Barbi's Journey

The picture on my cell phone was of my wife's big round tits. The nipples were fully extended, and amazingly...they were covered with endless gobs and ropes of a sticky thick white substance. I'd never gotten a picture like this one before. "He just left. I'm glad he blew his load across my chest, or he might have drowned me!" The accompanying text message read.

My erection was trembling, pulsing with each heart beat. Holding my phone in front of me at the office, I found it difficult to breathe. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.

The phone trembled, and my wife's ringtone sounded. It was Joan Jett's "Do you wanna touch me!" The volume was low so there was no disturbing my work mates. A picture of her gorgeous face, lips pouted into a kiss. "Love you. Did you close the Norman account?"

The shifting of gears didn't immediately ease the pressure on my zipper. Standing up at the moment was still out of the question. My wife was teasing me, expertly so. Even before our marriage she had known of my sexual inclinations. Some men are leg men (my dear Barbi's are a mile long and sculpted by the treadmills at Gold's Gym). Some men are tit men (Barbi's are virtual volleyballs). Some men are this, some are that. I crave, like an addict, my hot wife. Teasing, public exhibition, and cuckold fantasy. I need it, more than Christopher Walken needs 'more cowbell'.

And she had gotten good at it over three years.

I mean, all star, all -- universe levels. They should give out awards and trophies, she'd have them all. This Norman account has had the whole office on eggshells, working nearly 80 hours a week, for nearly a month.

And me coming home every night, wiped out, stressed to the point of being held back from the office window ledge, just to grab a few hours sleep, maybe a few minutes of 'home time'...on the couch. Exhausted. Haunted. How did I keep going?

Barbi. It was Barbi that kept me together. Texting me pictures of her in lingerie. A bikini. An evening dress. Nude. Messages like

"I've got another date tonight. Ok?"

"That same guy called again, we talked for hours. I want to see him."

I thought that she could never out do the night she had gone to her mother's to visit and sort thru a family issue with her. You see, she hadn't said to me she was going to her mum's. Full serious, right to my face, pouty lips and everything. She had said she was going to spend the night with her lover. I mean Oscar trophy winner, hands down.

You see my wife has not cuckolded me. Not by my hesitation, by hers. She doesn't really like the idea. What if this 'other guy' treats her like trash? What if it made her feel like trash? What about STD's, pregnancy, getting abused physically, meeting a nut job, etc etc.

But hot damn she can play out my fantasy! The 'cum' all over her big round tits! In my mind I rationalized that all the 'ingredients' needed to create the facsimile were readily available in our apartment, but at the same time I suppressed this thought and really allowed myself to enjoy the photo. Previously she had played the 'forgotten condom' game. My 'accidently' finding an unwrapped, unrolled condom in our bedroom, her look of shock and humiliation (with big eyes and hands to her mouth). And now I reckoned it would be an easy step to start leaving 'misplaced' condoms filled with her faux semen. I was really hoping the obviousness of this would not be lost on Barbi. If history was any indication, she would continue to find creative, surprising ways to craft my psyche into sexual boiling.

Now let's stop just a moment. You might be thinking this tale to be a farce, and that I'm playing the role of fool. Be assured, that this is not the course of this tale, earnest reader. My wife has not 'gone all the way'. Oh, she's dressed the hussy in public places with me. Flirted like a street walker. But by the look of our eyes into each others. By the touch of her hand on my shoulder. I know with all certainty that her teasing, no matter how skillful, has not gone beyond.

Oh, I've pleaded, begged. But no. She won't.

And I know why. Deep in her heart, she doesn't WANT me to be a cuckold husband. She's settled into the reality of it, but would not choose such a life style. She isn't comfortable in the role of cuckoldress. She truly wants a man who will punch the bloke in the face who gets fresh with her. A husband that will send threats back at anyone who leered inappropriately.

In balance to her tolerance of my proclivity towards cuckold fantasy, I have redoubled my love for her. Imagine her putting up with such a thing? She is an angel. And in response to her heavenliness, my devotion is boundless.

And she has met me in the middle. Her love for me, and familiarity with my inner soul, has driven her to be the freaking Meryl Streep of cuckold fantasy.

"The deal is done! Just waiting for the final signatures. The boss has the whole crew here still, he's asked we not leave yet." I texted.

