimmed crater. I lapped at it eagerly. Meanwhile with two hands, I fumbled to unlock and remove the cage. My dick sprang out erect and throbbing.

Her breathing was deep and even. It would be the ultimate thrill for her to fall asleep with my tongue in her ass, I thought.

I grabbed the still damp thong off the top of my head. Oh my god! The sensation was ecstasy and urgency. Within a couple minutes I shot my load, grunting into her asshole with release, and totally flooding the skimpy panties in my hand. I gathered them there in a soggy pool, as I licked and sucked at her dark forbidden gate for another minute or so.

Meanwhile she spoke in a sleepy, musing tone, "Every woman should have a man who takes care of life's business: the household chores, the bills, the little necessities, and makes her feel safe and loved. And every woman should have a man she can take out her frustrations on, a man she can abuse and mistreat with impunity, and a man who worships her and will do anything for her and will put up with her at her worst. I'm lucky to have you for those things. But every woman should also have a man who takes away all her worries, makes her feel special, and is a dream lover. He's that for me. I'm lucky to have him. Once in a while though, a woman should have men who bring out her inner slut, drive her to her sexual limits, and use her without regard to her desires or feelings. What I do to you excites me and disgusts me. But to mistreat someone as weak and pathetic as you is weak and pathetic itself. I need to be punished. I need a slut-session soon."

My heart leapt.

She rolled to the side and reached out with a hand. "Give me that thong."

I put the sticky cloth in her hand. She pressed it to my mouth. "Open."

I complied, and she shoved it in. I sucked my own seed from the cloth, as she smeared her hand in my hair.

She said, "He has tickets to the art opening tomorrow night, and I want to wear that thong. Go wash it and hang it to dry before you come to bed."

With the wet mess in my mouth I clambered to my feet, realizing how stiff my knees had become. On my way out of the room I heard her say, "Happy anniversary."