A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold

by Sara Desmarais

When watching my wife openly flirt with him started to really get under my skin, Sara carefully intervened. She would casually put her hand under the table on my crotch, stroking me. He was paying no attention, he was so into her, but I sure noticed. Her flirting was driving me insane.

  He asked her to dance. They giggled. Fuck, even I giggled. Fucking vodka. This is how she was doing it to me at a club. One part sexual tension, another part vodka, till she was openly flirting with another man.

  They moved to the dance floor, the sexual tension out in the open now. Her breasts pressed against his arm, his chest. His hands wandering to her lower back, then to her ass. I saw his eyes when he realized she had on neither a bra nor panties. Animal hunger.

  After the first song, he worked up the courage to kiss her. Fuck, seeing that, it was worse than last Friday. I had never seen a man kiss my wife. He open mouth kissed her, with his tongue, devouring her. She returned the kiss, pressing herself to him, crotch to crotch. I chuckled, thinking he was like me, I'm sure, hard.

  They returned to the table and he left to get one more round of drinks. "Sara...what..."

  "Shhh, baby, don't talk," her mouth moved to mine, covering it with a deep kiss. I could smell his cologne. Her hand moved to my crotch, stroked it gently. "Oh, you would be amazed how much bigger he is," she growled, tongue invading my mouth.

  Kissing me, she asked, "yes or no. Do you want me to stop?"

  "Sara, please," I gasped.

  "Yes or no? Yes, I kiss him goodnight and we can go home and make love. Oh, god, I'm so hot, it would be soooo good. You can lick me for hours before we fuck."

  "Sara..."

  "Yes or no? No, and we see where this goes."

  "Please Sara, don't..."

  "No, baby, you have to pick," she gasped, squeezing me, "this is about you as much as it's about me. You have to choose our path. Tonight. The choice is yours alone."

  "Yes or no? Yes, and I settle for this clitty tonight," she said, squeezing me, "no, and we see if I can get a man's cock tonight. Yes or no, do you want me to stop? Hurry, he's coming."

  It was too much. I was too sexually charged. Her hand stroking my cock in my panties, her fingers tugging at my garter straps, I could not take it.

  "Do you want me to stop," she demanded.

  "No," I gasped, and with that, she kissed me deeply, pushed me back to the booth, moved away from me. What the hell was I doing? I could not help myself, I could not, watching Sara seduce a man right in front of me.

  "Good," she said, a hunger in her voice, "but just remember, you made the choice, sissy. You could have stopped this, and you chose not to. So, whatever happens, this was your chance to stop it."

  I shuddered, oh fuck.

  "Steve, are you trying to get me drunk," she asked, immediately turning her attention away from me and right to Steve as he walked up to the table with three more drinks. He just smiled.

  As he sat, Sara scooted closer to him, away from me. She openly started kissing him, on the mouth, deep full kisses, making out really, as if I was not even there. Thank goodness for the dark safety of the VIP booth, because they were putting on quite a show. A show only for me.

  She was so close to him, leaning on him, making out with him, seducing him. This could not be happening. No. Like last Friday, it was just a tease, just her way of indulging in fantasy.

  I watched his hands roaming on the outside of her dress, her hands roaming on his chest. Quickly, Steve had her turned around, back to him, straddling his left leg, the leg closest to me. I watched, awe struck, as he untied the halter to her dress, letting it drop free, as it had when she first put it on earlier today. With that, her breasts were bare, in full view for me, but hidden by the shadows to everyone else in the club. The music pumped away, pulsating dance music, pounding, as Steve's hands cupped Sara's breasts. I almost lost it right there.

  Sara's head was moving all around as Steve cupped her breasts. Her hands were behind her, on his crotch.

  NOOO. My brain screamed. NO! STOP! THAT'S MY WIFE! NO!

  "Hey, you are not wearing panties," he laughed. I looked down to see his hands under her dress, on her pussy.

  To me, time had stopped, somewhere in that club with the dance music blaring. Our marriage had stopped, our lives had stopped. It was theoretical last week. Today, it was real, happening in front of me. My wife. Another man. A strange man. A man. No. She was going to stop. She had taken it as far as she was going to take it. In a few minutes, we would go home and make love like animals.