"Great! I know your penis has weeks of lava, just waiting to erupt! Maybe tonight! Although sweety, my boyfriend did text me, he might be free for the weekend. Your cute wee wee has been left dry almost four weeks, it could wait for Monday, right?"

My erection shot up, banging against the underside of my desk. I groaned and leaned over my work area. She was so good. So good at this.

It occurred to me that she had been 'without' for a month too. Well, she confessed she masturbated a few times each week, but still, for a grown adult...going without real sex for weeks is an ordeal.

In contrast, my work regimen over this same time frame, which Barbi crossly described as 'torturous' had left me erectionless nearly 95% of the time. The other 5%? Yeah, me at my office...getting sexually teasing texts from my beloved. And since I won't masturbate here at the office (not even the men's room...the humiliation of being overheard!), my balls were expanded uncomfortably with stored up 'lava'.

If you think it impossible to 'go without' for weeks at a time, it is actually very common during military entry training camp. The rumors of 'saltpeter being mixed with the rations' is untrue. The stress and extreme pressure can send even the healthiest young male erectionless for weeks at a time.

Mr. Heitzel came out of his office. The dozen people on our open work floor turned to him. All conversation stopped.

"It's done!" Heitzel raised a ream of papers into the air.

Tumult! Temporary lull, and then another uproar!

I called Barbi. She answered on the third ring.

She was out of breath. "Honey, Maximus is here, could you call back in an hour?" Perfectly delivered.

I hastily sat behind my desk.

"My dear girl, it's done! And get this...the office is going to close for a week! And, we fly to Puerto de Erotico tomorrow morning for four days at the resort!"

"Mexico?" Her 'breathlessness' evaporated abruptly. Caught off guard, she had fallen 'out of character'. "Four days away from these freezing temperatures?" And then a sort of spontaneous yelp. My smile wouldn't stop. The thought of giving my wife a joyous getaway, a small repayment for her constant support.

A few hours later...

I mentioned earlier an expedition my wife had made to her mum's. Well, this plays back into the narrative at this point. You see, a family heirloom, a necklace which didn't seem the least attractive to me but evidently had a lot of family history was to be given to my wife's sister. My entire office had plane tickets for the next evening to fly to Mexico. But if Barbi and I left tonight, we could connect thru San Diego. Her sister would meet us at the airport and we'd give her the heirloom. This would side step putting the treasure in a Fedex box, and provide a safe 'hand delivery'.

This also meant that Barbi literally had to pack while I was driving home. We'd hustle the luggage out the moment I arrived, and then drive directly to the terminal. It meant my personal sexual release was again delayed. Although given my current level of physical exhaustion, perhaps a blessing in disguise.

Barbi might have guessed how tired I was, but she put the pedal to the metal for me that night. The crowded airport terminal, sitting a couple hours on the plane. And my wife's 'traveling clothes'?

Her high heels were of a brown leather color. There was no lift under the toes, but a good four inches in the heel. Her skirt was well up past mid thigh, showcasing legs that would make a traffic cop swallow his whistle. Her blouse was shoulder less, frilly, and bared her fit midsection. The over coat she wore on the drive was packed away into our luggage before we checked them.

She was like a visage of hot babeness. Her volleyballs bounced around braless. Her nipples making points in the delicate fabric. She seemed to never miss a chance to twist at the hip for this reason or that, and her high heel straps needed her 'bent over at the waist' attention with mysterious frequency. A dreary Chicago winter night was just outside the airport windows, but Barbi was a walking paradise. Men's necks nearly put out of place as their eyes latched onto my walking Goddess.

The moment I settled into the plane's bucket seat I was comatose. Opening my eyelids required Herculean effort moments later. But it wasn't moments later. We were in San Diego.

The artifact 'hand off' went smoothly. Sis couldn't stay due to a child's appointment so for the two hour layover we were left to our own devices. I sat in a booth; 'slumped' might be more accurate. The short rest on the flight had helped. I had recharged a bit, but still I was dragging.

