Oscar's Cucold Fantasy

My wife, Irene, was out again and I was attempting to load dirty laundry into the washing machine at the same time as cooking supper for our daughters. As I grabbed a handful of clothes, my fingers came into contact with something cold and wet; I knew instantly what it was. Looking down, I separated out a pair of my wife's knickers from the pile. They were not her normal cotton ones but a pair of sheer black Brazilian panties that she used to keep for our special times together. Sure enough, when I held them open I could instantly see that the gusset was soaked. Looking inside I found a pool of pearly liquid, the edges of which had begun to dry. Absent-mindedly, I run my thumb through the combination of my wife's slippery juices and the copious ejaculate of her lover, Pierre. My nostrils are filled with the scent of slightly stale sex and my mind wanders, imagining the acts that lead to this. How Pierre's cock must have spread Irene wide and then filled her with his cum. How Irene must have got up from Pierre's bed early this morning and dressed in yesterday's clothes before making her way back to our apartment; how she would have walked through our bedroom with her pussy soaked in his seed before discarding these panties, showering and then dressing for another day at work.

It was about a month ago that Irene, with my blessing, first slept with Pierre. From her account of the night, sampling the only other cock she has ever fucked turned out to be a life-changing experience. She was in love. Not with Pierre but with what he could do to her. Irene was very inexperienced before we met and I always thought that she was somewhat un-sexual, never really being too bothered one way or the other about having it. However, that has changed, Irene is now like a dog on heat, lusting after the pleasure Pierre can give her, and it's begun to effect our home life. Our daughters have noticed that she's often not there to say goodnight or in bed in the morning. I have had to field questions from friends and family when they call and wonder why she isn't at home at odd times of day. Also, I've been having to pick up on her chores around the house. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter. Quite the opposite, I have spent the last few weeks in a state of almost constant arousal as well. For a long time I had fantasised about Irene being fucked by another man, specifically a man with a larger cock than mine. I felt that she deserved experiencing it at least once. However, I didn't anticipate her reaction to it when it did finally happen. When we discussed the possibility of her sleeping with Pierre, she had said that it might not just be a one night stand and I had agreed not to try and prevent this, even if my feelings changed after their first encounter. I had encouraged this and I must therefore allow it to run its natural course. I don't want to stop Irene from seeing him. For some bizarre reason, it gives me unbelievable pleasure seeing her possessed with an animal-like desire to get fucked by him; however, I was beginning to miss having her around. Not least because, while wanking gives me some release, I desperately wanted to fuck her myself.

I snapped out of my day-dreaming to find myself holding Irene's cum-soaked panties, a rock hard cock in my pants and a pot boiling over on the stove.

The following evening, Irene was back home at more or less her usual time. Once the girls were in bed, Irene started telling me about her most recent escapade with Pierre. In particular, how she had been flashing her bald cunt at him in the office. Half wanting to push her for some more details and perhaps some relief, I decided instead to tentatively broach with her the topic of how little time she had been at home recently.

"Oscar, I told you when we started this that, if I enjoyed it as much as you said I would, that it would not be an isolated incident. As you know, I loved the experience and therefore..."

"I know, I know." I interrupted. "But this isn't about the sex it's about the time we have together as a family. Our daughters have noticed that you are hardly around."

"I think I know what you mean." Irene said in a less accusing tone. "Someone else said something similar today."

"Who? What?"

"Bea, by boss, took me aside and asked be flat out whether I was having an affair with Pierre. As she felt that it was quite obvious by our behaviour at work. Apparently others in the office have been speculating about it."

"What did you say to her?"

"Well I told her the truth. You know that we have discussed your penis size in the past, so I let her know that I had found someone who can reach places that you can't and that I was having a lot of fun with it. However, it did make me realise that, while fun, spending a lot of time with Pierre has meant that I have perhaps not been devoting as much time to you. How about I talk with Bea and see if she can look after the children this weekend. Our daughters know her kids from school so won't mind staying over at their house and it will mean that we can have the apartment to ourselves."

"That sounds fantastic; I'll cook us something nice for dinner."

