A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold

by Sara Desmarais

  Now Sara was whispering encouragement. "Yes, baby. Ohhh, watch your teeth, you don't want to hurt him. Hmmm, relax, take him all the way into your mouth and throat." Words as if an actual man was there on the bed. I could almost smell him.

  I tore into it, and Sara was moaning every step of the way. Her moans became those of the cock, she was the life force of the organ I was hungrily devouring. As I spent several minutes sucking the cock, Sara took it up one last notch.

  If I thought I could not be further depraved, I was wrong. While Sara continued to rub me in tempo with my own feeding on the cock, her free hand trailed down my back, over my ass, under my panties, and came to rest. At the next swallow I took of the cock, she pressed harder on my own organ, and took a finger, wet, I assume with her saliva, or maybe from her pussy, and pushed into my ass. I tried to protest, but she pushed herself back onto me, pressuring my mouth downward onto the cock, and my ass down onto her finger.

  "Don't stop," she hissed, working a second finger into my ass, "don't stop now, he is so close to exploding, let him finger your pussy," she moaned, becoming the man to my woman. And so we started a homoerotic ballet, as I delivered a blow job to the monster cock, was stroked by my own wife, bringing me close to orgasm, and for good measure, fingered in 'my pussy' by her, simulating a man.

  I did not even know now where man and woman started and ended in this erotic dance. Whether Sara was man or woman. Whether I was man or woman. Whether this cock in my mouth was real or not. All I knew was that sexual energy was racing through every cell in my body, and Sara had me feeling more feminine than I imagined possible.

  I sucked, taking more cock into my mouth than I had before. I felt the connection between my little cock and my ass, becoming one big erogenous zone, becoming a pussy. I felt the cock in my mouth, warmer and warmer, becoming more and more realistic.

  "Let him cum in your mouth, Julie, finish what you started," Sara hissed, climatically stroking me, climactically pushing her fingers in my 'pussy', and moaning for me to finish.

  Emotion washed over me, became palpable, easily sensed by Sara. As I hit the limit, Sara pushed her fingers deep into me, pushed my back down, forcing the cock all the way into my mouth, and as I exploded in orgasm, she moaned and ordered, "Yes, yes, take it Julie, swallow it, swallow his cum."

  While I could not taste or feel it physically, mentally the cum exploding from my own little cock was in the cock in my mouth. I took it that way, swallowing on reflex, even gagging a little, moaning myself, wracked with pleasure.

  "Yesssssssss," Sara whispered, bleeding out my orgasm but slowly fingering me, stroking me, "yessssss bitch, take it."

  I collapsed, drained, spent, my face on the bed, the cock coming to a rest on my cheek, Sara's fingers pushed into me, her hand wrapped around me. She let me climb down the mountain of orgasm and eroticism. We knelt there, both spent, emotionally and physically. A mess, fluids everywhere.

  "Sara, I..."

  "Shhh, baby, don't talk yet. Just savor it. Your first blow job," she paused, lowered her voice, "well, your first practice blow job, anyway."

  The cock still rested on my cheek. The head pointed to my face, my eyes fixated on it. What was she doing to me? My wife was part evil, I was sure, part sadistic, but part tender, and so loved.

  "Kiss it," she said, watching me stare at the phallus. "Thank him for allowing you the honor."

  My mouth opened, but I did not move.

  "Thank the nice man for his cock," she giggled.

  I slowly planted a kiss on the tip of the cock and said, "thank you."

  "Such a good girl, my Julie, such a good girl, her first of many firsts" she foreshadowed, causing a tremor to go down my spine, a tingle of fear and anticipation.

  "Now, let's go wash up, sweetie, and get dressed for the day."

  A SHORT SHOPPING TRIP

  Monday morning, after I finished asking permission to wear my lingerie for the day -- which consisted of a white satin teddy with garter straps and white stockings, really pushing the line of discovery -- Sara said she had a task for me at lunch.

  "Honey, you know, I bought all this lingerie for you, cause I love you so much, and love seeing you in it, well, I'd like you to go buy me something today at lunch. Victoria's Secret has a bra sale ending today, and I think, for all the fun we've had, that I deserve something nice."

