by Bart Tracer
“Yes, Lizzie, please!”
“Good boy! And Bill? I love you more than you will ever know, Honey! I’m putting it on speakerphone now.”
With that, she was gone. I could hear her heels clicking across the hardwood floor as she went to the door and called for Lance. A minute later, the clicking sound grew louder once more as she returned. Their voices were muffled at first, too far from the phone, but gradually they grew louder and more distinct, until I could make out individual words.
“Oh yeah! Just like that,” I heard Lance murmur.
Then, his voice fell silent, replaced by faint smacking and slurping sounds that I knew all too well. Lizzie was blowing him. Without thinking about it, I wrapped her cool panties around my cock and began to stroke, closing my eyes to concentrate on the salacious sounds coming from the phone. In my mind’s eye, I saw my beautiful Lizzie bobbing on his huge member, preparing him for what was to come. A rustling of fabric told me they were switching positions.
“Oh God!” my wife’s voice sliced the air with a keening wail. “Oh! Right there! Oh! Lick me, Lance! Lick deep inside me! Get me wet for your big beautiful cock!”
A shiver ran through me at her words. I couldn’t remember the last time she had referred to my penis as “beautiful”. My hand buffed my rock-hard dick rapidly with her panties.
Once again, I heard movement, then a shuddering, sobbing moan from my wife. I couldn’t see them, but I knew he had penetrated her. Lance was now buried inside my wife, 500 miles away, and I was jerking off into her panties as my imagination filled in the blanks. Somehow, not being able to see them made me even more jealous. I felt left out, no longer a part of their illicit lovemaking. I stroked and listened, listened and stroked.
“Oh yes!” she cried, her voice punctuated by the constant dull thumping of the bed as he drove himself into her. “God yes!” Octave by octave, I could hear her getting closer to orgasm.
Lance grunted and moaned as he fucked my wife, working too hard to talk coherently. I could well imagine him now, covered in a fine sheen of sweat as his powerful body slapped against hers, taking my place between her legs, giving her what I could not. My heart and my cock ached as I heard her cum for him, screaming loudly as he pushed her over the edge.
The sound of her orgasm emphasized my detachment. This wasn’t wife watching. This was something different. A wife watcher got to watch his wife. A man whose wife spent the weekend in another man’s bed without him wasn’t a wife watcher at all. That man was… a cuckold! Oh my God!
At that thought, my cock got harder than ever before, swelling, bulging in my pumping fist. My balls churned beneath my twitching shaft, boiling over as my orgasm began. I held her smooth panties over the sensitive head as shot after shot of my hot semen jetted into the soft fabric. I came so hard I nearly blacked out, head thrown back, moaning incoherently as my heels dug at the bedsheets. I squirted what seemed like a quart of cum into Lizzies undies.
“Oh God, Lizzie! I’m cumming!” said a disembodied voice next to my head. In the ebbing stages of my orgasm, I was only dimly aware that the voice belonged to Lance, the man who was now filling my wife with his seed, 500 miles away. The man who was cuckolding me…
After telling my wife goodnight, I had hung up the phone and was now in the bathroom, washing her panties in the sink, thinking. In spite of myself, I had enjoyed the experience immensely. The distance, the inability to see them, the thought of her spending the night in his arms gave the whole situation a different spin. It drove me crazy, but in an unexpectedly good way. And the knowledge that I still had two more days of it to go was a delectable sort of torture.
I had just decided to take Lizzie up on her offer and delve into her panty drawer for our next session tomorrow evening, when a disturbing thought occurred to me. Frowning, I dropped the underwear in the warm soapy water and strode back to the bedroom, quickly tapping out a text to Lizzie:
Have u thought abt condoms? Shud b getting close to ur risky time!
I sent the text, then sat on the edge of the bed awaiting her reply. Three minutes later, my phone pinged, and I picked it up. Her reply was a single emoji.
