Part 01
"What are you working on, John," my wife asked, walking into the study.
I had my back to her, and quickly switched computer screens, from a web site she would not be happy about to a spread sheet for work.
"Oh, just running some numbers," I said, hoping I moved between applications fast enough. Somehow, the thought of my wife seeing a web site called "Wives Who Cheat" brought a fear to my heart. No, I do not think she would appreciate it at all. I mean, sure most my troll the net for porn, but not quite so many check out the level of kink I was looking at.
"Cuckolded Husbands."
"Married White Wives"
"Wives Banging Blacks"
Okay, fantasizing about your wife fucking another guy may not be up there with Playboy, or every man's fantasy, lesbians, but what the hell, the sites turned me on.
"Well, finish up, sweetie, dinners ready," Sara answered, turning and "leaving me to my work."
I switched back to finish looking at the series of pictures on "Cuckold Marriage" of some white woman in a wedding dress, on her back, some huge black guy pounding into her, while a meek white guy, her groom, I imagined, sat near the bed, looking on. Fuck, I wanted to grab my crotch and take care of myself right then and there. The funny think was, as much as I liked looking at the pictures, and reading the stories, on these sites, it was weird, how the fantasy played out in my mind. I pictured myself as the pathetic husband who couldn't get it up for his wife, and helplessly watched as some stud fucked her. No doubt about it, this drove me wild with lust.
I pictured my wife, her slim athletic body, on a bed, a big black man standing over her, the look of lust in her eyes overwhelming.
Yet, I don't think I actually wanted my wife to do this. I never asked her, and I don't know if I could really take it.
That's what made it fantasy.
Unintended Consequences
Bill Gates put a clear history button on the web browser for a reason, I later thought. To fucking protect idiots like me.
I came home from work on a Wednesday evening, intending to watch a baseball game on ESPN, but never made it past the living room. Sara was sitting there, a glass of wine in her hand, a half empty bottle on the table. Sitting next to my laptop. She looked like she had been crying.
"Sara, what... what's the matter."
She had a hurt look on her eyes, a heavy weight on her chest, and without answering, turned the laptop around to face me.
The web browser was open to "Cuckold Marriage" and the last thing I was looking at yesterday, that I wanted to beat off to, that woman in the wedding dress, split open by some huge Tom, stared at me.
"Sara...I...I can explain," I started to say.
She glared at me, the icy chill from her eyes freezing the words in my mouth. She turned the screen back to her, clicked the mouse, and read, "Is your wife a slut? Does she need it dirty? Does she crave cum?"
I had never, ever, heard language from her like this. Listening to her read from the web site, I understood how porn degrades women.
"Wives Who Cheat? White Sluts? Watching your Wife?" she asked, reading off sites I had read.
"Sara, please..."
"But wait, there's more. Black Master/White Slut. Cum Covered Married Sluts. Fucking Christ John, what the hell is this? What the hell is wrong with...with me...that you read this...trash," she spitted out.
"Sara."
"Don't you love me? Don't I make you happy?"
"Sara, yes, I..." how to explain it. I didn't know.
"No, please, Sara, it's not you. Really, it's not. I don't know how to explain this, but, please, it's not you."
"What is it John, don't I make you happy?"
"Yes, shit, yes, you make me very happy."
"What is it then?"
"Sara, its fantasy, that's all. I don't know how to say it, but it's visual. I...get turned on looking at this, it doesn't mean anything to me, or have anything to do with us," I said, not sure if I really believed those words. Nor did she.
"But, John, obviously it turns you on, things like this," she said, waving her arm to the computer in disgust.
"Yes, but..."
"And you say it's not me. What does that mean? You look at this and think what? That you want this for me...she gestured to the woman on her back, dick stuffed in her pussy.
"Shit, no Sara, I..." I started to cry, emotions flooded over me. "It's me Sara; I don't deserve you, I..."
