(Continued from Part II; please see my note at the beginning of Part I)
I thought about what it must feel like for him. I tried to remember the feeling of my wife’s pussy around me, but the feeling is elusive, driven away by the discomfort of sitting on a hard floor and the disorientation of hearing Ted grunting away behind the door. I really couldn’t remember what it felt like, but I knew Ted would be able to tell me later. After her came in her.
Maybe one day I will be prepared for the sound of his orgasm. Maybe, but I don’t think it will be anytime soon. I’ve tried to describe it dozens of times before, but words are always insufficient. Rather than getting easier as the years have passed, it has only grown more difficult, more gut-wrenching, to hear. Now, as I realized that I could not even remember what it felt like to fuck my wife, the sounds he made when he came made my head spin.
I sat on the floor of a hotel room and masturbated, while my wife’s lover came in her in the next room. He cried out in what some call “beautiful agony,” a series of groans and grunts as he orgasmed and ejaculated in her pussy. I knew I was hearing the product of a mutual effort: Ted fucking my wife, and my wife fucking Ted. I heard the surprised moans which a man makes when a pussy tightens around his cock, and the deep, guttural grunts of him squirting every drop of semen into his lover. Once again, I had forgotten how sexual, how obscene, how exciting it is to hear a man cum in a woman, but this time, as I looked at my hand stroking my own penis, I realized I had not only forgotten what it feels like to fuck my wife; I also could not remember at all what it feels like – what it felt like - to cum in her.
I did not cum through all of that. Years of experience have taught me that the only way to cope with being cuckolded is to stay horny enough to turn humiliation into sexual feelings, and once I have cum I am left with nothing but loneliness and shame. When Ted and Sally finished making love, I dragged my hand away from my penis, got up, and went to sit on the couch in the living room. I spent the next half-hour reviewing what had just happened, bringing myself to the edge of orgasm again and again. But there is only so long I can jerk off, and only so many times I can get excited thinking about recent events, before I must face reality: my wife and her lover are sleeping now, together, in each other’s arms, in that ultimate of clichés: “post-coital bliss.” And I am alone. A cuckold.
Being a cuckold is exciting, but it is also painful. In fact, it is painful much more often than it is exciting, as I live every day with the knowledge that my wife is unfaithful to me. I may hear her fucking Ted for a half an hour, but I sit – in the living room of the hotel, in the car on the way home, and all the rest of my life – knowing that she wants him in her, not me. Part of me wants to knock on the bedroom door, to tell them to fuck again so I have something to entertain me, but I know that is not a cuckold’s role, and it would not be well received at all. My job is to drive her to her dates, to keep them company in public, and then to wait quietly until they are done making love. A thought crosses my mind: there should be a Hallmark card for lovers to send to cuckolds, thanking us for our help.
An hour and a half after they went to bed, I hear the bedroom door open. Sally emerges, naked, and walks quietly to the bathroom. I resume masturbating furiously: I just saw my wife the way Ted saw her: skin, breasts, pussy, ass, legs… my own wife!
I hadn’t even begun to assimilate that image when she came out of the bathroom and walked over to me. I asked her to sit down, but she said no, she would rather stand. I could not even think of standing on ceremony; I masturbated like mad as she stood next to me, her pubic hair at my eye level, and said she was having a great time. I looked at her standing so proudly, both of us knowing what she had done and would do again, and I couldn’t breathe. I kept thinking it was so nice of her to say hello to me before returning to her lover, but only a cuckold could understand that thought. I shook and gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, and she laughed.
She turned to go back to him, and I asked her to wait.
“What was the best part?” I asked through my sexual delirium.
Sally – my wife, my partner, the mother of my children – thought for a moment, then said, “I was sopping wet when he came in me.” Then she walked away from me, closing the bedroom door behind her.
What part of that do I deal with first? Do I deal with my wife’s nudity, knowing she shared herself completely with that man in the other room? Do I try to accept that she was “sopping wet,” when we all know she never got wet at all when she and I made love? Or do I try to accept the fact that my wife just told me another man came in her – that she came to report to me that another man’s sperm was now swimming in her womb? It was all I could to do to keep from cumming, or crying, or both.
But it was so kind of her to take the time to visit with me before going back to him. I felt warm and loved, in a way that only a cuckold could possibly understand. Even sitting there all alone, I was reassured and revitalized. But the best was yet to come.
Just a few minutes later, Ted called to me. I answered, puzzled as to what he might want. I was certain he would not ask me to watch them fuck again; both of them had made it clear that the last time, when I did watch, was not something they wanted to repeat.
“Come here, Paul,” he said.
