Trisha’s Treasure Box - Part 1: The Hunt Begins: A Cuckold Hotwife Novel (Cuckold, Hotwife, Cockold Erotica, Cuckold Stories)

by Sally J.

  By

  Sally J.

  Introduction

  Married couple Trisha and Thomas Spencer lead a seemingly normal life. Both are professors of History and are well renowned for their research into the field of ancient arts. Behind the façade of normalcy however, they lead a life of wanton open sexuality, giving into their deepest urges of lewd and twisted adultery. Also, influenced by their close friend Mark, a maverick of sorts, they have been sucked into the shady and murky world of underground black-market art collecting. One day when he brings them exciting new information about the possibility of laying their hands on an ancient and lost treasure, they are led on an adventure of epic proportions. An adventure with loads of hot and taboo sex!

  © Copyright 2015 by Sally J. - All rights reserved.

  This book is work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or person, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including, information storage or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems 0 except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews- without permission in writing from the author.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 1

  Trisha turned the keys to the front door and hurried inside. Shutting the door behind her, she hung up her coat and gave her half-wet hair a shake. She had barely been able to avoid the rain which was now pouring down outside. She walked along the corridor which opened to a vast space inside the house, with the living room and an open kitchen fused together. Putting her bag down on the kitchen counter, she let out a deep breath. It had been a tiring day at the University; a long seminar she had to sit through and a series of lectures she had to give, had kept her very busy. Massaging the back of her neck, she walked over to the living room space and turned on the lights. As she stepped over to the huge glass windows she looked ahead at the rainy haze. Drops of rain water clung on to the outside of the glass; she followed them, with her fingers, childishly, as they rolled down to the bottom. The watery haze outside held her in a trance. Thomas would be back home any moment now. He had called and told her that Mark had rung up; he would be coming over. She knew. Mark had called her too. Good. She hadn’t had good company in quite a while.

  Breaking away from her reverie, she walked back towards the kitchen. As she did she caught her reflection in one of the glass cases on the side wall. She studied the faint image staring back at her. Putting her hand on her hips, and standing on her toes, she did a girlish twirl, her long skirt whirling about her long legs. Satisfied with the result she smiled at herself. Not bad for thirty six. Not bad at all. She had always liked her own figure, but looking at herself now she felt confident. Much more so than what she was in her twenties. ‘Slim’ had given way to ‘curvy’ and ‘lithe had made way for ‘full’. She stared at the view for a few moments before the doorbell rang. She walked away, happy with what she saw, catching a glimpse of her ample derriere as she left.

  As she opened the door, Thomas stepped in, visibly soaked. Trisha kissed him on the cheek and took his dripping coat from him. As they walked into the house together, Thomas asked,

  “Mark not here yet?”

  “No, I thought he would be coming along with you.”

  “No, he didn’t say anything like that.” Thomas shrugged his shoulders. “Considering the excitement in his voice when I got his call in the afternoon, I thought he’d already be here.”

  “Yes he called me, too,” quipped Trisha, “Seemed very worked up. Wouldn’t say anything over the phone.”

  As they both settled in to the kitchen, Trisha pulled out a bottle of wine.

  “Want a glass? I’m going to have a few. Was a hard day at work?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “No, you go ahead. I’ll skip.”

  While Trisha poured herself a glass of Cabernet, she looked at her husband, who had seated himself on one of the kitchen’s high counter stool and was rummaging through some papers in his bag. He was one of the nicest men she knew. They had met while studying, both History majors, he a couple of years senior to her. Their deep love for the subject and specifically their obsession with ancient and lost works of object d’arts, had brought them very close. The proximity and the lengthy amounts of time spent together had led to dating and finally marriage. After that they had continued with their passions, and both now held respectable posts as part of the University faculty; him a Professor of Archeology and her an Associate Professor of Ancient History. But they also had a parallel passion, which was where their good friend Mark came in. It was coincidentally at this, very moment that Trisha’s train of thought was interrupted by the doorbell, again.