Just as in Chicago, my wife was beaming hotness in all directions. Although the environ was far less morose, and several other attractive girls were about in pretty clothes. San Diego airport was teeming with young virile soldiers. Thus, my baby was teasing me wonderfully with her exhibitionism. About halfway thru our layover, as our boarding time became closer, she leaned over to me and we exchanged whispered conversation, the kind of which you might guess.

She smiled. I smiled.

She nodded. I nodded.

While our eyes looked each into the other, we held hands on the table top. Her fingers twitched nervously in my loose grasp.

In a moment when the crowd at the terminal eatery thinned, Barbi got up and moved from our shared booth to a chair at the counter. She picked a stool that was right in front of me, maybe ten feet away. The row of backless swivel seats was slightly higher than the booth I was in. Her body was displayed wondrously. I felt something in my hand and turned my palm up. Her wedding ring!

While she avoided looking directly at me, my eyes could not drink in enough of her. The early day sun shining through the terminal gave a slight transparency to her light blouse. Finally she had to look at me and shake her head. I had been staring too much and been too dim to realize. I had to content myself to stealing looks as often as I dared without being over the top creepy.

Of course, before two minutes had passed, a soldier sauntered up to her. He was no teenager. I'd wager a young recruit wouldn't have the courage to approach a girl as hot as my wife. He was bald, but perhaps purposefully so because he appeared to be in his 30's. He was good foot or more taller than me, but most pronounced was the width of his shoulders. They began chatting. I'm no lip reader, but somehow the conversation came to be about Barbi's legs.

First she turned on her stool so she was facing away from the counter (and towards my booth), then she obliged by extending, and then flexing, first one high heeled foot, then the other. Her fit leg muscles the very definition of sexiness. Her short skirt seemed to climb inexorably up her thighs.

Barbi would steal lightning quick glances at me whenever she thought soldier was looking elsewhere. No doubt she was checking to ensure I was enjoying myself, but not blatantly ogling her.

Soldier man was sitting with his back to the counter. This facilitated my wife putting first one and then the other leg across his lap. Evidently the conversation had progressed to encompass the benefits of leg massages. His over sized, powerful hands began working her calves. A dreamy look washed over her face.

Whether via conscious effort to tease me, or genuine distraction from Soldier's ministrations, Barbi's leg movements caused her fit bottom to move about her chair. Her skirt was now all the way, I mean ALL the way at her hips. Her bare ass was now on her seat. I could only imagine, the fully open view in between her legs being offered to this stranger.

Even her most conservative thong was hot enough to set off a fire detector. The smile on Soldier's face told the tale. His hands went to her thighs. They were so large, and Barbi's legs so fit, that together his hands spanned all the way around her thighs. Higher and higher he rubbed, until his strong fingers were all the way to her bare hips.

And then he was standing up. He was staring directly at me. And then he strode right at me and was in my face. His frame eclipsed the morning sun. He grabbed my shirt collars and hauled me to a standing position. He towered over me. His chest, biceps and forearms bulged under his uniform.

"What you staring at pervert?!" He lifted me in the air by my collar and shoved me against the wall. I was staring helplessly up at his gritted teeth, dangling in his grip.

Then I could see Barbi's hand on his arm.

"Bill, let him go. Let's not make a scene and lose the last of our time together."

'Bill' reluctantly set me down. Disappointed I guess, not to crunch me up a little. Then he let out a tremendous guffaw.

He was looking at my pants. My zipper area was soaked.

"He's pissed himself!" Soldier laughed.

I began to correct him, to murmur. "No, it's not piss, it's pre-c..." but I stopped. The reality was even more embarrassing. My penis had been spitting up gobs of pre cum in the moments he closed on me. My crotch was saturated.

Soldier's continued chuckles meant that he hadn't heard me, but Barbi had been watching me. If she hadn't heard my words, she caught the gist of it. A thought raced across my mind, did she think that I had actually cum when he had attacked me? The amount of pre cum was beyond extraordinary. The entire front of my trouser was soaked. Her eyes regarded me as something pathetic. Her arm reached across soldier's chest, feeling the muscles there.

"Thank You for protecting me." She said to him. With full sincerity in her voice. "Mister, maybe you have a plane to catch somewhere." She said to me, basically asking me to 'be gone' with her tone.

I hurried away. Trying to cover myself with my hands.

By the time I arrived at our gate they were making first call. I waited, looking around, for a few minutes. Then decided I might as well check in and boarded.

