by Derrin Hart
We were not having sex all that much, but I was trying hard.
I delicately explained the situation to Sara. “I know we have chosen to not meet any more men,” I said, “however, a golden opportunity has arisen.” She frowned at me and seemed very nervous. I took a deep breath and continued, “Way back, I mentioned that a star player was interested in you. Well, by chance, he is in our town next weekend and looking to hook up.” I pulled out his online picture which I had saved and showed it to Sara.
The guy was a rock. He wore long, dreaded hair, was very tall and muscular and had a great-looking face. I was convinced that this type of guy would not let us down. If we had met him during our ten years of swinging, we would have never come to this devastating pass.
She studied his picture intensely. Her stare bore into my eyes. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
That was enough for me. This made me nervous. I could be fine with a “no” answer. I had no desire to fuel any more marriage-breakup thoughts. A few days later, Sara gave me her answer.
“Just this one time, I guess … I mean it’s a one-in-a-million chance, and since he’s right here in town, I’m okay to meet him.” The stage was set.
Chapter Ten
I searched online to find the true meaning of the word, cuckold. I was curious if all my anxiety made sense, if I shared common ground with other cuckolds, or if I was way off base. This is what I found:
A cuckold, by simple definition, is a husband with a cheating wife. The husband could be willing or unknowing. I knew everything, and she was not cheating. This was all so confusing.
The cuckold is a consummate voyeur ... who derives great pleasure from seeing his wife being pleasured and serviced by another male. Although he assumes a submissive role and will often assist during the course of the sex act, the “cuckold husband” may actually be the controlling, dominant party in the relationship. He may invite, encourage, and initiate the meetings.
It was a fact. I loved to watch. It was a huge turn-on and one of the greatest things I could ever witness. I also was the one to get things going, the plan-maker.
The Internet described these encounters as an “aphrodisiac,” in that they enhanced the sex play between hubby and wife. The encounter could be revisited and replayed during subsequent love-making sessions.
A cuckold husband is turned on by the idea of his wife having sex with other men. The cuckold husband attempts to convince his wife to embark on sexual flings, and if he succeeds, will then seek out a man who makes the most desirable partner (in the husband’s view!) for his wife. In the case of a white cuckold husband, it is almost universal that a bigger, stronger, exceptionally athletic (and possibly younger) black male will be considered as the most acceptable partner for the wife.
The above descriptions of cuckold were close enough to our situation. I realized that there were many other men like me. It was only logical: if the other male was bigger, stronger, more athletic, and possibly younger, the wife would receive maximum sexual stimulation, long-lasting intercourse, and get to enjoy many exotic positions during intercourse due to the greater strength and endowment of the chosen male. I agreed with all that I read.
I had to take into account what Sara was going through. The guilt was really upsetting her.
She loved the sex, yet hated the anticipation of a bad encounter. Of course our biggest obstacle was not being able to separate the sex from the emotional baggage it entailed. The last thing I wanted was for her to be upset. This was supposed to be fun. I wanted us to experience all of it together, to use it to keep our sex life charged.
Since she had agreed to the meeting, Sara had become increasingly emotional and moody in all facets of her life; I did not know what to think. I was beginning to conclude that we should cancel.
More online research turned up a few good writings about the wife’s point of view.
According to research done by several psychologists, a woman tended to respond initially with
“shock, dismay and revulsion” when her husband encouraged her to have sex with other males.
She would also worry over whether her husband had lost interest in her sexually, or whether her husband was angry and looking to humiliate her, or whether her husbands no longer loved her and wanted to end her marriage.
At this stage the wife would usually reject the husband’s requests completely and refuse to consider them further (in which case the husband had to give up and be satisfied with his fantasies or wait for the wife to get used to the idea). If she did show interest, it was rarely enthusiastic interest. Women almost always tried to hide any genuine excitement. Also, most women weren’t comfortable with the idea of their husbands exposing them to judgment like some kind of prize heifer at the fair. It was all so confusing.
Friday night came at last. I told Sara sincerely that if she was not into it, we could still back out. She said, “Nope, let’s do it. I feel fine with it.”
We were to hook up at a local bar, and if things worked out, he had booked a hotel room down the road. Sara began getting ready. I was very interested in choice of outfits for the evening.
After all, he was a star athlete and handsome—a big shot with good looks.
Sara put on a side-tie pair of light baby blue thong panties, a black push-up bra, and a white Victorian-type corset. Her skirt was long, lean, and sexy and her sandals jewel-encrusted. Her hair was longer than ever, almost touching the back of her ass. She looked stunning. However, I could feel her apprehension. We had met too many average guys, and those meets had been hell on our marriage. We lived in the boondocks, in a city far away from the hot nightlife, where men as a whole were beer-drinking duds.
We hit the bar and she sipped a Long Island ice tea, enjoyed it and asked for another. The guy we will call Travis called to say he was back from his clinic. He suggested we come to his hotel suite and join him. We had no problem with that and headed over.
The minute we stepped in his room, it was obvious this guy was something special. Travis was everything Sara could ask for—tall with long braided hair. He wore designer jeans and a sleek button-down blue shirt. He was, however, quiet. I tried to get a conversation going, but he was laid back and didn’t pick up the thread. He had what she wanted. All he needed to do was flirt with her, tease her, and she would be his. Sara talked a lot and giggled, a sign she was interested. She, too, wanted him to loosen up.
I pulled out our iPod and mini speaker set and slipped on the “play list.” The two of them finally got a little cozy. He got up from the bed, and from her place on the love seat, Sara looked up and smiled.
“So, what’s up girl?” he said.
She waved a finger for him to come down to her level. There was a brush of faces as he leaned in. He pulled a chair up in from of my wife and sat in front of her. He teased her milky thighs—pushing her skirt up and fondling her ever so slightly.