  Mark stepped in, shaking off the rain. He was a handsome, smart man - tall and athletically built. He had a square jaw and a head full of thick hair. A few truant grays were visible on the sidelines. His physique looked powerful and it was evident he kept himself in great shape. He wore a smart plain white shirt with grey trousers. Striding into the living room, he put his hand on his hips and loudly announced,

  “Horrible weather!”

  Thomas looked up at his best friend’s antics and smiled.

  “Got wet, did you?”

  Mark waved away the sarcasm. Instead he strode over to a wall which stood next to the kitchen. On it hung a painting. He looked at it intently, as if for the first time. Trisha knew that painting was not new to Mark. In fact it had Mark written all over it. He was the one who had given it to them.

  Trisha found it odd that Mark and Thomas could be friends, her husband the decent nice guy and Mark, the charmer, the smooth talker. Thomas had met Mark, also in college, before he was acquainted with Trisha. He was not of the academic bent of mind and soon had dropped out, but his friendship with Thomas had introduced him to the world of antique art. He wasn’t interested in it from a historical standpoint like Thomas or Trisha was; he was fascinated by the monetary value that these objects of art represented. Soon he was a regular in the underground black markets where shady art transactions took place. He learnt the ropes, the tricks of the trade and made numerous contacts. ‘Stolen’ and ‘smuggled’ were words he heard everyday.

  Though Thomas and Trisha didn’t want anything to do with this dark world of his, his ability to turn up with unbelievable and extremely rare works of art fascinated them, making time spent with him immensely more exciting than the theoretical bookish world they were confined to. Soon they were drawn in to his murky arena of work, and they found themselves slowly partaking in small quests to track down valuable and very hard-to-get works of art. Mark would be their network man and general information gatherer, while she and Thomas would do the research and evaluate the true worth of the objects in question. The value of the objects they sought out grew with every venture they undertook and so did the risks that came with undertakings of these kinds. Soon, the adrenaline became a drug and they were addicted. The result however, was an incredible collection of valuable and antique art that they kept well guarded in their house. And amongst their most prized possessions was the painting that Mark now stood in front of. It was a Jacque Pierre Durrant. 18th century. The one th
at hung in the Museum in New York was a forgery; the one that hung on their wall, the original. Courtesy, Mark Doyle.

  “Did you come all this way to look at the painting?” Thomas asked smiling. He was the kind of person who always stayed cool. Never angry. Never impatient

  Without taking his eyes off the painting, Mark said,

  “What do you know about the Tithean Monks?”

  Trisha now walked over to the centre of the living room with the glass of wine she had poured herself and sat down on the three-seater couch that faced the kitchen. Taking a sip, she answered,

  “Tithean? Well, as far as I remember, they were a small sect of monks who lived somewhere in central Europe.”

  “Close,” said Mark turning around to smile at Trisha and then turning back to look at the painting again.

  Thomas strode across to the bookshelf on the far right corner of the living room. Then looking up and down its length for a few moments, he picked out a book, and returned back to the kitchen counter. He placed the thick blue leather bound book on the counter under the light. The cover read, ‘A History of the Caucasus’. Flipping through some of the pages and stopping at a particular one, his eyebrows went up.

  “Aah, here it is” he said in his calm voice, “The Tithean Sect.”

  He looked up, with a smile, as if somewhat satisfied, and then dove back in. “A very small group of highly reclusive monks belonging to a small monastery, located in the foothills of Mt. Elbrus in the Caucasus Mountains. The sect is known to have become extinct by the late eleventh century A.D.”

  Mark walked over to where Thomas was sitting at the kitchen counter.

  “I’ll save you the trouble,” he said, slamming the book cover shut.

  He walked over to the far end of the living room, near the big glass windows. Then pacing coolly, up and down the breadth of the room, just behind the sofa where Trisha sat he spoke:

  “Yes, the Tithean Monks were to be found in the Caucuses, as that, so-bland-of-a book, rightly claims. But that is not what is so special about them. In fact there were many sects of monks in the Caucuses in those times. What made the Titheans special was the inconspicuous location of their monastery. Without specific directions, and if their intent was not to that inclination, there was no way anyone could find this small little stone monastery. This made it an ideal place for a person, who for example, would wish to hide any object of great importance. A perfect hideaway for let’s say secret documents and artifacts.”

