by Ben Boswell
And where would it stop?
Terri, I was beginning to realize, had no internal governor. There was nothing that was going to make her step back and end things.
There were times when she felt regret. That she knew, at some level, that I was more ambivalent about all of this than I let on. But it didn’t seem to have any real impact.
She felt bad about having given a threesome to another man and not me. I would have thought that this regret might give her pause. That at the very least, she’d delay the planned overnight with Mike. So I have to admit, I was a little shocked when she informed me she was going ahead with it.
“Informed me” is not quite right. As usual, she asked me if I was okay with it. And as always, I couldn’t bring myself to be the one who rained on her parade.
She got all dressed up for him. She bought herself a new set of lingerie. White lace. Demi-cup strapless bra, tiny thong panties, garter belt and stockings. Over that she wore a shocking blue dress with exuberant décolletage, further emphasized by a large, costume jewelry, diamond pendant nestled into her cleavage.
All through dinner, I kept expecting her to give me a little laugh and announce that she’d called off the date with Mike. That she was going to remain with me now and forever. But she didn’t.
And even after, as I drove her to his apartment, I thought she might still pull the plug. But no.
We parked across the street. I looked up at Mike’s modern, expensive building. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with my wife.
Then suddenly, I felt her hand in my lap.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, honey, in a few minutes I am going to go in that building and give myself to another man.”
I felt my prick stiffen under her touch. She pulled down my zipper.
She continued, “He’s going to use my body for his pleasure.”
Her hand closed on my cock. She stroked it firmly.
“His hands all over me.”
She leaned down into my lap. I felt her tongue flick out against my cock head. I moaned softly.
“My mouth,” she bobbed down and swallowed me into her hot, velvety mouth. She rose back up. “My pussy.” She slurped me again into her mouth, her tongue swirling around my shaft. Again she rose. “My ass.” I shuddered. She took me again into her mouth just as I began to come. Breathing through her nose, she easily gulped down my load.
She straightened again after I was done. She gave me a grin. “See you tomorrow, Honey…. Unless…. Would you rather I didn’t go?”
I stared at her red lips. At her glorious cleavage. God, all I wanted to do was take her home and ravage her. But I couldn’t. She had to decide for herself.
I shook my head. “I’m not your boss.”
She laughed softly, a quiet, rueful chuckle. “Okay. Well, sleep well, okay?”
She paused another second, but when I didn’t speak, she pushed open the car door and got out. She didn’t look back as she sashayed across the street and into Mike’s building.
***
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. He made sure of that.
The first video arrived just as I got home, announced by a text from Terri’s phone directing me to check my email. I sat in the driveway and watched it on my cell phone.
It began with Terri, stripped of her dress, but still in her white lingerie. She was on her knees, blindfolded, with her arms stretched out over her head and bound to something out of the picture’s frame. The camera lingered on her voyeuristically, focusing on her deep cleavage, on her red lips.
She didn’t speak, and neither did he, which added a creepy vibe to the scene. Then the camera approached and moved a bit to the left, suddenly stabilizing as it was placed on a tripod or some other surface. Zoomed in on her face, I could hear a rustling off-screen.
Even though I knew what was coming, I still startled when his cock, jutted into the frame. Although as with Chucky and Jean-Pierre, she’d assured me Mike was just average, he still looked huge to me. She seemed to sense him approaching her. Her lips parted. He traced the outline of her lips with prick, his precome making them glisten, as if he’d applied a particularly lewd layer of gloss.
Even as he traced her lips, her tongue flicked out, trying to taste him. Her mouth opened wider as if to beckon him in.
Still no words, even as he ran his fingers through her hair. And now a soft gurgling as he pressed his cock into her willing mouth. Holding her head steady, he began fucking her face with his jutting prick. In and out, deeper and deeper, until her face was nuzzled in his trimmed, graying pubes. Her cheeks hollowed out, her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed spit mixed with pre-come.
He faced fucked her harder. She slurped on his prick, the obscene sound of her sloppy blowjob the only thing I could hear. Still harder now, his strokes sloppier, and then suddenly she gagged wetly. He pulled away and I could see he’d come in her mouth, her tongue coated in his thick, white goo. He spurted again, this time across her face. She flinched, but didn’t duck away. Another rope on the bridge of her nose. And then he stepped in close again and wiped himself on her shiny, red cheeks.
His hands reached for the camera and then suddenly, the video was over. I was shaking. Rage, excitement, disappointment, God only knew how many other emotions. It was a good ten minutes before I could pull myself together enough to walk into the house, but even still, I felt dizzy, sweaty, a little nauseous.
It was over an hour before the next video arrived. This one was shorter. Terri now stripped naked other than her pendant and her heels. She was standing, hands still bound above her head, gagged as well as blindfolded. Her circled around her as if examining a particularly fetching piece of livestock. He tweaked her erect nipples. His fingers casually explored her wet snatch. She moaned through her gag. I wondered if he’d already fucked her. He moved around back. He spread her buttcheeks. His finger traced her puckered little anus. He lingered there, letting both her and me know that he intended to have her there this evening.