I went to the bedroom door, and again, I knocked. He told me to come in, and I tentatively opened the door. I was naked and hard, and I was both embarrassed and feeling like an intruder. But he asked…
(Continued in Part IV)
I thought about what it must feel like for him. I tried to remember the feeling of my wife’s pussy around me, but the feeling is elusive, driven away by the discomfort of sitting on a hard floor and the disorientation of hearing Ted grunting away behind the door. I really couldn’t remember what it felt like, but I knew Ted would be able to tell me later. After her came in her.
Maybe one day I will be prepared for the sound of his orgasm. Maybe, but I don’t think it will be anytime soon. I’ve tried to describe it dozens of times before, but words are always insufficient. Rather than getting easier as the years have passed, it has only grown more difficult, more gut-wrenching, to hear. Now, as I realized that I could not even remember what it felt like to fuck my wife, the sounds he made when he came made my head spin.
I sat on the floor of a hotel room and masturbated, while my wife’s lover came in her in the next room. He cried out in what some call “beautiful agony,” a series of groans and grunts as he orgasmed and ejaculated in her pussy. I knew I was hearing the product of a mutual effort: Ted fucking my wife, and my wife fucking Ted. I heard the surprised moans which a man makes when a pussy tightens around his cock, and the deep, guttural grunts of him squirting every drop of semen into his lover. Once again, I had forgotten how sexual, how obscene, how exciting it is to hear a man cum in a woman, but this time, as I looked at my hand stroking my own penis, I realized I had not only forgotten what it feels like to fuck my wife; I also could not remember at all what it feels like – what it felt like - to cum in her.
I did not cum through all of that. Years of experience have taught me that the only way to cope with being cuckolded is to stay horny enough to turn humiliation into sexual feelings, and once I have cum I am left with nothing but loneliness and shame. When Ted and Sally finished making love, I dragged my hand away from my penis, got up, and went to sit on the couch in the living room. I spent the next half-hour reviewing what had just happened, bringing myself to the edge of orgasm again and again. But there is only so long I can jerk off, and only so many times I can get excited thinking about recent events, before I must face reality: my wife and her lover are sleeping now, together, in each other’s arms, in that ultimate of clichés: “post-coital bliss.” And I am alone. A cuckold.
Being a cuckold is exciting, but it is also painful. In fact, it is painful much more often than it is exciting, as I live every day with the knowledge that my wife is unfaithful to me. I may hear her fucking Ted for a half an hour, but I sit – in the living room of the hotel, in the car on the way home, and all the rest of my life – knowing that she wants him in her, not me. Part of me wants to knock on the bedroom door, to tell them to fuck again so I have something to entertain me, but I know that is not a cuckold’s role, and it would not be well received at all. My job is to drive her to her dates, to keep them company in public, and then to wait quietly until they are done making love. A thought crosses my mind: there should be a Hallmark card for lovers to send to cuckolds, thanking us for our help.
An hour and a half after they went to bed, I hear the bedroom door open. Sally emerges, naked, and walks quietly to the bathroom. I resume masturbating furiously: I just saw my wife the way Ted saw her: skin, breasts, pussy, ass, legs… my own wife!
I hadn’t even begun to assimilate that image when she came out of the bathroom and walked over to me. I asked her to sit down, but she said no, she would rather stand. I could not even think of standing on ceremony; I masturbated like mad as she stood next to me, her pubic hair at my eye level, and said she was having a great time. I looked at her standing so proudly, both of us knowing what she had done and would do again, and I couldn’t breathe. I kept thinking it was so nice of her to say hello to me before returning to her lover, but only a cuckold could understand that thought. I shook and gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, and she laughed.
She turned to go back to him, and I asked her to wait.
“What was the best part?” I asked through my sexual delirium.
Sally – my wife, my partner, the mother of my children – thought for a moment, then said, “I was sopping wet when he came in me.” Then she walked away from me, closing the bedroom door behind her.
What part of that do I deal with first? Do I deal with my wife’s nudity, knowing she shared herself completely with that man in the other room? Do I try to accept that she was “sopping wet,” when we all know she never got wet at all when she and I made love? Or do I try to accept the fact that my wife just told me another man came in her – that she came to report to me that another man’s sperm was now swimming in her womb? It was all I could to do to keep from cumming, or crying, or both.
But it was so kind of her to take the time to visit with me before going back to him. I felt warm and loved, in a way that only a cuckold could possibly understand. Even sitting there all alone, I was reassured and revitalized. But the best was yet to come.
Just a few minutes later, Ted called to me. I answered, puzzled as to what he might want. I was certain he would not ask me to watch them fuck again; both of them had made it clear that the last time, when I did watch, was not something they wanted to repeat.
“Come here, Paul,” he said.
I went to the bedroom door, and again, I knocked. He told me to come in, and I tentatively opened the door. I was naked and hard, and I was both embarrassed and feeling like an intruder. But he asked…
(Continued in Part IV)