A winking smiley face…
Shaken in her Boots, Volume 3
Chapter 1
As I pulled into the tiny parking lot of the Glenton municipal airport, the sun was well above the eastern horizon, climbing steadily higher into the cloudless sky, its warming rays searing away the last remnants of the frost that had so thickly covered the short grass beside the asphalt runway not two hours ago. Not surprisingly, the parking lot beside the two-room brick building that served as the airport’s terminal was empty, except for the airport manager’s rusty, ancient Oldsmobile and the line boy’s mud-encrusted 4x4, straddling a slowly growing puddle of transmission fluid.
I parked my pickup facing the runway and got out, turning my collar up against the bite of the wind as I stepped up onto the walkway that separated the parking lot from the tarmac. Turning to face the runway, I hooked my fingers through the cool wire of the chain link fence, scanning the powder blue sky for the airplane that I expected to appear at any moment, but the heavens were empty for as far as the eye could see.
In the stillness of the late fall morning, my eyes swept the flat expanse of the airfield, taking in the cracked asphalt and the dilapidated hangars, complete with chipped tin signs advertising long defunct fuel suppliers, heralding a time when this humble strip had bustled with energy and activity.
An elderly tug stood abandoned beside the hangars, its once-proud paint now blistered and streaked with blood-red rust stains, tires rotted away to leave it sitting on the crumbling rims. A family of sparrows had taken up residence in its exhaust, wisps of pale straw and baling twine protruding from the cracks in the rusty muffler. There was a sad beauty to the squalor and decay; a piece of Americana moldering away on the outskirts of a forgotten little boom town surrounded by the vast prairie.
Turning back to the runway, I stared out at the empty stretch of pavement, my thoughts wandering back over the past three days. They had been the longest of my life. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. The days themselves had passed fairly quickly, it was the long dark nights that had almost killed me.
During the daylight hours, there had been plenty of work to occupy my time. I fed the livestock, cleaned stalls, checked the fences and water tanks, and exercised both my wife’s mare and my gelding, Buster. Hell, I even got off my ass and cut a little firewood and stacked it in a neat row under the overhang of the back porch. In addition to my own chores, I was helping out our injured neighbor, Tom, who’d broken his leg a few days ago; checking his cattle and his fences and making sure he was eating properly.
But the nights had been a different matter... in so many ways. You see, each night at 9:00 p.m. I got a call from my wife. But this wasn’t your typical goodnight call. I mean sure, there was plenty of the usual small talk and cute little inside jokes that married couples share with one another when they are apart, but once that was finished, she would put the phone on speaker and let me listen in while she made love to another man…
My wife Elizabeth, or Lizzie as I usually call her, and I had recently ventured into the realm of wife watching and, once we overcame our initial hesitation, we’d both taken to it like ducks to water. Lizzie in particular, had come out of her shell, quickly shedding the shyness that had so defined her personality in the early days of our marriage.
For the last week or so, we’d been enjoying some naughty fun with our friend and Lizzie’s new lover, Lance, on his ranch about 500 miles south of here, exploring our newfound hobby in the seclusion of his remote, yet swanky country home.
We had originally planned on staying until Monday, but when our neighbor, Tom, had a sudden accident on Thursday, it had placed us in a very awkward situation. Tom had been doing our chores in our absence, which meant that we were going to have to come home Friday morning to take care of things on the ranch, but, unable to stand the di
sappointed look on my wife’s beautiful face, I had made a bold, impulsive suggestion. I had offered to go home alone and let Lizzie stay and enjoy herself with Lance for the next three days.
I’m still not sure whether I expected her to do it or not. Some part of me had actually hoped she’d refuse and come home with me, the loyal wife. But there was another part that got a secret little thrill when, after thinking about it for a whole 30 seconds, she decided to stay on and continue riding her new lover’s enormous cock without me. There was something distinctly exciting about the fact that my wife was now allowing her lust for Lance to influence her decisions.
And so, I spent three days jerking off each night to the sound of Lance and my wife fucking like minks. It had been a shattering, overwhelming experience that left me deeply conflicted. In all my life, I had never been so damned jealous. I hated it, and yet each night found me looking at the clock every 30 seconds, scarcely able to wait for 9:00 o’clock. Rapidly becoming an erotic obsession, the thought of them together filled my head all day long and made sleeping practically impossible at night. I found myself masturbating several times a day, sneaking off to the bathroom like a 16-year-old kid to spank my monkey.
