It. What was it. Him?
No, it's fantasy, my mind screamed, she is teasing you. Playing on your fears and emotions.
Sara shook in orgasm, wave after wave, shuddering as I tongued her. I was hypersensitive now. I strained at my bonds, thrashed, my face covered with Sara's juices, the remnants of her lover. Sara climbed off me, her mouth, hungry, found mine, attacked me, licking my face. Her mouth raped mine, a desperate passion. She was an animal awakened; a sexual beast I had never seen before, demanding, amazing.
My eyes suddenly went wide, as Sara's drenched pussy descended onto my own cock. I started to thrust, I could not help it, I needed it.
"Don't move," she growled, "not yet, or I'll leave you here, unsatisfied."
"No, please, don't," I begged.
Sara's hips pushed onto me, holding mine in place, my cock in the warmth of her pussy.
"Sara," I panted, "please."
"I love you so much," she said, her mouth all over mine, as she lifted her hips, friction and warmth on my own cock, then pushed again.
The damn burst, violently, of course, because there was no other way. I was too pent up, too frustrated, too charged. I exploded in her, shaking, a feeling I had never experienced in my life. It literally was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced, unmatched, unparalleled.
Sara collapsed onto me, also spent.
I felt her hands reach above our heads, untie my arms. We rolled to one side, intertwined, our stocking covered legs all mixed up, my arms, now free, around her, and hers around me. We both quickly drifted off to sleep, as one as we could be. Sara, John, Julie, me, her, husband, wife, all together now. One.
We were one.
As close as we had ever been, physically, emotionally, spiritually.
It was just a fantasy, I kept repeating to myself, just a fantasy, as I drifted off to sleep, not knowing if I was a cuckold or not, and at the time, not caring.
Morning came, and slowly waking, I realized that we hardly moved all night, we both slept so deeply, so tightly intertwined as one.
I think falling asleep was the best thing that could have happened to us last night. Awake, after orgasm, libido gone again, I would have thought. Unhappy thoughts. Disturbing thoughts. Waking up now, like this, eying my wife, the lovely, tender, sexy Sara, I was not quite sexually charged, but I was still closer to some comfort level than I would have been last night.
I felt Sara stirring, her leg moving, letting the scent of sex drift up, the musky smell, of whatever was mingled inside her. It stung my nostrils, a reminder of the night before.
Sara opened her eyes, stared at me. I was about to speak, to ask her what she did last night, what was fantasy, and what reality. I had to know. The sexual excitement gone now, I had to know.
"I love you," she whispered.
Three simple words. I felt my heart melt. The sting of the smell, the lingering discomfort I felt quickly melted with those words.
"I love you too," I answered, unable to speak anything else.
"Are you okay?"
No, I thought, my arm was asleep, my back was in an awkward position and my bladder was full. But that's not what she was asking.
My soft cock was resting on her thigh, on the nylon. I felt it stir. She did too, for she smiled.
Was I okay? I didn't know.
"Sara......did...did you..."
"Shhh, Julie," she smiled, "I love you."
She wasn't going to answer. For some reason, she did not want to. I was to be kept on the edge, not knowing if I was a cuckold, or just a sissy.
"Yes," I whispered. The simple spoken word was an answer far more complex. Yet, so was her question. They both sounded so simple, yet they both were much deeper than appeared.
I felt Sara's other leg come to rest on my soft cockette.
"Are you sure," she asked softly.
Was I sure? Was I? Was I sure that I was okay with last night? Did I accept what she might have done? Could I stay in the dark, not knowing if she cuckolded me. She came home and...I could hardly bear to think about her on me, on my face. Was I okay with this? Was I sure? Did I accept it? Did I want it?
I felt her move her legs slightly, the friction of her nylons rubbing on my cock. Her movements shattered the connection between the logic of my mind and the erotic part of my mind. No, not shattered, reconnected. Logically, if she had fucked another man, her act was unforgivable. Erotically, it would have been pure bliss.
Not know, it was pure torture. Pure erotic torture.
