A Cuckold's Tale Ch. 01

Prologue

Tom looked down at his wife's nude body, stretched out across the bed. At some point she'd turned on all the lights in the hotel room, and now her body was contoured with a wealth of shadows, cast by a multitude of peaks and valleys. There was one valley, though, that attracted all his attention. It was so mesmerizing, in fact, that his gaze returned to it again and again, even though he knew that Susan expected him to be watching her face at this moment.

He could tell by the way she pursed her lips that she wasn't happy with him. Her dark blue eyes peered out of her thin face, ice cold and disapproving. Even the way she held her body, her large breasts thrust out like a shield, her small hips tense as if poised to strike, her shapely legs quivering as if ready to snap shut like a trap. He didn't know what he'd done or not done to draw such a reaction. Maybe nothing at all. Her moods at such moments were slippery and dangerous, black ice on a mountain road. The thought of something slippery drew his gaze back down to the crevice between her legs. That would certainly describe her pussy right now.

Especially with the gobs of another man's sperm covering the well-fucked lips. It glimmered in all the light, nearly clear in some places and a milky pearlescent in others. The man had pulled out and left his entire load of jizz along the length of her slit, marking Susan as his fuck toy, at least for the night. His steaming cum had pooled up just above the hood of her clit, and run down along the cleft of her ass. And now Tom crouched over that other man's leavings and waited for his wife to give permission for him to slurp it up, pleasuring her pussy in a way few women ever get to enjoy.

If you had asked Tom a year ago if he ever thought he'd be in this position... Well, no, you would never have asked him that. Who asks such questions? Only people in poorly written porn stories. And even if you had, he'd have looked at you in shock. Sneered in disgust. And turned on his heel.

Because, on this very night, one year ago, he and Susan had been celebrating their one-year anniversary. The official end of the honeymoon, though it hadn't felt like it on that night. Though it did turn out to be the end of one thing and the beginning of something else. But he wouldn't realize that until afterwards.

Chapter 1

Tom remembered the night with a clarity that was almost transcendental. It was as if he could replay a film of it in his mind, from every angle and with full surround sound. It had started out memorable, but no more so than a few dozen special days in their life as a couple. Not so memorable that he would consciously try and remember the minutia of the evening. There was a reason, though, that the evening's events were indelibly inscribed on his memory.

They'd started out with a romantic, candlelit seafood dinner, then walked through the downtown area arm-in-arm, window-shopping and people-watching. The night had seemed magical, the conversation as sparkling as the lights. They'd stopped in at a wine-tasting inn along the main street and imbibed their way through much of the establishment's entire cellar, finding giddiness a quarter glass at a time.

On the drive home, Tom had taken residential streets the whole way, partly to avoid the roving eyes of the police patrols, and partly to tour their memorable stops from dating days. Here was the parking lot where they'd shared their first kiss. And over there, in the dark corner of that field, was the spot where he'd gotten his first blowjob from her. The memories came thick: the backseat copulations, the night she walked an entire block bare-breasted and giggling, the gropes and rubs and deep kisses in dark public corners that make up dating when neither person has their own place.

They were both hot and horny when they made it home and didn't even make it to the bedroom before their clothes were off and they were humping and bumping and rolling around on the living room floor. He took her passionately and she responded in kind, thrusting her body against his as she rode him, her big breasts bouncing freely in the twilight, her blond hair falling about his face like a curtain each time she bent down to kiss him. He came inside her, grunting mightily, and then held her close, tenderly, softly stroking the back of her neck and whispering his love to her as her body trembled and relaxed.

They'd headed to bed then, leaving their clothes strewn about the house, which would no doubt remind them the next morning of the passion they'd shared the previous night. Once in bed, Tom tried to concentrate on his book, but his eyes kept returning to Susan laying beside him. She was reading too, a book ludicrously titled "Be the Person You Already Are." His eyes, though, were drawn to the point where the top of the sheet met her breasts, a silken covering of a two silken hilltops. He was horny again, hot and hard, and ready for another round with his beautiful wife. Yet he held back. He would wait until the sheet revealed her nipples, dimpled nubs that needed a greedy mouth to stimulate them. That's when he would make his move.

