My husband and I have been married for seven years. We don't have any children, but it's not from lack of trying. We've both been to see doctors, but they can't find anything wrong with either my husband or me. I can't be mad about not getting pregnant, but I'm not getting any younger either.
I love my husband dearly and do my best to be kind and considerate towards him. He does the same for me. We never fight and rarely get into an argument.
We're both introverts, so we'll spend evenings together on the sofa watching TV. Sometimes I'll read on my Kindle while he works on our computer. My husband is a software developer for a federal government agency. Yes, we live in a suburb of Washington DC.
We live in a cookie-cutter three-bedroom house in a pleasant planned neighborhood outside the Beltway. We've lived here for as long as we've been married and know our neighbors pretty well. We live near the cul-de-sac on our street, so it's pretty rare to see a car go by that doesn't belong to one of the neighbors.
Sure, our neighbors have friends and family over, especially during Thanksgiving and Christmas season. But, like I said, I tend to notice when I happen to see a strange car go by, especially if it looks like the driver is looking for an address. I'm pretty sure our neighbors do the same.
I sometimes wonder what secrets our neighbors keep. I'm not so nosy that I'd try and find out anyone's secret, but sometimes I let my mind wander and think about what might be going on behind my neighbors' closed doors.
I have one of those secrets, and I've been bursting to share my story with someone. I might as well share it with strangers who don't know me personally.
Andrew.
Yep, I'm having an affair with Andrew.
It all started several months ago. I was browsing biographies at our local library branch. Sometimes, I get tired of reading on the Kindle, and actually want to read an honest-to-goodness book.
Anyway, I'd pulled down a biography of Carter Braxton, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. I was standing in the racks looking through the first chapter, when I heard a voice say,
"Braxton originally opposed independence, but later changed his mind."
I looked up and saw Andrew. "Oh," was my brilliant response.
We walked over to a sitting area, sat down, and spoke quietly to each other for about an hour. Like I said, I try to be kind and considerate. Besides, Andrew seemed to know a lot about history and I was interested in what he had to say. My husband is pretty smart, but he doesn't share my interest in history.
I didn't think much about my encounter with Andrew until I ran into him about a month later. I was going into Whole Foods when I heard a voice I recognized.
"Fancy running into you again. How was the Braxton biography?"
Andrew took me to lunch and I found out about him and his life. He is a police officer in the largest city in the next county over from us. He works shifts, so he often has his days to go out and do things. Like going to the library and doing his grocery shopping.
I enjoyed our lunch together and thanked him for treating me. He asked me for my cell phone number. I gave it to him, thinking he wanted me as a friend. Yes, I was that naive.
The first few times Andrew called, we talked about books we've read and movies we've seen. I felt very comfortable with Andrew. I enjoyed our conversations and looked forward to seeing Andrew's number pop up on my phone.
Andrew and I were talking on the phone one afternoon, when he asked me if I had an open marriage, I was surprised. I didn't know what to say. Andrew could tell I was uncomfortable by the silence over the phone. He apologized, said goodbye, and hung up. I didn't know what to think.
That night, while my husband and I were in bed together, I told him everything that had happened between Andrew and me. He listened to my story, thought for a while, and then surprised me with his response.
"Do you want to be with Andrew?"
At the time, I honestly didn't know. I really liked Andrew, but I didn't want to hurt my husband or jeopardize our marriage.
"I don't know. Do you want me to be with Andrew?"
I was expecting a firm no. I wasn't prepared for the silence. I was wondering what my husband was thinking when he finally responded.
"If you really like Andrew and being intimate with him is something you want, I want you to go for it. I don't want you to regret missing this opportunity."
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. I gave my husband a huge kiss and put my right hand on his growing cock. I gave him a slow hand job while he sucked on my nipple. He came really quick, which was a pleasant surprise. After I cleaned him up, he kissed me while I used my finger to rub my clit. I thought about what it would be like to be intimate with Andrew and had my orgasm really quickly.
A couple of nights later, while my husband and I were in bed together, he confessed that he'd been thinking about me being with Andrew and how aroused it made him. I heard an old historical word that I never thought would apply to me. Cuckold.
I spent the next couple of afternoons on the computer researching modern-day cuckolding. I had to wade through a lot of porn tropes to find the information I was looking for. My husband had told me some of the things he thought about when he thought about being cuckolded. I was trying to figure out which aspects of cuckolding I'd be comfortable with.
I saw so many instances where the husband watched while the wife and bull had sex. Nope. Not for me. I did not want anyone, including my dear husband, watching me have sex with Andrew.
I saw many instances where the husband helped his wife prepare for the encounter. My husband didn't mention that, but the thought didn't appeal to me. I don't take baths. I take showers. Besides, if I knew I was having sex, I'd want to shave everywhere before I showered. I keep my pussy shaved because my husband enjoys eating me out. I really enjoy it as well. I wondered how Andrew felt about shaved pussy?
Andrew!
Andrew hung up thinking I wasn't interested in being intimate with him. I sent him a text asking him to call me when he had a chance. Wouldn't it be funny after all this preparation if it turned out he wasn't interested in me anymore?
That evening, when my husband and I were in bed together, I told him about my cuckold research. I asked him to be completely open about what he'd been thinking about and what he wanted from my cuckolding him.
He didn't hold back. He told me every thought he'd had about me and Andrew. Thank goodness I'd done some research. He mentioned something I hadn't researched, situational humiliation.
I'd encountered plenty of verbal humiliation when researching cuckolding. It's a common porn trope for the "wife" to verbally berate her "husband". I couldn't understand why any man would find verbal humiliation appealing. I still don't understand. Maybe it reminds them of their mother. But it appears some men get sexually aroused by a woman verbally humiliating them.
After my husband explained what he wanted, situational humiliation made more sense. After all, cuckolding is supposed to involve public humiliation. It's not just an affair that the husband is aware of. Part of the appeal is the public knowing that the wife is cheating on her husband.
Over the next few nights, my husband and I worked out exactly what he wanted from my cuckolding. He came up with a brilliant idea that involved situational humiliation. I'll share the details later, but for now, I wondered if I could play the role my husband wanted? The role my husband wanted me to play was the complete opposite of my natural personality. I wondered if I would enjoy playing that role?
One afternoon, I was relaxing on the sofa wondering if Andrew would ever call. It'd been about a week since I'd sent him my text. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't help myself. I was fingering my clit when the phone rang.
It was Andrew!
Sheepishly, I answered the phone. After a few minutes of pleasant conversation about what he'd been doing, I gave him the answer to his question.
"Yes Andrew, I have an open marriage."
Andrew invited me over to his apartment. Well, he did buy me lunch that one time, so I owed him a blow job at least. I agreed and told him I'd be there in a couple of hours. He agreed.