Her legs slowly drifted back and forth, caressing me, making me grow. The eroticism won out, as it had continued to do for several weeks.
"Yes," I breathed, closing my eyes, my mouth reaching out to her, kissing her.
We kissed and kissed, deep and erotic. It was my final surrender, at least to this part of Sara's games. I grew harder. I accepted what she did, and through my kiss, even though fueled by the erotic feelings of my cock rubbing on her nylons, I still accepted it.
Whether or not she did it, I was to be her cuckold. I think that was the point, that she could do it without any further acquiescence on my part. She could fuck another man, without getting permission.
As soon as I thought that, as soon as those words crossed my mind, I exploded again, the cum, gushing onto Sara's legs, her stockings, all over her thighs.
She smiled, knowing what she was doing. A continued linking of my sexual pleasure with submission, feminization and now cuckolding. Every thing I accepted came with my own sexual release. By this, she bound me.
Our weekend flew by. Hell, the week flew by. It was a week of the normal routine. Well, as normal as a woman dressing her husband in sexy lingerie every morning before he went to the office could be. Even Friday night was normal. Sara and I stayed home, wore satin robes, sat on the couch and watched a movie. Normal, normal, normal.
And a week of unspoken desire. We did not discuss the previous Friday the entire week.
I tried to bring it up once, but she stopped me.
"Sara, please, last Friday night...did you?"
"I'm not discussing Friday again. If you are uncomfortable, if you want this to stop, we can and will discuss this, lover," she smiled, "but short of that, all in good time." I was to be kept guessing. Everything revolved around her and her timetable. Mine thoughts and desires were left to wonder and linger.
I was so confused. I didn't know what to think.
Saturday
"Baby, I want to go out tonight," Sara said on Saturday morning. Immediately my breathing got heavy. "You...you do," I asked, my stomach tightening.
"Yes, I do. There is a new club in the warehouse district and I think we should go."
"We should go," I repeated, my voice indicating both surprise and disappointment.
"Yes, I think we need a night out," she smiled.
Perhaps she was right. After last Friday, perhaps we really did need to go out together.
But...but...part of me wanted her to go out alone. She clearly saw the disappointment on my face and smiled.
What could a sissy cuckold husband do? Tell his wife, 'no, you go ahead, go fuck some guy, I'll just stay home.' No, no, those were words that were not coming out of my mouth. In truth, I suppose, I did like spending time with Sara, even as a normal couple, a normal husband and wife.
Evening, we showered. "Honey, here, I bought you an outfit," Sara smiled, handing me a bag from an exclusive woman's dress shop in town. Immediately, the blood in my veins froze.
"Sara, there is no way..." I started to protest, thinking there was no fucking way I was wearing a dress outside, "I can't do this."
"Julie, you can't what? Oh, I get it. You silly, you are not ready for that, yet, that's just the bag from the dress I bought. Just open it. Everything you need for tonight is in there."
I unzipped the bag, and inside was a lavender silk shirt and a pair of black trousers. "Silly girl. Listen, Julie, I'd love it if you wore a dress outside, but I know you are not ready f
or that yet."
Yet.
"Yet?"
"Of course, yet. Someday, sweetie, you will be, but not yet."
The funny thing is that the shirt was not something I would ever wear. A bit too, well, flamboyant? Too...gay, I chuckled. But it was better than a dress, no doubt about that. A tad feminine, but to some, just kind of vogue. Better than a dress.
Taking the hangers out of the bag, I found a third one between the shirt and trousers. On it hung a black satin camisole and tap panty set, along with a satin waist cincher with garter straps. Six garter straps. Metal garters. Pure class. Attached was a package of silk stockings. Stockings just like the ones I had bought for her last week. The bag still felt heavy. Everything I needed was in here, she had said. Of course, shoes.
In the bottom were a pair of black shoes. These too were, well, "vogue" in design. A buckle, a slight heel. Men's shoes, to be sure, but certainly not ones I would have ever worn to the office. The whole effect was slightly disconcerting, but I could not place it. Not until I dressed.
