The Cuckold`s Wife

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The Cuckolds Wife.

Written by P.T.Bridges.

For the first year or so of my marriage, I had no idea that my husband was a cuckold; that he loved to watch me being fucked by another man, I mean. Does that seem strange to you? Not the fact that my husband`s proclivities were a little odd; but that I had no idea. It came as something of a shock to me, as well, to discover that my husband`s thoughts, his fantasies, lay in that direction.
Not only does he like to watch, he also loves to have me make eye contact with him while it`s going on. I found it very odd, at first, meeting his gaze, while another man had his prick right up me, and was having his way, using me; fucking me. Another facet of his perverted desire is to see me make the sign of the cuckold for him, just as the other man reaches his climax inside me. (The sign of the cornuto, to give it the rightful name; the index finger and the little finger are held up, to signify the horns; the ring finger and the middle finger are folded down; )
Since I first found out, and came to realise that it isn`t so bad, my husband being a cuckold, I mean, the other things have just sort of come about. The eye contact, and the cornuto signal; if you really understand about this particular fetish, you realise that they are nothing but accoutrements; small things that make the practice more enjoyable, no more.
The cornuto sign, for instance, is simply an acknowledgement; it signifies the wife`s acceptance of her husband`s perversion, and of her own sluttish behaviour. Eye contact is self explanatory; it does no more than heighten the sexual experience, for the wife, as well as her husband.
It`s been like this for some time now; from about a year or so after we got married, up till the present time. I had no idea that this was what he really wanted; it wasn`t until we were away together, that realisation came. We`d gone on a two-week holiday, to a resort on the edge of the beautiful blue Caribbean sea; one of those that employs a lot of young black men; waiters, pool boys, gardeners; they all have one thing in common; all of them are very attractive to certain white women. I suppose that should have been my first clue, when you think about it. That is the unspoken attraction of these places; the husband`s who love to watch while another man fucks their wife, go there for that very reason; however, many of the wives are the impetus behind the holiday destination, for obvious reasons.
When we first arrived at the resort, I was a little surprised to find a perimeter surrounding the compound; apparently, it`s to keep the locals out. Otherwise, the local black studs are all over the beach area, hanging round the white women; the resort staff don`t like that at all.
After a day or two, the atmosphere of relaxed sexuality really begins to affect you. My husband and I were in a resort bar, on the second night; just having a drink. Earlier, we had planned to go into the town for a look round, and to find out what was on offer, but a notice warned guests about the locals.
What it actually said was that it was `unwise`, to go into the local township after dark; so we decided to postpone the trip until the following day. That was why we were in a resort bar; plus the cocktails were cheap and potent; two or three of them really got to you. We were seated in a booth which was a little cave-like, if you can imagine; it seemed to be designed so that it was difficult to see inside. The walls were a sort of matting made of leaves, and there was a roof of palm fronds; you actually had to peer through the doorway, to see if the booth was occupied.
When you understand the modus operandi which these resorts operate, it becomes a little clearer, why the booths are designed like that.
A small band played the local music; I found it very relaxing, just to allow the soft guitars and hand drums to wash over you. We sat in the booth, my husband and I, and were brought cocktails by a handsome young black man, who introduced himself as Benjamin. He was dressed in a pair of tight fitting shorts that reached down to his knees, worn with a grandfather top; the way that his toned, rippling body moved, allied to his smooth skin, inspired certain thoughts to form, I must admit.
John, my husband, noticed the effect created by our waiter; (it would have been hard not to) and smiled at me.
`Good-looking guy`, he said. I nodded, and took a sip of my drink. Many replies swirled about in my head, but I settled for a non-committal `mmm`; it was all I could trust myself to say, at that moment. Later, after a few more of the potent cocktails, John engaged Benjamin in conversation. I couldn`t hear what was said, but I noticed our waiter taking stock of me, and then nodding. When I asked John what they were talking about, he told me that he had asked Benjamin back to our cabin for a nightcap.
`You don`t mind, do you darling`? he asked, with a faint smile on his face…
`Of course not`, I replied. I think it was at that moment I finally had an inkling of what my husband`s plans for the remainder of the evening were. The way things had evolved should definitely have been my second clue, don`t you think?
It was a fair bit later, when Benjamin arrived in response to my husband`s invitation, gone twelve, in fact; but since we were on holiday, the normal rules didn`t apply, we told ourselves.
`Can I get you a drink, Benjamin`? John asked him.
`Just call me Ben` he smiled; `I`d love a whisky sour`.
While John busied himself fixing his drink, Ben smiled at me; white, even teeth contrasted beautifully against his smooth, dark skin.
`And a dance with you`, he murmured.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, because I just know that I would have croaked in reply, since my throat felt dry at the prospect of holding his beautiful, dark-skinned body close.
