A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold

by Sara Desmarais

  TWO YEARS?

  She had hold of my head, the back, pushing my face down on the cock so I was unable to talk.

  "Yea...ohhhh....yes, suck it, whore, come on. You like hearing about her? About the next woman who is going to suck my cock?"

  "tttwwwffffrrrsss..." I exclaimed.

  She had both sides of my head in her hands, guiding me, moving my head, her hips fucking my mouth, getting off on the pressure on her clit, inside her.

  "I couldn't believe it either, but she said it'd been two years since she had a real cock, the poor girl. You get them everyday, but she has gone that long without sucking real cock."

  "wwwhhhh," I gasped, chocking on her cock, trying to figure out. Two years? I wanted to pull away, demand what she was talking about, break role. Was she teasing me? Trying to turn me on? It terrified me, but I only sucked harder, making her squirm in pleasure. What did she mean? Two years ago? What did she do?

  "Yea, keep sucking, yea, get up, come on, on the bed," she said, pulling me up. Get those panties off, I'm going to fuck you now, come on."

  I stood, slipped off my panties while Sara shed her shoes, pulled off her pants, and boxer shorts, even her shirt and tie. She was standing there in a white tank tee shirt, flat chested, breasts bound to her, and socks, her cock jutting out. Dammit, two years ago. I wanted to know what she meant.

  "On the bed, on your knees, whore," Sara growled.

  "Sara," I started. I was rewarded with a sudden slap on my ass. "Steve," she snarled, shoving me down onto my hands and knees. I felt her come up behind me, the cock, finding my crack, wet, hard, lubricated, and with a quick motion, pushed inside me and she or he...my wife or her lover, were fucking me.

  Waves of pleasure shot through my body as the cock buried its way in me, filling me, then pulled out, only to renew the assault all over. I was being fucked. "Like the cock, bitch? I wonder if you like it as much as that sissy's wife did?"

  I shuddered, almost collapsing onto the bed, her taunting, her role playing as Steve driving me insane. She was not done, though, not at all. I felt her lean over my back, the cotton tee shirt pressing onto my skin.

  "Two years," I whispered?

  "Two years? What do you mean? Oh, what, you want to know how my little bitch sucked off," she whispered in ear, deep voice, becoming Steve. "I asked her about it, I was curious how often she did this. She said two years ago she was a bridesmaid at her cousin's wedding."

  A vision of that day leaped into my mind, of Sara, in her rose satin dress, almost outshining the bride as the prettiest woman at the wedding. I was sulking that day, I'd had too much to drink, and was angry at Sara for something stupid from a day earlier.

  "The groom's college roommate was the groomsman my slut Sara was paired with."

  Another vision. Sara had responded to my sullen mood by spending the afternoon and evening dancing with her groomsman. No. She couldn't have.

  "Ohhhhhh," I moaned as she pushed her cock deeper into me.

  "She said her husband was an ass that day. She wanted a romantic day with him and he blew her off. He should not have done that. She said she wore her own wedding lingerie that day under her bride's maid dress, the very lingerie she'd worn on her own wedding day, a fantasy for her husband..." she pulled the cock out, and pushed it in harder, "who never knew because he was mad and because another man flirted with her. She said when her loser husband was half drunk at the bar, the groomsman took her on a walk on the golf course, kissed her, and she was angry at her husband. To get back at him, she did what her suitor wanted."

  "On the third tee box, she knelt down," the cock shoved farther into me, and I moaned.

  "Opened his pants," Steve was fucking me, fucking her.

  "Took out a cock like she had not seen in years," the waves of an orgasm were crashing closer.

  "Sucked his hard dick while playing with her pussy under her dress, playing with her wedding lingerie, knowing she was getting even with her husband."

  I gasped.

  "And swallowed a huge mouthful of cum from this man she had just met," she practically shouted, pounding the silicone cock into my ass.

  "The best cock I sucked in years." Her own voice, quivered, orgasm washed over her body, orgasm from fucking me.

  As I heard her orgasm, I felt those same waves through my body, running from her cock, to my ass, to my little cock, and I erupted, cum shooting all over the bed. My head spun, I felt dizzy, moaned uncontrollably, full of shame at what I'd heard.