The waist cincher went easily around my waist, but was a bit difficult to tighten to fit. I had to suck in my waist to work it. Sara helped with the stockings, tenderly putting them on my legs, and fastening the garters for me. The camisole and tap panties followed. The effect was very feminizing.
"Sit," she said, pointing to her makeup table. I had a horrified look on my face. "Just sit and trust me," she said, "I know what I'm doing." Sure she did. That's what terrified me.
She indicated for me to sit at her makeup table. I sat in horror, thinking she meant to make up my face, knowing I could not go out as a woman, she said I was not ready for that.
But she had a slightly more devilish plan. No, not to make me a woman, but certainly to take away my manhood. If I was not to be a woman, I was not to be a man, either.
Sara applied some clear nail polish on my finger nails. She did some light makeup to my face. Not lipstick and eye makeup, but some basics. Watching in the mirror, I saw what she was doing. The makeup did not completely feminize me, but it certainly emasculated me. A little eye liner, slight blush, a tiny gloss on my lips. Usually, when she did my makeup, a beautiful feminine creature appeared in the mirror. Not this time.
The effect was...so...I could not place it. I looked like a man...but with just a slight softening, a slight emasculation of my features. Combined with the blouse...shirt...I looked...I could not believe the word that popped into my mind...gay. Instead of feminizing me, she emasculated me. Not a woman, but not a man.
"Sara," I protested, "I look...g...gay."
"Don't use that word like that, John," she scolded, "you don't look gay, you look, metrosexual."
Metrosexual? Fuck, to the guys at my office, it was gay. But to Sara, well.
"Here, put on your pants and your shoes, babe," she said.
I slipped into the pants, the stockings making me shudder. "Um, socks," I asked, pausing at the shoes.
She shook her head, no.
"Sara, ..."
"Trust me," she smiled, "please."
Metrosexual my ass. Looking in the mirror, I shook my head. Fuck, why was this worse than what she had done before? She had made me a fucking complete woman, and here I was wigged out over looking gay, or metrosexual, or whatever.
Her kiss sealed the deal. Her kiss, along with the grab of my crotch through my pants. "Honey, you look so sexy, I almost want to stay home."
How could I say no to this woman.
"Here is what was in the bag, silly," Sara smiled, taking a hanger from her closet. On it was a black shimmering cocktail dress. Sara dropped off her robe and pulled it over her head, naked, the dress slithering over her body. The front of the dress dropped down, exposing her breasts. "Oops, the halter needs to be tied," she giggled, "I don't want to go out with my breasts exposed."
Reaching around the back of her neck, she tied off the top of the dress. She then did her makeup and hair, taking much greater care to pretty herself than she did with me. Both were amazing, but she still shocked me. "As soon as I get my shoes on, we can go," she smiled.
Fuck. She was going practically naked. The dress, no bra, no panties, no hose. Holy shit, I immediately started to stir in my panties. Fuck. I watched her slip on some incredibly sexy, strappy heels, her toes painted to match her fingers. Fuck. She was fucking amazing. I realized how glad I was we were going out together, I'm not sure I could have taken staying home alone, her like that.
We made quite the pair, the "metrosexual" and the "hottie" I thought looking at us walking out of the bedroom to the car. Amazing.
Holding the minivan door, watching her get in, I could not help but stare at Sara's tanned legs, long, trim. She put on her seatbelt with me standing there, mouth open, and it just showed off her breasts even more. "Jealous," she smiled.
I blushed. In so many ways. Jealous. Because she was so incredibly sexy. Jealous. Wishing I was that pretty. Jealous. Because of last Friday.
The club was very crowded, a line outside. Like we were waiting in line. Sara was my access. Hell, I even think Mr. Metrosexual was part of the access. The club, so chic, wanted a diverse crowd. A hottie like Sara, a pretty boy like me, walked right past the line, waived in, and seated at a dark booth on the edge of the dance floor. The pretty people get all the breaks.