  She was no longer on his leg, I saw, shaking my head. She was on his lap now, her skirt pulled up. Staring, I saw it. His cock. Between Sara's legs. She was rubbing it. It was between her legs. It was pressing the folds of her pussy, the light reflected off it, glimmered. Wet.

  It was wet.

  "Oh, holy fuck," I thought. It was wet because Sara's pussy was drenched, coating it.

  No, Sara, no. My brain was in overdrive now. No. That's it. That's enough.

  "Sara, no" I moaned.

  Okay, okay, this is it. This is where she stops. Fuck. She already went too far. Her pussy was rubbing another man's cock. Oh my god, the humiliation was killing me, exciting me. Okay, stop, Sara, stop. I got it. You got me. As excited as I've ever been. Please, stop, we have come far enough.

  Sara shifted her hips, and slowly, carefully, lowered herself onto his cock. She stared at me as she sat, mouthed the words, "I love you." I just watched, terrified, thrilled, scared, shocked, helpless, actually cuckolded before my very eyes.

  That was it. It may or may not have happened last Friday, she would not say. But this was it. There was no denying it, sitting here, in the dark, in the club, music blaring. My wife had another man's cock in her pussy. I was in heaven and in hell. What beast did I marry?

  I shifted in the seat, felt a garter strap tug at my leg, suddenly self conscious, as a man, a "real man," actually fucked my wife right in front of me.

  I looked up at Sara's face, contorted in pleasure, and caught Steve looking straight at me. What was that look? It was almost bizarre, and caused me to shudder. What? What was it? It was a look of conquest. Of possession. It struck me as strange. Did he? Could he possibly?

  It slowly dawned on me. Perhaps Steve was not some random man we ran into tonight at the club. Was this prearranged? Did he know that we were married? Did he know he was fucking another man's wife. Right in front of him? Did he know I was a sissy? Would Sara do that?

  They were both staring at me now. I wished the booth would open up and take me somewhere else. Sara was pulsating to the music, Steve's hands were using her breasts for leverage. The scene was terrifying. But there was more. I was as hard as I had ever been. The cuckolding, seeing my wife get fucked like this, was so erotic, I was terrified to even touch my trousers, fearful I would explode all over.

  I watched Sara, the look of pure joy on her face, the animalistic hunger, the passion. I had never seen her so into sex. Making love? Yes, she did that to me, passionately. This was different. It was lust, pure animal lust.

  I sensed her orgasm, her breathing gave her away. Steve sensed it too. His orgasm, on the heels of hers, was apparent. They both groaned, panted, their animalistic grunts hidden to everyone but me, drowned out by the thumping music. To me alone though, they were music. Grunting together, moaning together, almost in sync with the blasting rhythmic dance music. Her moans penetrated my ears, singing to me. His grunts, matching his thrusts, stung me. The effect was overwhelming.

  His grunting, the final deep thrusts into Sara, the man's attempt to get his cum all the way in the womb, nature trying to make a baby, I realized, suddenly hoping that Sara remembered to take her pill. I watched them cum, orgasm, the pleasure on their faces, my wife and this man. I felt drained, too, but yet, every fiber of my body was on edge. Watching my wife get fucked like that was the single most erotic thing I had ever seen in my life. I was simply amazed, and the love I felt for her was unmatched. I felt as if I'd given her a gift toni
ght, a gift of sexual pleasure and it actually warmed me.

  Carefully, Sara ground onto him, pulling his cock as far into her as she could work it, letting the last parts of her own orgasm wash away. "Ohhh, Steve," she moaned, "that was amazing."

  Amazing, yes, how such simple words could both sting me and excite me.

  She worked herself off his cock, onto the seat of the booth between us, her eyes staring at me. She reached on the table, took a napkin, turned towards Steve, reached for his still hard cock, dabbed it off, zipped him up. She kissed him, a deep, wet, almost loving kiss. It was the kiss, it was the kiss that hurt. That was the only part of the evening that truly made me angry, jealous.

  As she backed off him, broke their kiss, she took the ties to her halter, covered her breasts, tied them off.