He was still surreptitiously watching the sheet as it crept back to reveal the edge of her areola when she spoke from behind her book. "There's something we need to talk about."

He was so engaged in watching for the nipple to peek out that he completely missed the danger signals. "Hmmmm?" he answered, wondering how much he could subtly shift the covers in order to uncover both breasts. The waiting was getting annoying.

"It's kind of sensitive, but I thought you should know that I've made a decision."

Still half listening, and without the prescience that a long-married man would have, "Mmmm-hmmm?" was his only answer, encouraging her to continue.

"OK... well, see, it's the size of your cock. It's not big enough for me," she said plainly.

She set down her book, which pulled the sheets down off her breasts, which kept his attention there instead of on her face, which only quantified his confusion.

"Wh-wha-what?" he stammered, forcing himself to look away from her bare breasts, deliciously bare and topped with two hard nuggets, just begging to be swabbed with his wet tongue. He'd heard the word "cock," but it hadn't been followed by a plea to jam it inside her. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, it was followed by something completely different.

She stared at him, clearly dismayed by his reaction. "It's nothing personal, Tom. I love you more than you can guess. More and more every day. But this is something that's been bugging me. It has since we met." She sat up, letting the sheet fall all the way down. This time he didn't even notice her nakedness. Now, it was as if he couldn't stop watching the shapes that her lips were making. The world had slowed down. Her lips made macabre forms. Her tongue peeked out like a snake. The words, though, never stopped pouring out.

"You must've guessed, with all the big dildos and vibrators I've bought. The movies we watch, with the gigantic cocks. The times I've slipped up, and I'm sorry about those, and called for 'More, more, more!' You must've noticed that I was screaming it."

He found his tongue. "Everybody screams that. Even in the movies." In hindsight, he could see that he'd given her a lame reply. He should've ranted. Should've raved. Could've at least ripped the sheet off her nude body and proven to her with his hard manhood that there was more to fucking than having a big cock. At least throwing her down would've stopped her from voicing her next thought.

She laughed at his defense. Sniggered, actually. Then laughed. "That just proves my point. Every woman always wants more. But don't worry, honey," she said in a placating tone, tenderly touching his chest, "I have a plan that will make it all better. For both of us."

He should've left the bedroom right then. Stalked off in a huff. Or screamed at her about how she was going to destroy their marriage. Or had demanded to know the details of her so-called plan. Or reacted in any number of a dozen socially-acceptable ways when confronted with a situation like this one. Any of those would've been greatly preferable to the words that fell from his lips at that very moment.

"So, you still wanna fuck tonight?" he asked, looking pointedly at her silky breasts, exposed in relief under the bright lights.

In answer she threw the sheets off her body, revealing her full nakedness. Laying back against the pillow, she drew her knees up. "You can take me like this," she allowed, a self-satisfied smile on her face. He barely noticed it in his haste to crawl between her legs and position himself above her. It felt so good to enter her again, to press his hard cock into her waiting cunt, that the thought of a larger cock or a plan or any discord fled from his mind. His last thought on the matter was that she probably was trying to introduce some new excitement into their marriage. And then she drew him down to suck on her tits and closed her legs around his throbbing rod and all coherent thought was lost.

The next day, the clothes thrown about the house were indeed a reminder of their passion from the night before. Tom slept in, his body curled around Susan's, those disturbing thoughts of the previous night's conversation attributed to a bad dream. She hadn't said that. Couldn't have said it. Who would say such a thing on the evening of their first anniversary?

Susan didn't mention it that day. Nor for an entire week. In that time, the phantom conversation had gone from a bad dream to never having existed. On Friday, though, she met him at the door when he came home from work, a delighted smile on her face. Maybe she'd finally perfected that beef recipe she'd been trying and trying to get right, Tom thought. Or found a fun pair of shoes. Or was going to surprise him with a blowjob, though that guess was admittedly far down on the list of real possibilities.

"I did it," she announced, literally bouncing from foot to foot.

