[Author's notes: Warning! This is a cuckold story, albeit a different kind of cuckold story. It includes very minor male to male sexual contact. It also includes public humiliation of the husband and sets the stage for further character growth in later chapters, should they ever be written. I have attempted to write an erotic story, rather than a pornographic one. This hopefully will be hot enough to be a Whack off story for the people who like these themes, as it does have a lot of sex in it. For those who don't like these themes please move along. Constructive comments are appreciated, hate speech will be deleted.]
"What does your wife do when she sucks my cock?" I ask as I show him the picture of her on my phone. You can see the urinals of the posh men's room in the background, the foreground consumed with her worshiping my cock. Her red hair is cut into an Anna Wintour approved twenties flapper helmet, as her bright red lips brush the helmet of my prick. Her right hand is wrapped around the base of my shaft, right up against my balls, with her blood red nails clearly displayed. I remember it clearly since she is stroking me so hard it is practically a punch in the balls at the time.
He gulps hard, searching for the right response, as his mind tries to grasp what he is seeing. Thoughts of "OMG, there's as much cock outside her hand as in it", and "Was he the only one?" flash through his mind.
"She swallows?" he answers timidly.
Sliding my finger on the screen on to the next picture, I taunt him "Of COURSE she swallows. She said my cock was easily twice the size of yours, but that you would need proof. But that still doesn't answer the question. Try again." This one has her deep throat skills on full display, her right hand flat behind my balls as her ruby red lips kiss them from the other side, her nose in my salt and pepper pubes. This time her beautiful blue-gray eyes are closed, a mask of bliss and adoration, with her smoky eye makeup shadowing her eyelids.
"She's fallen in love with your cock?" he says with a hint of fear in his voice, trembling with excitement at the same time. He snatches his scotch and water from the bar and downs it in a single glug-glug-glug. Then he blushes.
I taunt him further. "Just like you just did? Tell me that wasn't my cock you were just slurping on in your mind as you downed that drink and I'll give her back to you."
He gasps like a fish as he tries to stammer out a reply "But...But..."
"But nothing." I taunt him some more. "Of COURSE she fell in love with my cock. But her terms were that you get the answer right within three guesses or she is mine forever. I'll give you the last hint." I slide my finger to the next picture, both her hands wrapped around my cock as her open mouth lifts off the tip, her tongue flicking beneath, outstretched, waiting, quivering.
"For the last time, and for all the rights to bed your wife at anytime and place of my choosing for the rest of her life: what does your wife do when she sucks my cock?"
He has a wild look in his eyes as he realizes he is trapped, and that he has been trapped by his own wife. Betrayed and given the gift of his fantasies, all at the same time. So he goes further down the road of his own fantasies.
"She promised to suck off everyone there?" he says as he twitches slightly.
"Beep! Wrong again! You have just lost all fucking rights to the angel known as Joanna." I say as I marvel at her mind. She knows him so well she predicted his answers. She probably was one of those chess players who can see five moves ahead of however many moves you can see ahead. I slide my finger to reveal the last picture. It is a wider angle shot than the others, bouncing off the mirror wall of the bathroom to reveal she and I are the only people there. She is on her knees, right hand on my cock, tongue taking the spurts of my come, as her left hand reaches into her slit skirt. She is clearly in the throes of orgasm, even as she gulps down my seed.
"The correct answer to the question, what do I do when I suck his cock – is that I come, just like you just have." she says softly as she joins us, grabbing my hand and guiding it between his legs. I can feel his cock spurting through his pants, as he moans. She bends over to kiss him, the taste of my come fresh in her mouth, and I swear another set of pulses try to empty his already drained balls.
"Escort me home, James." she says to me as she looks back at him. "Edwin, don't try to cover up. Let everyone see you came all over yourself as another man takes your wife home."
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Earlier that night
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It is an away mission, and I am the designated red shirt.
Harmony is TDY in NY, and I am stuck at home base in Chicago. Thirty years I've been out of the military, and I still think in those terms. It isn't 7 pm, it is 19:00 local, or 01:00 Zulu. Did my four and out, but it left a legacy of work in the military/intelligence complex I'd successfully exploited for the past three decades. So here I am, forced TDY to her company party, full of people I'd barely met. Edwin, her boss, was here somewhere.
The company party it at a nice enough place. The carpet is a lush red and gold brocade with a fleur-de-lis pattern. The woodwork is ornate, the stone is marble, and you know it is for the six figure and up salary crowd. I am admiring the broad mezzanine staircase, at least fifty feet wide with a central rail, clearly something designed in the twenties or thirties, even though nothing here could possibly be that old.
She appears. If I am writing a myth about a Goddess, I must say she steps off a cloud, but all I can offer is a moment of inattention on my part. Yet she is clearly more goddess than human. She strikes the pose, and holds it. It takes a moment for my foggy brain to process it, then it clicks. I snatch up my cell phone and advance on her position. She glances the other way, over to the bar to my left, then returns to the pose. I have set my phone to bursts, so I rapidly peel off three frame sets as I advance. Then she moves towards me, as I close the distance to the base of the stairs. She is halfway down the stairs as she stops, looks right at me, then smiles a blindingly brilliant smile directly at me, then repeats her pose, check the bar, pose routine, returning to smile directly at me. My camera is snapping frames like PacMan gobbles dots.
My defenses crushed under her onslaught, I surrender. She is, for all intents and purposes, better looking than Anne Hathaway in Harper's Bazaar. The same black formal Versace dress, off one shoulder, scooped out down to her far superior cleavage, the slit from her pubes down to her ankles – with a zipper, so that it is clear she meant to show you the perfectly sculpted leg. She wears the same knee high strappy sandal/boots, also with zippers. She has red hair, a personal weakness of mine, cut into a helmet right at the jaw line. She is tall, she would look down on my Harmony without the four inch fuck me heels built into her sandal boots.
There is no panty line. There is no support in the dress for her 38DD cleavage, not that she seems to need it. She is obviously twenty years younger and she is also clearly out of the league of any of the people here. She belong in temples, or on Mount Olympus.
I am studying her "smoky eye" makeup, the ruby red lips, the almost harpy lines of her face, but she is smiling at me, and her mouth is moving and I am lost in wondering what that mouth could do to me as she snaps her fingers in front of my face.