"John stop, slow down, please," she said as word blurted out from me, "what do you mean you don't deserve me?"
"Sara, I...look at you...look at me...I don't know, I always felt that I married up, that I was...not equal, that you were somehow better than me."
"John," a tear ran down her face, "what do you mean, married up, I love you John, why would you feel that way?"
"Well, let's face it," I said, "I am no stud. Never the football player in high school, never one to have women falling all over me, never the stud fraternity guy in college. Why would you have ever gone out with me, why would you have ever married a mousey guy like me?"
"Because I love you. Because you have the most beautiful heart, the most tender soul, and an amazing mind. If I wanted a stud, I would have married a stud. I married you."
I blushed. God I loved this woman. Yet I still didn't deserve her. Maybe that was why cuckolding fantasies always turned me on. A reinforcement of what I always felt, that I did not deserve my wife, and could not make her happy.
Plus, I knew something else. Our sex life was, well, lacking, to say the least. Oh, not that we did not do it. Not that she did not enjoy seducing me, or having a romantic evening. No, but though she never ever said anything, I knew that I was no stud in bed.
Maybe this was what I had to confess, because I still felt like she was hurt, that she thought it was her fault.
Her words, intended to be reassuring, only reinforced what I felt. "If I wanted a stud, I would have married a stud."
That was the heart of it. Even if we never discussed it, even if she was happy and in love, she did not marry a stud. The very basis of cuckolding fantasies just escaped from her lips.
I started crying, because suddenly I knew.
"John, what's wrong, why are you crying, I just told you I love you," she said, moving to hold my hand. I wanted to pull back, withdraw.
"Sara, don't you see. What you said? 'If I wanted a stud, I would have married a stud."
"But, John...I didn't mean..." her voice trailed off. "It's not that..."
We sat in silence for several minutes.
"John, let me ask you a question. This...stuff you look at," she pointed to the computer, "do you ever...um...masturbate while..."
"Sara!" I said, looking down, embarrassed.
"Do you?"
"Yes," I croaked.
"John, this is important, so please, think about it, why do you fantasize about this?"
"I...it's because of you. I...I suppose I get excited fantasizing about you...getting off."
"Hmmm," she smiled, "you mean that...and this is kind of sweet, it turns you on to think of me getting turned on."
"Yes, I...I don't know why. But, I guess, I feel like, well, I know, that I don't know. Not that you hate having sex with me, but I know it's not satisfying to you."
"But, John, it is. Emotionally, anyway."
"But not physically," I said, knowing it was true.
?John, it's not that I don't love you," she answered.
"But it's true, isn't it?"
"John, sex between two married people is more than physical lust, it's about love, tenderness, connecting..."
"Dammit, Sara
, don't deny it. Physically, I don't please you."
"You...it's...well...no," she whispered.
"Don't you see...I know that...that's the...the appeal of those web sites. It's like, I love you so much, I get so happy, so excited, when you get excited, somehow, then, the thought of you, so happy, so sexually fulfilled, it makes me happy, makes me excited."
"Hmm," she answered, her eyes arching. "When I was looking at these web sites, at first, I was disgusted, they are so debasing. But, looking at it your way, it seems there may be some appeal, in a weird way, an actual celebration of women."
She was onto it. Cuckolding was not about degrading women. It was, at least from the husband's side of it, a celebration of women.
"But, John, you...you don't actually want this do you? Do you really want your wife fucking another man? This is just fantasy, right?"
Looking at her, I pondered. Well, I never thought about it. Yes, I suppose, it was just fantasy, it was not like I really wanted her to be with another man. Right?
"John?"
"Um, yes, I...I guess so."
"Because fantasy...a dirty thought in your mind...well, that's much different than reality. I mean, John, as weird as it is, I can understand the fantasy, thinking about it, but I can't believe you want the reality."
She came to me, sat next to me, and I could feel her body heat through our clothes. "I love you John," she said, moving her mouth to mine, kissing me, tenderly, my wife, her smell overwhelming me.