If I’d learned anything about myself during our recent escapades, it was that jealousy and arousal were somehow closely intertwined when it came to my feelings about Elizabeth. As much as it killed me to see her in Lance’s arms, to watch him penetrate her and give her those soul-shaking orgasms, never before had I been so completely infatuated with every aspect of my sensual, gorgeous young wife. Try as I might, I was unable to explain it, but seeing her fucked drove me crazy with lust. I simply couldn’t get enough of her when she was naughty.
I had been somewhat surprised by the ferocity of the emotions I had experienced over the past few days. I’d honestly thought that I could handle her playing without me for the weekend. After all, once you watch another man fuck your wife, what difference could it possibly make if it happened again without you there, right? Oh, but it did make a difference. It made one hell of a big difference.
This weekend had added a subtle twist to our kinky little game, one I had yet to fully wrap my head around. Leaving her alone with him had somehow changed the dynamics of our relationship, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that a bridge had been crossed. I had been cut out of the action, sidelined and forced to listen in, rather than participating. No longer was I the proud, open-minded husband, sharing my beautiful wife with another man. Any way I looked at it, it was hard to escape the conclusion that, for the past three days, I had been well and truly cuckolded.
Cuckold. The word itself was fraught with a thousand horrors. Was it not the ultimate disgrace a man could suffer? Wasn’t it something every man wanted to avoid at all costs? But for all my doubts and fears, when I really analyzed things, I had to admit that I was more turned on than ever.
The solitude of the weekend had given me a great deal of time to reflect on my situation, and I had realized that my cuckoldry wasn’t something that had suddenly been thrust upon me by Elizabeth spending the weekend with Lance. It had been like a seed, which once planted, continued to grow steadily and unobtrusively, only truly noticeable once it burst into full flower.
Technically, I guess I had been a cuckold since that first night in the trailer. And since that seminal event, there had been a series of subtle changes in my relationship with my wife. Changes that seemed to have little consequence at the time, but now appeared ominously significant in light of what had come to pass.
The only man other than me to ever fuck her, Lance had also been the first man to have her bareback. There had been something decadently sexy about that, not just for me, but for her as well. So, we had continued to use condoms, both of us reveling in the fact that she had given him something I wasn’t given. In fact, it had proven so exciting that she had upped the ante during our trip to Lance’s.
Only he had been allowed inside her for the past week, and for some crazy, fucked-up reason, it had turned me on. Something about her teasing me like that struck a chord, heightening the eroticism exponentially. And then, it had been my turn to up the ante, leaving her to fornicate with her well-hung lover while I went home. And it was at that point that I realized just how far down this road we had gone.
The past few days had revealed a willingness on both our parts to take things further than we had originally intended. In fact, I had begun to wonder just where our limits were… or if there were any limits at all.
For some time, a slight hum had intruded upon my reflections, and growing louder, it finally tore me back to the present. Blinking, I released my grip on the chain-link fence, surprised to find that, lost in thought, I had been gripping it tightly enough to leave painful, if temporary indentions in my fingers.
I cocked my head to look southward toward the new sound and immediately saw a small dot in the distant sky, like a gnat on a blank piece of paper, slowly crawling ever closer. A minute later, the dot had resolved itself into an airplane, its aluminum hide shimmering in the waxing light of the rising sun as the aircraft descended toward the airstrip, the quiet hum now transformed into the throaty roar of two powerful engines singing in harmony.
A series of turns brought the plane to a point a mile off the end of the runway. On she came, low and slow with full flaps, her main gear unfurled like great talons beneath the twin engines, her slender nose gear jutting defiantly down from her sleek, pointed nose. She was a beautiful sight, floating effortlessly down through the cold air to sweep onto the runway like an enormous bird with never a bounce nor a bobble. Whatever other skills he might have (and Lizzie could no doubt list several), Lance Corbin was one hell of a flyboy.