"That would be lovely. I think I'll go shopping for something special to wear for the occasion."

---

Saturday eventually arrived and I was excited about spending it with Irene. The kids were also excited but that was because they were going to the zoo, so it was no problem to get them organised and dropped off at Bea's house. That left Irene and me alone. We spent the morning leisurely walking around the shops, arm in arm like new lovers. Irene would disappear into clothes shops, forbidding me from joining her so as not to spoil the surprise. Occasionally she would reappear with another bag in hand. We found a quiet little bistro and had a romantic lunch. I was loving spending time with Irene but I was keen to get her home where I could make love to her without the usual distractions. Hey, we could even do it in the living-room if we wanted. So, after lunch, I suggested that we do a quick bit of food shopping for dinner and then head back. Irene agreed and we found a nice butcher's shop.

After perusing the selection of meats for inspiration, I decided to cook a light but delicious dish of whole roast quail.

"Could I have four of those quail, please." I asked the butcher, pointing to the ones I wanted.

"You mean six." said Irene.

"I think two each should be enough, don't you?"

"Yes, two each. So we'll need six."

"Why six?" I asked quizzically.

"Two for me , two for you and two for Pierre. Six" said Irene, counting them out on her fingers.

"Pierre! He's coming to dinner?" I was shocked and a little confused. I thought that we were spending the weekend together.

"Well yes! That was the whole idea. We get rid of the kids so that we can all spend time together. You get to spend time with me and I get to, uhm, spend time with Pierre." She said lowering her voice a little.

The butcher was standing there with the fifth quail in his hands wondering whether he was adding it to the others and also listening with interest to our conversation.

"Uhmm, six quail please." I said weakly. The butcher chuckled to himself and handed me the bag of birds while eyeing up Irene.

The trip back to the apartment was a quiet one. By the time we got there, I was apprehensive and felt somewhat detached from myself, unable to quite believe that Pierre was coming to our house and all that might entail. However, these emotions were also beginning to mix with a strong feeling of arousal. The pit of my stomach was knotting.

"Pierre should be here at about 19:00 but I think we should have a bit of a tidy up before he arrives. Could you vacuum the living-room and put the kids toys away?" said Irene as she headed towards our bedroom.

At about 18:30, the apartment was clean and tidy and I had started preparing supper so I went to our bedroom to freshen up and change as I knew Irene would be wearing something special. Irene had had a bath and the room smelt of hot damp air infused with herbal fragrances. When I opened the door, Irene was standing naked in front of the mirror, her skin flushed pink from the heat of the bath, I instantly had a desire to hold her against me feeling the warmth of her body down mine, the aroma of her body fresh and clean, her neck smooth and kissable. As Irene saw me coming in, she leapt over to the bed and covered up what I presume was the outfit she had bought for tonight.

"No peaking. I want you to both see what I'm wearing at the same time." she said teasingly.

"Okay." I replied mentally noting that she had put fresh sheets on our bed. Instead, I turned my attention back to my wife's naked body. She looked radiant. My eyes fell to her pussy; shaving her lips was a new thing for her. It fascinated me the way it made her look so much more sexual. Those lips, framed by her trimmed bush above, seemed to say "this cunt is for fucking" while at the same time reminding me that she does it because Pierre likes her that way.

Irene remained nude, putting on her make-up, while I changed. She then asked that I leave her alone to dress and that I let Pierre in when he got here. Almost on cue, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and there stood Pierre. I recognised him from the beach, although he was now smartly dressed, but as we hadn't officially met he wasn't sure who I was.

"Hello, are you Oscar?"

"Yes. Hello Pierre. Come in. Would you like a glass of wine?" I said shaking his hand.

The conversation that followed was somewhat stilted but we did manage to maintain some polite small talk. However there were topics that were so obvious they were almost palpable, yet we both avoided them. Such as the fact that here was the man that had seduced my wife and has been fucking her regularly for the past few weeks. Or that he knows that I have a small cock and that I know he is much better hung. I couldn't help but think about his cock, picturing it as I had seen it on the beach.