We walked upstairs kissing, almost a renewed passion between us. My god, I did love this woman. And I knew, she loved me.
In bed, she took charge. Usually, we were more equal partners in the bedroom, I would take care of my own pleasure, my own orgasm, fucking her quickly and furiously, not worrying about her orgasm. She made up for this, my lack of stamina, but engaging in lengthy foreplay, loving it as I tenderly went down on her, bringing her to orgasm with my mouth. In that way, when she climbed on top of me (she was always on top), she was already so flush in the post orgasmic glow, she could cum even though I was not up to the stamina.
Tonight though, we dismissed with much foreplay. She attacked me with a hunger, and I responded. Biting kisses, our bodies clashing and crashing against each other, we were almost fighting. I started to kiss my way down her neck, my signal that I was going to make my way down her body, but she pulled my head back, my mouth to hers.
"No, don't, I need you now," she panted, biting my lips.
"But, I...you know...," I whispered between kisses, ashamed to actually say it, to verbalize my inadequacies, but as always, wanting to please her.
"Stop talking," she said, covering my mouth with hers, her tongue reaching to touch mine. She pushed me backwards onto the bed, and was already on top of me, a lioness on her prey, I thought, feeling her muscular body hold me down.
She ran her moist vagina over my cock, wetting it as she bit my neck. I really did feel attacked, like a mere mortal surrendering to a creature of the night, the vampire taking her blood. I shuddered as she found my cock, moving her hips so she rested over it, moving down, taking in what I had to offer. She moved up and down, wetting it, breathing deeply as she moved around it.
"Sara, slow, I..."
"I know," she whispered, kissing me again, silencing me again. Talking was not what she wanted.
"But, I'm going to..."
"John, trust me."
She moved her hand up my arms, seizing my wrists as she kissed me again, but she stopped moving her hips, trapping me inside her. I felt her warmth, but without the movement, I was held on the edge.
"Is this part of the problem," she whispered, "part of why you have the fantasy?"
"What do you mean," I asked, feeling the metaphorical cold water thrown on my face, and the literal effects of my cock, shuddering, ready to shrink.
"Cuckolding," she said, licking the side of my face until her tongue reached my ear, swirled around, sending chills down my spine. Her tongue soft caress stopped my cock from shrinking. Damn, what was she doing?
"I mean," she said, still working her tongue, "do you fantasize about a man fucking me because you don't last long enough to please me."
I shuddered again. What the fuck was she doing to me? She moved her hips again, very slowly up and even slower down, emphasizing each word she spoke, "Do you get excited by thinking of a man fucking me instead of you." She emphasized the words "man" and "you" and in my brain, there was no confusing her meaning. I was not a man.
She continued to go slowly, grinding herself at the bottom, "Yes, John, do you picture a real man's cock inside me," she panted as she licked and moved at the same time.
"Oh God, Sara...I," I could not finish any thought, my cock was so hard, ready to explode, I started shuddering.
She knew it too, and stopped moving, her mouth came off my ear, and she looked at me, "What is it sweetie," she smiled as I breathed heavily, desperate not to orgasm. "Calm, John, calm down, breath, breath, I am not finished with you yet," she said, shaking herself as an orgasm wracked through her body.
"Sara," is all I could whisper.
As she came down from her orgasm, I realized how significant it was. She had never had an orgasm like that, with me penetrating her, without a huge warm up of oral sex.
I was still on the edge, and wanted to go farther. I tried to move my own hips.
"Stop," she said forcefully, "not yet."
She still held my wrists, her weight from being on top feeling like bonds. She continued to kiss my neck, nuzzling me, nuzzling her property. It brought me slowly back from the edge of orgasm, but left me hard inside her.
She whispered in my ear again, "You know, John, a real man could fuck me to orgasm." She moved her hips up and down once, "his man sized cock would be enough."