  Mark stopped to look at Thomas and Trisha, smirked and said. “Think of it like an ancient Swiss bank account!”

  He continued his pacing and his rant.

  “So you see the monastery slowly became a treasure trove of valuable information. It never contained any actual thing of tangible value. It was more of things like, letters which if fell into the wrong hands could make empires fall and documents if accessed, would turn a beggar into a king – so powerful was the information stored inside its cold stone walls. The monastery was always shrouded in such mystery and because very few had laid their eyes on it, many considered it a myth. The monastery is said to have mysteriously disappeared by the late eleventh century, and the few people who did know of its whereabouts swore they could find it no more. Some say the monks themselves destroyed the monastery and its contents, as they feared the immensely powerful information stored there - if it were to fall into the wrong hands - could have disastrous results. But till date nobody has heard since about the Tithean Monks.”

  With that Mark looked straight at both Trisha and Thomas. He said nothing more. Trisha took another sip of wine and rubbed the nape of her neck. She cocked her head from side trying to relax her muscles after her hard day. The wine had helped a little.

  “I hope you haven’t come all this way to give us this damn history lesson, Mark,” she said.

  Mark moved in towards the sofa, standing just behind where Trisha sat. He bent over and took the wine glass from her. Putting it to his mouth he downed the whole thing and then set it on the floor beside him. He then put his hands on Trisha’s shoulders, allowing his long fingers to rest lightly on her skin.

  “You seem tired; let me give you a massage, Trish.”

  Trisha didn’t say anything. She knew Mark had come here for a purpose and he hadn’t revealed it yet. She knew it was something which had excited him.Something he wanted to share with them – his closest friends - and the long sermon about the Tithean Monks was just a preface. But she also knew he wouldn’t give it to them so easily. He would juice out all the satisfaction in watching them guess and anticipate as to what it was all about – that’s they way he always had been – playful. Trisha let herself relax as she felt Mark’s hands start to move on her shoulders. His fingers were strong, but they glided gently along her bare skin, coaxing all her muscles to relax.

  Thomas, who by now was absorbed in the book that he had pulled out, looked up. He saw the duo in front of him; Trisha seated on the sofa facing him, her legs crossed, her arms by her side limp on the sofa, her eyes closed, enjoying the massage, and Mark, standing behind her intently and keenly working his hands on his wife’s shoulders. He shook is head and delved back into the book. He knew what was coming; he had become used to it. Since that night a few years back everything had changed between them. It had come on without warning during an evening of drunken mirth. Since then they had each discovered themselves, specially Trisha and himself. Mark, his best friend had always been a player. He tried concentrating on the words in front of him. Tithean Monks. He read a few paragraphs but his eyes and his mind wanted to be elsewhere. He looked up again.

  Mark’s strong masculine hands worked carefully along the contours of Trisha’s shoulder, caressing her neck all the way down to the top of her arms. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and revealed his big strong powerful arms. She was clearly enjoying the massage and had let her body go completely. She tilted and cocked her head in small soft motions indicating where she sought the most attention; Mark readily obliged. Trisha let out small little ‘hmm’s of satisfaction and said,

  “Yeah, right over there. That feels so good.”

  As Mark massaged in his measured slow tempo, he slowly expanded his field of action with every rub of the rhythm. He used his thumb in a circular motion, working his fingers gently, his hands now traveling all the way from the back of her neck to her arms on the side. He rubbed her in this manner for a couple of minutes and then using the same slow rhythmic motion he reached down into Trisha’s chest area. By the next downward journey his hands were inside Trisha’s blouse.

  Thomas looked silently at the sight in front of him. Mark’s hands were now underneath Trisha’s maroon blouse, clearly caressing and fondling her breasts. Though he couldn’t see, he could make out from the movement that his friend’s hands were playing around with his wife’s nipples. He could see Mark giving her tits a tight squeeze.