  Sara...or Steve, I suppose, pushed me down onto the bed, into my own cum, burying the cock deep into my ass, holding it there, working her own orgasm over and over, her own dominance over me in the form of her lover fucking a prostitute.

  I lay there, the cock buried in me, Sara finally stirring, pulling out.

  "You're good," she said, "not as good as Sara, but good. Tell you what, if I don't hear from her this week, I'll be back next week," she told me. "No offense, I'd rather fuck her, but you are a close second. And I know she will be back, I just know it, how bad she wants my cock."

  There was my challenge. Sara, acting as Steve was telling me what she wanted. Steve. She wanted Steve.

  But the questions were running through my brain.

  Sara spoke, "I'm going to get changed in the hallway bathroom. Your tip is on the dresser. Twenty bucks for my fuck slut," she laughed. "Maybe I'll see you next week, we will see," she said, leaving the room.

  I lay on the bed, confused, spent. A real cock? She said, as Steve, then herself, that she wanted me to experience a real cock. She...she had to be joking. I wasn't gay. I...no way, she couldn't. She wouldn't.

  And then...two years ago? She sucked a guy off at that wedding. What the hell was she doing to me. Sara was scaring me.

  Terrifying me.

  I twisted, feeling the mess of cum on my stomach from the sheets.

  She was thrilling me too. Terrifying and thrilling.

  My queen.

  I lay there on the bed, in my wet cum, for twenty minutes or so, wondering if Sara was coming back in, but she didn't. Finally, I got up, changed the bed sheets and took a shower to freshen up. When I was sitting on the bed, drying my hair with a towel, my growing hair, thinking soon I would not need a wig, Sara walked into the bedroom, dressed in her skirt suit from work. She looked...pretty. Feminine.

  It was amazing, the transformation, earlier, from Sara to Steve, and just as amazing now, Steve back to Sara.

  "Sara," I gasped.

  "Sorry I'm late, I got held up at the office," she said.

  "Late...but...but you..."

  "I know, I should have called, it was a last minute thing."

  She was playing like it never happened.

  "But...you...what about...I," she'd thrown me for a loop with her statement.

  "But...what about Jen and Sean's wedding?"

  "Jen and Sean's wedding," she repeated, a confused look on her face, a hint of fear in her voice, "what...what are you talking about?"

  "When...when you..." I couldn't say the words. What was happening now was happening with my knowledge, and really, with my consent. What she said happened then was pure infidelity, even if it was the true start of all of this.

  We looked at each other. "When I what," she asked, not meeting my eye.

  When you sucked a man's dick, I wanted to shout. "You...you."

  "Honey, you are not making any sense."

  I realized that her little play acting as Steve was a way for her to tell me something without telling me. I didn't say anything, unsure of what to think, say or do.

  "You know, come here, put your mouth to better work than that," Sara smiled, hiking up her skirt, tugging down her panties. "This is really something we should make more of a habit of, really, your way of showing some devotion when I get home from work. Sometimes at the office, I get all hot and wet, surrounded by all those men."

  I was down on my knees, attacking her pussy, the one true object of my physical affection for her,
the sweet folds, parted, my tongue dancing, lapping, tasting her juices.

  "You must know the feeling, love, seeing all those men, picturing their hard bodies, wondering what their straining cocks would be like, wanting to take one, back into a closet, and go down on him. Right?"

  Sara was running her fingers through my hair now, pulling my face into her pussy. "Right," she repeated.

  "Hmmm," I moaned, sucking.

  "I said you know the feeling, Julie, when you are at the office, wearing sexy lingerie under you clothes, feeling sexy, imagining yourself sucking a man's cock. The real thing, Julie, sucking the real thing."

  If not for her juices all over my mouth, I'd have gone as dry as a desert. The real thing. She'd said the real thing again. A real cock.

  "It's what I dream about almost every day at work. Don't you think of it too, when you are at the office," she moaned, pushing her pussy hard against my mouth, "taking some random man and sucking his cock?"

  "NOOOO," my brain screamed. "Sara, no, I..."

  "In your sexy lingerie, the silk and satin caressing your body as you kneel down and unzip his pants, reach in, take out his cock, open your mouth, tongue out, your lips on that cock."