Sitting in the booth, I could not help but stare at the men and women all around, at the bar, dancing. They did a good job keeping the place from becoming too crowded, and kept a nice mix of hot chicks and men looking for them. Turning towards the dance floor, I saw two women dancing, gyrating, together. Up came my little stiffy.
"I'd like a martini," Sara smiled at me.
I actually laughed. There was no way I could get up right now. "Um, Sara, ...I can't," I started to say. She looked over at me...followed my eyes to my lap.
"Julie," she hissed, "that's not very ladylike."
Fuck, it sure wasn't. She touched it under the table, kissed me, making it grow even more. "I'll go get the drinks," she laughed.
The martini did little down there, but it did clear my head. I don't even know what Sara and I talked about, I was so over stimulated, visually, by the men and women in the club, by the vodka in my drink.
"Do I have to get the second round too," Sara asked, shattering my mind back to the now and present.
I blushed. "I'm sorry, Sara," I gasped, shocked that I was still incapable of leaving the table.
"I tell you, next time we go out, you are wearing that cage," she laughed. "Even this little thing sticks out like a sore thumb."
I watched her scoot out of the booth, her legs flashing, thigh showing, but that's all. She walked across the floor to the bar, which was more crowded than before, men and women, all there getting their liquid courage. This place was like a meat market, singles from all over the city, mixing, mingling.
I watched Sara waiting, three deep from the bar, too short to see over the men in front of her. Great, I thought, some husband. I was at least tall enough to be seen. This is why men did these kinds of things. Some man. I laughed at the irony.
I shook my head, aware that Sara was talking to the man behind her. A tall blonde, tight black ribbed shirt, not ripping with muscles, but certainly masculine enough. She laughed, her hand resting on his arm. Fuck. She was flirting with him. He was pushing closer to the bar, getting drinks for her. Three martinis. Escorting her back towards our table.
We were in the dark, on the edge of the floor, slightly elevated. I watched them approach, aware that while I could see them, he, she, could not see me.
I scooted backwards, unsure if I liked this development. As he put the drinks down, he caught my face in the corner of his eye, looked down, then looked back up again, a little surprised. I think, but can't be sure, that he thought I was a woman for a second.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought, are you...is he," I followed his eyes, down my wife's arm, to her left hand. He was looking at her wedding rings. Except he wasn't. They were not th
ere. She had not worn them, I realized, at the moment he did too.
"your boyfriend," he finished his question, "I didn't mean to," he stammered, feeling the heel.
Sara laughed, touched his arm again, flirting again, "No, no, I don't date, um," she said looking to me, "men like that," she laughed.
He looked at me again, cocked his head back, not understanding her implication. "Men like that?"
She whispered in his ear, and he got a big grin on his face.
"Oh, hey, that's cool, I had a friend in college that was gay, it's okay," he smiled, "just don't think you can go after me," he laughed, dismissing me and turning his attention briefly back to the drinks, and then Sara.
Gay. I was certainly not gay, and shuddered at that thought. Okay, sexually confused, sure, but not gay? Oh, no, I loved women, and the whole fucking reason I couldn't get the drinks myself is because I had an erection from staring at all the chicks here.
"Don't worry, Steve, you're not his type anyway," she laughed.
"Steve, meet John," she smiled at us both. "Hey," she flashed a smile which I reluctantly returned. I wished he'd go away.
"Thank you for buying the drinks," Sara smiled, hand on his chest for a brief instant.
Great, she let him buy drinks. He was going to expect to flirt, at least for awhile. I wanted her to myself, and here she was letting some other guy work on her.
"Would you like to join us," she flashed a smile to him.
"Sure," he said, a little to eager.
I wanted to yell at him, 'hey, here eyes are up there, not in her chest,' he was so blatantly checking her out.
One drink became two, then three. Three martinis in Sara--not drunk, but...yes, close. Same with me. Only Steve seemed to be in control, even though his eyes gave him away too much. They continued to flirt, engaging me in their stupid small talk, but having eyes only for each other. Thinking I was no competition at all, unknowing that it was my own wife he was flirting with, Steve clearly did not look at me as anything to even think about.
A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold Page 12