Instead, I smiled back and stood up; Ben`s arm went around my waist, pulling me closer than he should have done, but I didn`t care. We slipped into a Caribbean style dance, our bodies pressed closely together, as we moved in graceful, offset rhythm. When John turned round with Ben`s drink, he was confronted with the sight of his wife and a black man dancing together, closely; he just smiled, and sat down to watch, until the music ceased. When it did, he handed the whisky sour to Ben, remarking that we looked very well together. Ben took the drink, and raised it to me, as if in a toast;
`She dances very well, your wife`, he smiled.
`So do you` said John, and looked at me. It was as if he knew what I was thinking.
`She loves to dance`, my husband said; `trouble is, I`m not the greatest dancer in the world, so she doesn`t get to do it as often as she`d like. Why don`t you dance again? Really, it was a pleasure to watch`.
This time, it was harder to stop Ben from pulling me close, until our cheeks touched; he held me tightly, and I realised with a faint shock that he had an erection. The dance meant that our bodies pressed closely together, and he ground himself against me, in that offset, rhythmic way. I could feel his cock pressing hard against me, and to my shame, I pressed back. I realised with a faint shock that we were practically dry fucking, right in front of my husband.
John mumbled something crude about nature`s call, and left the room, to relieve himself. As soon as he had left the room, Ben pulled me into him, gazing down into my eyes, and kissed me. To my shame, I allowed it to happen, murmuring softly against his lips;
`Lipstick, darling; my husband; he`ll be back soon; oh, you mustn`t; ohh`…
He kissed me again, full on the lips; I don`t know how long we stood like that, but I realised that this had to stop; John would be back soon; how would he react, if he saw his wife being kissed like this? I tried to push Ben away, but he just smiled, and pulled me close against him; then, in the wall mirror, over his shoulder, I saw my husband; I realised, with a faint shock, that he was watching us. My husband was standing in the other room, in shadow, watching; he was virtually hiding, in order to watch his wife kissed. It dawned on me then; you may think that it was about time, but honestly, I had just sort of gone with the flow. It hadn`t been anything other than a mild flirtation, on my part; not until Ben kissed me, had I really felt something stir.
John hadn`t realised that I`d seen him; I was looking over Ben`s shoulder, so my back was to him. He stood in the semi-darkness, watching a black guy and his wife in a close embrace; I wondered how long he`d been there; if he`d seen me being kissed, and had seen my reaction; not really protesting.
I pushed Ben away, and spun round; my husband realised that I`d seen him, and he came fully into the room. I knew then that he had connived at this, and I was angry; not only with him, either;
`You dirty bastard`; I said, `you wanted this; you wanted to see me being kissed like that, didn`t you`?
He nodded sheepishly, and looked down. He looked so beaten, that I relented, almost at once.
`Why didn`t you say something to me`? I asked him, the edge gone from my voice; `I didn`t know; I had no idea that was what you liked to see; you should have told me`…
My voice tailed off, thinking about what I had just said; it amounted to an invitation, almost.
`And if I had`? John replied, his voice soft.
`Then I would have known` I replied, `what to expect, wouldn`t I`?

He nodded, sheepishly. Ben stood alongside me, and dabbed at his lips with a snowy white hanky, before glancing at it; checking, to see if my lipstick had left traces on his lips. His nonchalant manner stunned me for a moment, until I realised that it wasn`t such a big deal for him; he had merely been involved in kissing someone else`s wife. Probably wasn`t the first time, either.
I sat down on the couch, my mind in a whirl, and tried to make sense of what had happened; not that much, when you thought about it, I realised. I had arrived at the revelation that my husband wanted me to cuckold him; was that so bad? Up till now, I`d had no complaints about our sex-life; it was a natural progression, for things to settle down, wasn`t it?
Very few couples manage to sustain their sex-lives at a red-hot level; I knew that much. Just lately, John and I had begun to settle into a Saturday night expectation; we both knew that we would, if you know what I mean.
`Can I get you another drink, darling`? John asked. I looked at him, and nodded, a faint smile on my face. I didn`t want this thing to ruin our holiday, that was for sure; and now that I had thought about it for a while; what had he done, that was so wrong? He didn`t want to sleep with another woman, did he? He wanted to watch me with another man, while we were on holiday, in a place like this, and his fantasy had surprised me a little. So what? Wasn`t it a storm in a teacup? Would it hurt, to allow a little excitement into our marriage? If that was what he wanted; to watch as this young black made love to his wife, then why not? Ben sat down next to me, and smiled; I smiled back at him; where was the harm? Just then, John returned with my drink. I took it, and then caught his arm, indicating, while I took a sip, that he should join us on the couch. Then, I excused myself, and went off to the bathroom; when I closed the door, I took a deep breath, and looked at myself in the mirror. Gazing back at me was a very presentable blonde, a year or two away from thirty, with a good figure, dark eyes, and a sensuous, kissable mouth. I made sure of that last; I understood very well the power of lipstick, and the effect that it had on men.
