Learning to Love It

Well, Gentle Reader, here's the next 869-word chapter of Andrea and her Cuckold's descent into servitude. At some reader's suggestions, if you would like to see a happier version of how a three-way relationship can work, you might peek at my "Happily a Throuple" stories. The next chapter is in final proofing as I type.

I'm having a bit of trouble with this story. I'm interested in seeing how this couple's relationship develops but I'm getting poor ratings on it (3.48 stars the last time I looked). I'm not used to getting a "C" for my work. But I'm also getting a relatively high number of "Favorite" marks. So I think I'm going to keep working on it, 869 words at a time. If nothing else, it will help with my well-known case of verbal diarrhea. I'm many things but brief is not among them.

Chapter Two

At 32, Andrea can still pass for being in her 20s, would not look out of place in one of the classes I taught, and can still be asked for an ID by a careful bartender. I'm proud of the way she looks and enjoy helping her get ready for her date nights.

"You are beautiful," I said, meeting her eyes in the mirror as I worked brush through her hair.

She smiled at me.

"Thank you, baby, you ARE the best husband ever," she said.

I felt a rush of pride at her compliment.

When I turned her so I could do her face she said, "A little heavy around the eyes, I think. The guys like it that way."

"GuyS?" I asked, emphasizing the final unvoiced alveolar fricative indicating plural.

Like a switch had flipped, her smile disappeared.

"Yes, Husband, guyssssssssssssssss," she snapped, "I'm hoping for at least an even dozen tonight."

I dropped to my knees and took her hands, kissing her palms and looking up at her.

"I apologize," I said, daring to meet her eyes, "I meant no offense."

"It's okay, Honey," she said, "it's just the hormones, you know."

I stood, carefully brushed a few stay hairs away from her face, and started on her makeup.

I applied it lightly, just a bit of base, a hint of blush, and a very faint trace of a darker finish to highlight her cheekbones.

I paid the most attention to her eyes, a heavy blue eyeshadow, a black eyeliner drawn to points, and ridiculous butterfly lashes. I coated her heavily botoxed lips with scarlet lipstick.

Since it was to be a party I selected her biggest, heaviest nose ring and felt a tiny twinge in my limp cock as the image of a partygoer leading her around by the ring flashed into my mind. Another ring went into the piercing of her tongue and one in each of her nipples. As always, I wondered if the nipple piercings would affect nursing when the baby came.

I draped the shift over her head then, just a shapeless sack with arm and legholes. No need to get any of her nice clothes ruined.

I kissed her goodbye when the Uber arrived.

I sat, naked, on the couch. They had installed monitoring cameras, and I was not allowed to watch TV or, well, do anything but wait. Our obedience was the price we paid for the life we had chosen.

I dozed, but the sound of the door opening woke me and I ran to greet her.

Jim, one of the men who might be the father of the baby in my wife's belly, pushed her in, said, "Get this cleaned up. Big day tomorrow for both of you," and left.

Andrea looked like someone had poured a bucket of yogurt over her head. The strong scent of male semen and her womanscent rolled off of her in waves. The shift she wore had soaked through at the rise of her breasts. Her nipples, larger with pregnancy, showed clearly.

I got hard.

Seeing her like this was better than Viagra.

In the bedroom, I lifted the shift off of her as the TV turned on.

Their control of our life was made possible through the Internet of Things, and some of them were expert at it. The monitors throughout our house would show them how we reacted and we never knew what would show up on the web.

I kissed her, partly knowing it was what they expected, partly because I wanted to. There's something about our degradation that was exciting to both of us. We could stop it at any time by simply saying "no."

Neither of us wanted to stop it. We were both lost in our new life, her the cumdump and me the supportive cuckold.

So I made love to my wife as I watched her, on the television.

"On your fucking knees where you belong," Chris, a man I knew and who might be the father of our baby, snapped as she walked in.

He grabbed the nose ring, drawing a cry from her, and led her to the waiting circle of men.

That set the tone.

I kissed her and told her she was beautiful as we watched her suck twenty men's cocks, masturbate them, and accepted their ejaculate on her face, in her hair, and on her baby bump.

I caressed her cum-covered cheek with mine as I slipped inside of her, hard as a teenager.

"You wish that was your mouth, don't you cuckboy?" she asked, kissing me back.

"Yes," I said, the last vestiges of my self-respect long gone about the time I realized how much I enjoyed being abused.

I nuzzled her hair, heavy with semen, and licked, enjoying the taste I found there.

"I love you," I whispered, moving so that my body molded to the growing baby bump.

"And I love you," she said back.

"You are beautiful," I said as on the television a particularly big load of semen splashed when it struck between her eyes.

"I'm a cumdump," she said.

"A beautiful cumdump," I said, and kissed her lips, slick with other men's semen.