Turning off the runway, the Cessna taxied slowly to where I was parked. I waited behind the fence until Lance had killed both engines, before walking to the gate and making my way to the plane’s door behind the left wing.
Suddenly, I was nervous. In retrospect, perhaps I had been looking forward to seeing my wife again even more than I knew, but in that moment, as I stood there waiting for the door of the plane to open, I felt like a kid on his first date, mouth as dry as cotton and wondering what to do with my hands.
The click of the doorlatch seemed to break the spell, and I stepped forward confidently to greet them as the door opened. Lance was the first out, dressed in faded blue jeans as usual and shrugging on a stylish leather flying jacket as he descended the stairs. He saw me as he stepped down onto the tarmac and broke into a huge grin, extending his hand toward me.
“Hiya Bill! How the hell are you? Damn! It sure is a lot chillier here than where we just came from! Brrrrr!”
“Tell me about it! Seems like I’ve been breaking ice on every stock tank in the county for the last three days!” I chuckled as I shook his hand. “Where’s Li…”
I never finished my sentence. At that moment, my wife stepped through the hatch in a full-length fox fur coat, left enticingly open, and started down the stairs, her boot heels clicking assertively on the thin aluminum steps. I stared at her, speechless, instantly erect.
She’d purchased several outfits for our trip to Lance’s, mostly lingerie and swimwear, with a few slinky skirts and dresses thrown into the mix, but the outfit now peeking from the gap in the luxuriant fur coat eclipsed them all.
It was a black mini dress that stopped just below the crotch, sheer lace that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. A pornstar’s dress. The lapels of the coat covered her nipples, but I could clearly see her cute little belly button winking at me through the gauzy fabric, as well as the tiny pair of lace panties that spanned her curved hips, barely concealing her treasures.
A pair of long black stockings encased her perfect legs, ascending from the intricately stitched tops of her favorite cowboy boots to end in twin bands of intricate lace that stopped well below the hem of the dress, leaving a 4-inch expanse of pale, naked flesh that drew my eyes like a magnet to her slender, supple thighs.
<
br /> I’d never seen her dress like this in public. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed like this for me in private! Looking at her made me shiver. There was no denying how sexy she looked, but damn! What if someone saw her? How would I explain Lance returning my wife to me dressed like a high-priced call girl? Everyone in town would know my wife was fucking another guy!
I cast a nervous glance toward the terminal, but there was no one in sight. When I looked back at her, her eyes met mine and she smiled knowingly.
“What do you think of the old coat?” said a voice behind me. “I think it looks pretty good on her.”
“Wha..?” I slurred turning. For just an instant, I was surprised to see Lance there.
“The coat,” he explained, gesturing toward my wife. “It was my mother’s. Lizzie helped me go through some of her old things and we came across the fur coat my dad got her years ago. I honestly don’t think mom ever wore it more than a couple of times. Too damn hot for a coat like that down south. Anyway, Lizzie tried it on and it looked so good on her, I told her she should keep it.”
“It…It’s beautiful!” I stammered, turning back to look at her.
Lizzie beamed, turning left and right as she modeled the gorgeous fur for me. Soft and very feminine, the fur really did make her look exquisite, closely matching the color of her own hair, which was now piled in a deliberately casual bun atop her head, accentuating the length of her pale, slender neck. It wasn’t until that moment that I noticed the pearl choker she was wearing.
I immediately realized it was a gift from Lance. Obviously expensive, it consisted of four rows of identically sized pearls of the finest grade, artfully laced to form an even band that encircled Elizabeth’s throat like a gentle caress.
Broad and flawlessly white, it stood out starkly against the deep black lace of her dress, shimmering iridescently as the light caught it. She saw me staring and brought her hand up, her graceful fingers trailing slowly across the beads around her neck before reaching up to stroke a matching earring. With a wicked little grin, she looked straight into my eyes and breathed, “Lance has been so good to me, Sweetie! You really should thank him!”