"That's wonderful, dear," he replied, trying to kiss her lips but only getting her jaw as she bounced. "What did you do?" he added, thinking that it was probably the shoe thing.

"It was so easy. I can't believe how many answers I got. I put my ad in on Monday, and my mailbox was almost full by Tuesday. Of course, I didn't answer them all. Just the ones that looked good. But I narrowed it down to ten and then five and then just one. Though I'll probably keep the other nine handy, because the first one might not work out."

"Whoa, there, cowboy. You're making sentences, but I'm not sure what they're all about. You said something about an ad?" Jeez, she was excited. Nearly wriggling with it.

"Yes, silly. You remember. On our anniversary. I said I had a plan. And you agreed to it? And then we had sex for the gazillionth time that night?"

His eyes narrowed. He remembered the sex. But... a plan? That had been a dream, hadn't it? A bad reaction to the dinner or the wine or the Viagra or something. Because if it hadn't been a dream, then she'd really said...

"You said my cock is too small for you," he said slowly, each word like a dagger in his heart.

She didn't seem to notice his distress. "Yes. But I said I had a plan, and you said uh-huh, and then I started the plan and tonight it's all paying off."

"You said my cock is too small for you," he repeated, this time with more emphasis.

She stopped and studied him for a moment, as if really noticing him for the first time. "Uh, yes, that's what I said. And it is what it is. I mean, if my tits were too big or too small for you, I could just go to a plastic surgeon and we'd make them the right size. But we can't do that with your dick. That's the size it's always going to be. But since I love you more than anything, it's not like I can just leave you and find someone just like you with a bigger dick, right? So I had to come up with another plan. And this is it."

I finally know what thunderstruck feels like, he thought. Yet, before he could censor his mouth, his curiosity got the better of him. "What's the plan?" he asked, wanting to know all of it before putting the kibosh on the whole deal.

"This. See, I put an ad on Craigslist asking for guys with big dicks to send me pictures of their erections. And they did! Hundreds of them. Then I narrowed it down to the ones who followed the instructions and showed a way to measure the size, like with a ruler or a pop can or a paper towel tube. And from those I found the ones that were longest and thickest. And from those I found the ones that I just liked the looks of. And the ones who could provide a clean bill of health. And so on until I just found the perfect one. See?"

She showed him a picture on her phone of a nine-inch long (if you could believe the ruler) white cock with a huge mushroom head and gnarled veins along the shaft. "The best part is that he lives here in our city, so it won't be a big deal to meet him somewhere close."

"Meet him?" Tom asked incredulously. "Somewhere close?" His voice, he noticed, was reaching an obscenely high pitch.

"Yes," she replied calmly, again not seeming to notice his distress. "Tonight, actually. I want you to go with me, of course. You can't be too careful, after all. He could be a rapist or a serial killer or a rapist and serial killer."

He knew the answer before he asked it. But he just had to ask it. "And what are you planning to do, when you meet this mystery man with the big cock?"

"Well, fuck him, of course, silly."

To say that the fight that ensued was the biggest of their short marriage was putting it mildly. But it quickly became apparent that Tom had brought a knife to a gunfight. His darling wife coldly shot holes in every argument he could bring forth. And all his emotional appeals were quickly circumcised with the snippy reply that they needed to stay focused on the facts, which, not coincidentally, was a tactic he'd used in many arguments prior to this one.

In the end, she enumerated his three choices. One, he could remain obstinate and insist upon a divorce. She said it would break her heart but she would give it to him. There was no wiggle room in her needs and they'd chalk it up to irreconcilable differences. Two, he could stay home while she went out and made sure her needs were met. And he could just try not to feel guilty if she was a victim of the aforementioned rapist slash serial killer. Or three, he could come along and protect her like a good husband should.

"Or four, I could take your car keys!" he yelled, stalking over and snatching them from her purse.

"I'll take a cab!" she answered hotly.

"I'll lock you in the bedroom!" he screamed.

"Forever? Eventually I'll get out and do what I want!"

"I'll stop you somehow!" he raged, throwing her keys against the wall.