  "Um, okay," I beamed. Sissy or not, I love buying Sara lingerie. Cause she had a killer body, and there was nothing we did, that she did, that shot sexual energy through my body like seeing her in something new.

  "Good. Pick out what you want, dear, something sexy and seductive, but make sure it's a set, you know bra, panties, garter belt and stockings."

  Cryptic, but certainly doable, of course.

  At lunch, I hit the mall. My first time there alone since Sara created the new me. Suffice to say, Victoria's Secret took on an entirely new meaning. Talk about "John's Secret" or even "Julie's Secret". Indeed.

  But, this I had done before. In fact, I was afraid she was going to send me alone to shop for me. That would be a horror I was certainly not ready for. Her I could do.

  The sale was a demi bra sale. Well, nothing like three fourths of a bra to show off Sara's lovely tits. Yes, this would be quite fun. With only minimal help from the sales girl, who I was equally terrified would see my own lingerie under my suit, and also part hoping she would, I found what I wanted.

  The bra was some kind of sheer material, with satin trim. Not only would Sara's tits be showing above the top of the demi bra, but they would be visible through the black sheer material. I wanted a thong, but they had none with this bra. The matching panties were of the same sheer material and satin trim. I smiled, thinking of her trimmed pussy, visible through the panties. The sales girl directed me to the matching garter belt, and we headed for stockings.

  "You know, sir, you have such a lovely set here for your...wife," she said, looking at my ring. At first I thought she was wondering if they were for me, but they were too small for that. "Our regular day sheer stockings would be fine, of course, but might I suggest some silk stockings instead. They are a bit more expensive, but just lovely for a night out," she smiled.

  I was a sucker for a pretty smile. Silk stockings it was. I thought about getting a pair for me, but backed out, not wanting to have to buy something in my size.

  I could hardly wait to see Sara in her new lingerie. Heck, I should have bought a matching set for me. Oh well, it was her gift, not mine.

  Rushing home, I was really hoping for a little fashion show, but I was to be disappointed. Sara thanked me for the gift, but begged off opening it, complaining of a headache.

  "Honey, I really have to lay down, but why don't you get out of that stuffy suit and into something more comfortable and bring me a nice cup of tea," Sara asked. Of course, anything for Sara.

  I did undress, and to be honest, it was nice to get out of the suit. Sara had been having me wear skirts and dresses when I was home in the evening, to "make up for the suit I wore during the day" but I did not feel like getting dressed that night. I did keep on my teddy and stockings, but also put on a long satin robe and some dressing slippers. I felt so vampy and classy, 40's movie starish, I suppose.

  Bringing her tea dressed like that felt so natural again, serving her.

  "Oh, thank you Jules, you look very pretty by the way. If I didn't have a headache...," she trailed off.

  I giggled, but would have been content just to sit with her. Surely she could use a backrub, even without anything overtly sexual, and when I offered, she accepted.

  EVENING OUT

  Yuck. I had a terrible week at the office. Sure, lingerie underneath was great, but it was driving me crazy with pent up frustration, and my boss rode my ass for last minute project changes all week.

  Finally, I kicked off early Friday, and headed home. When I got there at about 4:30, Sara was also home from the office, in a bouncing mood.

  Friday afternoon routine? Sar
a puts my breasts back on. In an erotic scene I never tired of, I lay on the bed as she tenderly glued on the silicone breasts. To be honest, I was really coming to enjoy them and looked forward to the second I got them back on. It was weird, throughout the week, to be without them.

  "We have to go to the mall Sunday evening," Sara said, "we are out of the solvent remover." She was toying with my breasts, a smile on her face.

  At 6:30 she came into the den where I was curled up on the couch, dressed as Julie, as I was habitually now at home. It was simple, really, since I always wore lingerie to work, just slip out of my suit and tie and into a dress or skirt and blouse. So natural. Many of Sara's things fit me, so I had a wonderful wardrobe to chose from, and of course, she had supplemented with some purchases just for me. A little black dress, some simple skirts, and a few things she had not shown me yet.