She kissed him, and the temperature in the room rose. When he began to unbutton his shirt, Sara helped. They embraced and kissed passionately again. He probed his fingers between her legs, beneath her panty line, egging her on. She stood up, and he slid her skirt off. She helped him remove his jeans. He wore white athletic spandex boxers, very tight; his erection stood out. She wore her side-tie panties. They hugged.
Wow, what a sight she was with her ass sticking out as she leaned toward his muscular frame. Her hair cascaded down her back as they kissed again.
She slid her small hand into his shorts and stroked his manhood. Down his shorts went, and he brandished a larger then average, fairly thick penis.
He wasted no time taking my Sara to his bed. He slid her down and took her panties straight off. Her top soon followed, and there she was, naked and in heaven. He licked her pussy and she was in orbit. His big black body covered her tiny frame.
Travis was not a gigolo. He was ready to fuck. He did not draw out the make-a-woman-want-him foreplay, period. He must have had many women at his feet.
He put o
n a magnum condom and slid between Sara’s legs. Sara grabbed his ass and pulled him into her. She cried out, “Oh God, you feel so awesome! So strong, so good.” He was in shape and could fuck her with vigor. She was lost in the humping. He turned her over and did her doggie style. He wanted her bubble ass in sight and he pounded against it. Then he laid her on her back and entered her in missionary. He hammered her and yelled out in orgasm. It was one hot yet quick session. I had no doubt Sara was not ready to call it quits. He, however, rolled over and seemed happy.
Travis had used a condom, but he had come inside her. Lost in the session, she had forgotten to tell him to pull out. The last thing we needed in our lives was to worry about pregnancy.
After making his way to the bathroom to clean up, he returned quietly to the bed and lay back on his pillow. Sara wasted no time; she crawled to him and snuggled into his rugged body like a kitten. She nibbled his chest, and to my surprise, reached for his soft limp cock. She stroked it slowly, and he grew some. Before I knew it she had taken him in her mouth. The sucking had a purpose; my wife wanted more.
She got him hard. I wondered what would come next. Sara showed me—she climbed onto him, and her shapely ass glided down his shaft. Soon she was bouncing to the song, “Gold Digger,” in which the chorus went something like “Get down, girl, get down.” She was getting her groove on and fucking this star with total abandon.
After a good ride by my sexy wife, Travis took her in missionary and pounded her until he orgasmed again. Sara had not even gotten off yet. She was just getting started; Travis was done.
He slipped his pants back on and then his shirt. Sara was obviously frustrated but, she, too, got dressed. They chatted some. He asked her who her favorite pro athlete was. She smiled and answered, “Well, you now, of course.” I guessed it was time to leave, so we made our last goodbyes. Sara took him in a big hug and told him it had been awesome.
We chatted excitedly as we left the hotel—the husband and his hotwife discussing a just ended wild sexual romp. She said, “holy shit that was hot!”
I said, “Man, he was like a Greek god.”
She shook her head in amazement. I brought up an issue that made me jittery on the drive home; she was off the pill as a result of our decision to end our escapades. Jesus I hoped that condom hadn’t had a leak.
Little did I know this would be the very last time we would meet a substitute lover.
The final straw came a week later. The possibility of divorce was now on the table. Sara had again spoken at great length with her co-worker comrade. She was on edge. A pregnancy scare did not help matters. She came to me one afternoon, teary-eyed and upset. “Derrin, this is not going to work,” she said. “I don’t trust you anymore and I don’t trust myself. I think this marriage is over.
Everything I have done, I am ashamed of. If we stay together, this guilt will never go away. I need to start a new life.”
My heart was pounding in my chest. I knew she was serious. We would go on to have many long talks. I still felt like I was losing her. I was losing my family, and man did it hurt.
I pointed out all the telltale signs that she had been enjoying our cuckold relationship. The many statements she made that indicated she had been having the time of her life. I admitted that many times it had not been good and that we had many bad choices, yet overall the lifestyle had seemed to suit her. She would hear nothing of it.
She explained again that her friend had given her the strength to embark on a new life, make a new beginning. She wanted nothing more to do with swinging or me; she wanted a divorce. I pleaded with her to calm down, but it looked as though she had made up her mind.
My fairytale notion of a cuckold fantasy—always so strong and perfect—was blowing up in my face. Reality had come to the table. Sara stated clearly, “Derrin, you can’t live without this.”
I contemplated the wreck of my marriage. I had two plain-as-day choices. One, I could let my marriage falter and lose Sara. I would get divorced and at nearly fifty years old begin again.
Or, I could denounce swinging and promise her with all my heart that our past was just that. From then on we would embrace monogamy. I would let her know that I loved her dearly and she was more important than anything in the world.
To be honest I had no idea how either choice would work out. But, deep inside I knew I could not give up my wife of ten years or the family we had made together. The time had come to give up on our open marriage.
It took days and then months to convince Sara I was serious and could be happy with such a choice. I could only hope she still loved me. She was not pregnant; that was the first good news I had heard in weeks.
As the months went by I did all I could to reassure her. She noticed that I was really putting a lot into saving the relationship. She was right. I fought for it.
I have said farewell to life as a cuckold. Everything I wrote in my journals you have now read. It is all true. I’ll never know how far I would have ventured onto the submissive side. The time had now come for me to live a normal life, whatever that means. This is not a Penthouse Forum letter, so in truth this tale does not end in some magnificent crescendo. As I end this book, I am still married and things are going well. No one really knows what the future may bring. I can only hope it’s good for my wife and me.
The beginning …
About the Author
Always the black sheep, Derrin Hart is a dreamer who took up creative writing in college. He makes his home next to an old shady willow tree with his lovely wife, Sara. His next project is a novel: Tiffany's Cuckold.