SMACK! He spanked her ass hard. She whimpered. And then click, the camera shut off again.
Another hour and then another short video. Terri still strung up, covered in sweat, red-faced, her nipples dark red and puffy, her pussy gaping now, also crimson, her ass covered in palm prints.
Now past midnight and yet another video. My wife on her back on his bed, naked, splayed open, with her wrists shackled to her ankles. Ungagged, she moaned softly and writhed lazily.
“Beg for it,” he commanded off screen.
She didn’t hesitate. “Fuck me Mike. Please fuck me.”
He approached her. The camera scanned downward and centered on his prick, hard and red with excitement. He climbed between my wife’s legs and rubbed his cock head against her wet pussy. It pulsed with excitement and she tilted her hips upward to try to capture his prick. He didn’t hesitate. He entered he with one firm, powerful thrust. She gasped excitedly as he began to fuck her.
At that point he seemed to lose interest in filming. He dropped the camera on the bed, and for a long time I was treated to a shaky view of his ceiling as my wife moaned and sighed with pleasure as he fucked her forcefully. Her sounds getting higher and higher, until suddenly she squealed orgasmically to end this particular video.
It was a while before the next video arrived, but when it did, it was the one I’d been dreading and yet, I guess, also awaiting. The camera was tight on Terri’s face. She was again gagged and red-faced. Her eyes were squinting as she was jolted back and forth.
Slowly the image shifted as the camera panned over her head and down her sexy, slender back. He paused at her lower back, so that I could see just the top of her ass, making slow circles. Then finally a little lower, and I could see that she was reaching back with both hands, holding herself open for him, as his fat cock pumped in and out of her tight, little ass.
With the camera now centered on her butt, he began ramming in harder. She squealed through the gag, but she con
tinued to hold herself open, and even more shockingly, I could see that the harder her fucked her, the harder she thrust back against him.
I only got one more video. It was from the next morning and in some ways it was the hardest to take. They weren’t even fucking. It was just Terri, naked, in his kitchen making herself a cup of coffee. I’m not sure why it hit me so hard. But I guess it was the casualness of it. How normal it seemed to be for Terri to be nude in another man’s home. No shame at having been used as his personal whore all night. No discomfort at being filmed and having the videos sent to me.
There was no disconnect, and I realized for the first time, that there might really be no end point to this. That this wasn’t an adventure. For Terri this was a perfectly sustainable lifestyle. Loving wife and mother, and at the same time, a shameless slut for any man who could handle her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Terri’s ability to treat all of this as normal made me doubt myself even more. I mean, maybe this was a reasonable way to go through life. I couldn’t quite get my arms around that. I felt like there had to be some conclusion. But really, why? I was a married to a hotwife. We were essentially now members of the cuckolding lifestyle. That was the fact, and yet, I couldn’t shake the sensation that this wasn’t the end, that this was a path to something.
What kept me awake, what gave me the biggest pit in my stomach was the fear that one day she would just walk away. But she gave no sign of it.
It was me she still came home to after. It was with me that she relived her experiences. I was part of this. I just wasn’t sure exactly what my part was.
I won’t say it was getting routine. It can’t. It just can’t. When the woman you love is recounting to you how it felt to have another man’s dick in her ass, it doesn’t matter that you’ve just shared a fun family weekend, or a delicious home-cooked meal. It is just surreal.
Terri was building up stories faster than we could incorporate them. She continued to fill in the gaps from past encounters.
I got to hear about how Jean-Pierre had sodomized her – in the shower, standing, one leg perched on the edge of an old-fashioned iron tub. How Brian had gotten her and Cyn into a 69, with Cynthia on top, and Terri licking the other woman’s clit as Brian’s cock sawed into her just inches from my wife’s face. She told me how Mike had pressed a fat butt plug into her ass and left it there as she dangled by her wrists. The way he’d slapped at her nipples until she was gasping and worn out.
She told me that last story as she slowly rode me. Her pussy was deliciously rising and falling on my cock, and I was gently fondling and admiring her beautiful, perfect breasts.
“And then,” she said, her voice throaty with excitement, “when I didn’t think I could stand any more, when my nipples were burning and sore, he pulled out these clamps. I could see the rippled, metal grips. I tried to squirm away, but I was already on my tip toes, my calves quivering, and I couldn’t move. He was quick. Bam and bam.”
I gently ran my thumbs around her erect, raspberry nipples. Why would anyone want to do anything other than caress or suck on them?
“Didn’t that hurt?” I asked.
She nodded, still riding me, her body moving languidly, undulating sinuously.
“That’s why he gags me,” she noted. “Yes, of course. It felt like a red hot poker. But… it did keep me distracted from him pulling out the buttplug and shoving his dick up my ass.”
“Oh God, Terri,” I gasped.
She sensed my excitement and leaned in. Her breasts dragged against my chest. She rode me faster, faster.
“He loves fucking me up the ass,” she breathed. “And he does it so… fucking… hard...” She punctuated each word by slamming down hard on me. “Twisting the clamps. Going in so deep that it is a relief to feel his hot come filling my ass.”