With that in mind, I took the cap from a tarty-looking tube of bright red lipstick: not the shade that I habitually used, for everyday wear. I usually selected something a little more subdued, for normal use; at this moment however, I blessed the foresight that had made me bring that particular shade on holiday. I applied the lipstick generously, even taking the vivid colour slightly over the natural lip line, in order to achieve a fuller, more luscious effect, before dramatising my eyes a little. I took a good look when I had finished my ministrations, and nodded in satisfaction. I looked like a sexy, desirable little tart; which was exactly the way that I wanted to look, at that moment.
When I rejoined them, I could feel that they were drinking me in; I stood in front of the music player, smoothing my hands down over my hips, glad that I had selected a soft, cashmere dress for this evening; I liked the way it clung so closely to my body; teamed with the high heeled, backless, peep-toe shoes, I knew I looked like a glamorous, sexy slut. I gazed in the mirror above the music player, at the reflection of those two sitting on the couch, watching me; I leaned towards the glass, and checked my lipstick, before crossing the room. I wiggled a little on the way, then I reached down and took Ben`s hand, with the unspoken request that we should dance. He came to his feet, and I slipped into his arms, as we began that sexy, Caribbean dance; soft music filled the room as he pulled me close, holding me to him as he ground himself against me. I could feel his erection pressing against me, and this time I pressed back shamelessly. My husband wanted to watch, did he?
As Ben and I continued to dance in that slow, sexy way, I looked at John, sitting there, holding my drink. I gazed at him, pointedly, making him think that I was going to speak, but I just wanted to make sure that I had his full attention. Satisfied that I did, I turned back to Ben; so near, so inviting, so close, and kissed him softly, my parted lips against his in a slow, sensual kiss, my lipstick holding gently. We remained like that for a full thirty seconds or so; time stood still, it seemed; although I knew just what John had for a view. A tableau of his sexy, blonde wife, kissing a handsome young black man, their hips moving against each other slowly; it wouldn`t be difficult to imagine them in a much closer, intimate embrace. He watched noiselessly, as his wife pulled the man`s face down, her arms round his neck, her lips against his, kissing him without shame, or self consciousness;
I broke the kiss, and turned to look at my husband; still sitting there holding my drink. Ben`s lips bore traces of my lipstick, evidence of what had just taken place; a red-hot, sexy kiss, right in front of hubby`s eyes. I led Ben back to the sofa, and sat between him and John. Then, I took a small compact from my bag, and examined myself in the mirror, studiously ignoring the man on either side if me; with deliberate, sexy intent, I re-applied my lipstick, as they watched. I took my time, because I knew just how exciting it was for my husband. The simple act of a woman applying her lipstick was an immense turn-on for him, I knew that much. Many men are the same; I think it`s the sheer femininity of a woman making her lips luscious, kissable, soft with vibrant colour, carefully applied, that does it; they can imagine those lips kissing and sucking their stiff cock, leaving lipstick traces on it…
`Your turn, honey`, I murmured softly, pulling his face down to mine, and kissing him full on the lips, in a long, sexy kiss, moving my lips against his, feeling the lipstick holding; I looked at John`s mouth; the evidence of my kiss plain to see. I touched his lips with a small lace hanky, removing the bright red smear; from the evidence of the bulge in his slacks, my husband was enjoying himself.
Ben sat on the other side of me, traces of my lipstick in contrast to his dark skin. The knowledge that John was watching me turned me on more than I can say. I wanted to shock him and to excite him, all at once. Slowly, deliberately, provocatively, I kissed Ben again, full on the lips, my arms around his neck, pulling him to me. I turned my head, and looked at my husband; deliberately allowing an expression of contempt to spread across my face. Wanted to watch, did he, my cuckold husband?
His expression of faint shock, coupled with arousal, was exactly what I wanted to see. Again, I kissed Ben, as sexily as I knew how; knowing that hubby watched every move I made was exciting me; it seemed kinky, almost obscene, in some way. I moaned softly, as Ben`s tongue probed my parted lips. I didn`t care that my husband was sitting on the other side of me; a witness to every gasp of pleasure, every soft moan that came from his wife, as she was kissed passionately right in front of him, by a handsome young black man.