We didn't have to wait too long before we were joined by Irene. I think that my mouth must have fallen open when I saw her, she looked stunning. She had on a loose shortish black skirt with a hem that fell just above her knees. She had tights or thigh-highs on her legs and she was wearing black high-heels. However, the central feature of her outfit had to be her top. It was a black halter-neck that hugged her body. Her breasts seemed to be supported perfectly by the panel of material that disappeared around her neck, leaving her shoulders deliciously bare. The nakedness of her shoulders was further accentuated by the fact that she was wearing her hair up. Although the shape of Irene's breasts in this outfit was stunning, this isn't what had taken my breath away. No, the cause of this was the fabric that the top was made. It was a lace-like mesh that obviously had no lining as I could clearly see my wife's nipples through it. The effect was erotic with something about its blatantness making it almost border on being obscene.

"Irene, tu es un chaud-lapin!" Pierre exclaimed, breaking the silence that had fallen across the room as she had entered.

Irene walked past me and embraced Pierre kissing him on the lips. I watched as the kiss continued, Irene's tongue exploring his mouth as his explored hers. She held herself close against his body while one of his hands dropped to her bottom where it slowly squeezed her buttock. I wondered whether he could tell what type of knickers she was wearing or whether she had tights or thigh-highs on.

I got Irene a glass of wine and we all sat down, Irene and Pierre together on the sofa. We chatted normally as one might expect from a husband and wife entertaining a guest. Although I found my eyes frequently drawn to Irene's breasts as they jiggled sensually whenever she laughed. Only occasionally did the surreal-ness of the situation become apparent, such as when Pierre started absent-mindedly stroking Irene's thigh, slowly moving her skirt higher and higher. At one point in the conversation Irene crossed her legs causing the skirt to ride up. From my vantage point opposite her I got a glimpse of laced stocking top, confirming that she was in fact wearing thigh-highs.

Eventually, I left Irene and Pierre chatting on the sofa so that I could start cooking the quail. They would only take 20 minutes to roast but I needed to give them my full attention. As our kitchen and living room are connected, I could occasionally check up on what they were doing. On my first look Irene had twisted around to face Pierre. She was running one hand through his hair as they talked. His hand was still stroking her thigh but now had moved further up under her skirt. I wondered whether he was stroking her bare skin above the lace top.

On my second look, a little while later, Irene was sitting with her legs spread slightly further apart and now her hand was resting on his Pierre's thigh, close to his crotch, gently squeezing and massaging a thick bulge that lay beneath.

On the third look, the sofa was empty and I could see that Pierre was now standing out on our balcony, leaning on the railing with his back to me. I guessed that Irene had gone to use the bathroom but then, just as I was returning to tend to the birds, I caught site of her. She was crouched between Pierre and the balcony railings. I couldn't see what she was doing but it was obvious that she was sucking his cock. Not only that but I could now see that her legs were spread revealing a perfect view of her bare pussy lips, she was going pantyless. As I watched her body bobbing in front of him, one of her hands dropped to her thigh and then ran up to her pussy, running a finger along the length of her slit before rubbing her clit. The eroticism of the first two sights had got me aroused but this third vision was almost overwhelming. My stomach lurched with jealousy and excitement and I slipped a hand inside my trousers to try and find some release from this BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. The oven buzzer sounded, drawing me away from the doorway and forcing me to cease my ministrations.

From the kitchen, I loudly announced that we were almost ready to eat and that they should make their way to the table. Irene quickly appeared in the kitchen, complimented me on the smell of the dish and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing a bottle of wine and going to join Pierre at the dinner table. I couldn't help but think how those lips had probably just kissed the tip of Pierre's cock before she took it in her mouth, her lips taught around his girth. Had she just swallowed his cum?

As with our drinks before, on the surface the dinner was a cordial affair. However, beneath the surface, or perhaps more accurately beneath the tablecloth, there was more going on that met the eye. From their closeness and the occasional giggle from Irene, I imagine that Pierre's hand hadn't stopped its exploration of her thighs nor her of his manhood. I didn't see him come in from the balcony so, for all I know, his cock could have out and standing proud throughout dinner while Irene slowly stroked its length between bites of her food. These thoughts and the odd surreptitious rub I gave myself kept me in a constant state of hardness.