On the plane I plopped down into a window seat, with a clear view into the terminal and our boarding gate. I texted my wife, letting her know her ticket was at the counter, and asking her nervously if she might hurry. They were now on 3rd boarding call.

"Bill wants to know if I might change my flight plans, maybe stay in town a few hours. He's just arrived and doesn't report in until later tonight."

I was paralyzed. Never before had an actual person factored into her teasing. Bolts of lightning were firing through my brain.

Then the picture, a 'selfie' with her phone...her arm extended. Extended out so that both of them were in the shot. Bill and Barbi, heads together and smiling at the phone. As the snapshot bore into my mind, a beep proclaimed another picture had come in.

I toggled to the next, thumb trembling. They were kissing, lips to lips. Eyes closed.

The gate area was empty. Everyone was on the plane now. They were beginning to close the boarding tube.

Joan Jett was singing about 'being touched...there!'on my phone.

An angel's voice. "Honey, I really want to stay with him. Would you mind?" I couldn't answer, my fingers wouldn't move. They were putting the felt rope across the boarding gate inside. Boarding was now closed.

And then she was there. Well, they were both there actually, he was with her.

She said something to the attendant, who held the rope partition from closing at just the last moment.

And then they were kissing. I doubt they could see me out in the plane because of the angle of the sun. But they were lit up like a stage production. He had her in his powerful arms, lifted in the air. They were mashing their lips together.

A full minute passed. The attendant said something.

They broke with the reluctance of truly painful parting.

As she dashed down the boarding tube, Bill turned his gaze out to the plane. I hastily pulled the window shade down.

My wife didn't know I had seen her come aboard. A new text. "Baby I'm staying, don't be mad. I've got to have him. Just one night in his arms, in his bed. I'll find a flight to you tomorrow." She was bluffing. But considering the pics she had sent, if I hadn't seen into the terminal I would have been catapulted into teased & denied cuckold heaven. Brilliantly played baby, I almost wished.....what? That I hadn't seen her board? I'd be twisting in my seat right now for sure. Or that I had seen her walk away from the terminal hand in hand with 'Billy'?

And then she was walking down the aisle. Big tits bouncing as she looked for her seat. I waved and got her attention. What was that look? The moment she saw me, it had fleeted across her features. Her smile was back when she arrived and sat next to me.

"You....came?" she whispered to me. She was looking down at my huge stain.

"No. It's all pre cum. It's leaking almost non stop!" I answered back in a whisper.

"Can you believe the way he stood up for me?" Her admiration was unmistakable.

I gave her the wedding ring back.

"Did you enjoy me showing off? Him touching me? We've never progressed to touching before."

I certainly did. Enjoyed so much I explained, that my dick was spitting up its excitement. She bit her lower lip.

We were in the air now, and my wife leaned over to open the window shade. She made sure to rub her erect nipples against me. Looking out at the receding city, she placed her hand on my groin, applying her full body weight pressure on my neglected erection.

"Do you want to know more?" she whispered in my ear.

She remained leaning over me on the pretense of looking out at the airborne view. Her hand somehow managed to find my testes below my erection and pressed down as hard as she could. I grimaced and my face contorted in combination discomfort and sexual charge.

"I wanted him so bad. He was so strong. I mean it, my pussy was aching for him." She cupped my ball and squeezed with all the strength of three years at Gold's Gym. I jerked in my seat, I thought my cum was going to be squeezed out my ears.

"And, we exchanged phone numbers." She started to show me her phone. It buzzed while she was doing so, Bill's picture identified the caller. She released my sack (phew!) and hastily texted back that she had to turn off her phone -- airline rules.

This flight was a shorter hop. Neither of us slept this time. Both charged with alien energy. It was during this shorter air time that I began to detect a kind of altering to the universe. When I looked at Barbi, I'd grown accustomed to knowing where her 'center' was. Her 'soul'. Now when I looked at her, sitting right beside me in that super sexy outfit, I felt as if what I was seeing was an illusion. That she was really about three inches to the left or right of what I perceived. And when she looked at me, there was that 1% of doubt in her eyes. That small glimmer of not recognizing me. I felt like the Earth was turning the wrong direction.