*** Disclaimer ***
The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, and NTR. If this isn't the fetish for you, don't waste your time flooding my inbox with hate mail-- it'll only make me want to write and post MORE cuck stuff (unless, of course, that's your goal...).
Otherwise, I love hearing from fans, and welcome any suggestions, thoughts, criticisms, or fantasy ideas. Enjoy!
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ROY'S CONQUESTS: COURTNEY Part 2
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Some might call it an affair. I think that's a misnomer. An affair implies there's a mutual emotional connection that's formed, as well as a physical. I have too many women among my options that I sleep around with. And she had too much self-loathing and guilt over what we'd done for anything emotional to ever get off the ground.
Still... there was something about that embarrassment, that "oh my god, what have I done" guilt that drew me to her, yet again. She was a sheltered girl who had never done anything bad in her whole life. And in less than a week of living in her new home, she'd snuck over to her old neighbor's house and had wild sex with him as her husband lay sound asleep in his bed, still believing that his wife wanted to be with him and only him.
I determined to have her again. If for no other reason than my own personal amusement. Her husband was a nice enough guy, but he was aloof... and men with so little self awareness need to learn that their precious things can be taken away. That, and she was avoiding me... nobody avoids old Roy David.
***
Welcome back, sinners. I can tell from your emails that you're hungry for more. While I have plenty of conquests under my belt, I've already introduced my cute and shy new neighbor Courtney Hammond and her oblivious husband Steve.
They were an odd couple, to say the least. Steve Hammond was a sweaty pudgy kid with pale skin, a baby face and flaming red hair that was matted to his scalp. His features were lively-- a man-boy who, no doubt, aggravated his wife from time to time with a penchant for all things juvenile. His sense of humor was underdeveloped-- the kind of kid who probably thought movies like "Jackass" and "Borat" were comedic gold, and thought books were stupid. I'd be willing to bet any amount of money that he had been in the doghouse with his wife, at least once, for wasting time with video games instead of assisting with chores. I'd be willing to bet even more money that he'd always be wearing shorts, regardless of the time of year, not because he was always a hot sweaty mess who was immune to the cold, but because he was lazy and pants were an insurmountable obstacle.
His wife, Courtney, was a girl without self-esteem (as illustrated by her choice in men). That was a shame, really. Ever see a pretty girl who didn't know she was pretty? One of those "She's All That" types where a simple wardrobe change and a little makeup would turn her from a down-home 7 into a smoldering 10? Courtney was a lot like that. A good candidate for one of those makeover shows.
You'd look at her and call her "normal cute". She had long curly brown hair-- natural, not dyed-- and large blue eyes. Her face reminded me of actress Minnie Driver, especially her nose and cheeks (if that makes sense). Sort of a curving nose that widened (but not unpleasantly). She had round cheeks that gave her nervous smile a small, somewhat chipmunk quality. She would be dynamite if she had the confidence or the know-how to style her hair and makeup... but she didn't, so she fell into the "cute" category. Think of Beauty and Beast, Courtney looked like Belle still in her simple peasant's clothes. The kind of girl where you'd notice her friend sitting next to her, before you'd notice her.
She was tall, probably about 5'8". Must have hit her growth spurt early in life, and stood a full head taller than her classmates, before they caught up to her. As a result, she was a bit gawky, and tended to let herself slump forward to hide it. Pity really, because she was hiding a tremendous figure. Even her style of dressing was unimpressive and plain. She wore "mom clothes", despite being in her early twenties. We're talking plain tennis shoes, simple baggy shorts that didn't give her long legs the credit they deserved, and pastel tank tops or t-shirts that hid the swell of her tits and the tuck of her tummy.
But I knew the truth-- beneath that uninspired taste in clothes was a body that men like me can appreciate. She was all leg. Her thighs were thick, long, and smooth, and seemed to go on forever. And hidden by those nervously hunched shoulders was a pair of plump, round D-cups. Maybe even double D's. I could only imagine how fantastic those puppies would look if she simply carried herself with a little confidence-- shoulders back, and chest out. God, I'm drooling right now, just remembering the way they tasted, the way they felt, and the way they bounced as we fucked.
I've already told the tale of our first encounter-- introducing myself as they moved in beside me in our quiet suburban hell, with manicured lawns full of flowers and half million dollar homes full of secrets and sins. I didn't leave much out in my first story. I'd planted a few seeds, invited them to a backyard party. I'd made my advances toward Courtney, and though she struggled to stay true to her vows, her curiosity had been sparked, and there was no coming back from that. Sheltered girls who have been with the same guy their whole lives tend to be that way. In short work, she'd wrestled with my open ended invitation for a wild night of sex, and lust had won out over love. We'd fucked, and we'd fucked hard. Her husband Steve was none the wiser, and that was how we both intended to keep it.