After we had drunk our coffees, we were still sat around the table when Pierre excused himself and went to the bathroom. While he was out of the room, Irene asked me to pass her the photo album with photos of our trip to the mountains before we were married. I found the right one and brought it to her at the table before sitting down opposite her. I was about to ask here why Pierre would be interested in that particular holiday but he came back into the room before I got the chance.

"Ah, Pierre, come and have a look at the photos from that holiday that I was telling you about earlier."

Rather than sitting down again at the table, Pierre stood behind Irene with his hands on her shoulders, leaning over her to see the album. Irene flicked through the pages reminiscing over the various pictures. As she did this, Pierre made attentive comments but I noticed that while one of his hands remained on her shoulder, gently stroking her with his thumb, the other hand had slipped down her back and was now under her breast, gently cupping it, his fingers squeezing and massaging her through the thin mesh of her top. I was no-longer listening to what Irene was saying, instead engrossed by what his hands were doing to my wife. He hadn't yet touched her nipple but seeing it so clearly through the mesh, straining to escape the confines of the material, and so close to his fingers seemed far more erotic than if there had been no material at all.

Irene continued to talk but her voice was beginning to crack. Pierre lent into her neck and kissed her just below her ear, she faltered as she sighed, but she continued on with the commentary. The hand on her shoulder now moved to the back of her neck and with a small movement the material that had been taught with the weight of Irene's breasts became slack. The halter fell from her shoulders, exposing her. Kissing her again on the neck, he slowley cupped her breasts with both his hands. Still Irene tried to continue talking about the holiday photos but her voice has rasped through her heavy breathing and the worlds weren't really making any sense. Pierre now gentle squeezed both her nipples and, at the same time, whispered in her ear, loud enough for me to hear.

"Je veux te lécher des hanches jusqu'aux pieds. Je veux manger ta chatte. Je veux mettre me doigt dans ta fente."

Irene's eyes closed and she melted back into his embrace.

"Oh, oui, fais-moi grimper au rideau!" she whimpered.

She turned her head towards his and they kissed while he continued massaging her now fully engorged nipples.

She stood up, making no attempt to cover her exposed chest.

With a dreamy smile she said to me "We're going to bed now." before turning and putting her arms around Pierre, guiding him towards our bedroom. As they were leaving, Pierre ran his hands up Irene's legs, under her skirt and, if he wasn't already exploring her cunt with a finger by the time they disappeared through the doorway, he surely had one in her before I heard our bedroom door close.

I was left sitting at the table in a state of shock. I could hardly believe what had just happened. I had just watched a man, who I hadn't met before a couple of hours ago, fondle my wife, strip her of half her clothes and, I presume, tell her he wanted to fuck her; all right in front of me. Meanwhile, Irene, my wife of more than ten years had melted in his arms and calmly told me to my face that she and Pierre were going to go and fuck. I felt a cold sweat pass over me. This was really happening! Obviously, I know it's no where near the first time that my wife has slept with Pierre but having it happen here, in my own house, with me so close, suddenly made it very real. My cock was aching it was so hard. I got up and went to the door of the bedroom. I could hear what sounded like kissing, sighs and giggles but I didn't know what to do, so I went back and cleared the dining table. Once I had stacked the plates and dishes, I turned off nearly all the lights and again went back to the bedroom door. The apartment was now quiet except for the noises coming from our bedroom. Pierre was obviously doing something that Irene approved of because I could hear her sighing and whimpering. I released by cock from my trousers and started to try and relieve the incredible erotic tension I was feeling but it felt strange and somehow dirty to be standing outside my own bedroom door masturbating.

I knew deep down that this wasn't going to be just a quick fuck. I knew that they were going to be together all night. So I decided that I would sleep in my daughter's room, right next to where they were. I crept in, leaving the door open so I could hear as much as possible, and there placed on the bed I found a box of tissues and a letter addressed to me.