  "Thanks for the drinks, Steve," she whispered, just over the music.

  He smiled, "my pleasure, Sara, my pleasure. Can...can I call you," he asked, again, looking at her, then at me over her shoulder, flashing that smile, that knowing smile. That smile of possession, of conquest. To me that smile said everything. He knew, I knew, our eyes locked and there was no doubt. He was the king of the jungle, taking possession of my wife, taking it away from me. His eyes said it all. She is mine, not yours. She may go home with you, but I was the one that took her. Fuck you, they said, a laugh, a humiliating kick in the ass. I broke the gaze first, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

  "Oh, I think so," she said, taking a book of matches off the table, a pen from her purse, writing down our phone number. Holy fuck, I thought, that's our number. Watching Steve walk away, Sara turned to me, "Thank you lover, thank you so much."

  I was beaten, humiliated, conquered, possessed.

  She took my hand, stood up, straightened her dress, and we walked to the door. My cock was making a tent in my pants. I didn't care, she didn't care, and in the dark club, no one seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn't care. They did not care about one beaten, humiliated, cuckolded husband, following submissively, his wife out the door.

  She led us to her minivan, opened a side door, pushed me inside. Sara moved to the back bench seat, and I noticed that the middle seats had been folded into the floor. Sara sat in the middle of the bench, a bench now fit for a queen, my queen. Queen Sara.

  "Sara, ..."

  "No," she commanded, silencing me. The door was shut, the lights off in the van. Enough light came through the tinted windows to outline her, the features of her face.

  "Undress, down to your lingerie. I don't want to see you pretending to be a man," she laughed.

  "But Sara, people might see," I protested.

  I think the experience in the club unlocked something inside her. But how could it not. She utterly and completely humiliated me, took such total control of the situation, assumed such power, there was really no other way. It was wicked, raw, powerful.

  Queen Sara.

  Assumption.

  The throne.

  Truthfully, as terrible as it may seem to an outsider, to me, wracked with inadequacies, sexually charged, the power was overwhelming, not in its cruelty, but in its sexual power. Whatever was awakened in Sara, by acting like this, also awoke a similar, if opposite beast inside me. Seeing my wife actually fuck another man did not revolt me, as I feared, instead it charged me, stirring, violently, the most powerful sexual reaction I have ever experienced. It was as if every last nerve of my body had become an sensitive zone, a combination of cock, clit, breast, nipple, palm, ass. If at that very moment, Sara's soft tongue touched any part of my body, elbow, knee, ear, eye, hair, finger, anywhere, I would have cum like it was my cock itself.

  "Strip, lover, now," she repeated, "after that, after you sat there, and watched him do that to me, after you said nothing, and acquiesced to a man fucking me right in front of you, I think, dear slut, that you have no right to claim any kind of masculinity. So, out, out of those fucking clothes," she hissed.

  She was right. Who was I kidding? A claim to masculinity? I think not. For what man, in his right mind, allows that, allows his wife to do that. It would be bad enough if she simply cheated and was caught. A man, a real man, might forgive that. But what she did? In front of me, seducing and fucking a man, challenging my very role in life? No, a real man, a real husband, a masculine husband would never tolerate that.

  She was right. That's not what I was. I was a sissy. A sissy. A cuckolded sissy.

  She was right. I had no right to wear men's clothes. I was not a man, not a true man anyway.

  I undressed, peeling off the lavender shirt, wiggling out of my trousers, my clunky shoes, down to the lingerie, the very thing that objectified what she made me. The essence of femininity. The sissy uniform.

  Given the confines of the minivan, I was left there, on my knees. Intentional on her part? Of course, like every step of the last few months. I was left there, sissified, feminized, dominated, and kneeling before my queen. I knew what came next before she even spoke the words. There was nothing else that could have come next, but surrender to the queen, the bow, down, the loyal slave.

  Kneeling before my queen, I watched her spread her legs, her dress at mid thigh. The scent of hunger lingered in the air. The scent of fear. The scent of authority. The scent of surrender.

  The scent of sex.

  "Lick," she commanded.

  Lick.

  Lick.