Another thrust.
"Ohhhh Sara," I moaned.
"A real man would fuck me like I've never been fucked before."
"On top of me, pushing his cock farther and farther into me, filling me like never before," she said, taking a deep breath in on the last word, her body shaking, orgasm washing over her, in a way I had never experienced.
"I need a real man's cock inside me," she shuddered as I exploded in my own orgasm."
"Saaarrraaa!"
After ten minutes of her on top of me, my cock now shrunk to nothing, ready to slip out, I felt all remains of my libido flow away from me. I was ready to go to sleep, and started to try to push my wife to the side.
"Wait, sweetie," she said, squeezing her pelvic muscles, "I can still feel you little cock inside me."
After the orgasm, without any libido, her taunt, which excited me before, stung now.
"Sara, don't," I said, more forcefully pushing her to her side of the bed.
"John, what's the matter, don't you enjoy hearing me talk about a real man's cock," she asked. Fuck. Women, they don't lose their libido. They are not like men. Right now, the thought disgusted me. Especially with my own cock shrunk to nothing after its orgasm.
I walked out of the room without saying another word, and went downstairs to the den to watch ESPN. I turned on the TV, but did not really watch. I felt so conflicted. Damn it, when she was talking during sex, I was more excited than I had ever been before. Now, I felt disgusted at her words. What the fuck was wrong with me.
True Feelings
Some time later, Sara came downstairs, wrapped in some sexy outfit I had gotten for her for her birthday, I suppose in some type of peace offering, though I imagine she had no idea why she should be feeling guilty.
"John, can we talk," she said, smiling a polite smile, obviously feeling bad about my storming out of the bedroom.
I looked at her, hair on her shoulders, the pink nightie showing off her thighs, her obvious love for me on display, but I could not answer her.
"John, please, what's wrong. Why are you so angry? What did I do? What did I say? I thought I was doing something for you. I thought that I was making you happy."
"Sara," I cried, "I...I don't know. I don't know why I go so mad, I just don't understand," I said, a tear rolling down my face.
"Honey, please," she said, sitting down next to me, the bare skin of her leg touching mine. "Do you love me?"
What? Do I love her? Christ, I worship the ground she walks on. "Yes," I said, looking at her with puppy dog eyes. "Well, I love you too, John, I love you more than any man I have ever known, and I want to be here for you, and help you, but you have to talk to me, you have to tell me what you are upset about."
"Sara...those things you said..."
"What, what John?"
"They...they hurt me," I pouted.
"Hurt you? John, please, what do you mean?"
"I...is that really the way you feel about me?"
"John. John," she sighed.
"What?"
"Where do you think I came up with those things to say?"
"What do you mean? Don't you feel that way?"
"Oh dear. John, you don't understand, do you? I said those things, not to hurt you, but to make you happy."
"Happy?"
"Yes, happy."
"But...how happy?"
"John, go back are look carefully at all those web sites you bookmarked. Where to you think I came up with things to say? They are all things from places you visited. I thought you would like that, that dirty talk. I thought I was helping you, with your fantasy."
"But, I...you mean that was for me?"
"Well, of course, honey. Dear, I love you, I was just trying to make you happy, helping you fantasize with me, being involved, rather than leaving you to your dirty thoughts all by yourself."
I stewed on what she said. Was I being a selfish prick? Here is my wife, catching me with what is really vile porn, involving her, and she is trying to help me.
"Sara, I...didn't think of that," I said.
"John, John," she shook her head, "of course I love you and of course I was trying something, trying to make you happy, maybe so you don't feel like you have to hide things from me, we should be open about our fantasies."
I looked down, feeling slightly guilty.
"And unless I am mistaken, you were pretty into it," she giggled, "your reaction sure told me to keep going." Well, I had to admit, it was probably the best sex I ever had. Nothing like sharing a fantasy with the woman you love to get things going.
A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold Page 1