  She was wrapped in a towel, another one drying her hair, fresh from the shower. "What's up, Sara," I asked. An evening shower was out of the ordinary for her.

  "Oh, I thought I mentioned it this morning," she said, cryptically.

  "Mentioned what?"

  "You must not have had your coffee yet," she said, "or, despite your journey into the feminine world, you still listen like a man," she laughed. "Is that a part of you that you want to keep?"

  "Sara, I...you're changing the subject."

  "Really, I did mention it, I know I did."

  "Mentioned what," I asked, exasperated.

  "I really think you should practice your listening skills. I tell you, there is something we have to work on."

  "Sara, seriously, please..."

  "I told you this morning," she teased, to my sigh. "I'm going out with some girls from work."

  "Oh." Big deal. I suppose I had hoped to spend another evening with her, but, oh well.

  Right.

  She left the room and came back several minutes later. "Baby, did you start any laundry this morning like I asked."

  Fuck. That I remembered. She said she was out of underwear, and asked me to start a load of our mutual unmentionables. It actually turned me on a little, thinking of my own lingerie, gently mingled with hers. Fuck. I forgot.

  "Um...I'm sorry, Sara, I forgot."

  "Just like you forgot I was going out. Dammit, John," she snarled, "I don't have time for this." She must be mad, slipping into use of my masculine name. "I have no clean panties, and really, no bras, either."

  I felt bad, because I did screw up. "Sara, you...you could wear the things I bought you earlier this week," I offered. Should I have known it was her trap springing shut? Probably. Most certainly.

  "Julie," she perked up, "that's a great idea, I forgot all about that, come on, let's go open it."

  Yes, she perked right up. Right away. I followed her upstairs, my heels clacking on the hardwood, staring at her ass peaking out from under her towel. Wow.

  She fished the Victoria's Secret bag from the closet, went to the bed, while I sat in a chair watching her. I was a bit unsure about this. Her outfit was amazingly sexy, a bit too sexy to go out in, I thought.

  Sara held out the bra, her fingers running over the sheer cups, "Oh, Julie, oh Julie, this is beautiful."

  She picked up the panties. "My, oh my indeed. They are soooo sheer."

  She picked up the package of stockings, examined them, and gushed, "These are silk. You bought me silk stockings," she said, holding them to her chest, tilting her head, her eyes melting me, connecting to me.

  "Julie, Julie, my sweet lover, my darling husband, this is so perfect, so perfect, I can't believe it. Oh, you don't know how perfect this is. These are lovely, just lovely, you did so well."

  And, yes, I suppose, at that point, my suspicions were shouting in my head. Going out with friends? Who was she kidding? Matching lingerie and silk stockings are not perfect for going out with some girls from the office. Did she? Could she? I could think of no other explanation, and felt a chill run through my spine. She had a date. There was no other explanation.

  "Sara," I choked on my words. I wanted to say, 'Sara, are you going on a date?', but the words froze in my chest. I could not finish my sentence.

  "Yes," she asked, looking at me.

  I was not sure if I was ready for this. It happened almost too quickly, we came up to this line of fantasy and reality and were driving right across it without comment or question, without discussion of which way to go.

  I felt a hardening pressure in my panties. My stupid little cock was swelling in my panties. It knew.

  It knows.

  coI knew.

  She was going to go out. With another man.

  I thought it. She was actually going to cuckold me.

  "Honey, I...I want something," she smiled at me, shaking me from my trance.

  "What," I gasped, my mouth dry.

  She held out the lingerie, the beautiful bra, panties, garter belt, and package of silk stockings. "I want you to dress me," she smiled.

  It was an ultimatum. An unspoken test. A confirmation of my fears. Dress her? Of course, dress her. I knew what she was doing, and without trying to confuse you, dear reader, she knew I knew. The events of the evening were hidden in plain sight.

  My wife was going on a date with another man. Another? No, my wife was going on a date with a man. We both knew this. We both knew we both knew. But we did not speak it.

  Instead of announcing it, Sara chose to do it silently. And silently was driving me wild.

  My hands trembled as I took the lingerie from her hands. "It's okay, lover," she smiled.