  The order finally given, my destiny realized, I did what any vassal, servant, slave, slut, would do. I surrendered to Sara, I accepted her control, her dominance, her place in my life.

  I leaned forward as Sara lifted her dress, my head between her thighs. I leaned forward, my mouth open, my face pressed to Sara folds. I felt her foot move up, brushing my thigh, to my own folds. Her foot, resting on my panties, stroking me, Sara took my head in her hands, pulled my face deeper into her, into her folds, into her pussy, into the mess the man in the club left in her. Where I was uncertain before, about the taste inside my wife, this time I knew for sure, having witnessed it myself.

  Friday, I said to myself, it was only Sara.

  This time, there was no doubt. It was so much more.

  The taste, smell, feel. It was Sara. It was her lover. Her juices, his cum, all over. My mouth open, I surrendered, tasting it, reveling in it, needing it, wanting it, as I've never wanted anything in my life.

  I surrendered, taking it. My own desires, desperate, as she stroked me with her foot.

  I felt it, tasted it, eating it, the humiliation, the sexual thrill, how proud I was, of her, of me, as I felt her orgasm, spasm, go out of control.

  And I felt me too, gushing, in my panties, on her leg.

  We came together, Sara and I.

  One.

  As I surrendered to my wife's dominance.

  I became one with her.

  Complete.

  In love.

  In lust.

  With Sara.

  Part 05

  When I woke up the morning after the night at the club, that feeling of fulfillment was gone. Last night I'd felt so excited, so sexually charged, so complete. But waking up this morning, my head hurt, my throat was dry, my stomach was churning, and none of that had anything to do with the drinks I had.

  I woke up with a heavy feeling in my heart.

  I woke up, a cuckold. The fulfillment of last night was replaced with dread, a foreboding, almost an indescribable guilt, and with questions racing through my brain. Last night I was totally accepting of what had happened; this morning I was almost in terror.

  A cuckold.

  The very thing I'd fantasized about for months and months, the object of my sexual energy.

  A cuckold.

  I kept repeating the words in my mind, which spun and spun.

  A cuckold.

  A man whose wife was unfaithful.

  A cuckold.

  What kind of man does that? What kind of man watches his wife fuck another msn?

  A cuckold.

  I was wearing
lingerie. What kind of man sleeps in lingerie?

  A sissy cuckold.

  What kind of man laps up another man's cum from his wife's very pussy?

  A submissive cuckold.

  Me.

  I was in a surly mood that morning, unable to even look at Sara as I got out of bed.

  "Baby," she said, stirring, hearing me get up, "come here."

  I said nothing, going to the bathroom instead, stripping of my nightgown, peeing standing up (a major rebellion for me), and showering.

  After my shower, I came back into the bedroom, in no mood for what I found. Naturally, in my drawer was lingerie, all lingerie.

  It was like another slap in the face, a confrontation of what I had become, what I allowed Sara to do to me.

  Sara watched me. "Is there a problem, Julie," she asked.

  I stared back at her, breathing heavily, my arms folded.

  "Yes?" she asked, now sitting up in bed.

  I shook, anger building again, as it had done before. "You...you..."

  "I what?" she said.

  "You fucked him," I practically spat at her.

  "You fucked another man," I said, seething.

  "A man," she said softly.

  "What?" I asked, momentarily confused.

  "A man. I'm sorry to correct you," she said staring back at me, "but you said that I 'fucked another man' and I simply corrected you, I fucked a man."

  "Whatever," I said, "but you did what you did."

  She was not about to let me continue to vent on my own terms.

  "No, not whatever. A man may accuse his wife of fucking another man," she said, emphasizing 'another'. "Saying, 'what the hell, you fucked another man', to refer to his wife's stud. However, that implies a certain level of equality. That is like saying you fucked that man, the other man, instead of this man, the husband."

  I looked at her, confusion registering on my face.

  "You, my dear sissy, are not a man. So please, be grammatically correct. You may say that I 'fucked a man', but it's incorrect to say that I 'fucked another man.' See the difference? If you say that I fucked 'another' man, you are implying that you are also a man, which you clearly are not, love."

  "Sara, whatever, you fucked a man."