"You can't stop me!" she retorted, retrieving her keys. "You. Can't. Stop. This." She enunciated each word through gritted teeth. "You want to. But you can't. You can't."

He fell into the chair as she stalked out of the room, dazed by the implications. She was right. He couldn't stop her. How can you stop someone from doing something they want to? He couldn't kidnap her. Couldn't tie her down for the rest of her life. His only leverage, that she'd be giving him up, that they would be getting a divorce, had no hold on her. She knew he was bluffing, that he was the one who couldn't live without the other in his life. And she was calling his bluff in the most deliberate way. He had no recourse. He had no Plan B.

He thought again of the photo she'd shown him earlier that evening. That big nine-inch cock. What kind of man would be behind something the size of that monster? Was it someone he could trust his wife with? Another kind of monster?

He was waiting at the front door with the car keys when she left the bedroom, dressed and ready for her assignation with the mystery man with the big cock.

Chapter 2

She insisted on driving to the hotel, probably thinking that he might indeed kidnap her and drive her around at high speeds until it was too late. The thought had crossed his mind.

When she pulled into a liquor store parking lot, he remained sullenly in his seat. Climbing back in the car, she handed him a bottle in a brown paper bag. "You look like you could use a drink." Those were the first words either had spoken in nearly an hour.

Tom took a slug from the whiskey bottle, sullenly. And then another. He stared sullenly as the world passed by. Watched sullenly as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. And helped his wife check in using, in poor taste as far as Tom was concerned, their own married name, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Hammond. He was proud that he didn't react at all when the clerk asked if they needed one key card or two.

By the time they got up to the room, a good bit of the whiskey was gone. But instead of making him feel better, it made him feel morose. The room layout didn't help. Susan had booked a suite, with a king-size bed in the middle and a sofa off to one side. Not that different from the last hotel they'd been in, where he'd spent much of the night fucking her, alternating from the bed to the sofa. That was where they'd both agreed that sofas were definitely the best piece of furniture for fucking, given the many different ways a woman could be bent over and splayed out on one.

"This is perfect!" Susan pranced around the room. "You'll be able to sit there and relax and keep an eye on me," she announced, sitting down on the sofa to apprise the view.

"Keep an eye on you?" he asked incredulously. "I plan to head into the other room and shove my fingers in my ears to make sure I don't hear anything."

"No, silly, then how will you know if I'm being strangled by a serial killer?" she asked him while tapping something into her cellphone. "You're here for a reason. And I'm not sure you're taking your responsibilities seriously."

"I'm not... you want... it's my fault?" he sputtered, not sure if she was serious or just putting him on. Failing to determine that, he took another drink of the whiskey.

"Um, whatever," she replied. "Keep an eye on the door. He'll be here soon. I just sent him the room number. I'm going to go get changed." She grabbed her overnight bag and headed into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

Tom stalked about the room. The whiskey made him feel like he was going in slow motion. He felt strange, as if he was outside himself, looking in. He tried not to think about what was going to happen. Maybe this was all a sick joke. Maybe there wasn't another man. Maybe his wife was going to open that door and come out dressed in some sexy lingerie and give herself to him, laughing about how good she'd 'got' him. He was well into that fantasy, staring at the bathroom door, when a knock on the room door pulled him out of his reverie.

As if in a trance he strode to the door and opened it. Standing there was a man who was about as nondescript as a man could get. In his 30's probably, with sandy, short hair, a round face and a short, stubby body. Wearing jeans, running shoes and spring jacket, he looked like a father who just got done coaching his daughter's soccer team. Or a guy walking the dog. Or just about anyone in suburbia. Completely regular.

"Heh," the man said, coming right into the room as if he'd been the one who booked it for the night.

"Heh," Tom replied, carefully closing the door behind them. Belatedly he realized that he could've killed the whole thing right there, could've not let the guy in, could've lied and told the man there'd been a change of plans and everything was all cancelled. But now it was too late. The guy was in the room and Susan could come out at any time. He'd been too slow in thinking of it. Stupid whiskey.