  Part of me was screaming inside my head. "NO! NO! NO! NO!"

  Part of me was more turned on than I had ever been in my life.

  My stomach was flipping, I did not know if I could take reality.

  Part of my mind wanted to throw the lingerie in the closet, and say, "Fuck this, Sara, no fucking way."

  But the words, formed in my lungs, did not come out. Silently, mind screaming, I took the lingerie from her, set it on the bed, and picked up the bra first.

  I was shaking, as reached around her back to help her arms into the bra. It fastened in front, so my hands were visible to her as I brought it under and around her breasts.

  "Don't be nervous," she reassured me, seeing my hands fumbling to clasp the clip. "By the way, I like that it opens from the front...easy access," she smiled, twisting the metaphorical knife in my gut.

  The demi bra, the sheer black cups, her swelling breasts were almost too much for me. I saw it unfolding, pictured rough hands taking my wife's breasts in them, squeezing, massaging, pinching. The bra would draw those hands to her breasts. It was an invitation to fondle them. An invitation I put there when I bought the bra for her. I might as well have written in marker on her chest, play with my wife's tits.

  I picked up the panties, but she shook her head. I looked at her with a quizzical look on my face. "Garter belt first," she said.

  Garter belt first?

  Garter belt first!

  A month ago, the significance would have blown right by me, unseen and certainly incomprehensible.

  But a month in lingerie taught me better.

  I noticed these things now. I knew the significance.

  And so did Sara.

  If she wore her panties over her garter belt, she could take off her panties, without taking off her garter belt and stockings.

  Why would a woman do that?

  So when she ready, all she had to do was shimmy out of her panties, and she was ready to go. Sexually. It was something a woman would do only if she knew.

  Teaching me about all this, she had casually mentioned that outside the bedroom, only a tramp goes out with her panties over her garter belt.

  And now my mind was flooded with images.

  I pictured her, standing in front of a bed, a faceless man resting on it, a hunk, ripped, naked, watching her as she peeled off her panties and posed in her bra, garter belt, stockings, and heels. "Do you like," she asked the faceless man. />
  I pictured her outside a bar, in an alley, a dark alley, facing a brick wall outside in the shadows outside the bar's kitchen door, the streets damp. Her hands were on the wall, her skirt was around her waist, her panties around her ankles, while another faceless man stood behind her, pulling her onto his massive cock. Fucking her roughly, quickly.

  I pictured her in a car with a man, slipping out of her panties, the cool leather seat on her ass. She pulled her panties off quickly, slipped them off, and was fingering her pussy while a man drove. "Quickly," she begged, as he roughly grabbed the panties from her hands and brought them to his nose. He inhaled deeply, smelling my wife's scent all over them, grinned, dreamed of ramming his big cock deep into her.

  "John, the garter belt," she insisted, shaking me from my daydream.

  I put it around her waist, still trembling. I think she liked my fear. I think she was getting off, knowing what this was doing to me. Just like she always knew. She knew all along, for months and months, where this was going.

  This was her fantasy, as much if not more than mine. She wanted not only to fuck a "real man" but to humiliate me in the process. She wanted to cuckold me. And I wanted to be cuckolded.

  "Be careful with the stockings, lover," she cautioned me.

  I slid the silk up each of her legs, adjusting and fastening the garter straps to the silk.

  "Now the panties, sweetie," she smiled.

  Kneeling before her, I helped her into the sheer panties, guiding them up her legs, fixing them around her ass, and finally, around her pussy, her temple.

  An urge overtook me as I focused on her pussy through the sheer material. Without comment, I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and planted a tender, closed mouth kiss to her trimmed pussy. To my wife's temple.

  "Yes, Julie, yes, very good," she said, nodding approvingly.

  I was kissing it goodbye. The pussy, her chastity, my manhood, my wife.

  The next half hour flew by, and I can hardly remember her doing her makeup or hair. So unspoken, I watched her get dressed for a date. I'd seen her dress for our evenings out in the past, on those special evenings. Anniversary, birthday, new years, and this was no different. She was dressing for a date.