  Trisha bit her lip. She could feel Marks thumbs rubbing her nipples, and she could feel them grow hard for him. She had felt his big powerful hands on her tits so many times before, but it felt great each time. He always had a way of making her feel so aroused as if it was the first time. The blouse was tight and Trisha was a very well endowed lady. Things were getting tight. Trisha unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse.

  As his wife undid her blouse down to the middle, Thomas could see her fleshy ample tits reveal themselves. They did not completely free themselves from the constraints of the clothing, but now he could see a glimpse of her big pink areolas, her erect nipples as Mark’s thumbs rubbed on them, hard. He could see his wife breathing faster and harder now as his best friend toyed with her tits. As he did so Trisha reached backwards circling Mark’s waist with her arms, pulling him closer. He bent down and kissed her as she threw her head back to meet his lips. Thomas could see her sucking on Mark’s tongue as his hands now squeezed and caressed her heaving breasts.

  After being satisfied with tasting each other so salaciously,
Mark circled round to the front. He sat on the sofa, right next to Trisha and gestured to her with a quick nod of his head. Trisha got up from her seat, and sat back down again, but this time squarely on Mark’s lap. She rested back, putting the weight of her body on his chest. Mark was tall and heavily built and Trisha’s legs, hung on either side of Mark, not reaching the ground. Her long skirt fell around her ankles, draping he legs. They were both facing Thomas now, who was looking straight at them from the open kitchen counter. Trisha looked straight into Thomas’s eyes, making direct eye contact with him. She could at the same time feel Mark’s huge erect shaft rubbing against the flesh of her butt, through the light fabric of his trousers. She squirmed purposely on his lap, mashing his rod under the weight of her meaty ass, arousing him more. As she did so, Mark reached around and pulled Trisha’s skirt up, lifting it up above her waist. Trisha sat there on Mark’s lap, now open; the naked flesh of her creamy white thighs resting on his strong broad legs as she straddled him. She wore dark purple panties which covered what little womanhood she had left to hide. Her blouse, in a state of disarray, half open, revealed everything that it was supposed to hide, making it look kinkier than if it would have been full opened. She loved sitting there on another man’s lap, displayed and bare in that way. And it was not just any man. It was her husband’s best friend. As she tilted her head to the side, still looking at Thomas, Mark’s hand circled round to the front and slid between her crotch. He felt around and cupped her mound over the thin material of her panties. She was sure he could feel her moistness already as she enjoyed the warmth of his palms pressed between her legs. With his two fingers, he pulled her panties aside and revealed her furry patch. It was neatly trimmed and partially hid the sizeable slit of her cunt underneath. Trisha could see Thomas’ gaze travel slowly to between her legs - exactly what she wanted. Exactly what made all this feel so good in the first place. She loved the feeling of being enjoyed by other men, ravaged by them, while her husband watched. It had started off almost by accident a few years back and had evolved into an unsaid understanding between them both. Mark had been their first. Then it had been other men. Thomas always watched. She could see him now, his eyes glistening as Mark opened up her up to his sight. Mark’s used his two fingers and rubbed them along the length of her hairy gash. Soon he found her little button joy. He pressed it between his two fingers and Trisha was forced to let out a low moan. He now rubbed on her clit in a circular motion with one hand and with the other he reached up and slid his hand inside her blouse and caressed her tits. In sheer ecstasy, Trisha felt her legs spread out instinctively, as she opened herself up wider. The folds of her pussy quivered as Mark rubbed hard on her nub. A charge, almost electric ran up her spine, as she sat their, naked with her husband’s best friend, rubbing her cunt to an orgasm; her perverse womanhood on display in front of her ogling husband as she writhed in filthy joy. She could feel a deluge coming on inside - her head reeled and she let out a cry of delight as she felt Mark lightly pinch her clit just before the climax. She responded by moistening his hand with her womanly juices as she came hard; in waves.