  I tried shaking my head, pulling back, I wanted to tell her that disgusted me, just the thought of a man's cock.

  "I didn't tell you to stop licking," she growled, pulling my face into the folds of her pussy.

  "Mmmmffff," I said, tongue inside her.

  "You already tasted cum, Julie, don't you want to get it right from a man?"

  I shook my head no. I wasn't gay. I wasn't gay. I kept repeating that to myself.

  "You don't want to suck a man's cock?" In my mind, the image of me going down on Sara as Steve flashed. Sucking a cock. A man's cock.

  "Don't you, love," she demanded. I shook my head again.

  "Then tell me, why," I felt Sara's foot on the front of my robe, at my crotch, on my own cock, her nylon stocking on my satin robe, "tell me why your little clitty is throbbing when I talk about it?"

  Her words caused a chill to run down my spine. She was right. I wasn't hard until she started talking about cock. I was semi hard when I started eating her pussy, but it was only at her words about cock that I truly sprang to life.

  How could I do anything but press my mouth harder against her pussy, pushing her to the edge of orgasm.

  "Thought so," she moaned, reaching orgasm, pulling my face deep into her pussy, riding it, before finally pushing me backwards, gasping.

  "Sara...I..."

  "What lover," she asked, her face showing dizzy pleasure from her orgasm.

  "I'm scared," I finally said.

  "Scared of what?"

  "Scared of what you want from me, Sara, what you want me to do!"

  "What I want," she said, raising an eyebrow, pushing her leg onto my cock.

  "Sara...I'm not like that."

  "Like what?"

  "You want me to be gay?"

  "Gay," she asked, "God, no, Julie, I never want you to be with another woman!"

  "Another woman," I asked, incredulous.

  She just smiled, her smile humiliating me more than words. Of course, because I was a woman. "Now, if you want to be with a man, I suppose I'm okay with that, Julie, I mean, I'm with other men," she said.

  Me with a man? Her with men?

  "Man," I asked, "You mean man, Steve?"

  "I mean what I said."

  Men. Not man, men. I felt my cock stiffen just a little more, pressed against her nylon.

  "Oh, that shocked you, didn't it," she smiled, stroking my cock harder with her leg. "Man, men, it really does not change the fact that you are a cuckold, that your wife needs to find sexual satisfaction in the bed of other men, does it?"

  "Oh, Sara," I moaned, humping her.

  "Tell me love, I know why I enjoy it, both the pure physical thrill from a man, and the dominance over you, but why does it turn you on?"

  I looked up at her, my sexual excitement mixed with her very real question.

  "Jealousy," I mumbled.

  "Jealousy? Tell me, why jealousy?"

  "I don't know," I was forced to admit.

  She pulled her leg away from me. "No, that's not good enough, lover. Listen, it's late, I'm hungry and this is a serious discussion. I think we need to have this talk. I've told you I want you to set up a date with Steve for me, and before you do that, I want to talk about this."

  I was gasping, desperate to cum again, but what could I do...Sara controlled my life and my world.

  "After work tomorrow, we are going to talk, love, about this, okay?"

  Okay? Of course, as Sara wished...as Sara wished...

  Part 08

  The next morning, Sara walked into our bedroom as I was getting dressed. "Baby, wear something extra pretty today under your suit, I want to go out to dinner tonight," she smiled at me. I immediately though of two separate, but equally bizarre thoughts. Something pretty? It was not like I had some cotton "granny drawers" I could pull out and wear. Everything was something pretty. The other thought? Going out? What evil plan did she have.

  Sara read my mind, partially anyway. "Nothing kinky, love, I just want to go out to dinner with you, a nice quiet evening for the two of us."

  I looked at her suspiciously.

  "Seriously, baby," she said, a slight tone of concern in her voice, "do I have to tell you over and over? I love you, hon, and I want to spend time with you, okay? Nothing more than that."

  Of course. We were a couple, we were married, we were in love. I felt the same way about her. I loved the kinky, but I loved being around her, being her friend, which really was the basis of our relationship.

  I thought about her request for something pretty for a minute, pausing at my lingerie drawer, looking for something pretty among a drawer full of something pretty. Of course, I smiled, it was all so pretty, a daily exercise in femininity, in being pretty for my wife, lover and best friend.