Maybe it was her excitement. Or maybe it was the thought of another man climaxing in my wife’s butt. Either way, I came hard myself. Terri continued to ride me until she was certain I was done, and then rolled off me and to the side.
We laid in bed, facing each other. The excitement quickly replaced for me with that same vague anger and embarrassment, and still more, lack of comprehension.
“Do you like the pain?” I asked
She thought about it for a few moments. “No. Not really.”
“So –”
“So, why do it?” She hesitated again, but this time it was more about finding the right words. “I don’t like the pain, but I do like being with a man who is willing to hurt me to get his pleasure.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
She laughed. “I don’t either.”
“I… I think you do. You have thought about it.”
She hesitated. “Have I?”
I loved her so much that I hated saying things that might be painful, even if they were true. “You’re not the most introspective person in the world,” I said finally.
I saw a glimmer of hurt pass across her face… and also acknowledgement. It was something I hoped she’d explore, ideally with a trained professional. Maybe it was just temperament. But maybe she was also afraid of what she’d find if she looked too deep. And, to tell the truth, that was something I worried about as well.
“Maybe there are some things I don’t want to understand about myself? Maybe it is just easier to think this is just how I am.”
I tried to compose my face into a mask of compassion, but it was hard. I’d shared my past with her. Relived for her the devastating story about Melanie’s infidelity. And now, she was holding back on me.
I challenged her on it. “There is something you’re not telling me.”
There. Right there. I saw it. In that moment of hesitation, a look of… what? Fear? Embarrassment? Some intense emotion, but almost as quickly, it was gone. She chuckled, lightly yet forced.
“Terri, are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m just not sure what you are looking for.”
“I… Terri, is there something I should know about this?”
“How so?”
“I feel like… like this isn’t just… isn’t just about your attractions. That this is… something deeper. More… important.”
“You’re being silly,” she replied airily. “This is just about having a little fun. At least for me it is. I’m not the one with the dark secrets in my past. You’re projecting.”
I knew I wasn’t, and yet I also knew better than to press her further. There was something about her fleeting expression that left me more than a little shaken. Perhaps it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.
***
I hate to continually put this back on her, but how was I supposed to let sleeping dogs lie, when she kept sleeping with dogs? Well, not sleeping, as she was always keen to remind me. No matter how much time she spent in bed with Brian and Mike, there was no sleeping involved. Just… fucking.
Still, people can get used to all sort of things. We’re creatures of habit, and habits are relatively easily formed and broken. Give a man a fortune, and a lifetime of frugality and conscientiousness will go out the window in a heartbeat. On the other end of the scale, people live in abject poverty, day after day, and just, somehow, survive even if they don’t thrive. Humans can be celibate and they can also be wildly debauched. There is no “normal,” not really, not permanently.
I realized I was slowly becoming numb to Terri’s, what… transgressions? Surely of “normal” -- there is that word again -- standards of behavior, though as she’d point out, she wasn’t violating any of our understandings. Even if it sometimes felt like she was, she certainly had right on her side. At least in a legalistic sense, she hadn’t broken any contract.
Then again, we’d never set clear boundaries. I was holding her accountable to unenunciated standards. Unspeakable, because that was literally a conversation I could not imagine having. How would it even go?
You can fuck other guys, even anal sex, but not if you’re tied up and gagged.
> It’s okay to screw Brian at his bar, but I’d rather you didn’t go back to his place.
You can have affairs with two different men, but not at the same time, although a threesome with another woman is okay.
The “rules” I had in my head didn’t even make sense to me. I didn’t even know where they came from, or whether there were fleeting sentiments or deeply-held convictions. So, obviously, they wouldn’t make sense to Terri either. And anyway, the thought of having to talk through what was permissible and what wasn’t was mortifying.
Part of what made it mortifying was my own embarrassment at what I had become and was becoming. Another part, though, was that I could imagine Terri’s reaction. The knowing smirk that would surely come across her face as we discussed it -- not quite condescension, but definitely something short of respect. She’d make me feel… foolish. Not in a nasty way, which would actually have been better. More in the way one treats a goofy child or a clumsy Lab, a mixture of affection and eye-rolling bemusement. Not emasculating, but perhaps patronizing. Hard to explain, and I’m not even sure Terri would have done it on purpose. But it was part of why a gulf was opening between us.
Even still, I knew we had to talk. I’d been shying away from her. Pleading work, but really just staring at the same irrelevant spreadsheet for hours to avoid any sort of in-depth conversation.
I took a deep breath and slammed my laptop shut. It was time to talk.
She was in her den, the door open just a crack. Even before I got close, I slowed my pace as I began to get cold feet on what would surely be an uncomfortable -- at least for me -- conversation. I slowed further when I heard voices from the room. A YouTube video? No. Terri was answering. Skype?
I approached cautiously, staying well back in the shadows, but angling myself to peer into the room, close enough now to make out her words. She was staring at the monitor, so unlikely to see me even if she did peer into the darkness of the hall. I couldn’t see the screen, but I could see the glow of it playing across her face.