I felt Ben`s hand underneath my dress, moving softly, his fingers slipping beneath the loose-fitting French knickers that I wore, finding the soft, warm wetness that he wanted. I murmured against his lips, past caring that my husband was present, watching every move, as I moaned softly from pleasure, mixed with guilt; I knew that this was wrong, but I couldn`t stop. I was helpless with lust; Ben kissed me even harder, and began to move his hand in and out of me; three fingers going deep inside, as I moaned in faint protest. I could hear the faint sounds that betrayed my readiness, my anticipation; I was extremely wet, the sound betraying my intense arousal. Never before had I wanted to feel a stiff prick deep inside me as much as I did then; all that had happened, from being `caught` by my husband, kissing a handsome young black guy, until now, had taken its toll: I wanted to be fucked, more than I had ever done in my entire life.
I knew that something was going to happen; all decorum, all modesty, were gone; I felt no shame whatsoever at my sluttish behaviour. This had all been connived at, by my husband; it was why he`d brought me on this Caribbean holiday in the first place, to this cuckold resort; whatever happened next was his fault.
That was my reasoning at that moment in time; that and the fact that I wanted to be fucked by Ben; this handsome young black stud, kissing me like this, as my husband, the cuckold, sat passively next to me, watching his wife being kissed. I couldn`t go on any longer, being kissed like this, while Ben`s fingers moved in and out of me, tantalising, as his lips held mine; my hand had already slipped inside the knee-length shorts that he wore, and found his stiff cock; I moved my hand up and down it, slowly, as he kissed me.
For some time longer, this mutual masturbation continued; the kiss unbroken; then, he moved to the floor, between my legs, pushing the dress above the lacy stocking tops, and pulling the loose-fitting French knickers aside. I lay there, everything open to him, and he moved his head down, kissing the white flesh above the stockings, his tongue sliding obscenely towards my naked slit. I moaned softly, in pleasure, unable to believe what was happening to me; my husband watching as it took place, his face a picture.
Now my legs were over Ben`s shoulders, his arms encircling me, his fingers holding me open as he buried his face in my wet cunt, licking all the way up, until he reached the clitoris. Then he began to circle it with his tongue, softly, but insistently; I moaned out loud at the pleasure he was inflicting on me, trembling with desire; he just carried on, the rhythmic insistence of his tongue moving against my clitoris soon became too much to bear, and I found myself forced to come, waves of pleasure rippling through me as I shuddered helplessly in climax.
I lay still, my mind in a whirl; Ben just carried on kissing me softly, down there, ignoring my husband completely. He sat silently, but I was past caring now; I wanted a stiff black cock to enter me; to fuck me. Ben knelt between my parted thighs, playing with me, teasing, rubbing the tip of the thick, black prick against my labia, moving up to rub my clitoris; he knew exactly what he was doing; he had me writhing beneath him in lust, pulling him into me. I could take no more; the dam broke, and I pulled him towards me, making sure that his stiff black prick entered me; I writhed in complete abandon, kissing him, pulling him into me.
`Oooh, fuck me, go on; fuck me, ooh, you bastard; doing this to me, right in front of my husband`; I could hear my voice, as though it belonged to some other wanton slut who was being used right under her husband`s nose, all restraint gone; kissing her lover passionately, moaning…
His hot, stiff cock, right up inside me, beginning to move in and out; he was fucking me, right in front of my husband; fucking me with his big, black prick.
Somewhere, I could hear a woman`s voice; she was obviously being fucked as she had never been; her husband watching; with a shock, I realised that it was me;
`Oooh, oh, uhh`; I could hear her grunting in lust, as she was being fucked; he must have had his cock deep inside her, impaling her, to make her moan and grunt like that; except that it was me that I could hear; me, being fucked like a dirty little tart; fucked senseless; legs up, high heels waving obscenely in the air. What a dirty little slut I was, to allow this to go on, as my husband sat next to me; I reached out, and pulled him towards me, making him kiss me, kissing him back, even as the black man continued to fuck me; I spoke between gasps;
`Is this what you wanted, darling`? I heard my voice ask; `Is this dirty enough for you? Kissing me while he`s fucking me? Your wife, being fucked by a black man, right in front of you? Mmm? Is this what you wanted, darling, kissing me, while he`s fucking me? Oooh, darling; oh, oh, he`s got it all up me…fucking me… making me come; oh, oh, oh, darling; aaah, I`m coming, oh, oh, ooohhh`…
I can still remember that moment; I came all over the black man`s thick cock, for what seemed like a long, long time; it took a while, to return to normality. I knew that I would never forget the circumstances that had induced such a mind-blowing climax; I had never experienced an orgasm like that before.
That moment will stay with me forever; I realise that it was a combination of many things; many factors that all came together at the right time, making me lose control.
Having my husband kiss me, while Ben was fucking me; his thick, black cock deep inside me; being taken and used by two men at once; all these things had contributed towards my receptiveness, if that`s the word I`m looking for; whatever the cause, I knew that I would want to repeat the experience, again and again…

The Cuckolds Wife.

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