  As I was dressing, putting on a white silk camisole to match my garter belt and panties, Sara walked back in the room, looked me over and paused, mouth open. "You know, you take my breath away, love," she smiled, "you really do."

  I blushed, embarrassed at her words, feeling slightly objectified, but also proud, pleased to have that effect on my wife.

  Sara walked up to me, put her hands around my waist, moved her own stocking covered leg in between mine, reached her mouth to me, kissed me deeply, quickly, sighing, as her own scent surrounded us both. "I mean it so much," she said, breaking off the kiss, leaving me both speechless and breathless.

  Her hands moved up my waist, up my sides, effortlessly gliding over the soft silk of my camisole, coming forward closer together as her fingers found the soft skin of my chest, the area around my nipples. She massaged, her nylon leg rubbing on mine, her fingers dancing over my chest, teasing, dizzying.

  "They are getting more sensitive, aren't they," she smiled at me, squeezing the flesh of my chest. "Can you feel them? Every nerve is coming alive, waking up, becoming more sensitive, charged."

  Her fingers found my nipples, grasped around them, closed around them, squeezed. "The hormones are slowly doing their work, lover, rushing through your body, changing you ever so slightly. Making new parts of you sensitive, alive, sexually charged."

  "Oh, Sara," I moaned as she pinched my nipples.

  "Oh, Julie," she mocked me, her sexual smile teasing me. "I know you won't regret this lover." She gathered her hands around the flesh. "I can tell you are changing, I can feel the difference. You can too, can't you? Have your felt it? Your breasts are growing, love, your breasts! Think of it. Your breasts."

  She kneaded my chest. "An A cup, I'd say. You are changing. I'd be careful going to the gym," she laughed, "cause some guys would notice now, you are surely growing small breasts. Of course, we have a little ways to go, for you to grow into your bras, don't you."

  "Grow into them," I quivered, stepping back slightly. "Sara, the...my bras ar
e all a C cup." I didn't know why she picked that size to get me; I'd just assumed it was an average size, easiest to find.

  "I know what size the bras are, Julie," she smile. She knew? Of course she knew. Sara knew everything. She'd planned every move, every step, left nothing to chance. It was the way her mind worked, devilishly, I suppose, seeing farther out. I hated to think of such a simple analogy, but it leapt into my mind quite often lately.

  I was playing checkers.

  She was playing chess.

  I was simply moving across the board, thinking that all I had to do was get to the end. Simply to make love to her, or please her. It was all so simple.

  She was playing chess. Every move she made was based on something that would happen days or weeks later.

  I had no chance against her. But, I didn't want a chance either.

  Of course, a C cup, it was not random. It was well thought out on her part. A C cup bra meant C cup breasts. Her goal.

  "C cup?" I said, questioning.

  "Don't worry love, don't worry about anything. I've talked to the doctor. If the hormones don't work that well, or do it fast enough, you can get implants."

  I think she totally misunderstood my concern. It wasn't that I'd have trouble getting to breasts like that. Quite the opposite, it was that I'd have breasts like that. Holy fuck, that was not something I could hide from people.

  "Either way, hormones or implants, they will be real, sensitive, perky, and, well, a lot like mine."

  That's exactly what terrified me. A lot like hers. Breasts that men noticed, especially with a push up bra. Breasts that did not hide quietly under a top. Breasts that were there for all to see. Wonderful on my wife. Terrifying on me!

  I finished getting dressed for work, putting on my suit and tie over my lingerie, and all I could do was stare. In the mirror, down to my shirt. Fuck. Even though I had a small A cup chest, not even noticeable, of course, Sara's words made me feel like I had a set of DD tits pushing out from my chest. I felt like I was going to work in a wet tee shirt.

  You know the most terrifying part to me? A part of me actually liked it. Liked the thought of having breasts for the world to see. And another part wanted to crawl under the bed and hide.

  I got to the office and stepped into the elevator and watched the doors shut, alone in thought. The doors opened on the next level of the underground garage and Melissa, one of the secretaries at my office got on. Melissa always intimidated me. She was nice as could be, not at all unfriendly, but her incredible beauty always made me nervous around her. Story of my life, really, intimidated by beautiful women. It's no wonder I came to be dominated by one in marriage.