It was obvious that she felt guilty for the sex we'd had. In the weeks that followed after my conquest, I saw her very little. If I was out cutting the grass or pruning the rose bushes, she would deliberately wait until I went inside for a glass of water before she'd dart out to collect the mail, or drive off to run whatever errand she needed to do. On occasion, if I stopped to make small talk in passing with her oblivious husband, I'd catch her spying on the conversation from the patio door or one of the open bedroom windows. The nervous anxiety was apparent in her face-- she was afraid I'd disclose what we did to Steve, or let something slip. I never did, of course, but I knew that fear must be tremendous for her. She had been a good girl her whole life. I don't think she'd know what to do with herself if the people close to her began to see her as a slut or a whore.
That was fine with me for the time being. I was a busy man, despite being retired. I may have dominated her thoughts with my enormous cock, casual approach to women, and animalistic sexual performance, but the honest truth was, to me, she was just another extra in an ever revolving ensemble of women I slept around with. I had other rendezvous, social gatherings, parties, and appointments to attend. Hell, I even had one couple whose husband *liked* to watch. Imagine that? Not my favorite type of dalliance. I'm greedy, and those arrangements make me feel like the 3rd wheel, even if I'm the star performer. But I'm getting off track.
I hadn't given Courtney a whole lot of thought for those few weeks. That changed on the anniversary of the day our fine country was born. Independence Day... we made some big fireworks that day...
***
It began when I was outside weed wacking along the fence-line. Yard work is something I take pride in. It was mid morning, and I noticed Steve was outside, setting up folding tables and chairs. I threw him a friendly wave and a disarming smile... if only he knew.
He dusted his hands off and came over to me, offering a handshake over the fence. His hand shake was floppy and dead. What are kids thinking these days with that shit?
"Hey Roy," he said without a care in the world, having absolutely no clue about the way I'd completely swept up his wife in a frenzy of passion the likes of which he could never bring to her. And why should he be suspicious? At 60 years old, I'm almost old enough to be his grandfather.
My appearance and my age has a tendency to put people at ease. I'm a very disarming man... probably why I'm so under-the-radar about what I do. Nobody expects to lose their hot young wife to a 60 year old single guy. Despite my age, I'm still a spry fella. I have a home gym that I use obsessively. There's barely an ounce of fat on me. Every single muscle on my body is meticulously maintained and cared for, strengthened to its peak. In my older age, I've come to draw inspiration from Jack Lalanne. You want nice things? You gotta work hard for them. Which is why it's so easy to snatch away nice things from young guys who take the path of least resistance...
I've been told on more than one occasion that I look like a door to door Mormon, mixed with a retired swinger. Clean cut with a broad, prominent smile and dazzling white teeth. I tan, so that makes them stand out even more. I still have a full head of hair (thank god), that is bright blonde. I keep it on the longer side, swept back like a surfer boy-- it keeps me looking youthful. It's the only part of my body where I have hair, but that'll be our little secret. I usually dress in flip flops, khaki shorts, and pastel polos. I could be the manager at a golf course-- disarming and pleasant. I like it that way.
Since I was working in the sun this morning, I elected to go shirtless. My tan abs and vascular arms were coated with a pleasant sheen of sweat. My biceps bulged, and my pecks jumped whenever I moved my arms. Even talking to Steve, I made sure the veins stood out, loud and proud. Psychological warfare, to let this little scrapper subconsciously know his place.
"Hey Steve," I replied casually. "Whatcha setting up there?" I shielded my eyes against the morning sun as I gazed at the folding tables and chairs.
"Family cookout," Steve replied. "I like to have a Fourth of July picnic with our friends and family every year. My way of getting drunk and blowing stuff up. You're invited."
He threw that in at the last minute. It made me resist the urge to smile even wider. I know that was an impulsive decision, made without Courtney's approval. She wanted to keep me at arm's length after her last mistake, but hadn't been smart enough to fabricate some story to Steve about why he shouldn't associate with the likes of me.
"That'd be great," I said. "I appreciate that. Is there anything you want me to bring?"
He just shrugged. He wasn't used to having these adult types of conversations. "Just yourself?"
I waved dismissively. "Get out of here with that shit. I'll whip something up for you and your guests. And you tell them, if they want to get drunk and jump in my pool, they go right ahead. My gate is open to them."
"Wow, thanks Roy!" Steve lit up. "Come over whenever."
"You can count on it," I pointed and winked.
And like a vampire who can't invade a home without an invitation, I just had my invitation to this young man's house. Especially that hot wife of his with the full round tits...
***
Potato salad is a cliché staple at all back yard picnics, but I'm a cliché kind of guy.
