Cuckold: Three Stories of Cuckoldry and Hot Wives (Cuckold Humiliation Hotwife Size Queen Cheating Erotic Romance Bundle) (3 page)

So yes, Mr. Stone had made his thoughts about my gorgeous, pretty young wife known quite plainly, even before the invitation. At the office holiday party the previous year, I’d watched him put his hands on her back as he’d laughed at a joke of hers, before letting it drop no so subtly down to her perfect ass. He’d let his hand linger there, just resting on the soft curving swell of her ass, and he’d turned and winked at me, watching the color drain from my face before he’d causally removed it. Kelly hadn’t been aware I’d even seen it, and she’d never mentioned it.

But I had seen; I’d seen my wife blush at his touch, and in a flirty, eager way, not an uncomfortable manner.

Quick comments had turned darker and more meaningful around the workplace. “Hey Weston, how’s the wife” had morphed dramatically in a very short period of time into “How’s that sexy little wife of yours?” and “A guy like you better hold on tight to that Kelly, Weston; somebody just might come and snatch her away!”

She’d started coming by the office more and more after that, and dressing better and sexier each time. It finally got to a point where I didn’t even try to pretend it wasn’t for me anymore as she breezed right past my desk to his office.

And thats when I knew that if this marriage was going to last, I had to acknowledge that this was my fault. I had to swallow my male dignity and accept that my pathetic excuse for a cock and my frantic and terrible attempts at making love was denying the beautiful, sexually prime woman I’d met her basic needs.

It’s also when I realized I could kill two birds with one stone, if you’ll pardon the pun.

When I invited Mr. Stone to dinner, his first question, of course was “and will your lovely wife be joining us?”

After that, I think I always knew it was an inevitability to finally wind up here where we are.

He’d started making a point of always coming to the men’s room while I was in there. He’d sidle casually up to the urinal next to mine and unzip, before letting his cock flop heavily out of his trousers. The guy was fucking enormous, and he knew it.

He also knew that I was sneaking looks at it every time. He never said anything, but his smug looks, and the further inquires about my wife, while both of us stood with our hilariously unequal cocks told me everything.

So when I knew what had to be done - when I’d finally admitted to my wife and to myself that I wasn’t man enough to satisfy her, I knew the answer to
both
our problems lay with him. Hell, if I was going to let me wife sleep with another man, it might as well help me get a leg up in my career too.

I’d expected her to protest at first; to fight me, to bring up the sanctity of our vows, to sneer at me for trying to sell her to my boss for a promotion within the company, even if that wasn’t what it was. But to my shock, and almost horror, she’d readily agreed willingly to the plan.

“Wait,” I’d stuttered, after the long-winded talk detailing my own shortcomings, and how I thought it’d be good for us both to allow her what she needed;

“That’s it, just like that its a yes?”

She’s cocked her head and looked at me deadpan “well of course thats it, honey.” She’d licked her lips, a fiery excited look in her eyes that I hadn't seen for a very long time.

“If you’re asking if I
want
to, then the answer is yes.”

I’d swallowed heavily; I’d begun my journey down the long and frustrating road of being a cuckold, and my wife was driving.

After that, I couldn’t even pretend this was about me. In a way, it helped, because I no longer felt the guilty sting of feeling like I was “selling” my wife in order to advance my own career. No, this was about her now; she made that very plain. Any benefits that trickled my way as a result were purely secondary.

I hadn’t said anything openly to Mr. Stone, but he knew. I’d knocked on his office door, entering with a twinge of jealousy at his expansive office; the huge book-lined shelves, the amazing view of the city, the huge oaken desk with the expensive silver nic-nacks only rich guys keep on their desks.

He’d asked me to take my shoes off with a small, smug grin on his face. Yeah, he knew why I was here, and he was going to make me even smaller while I asked. A big bull stud like Mr. Stone knew a pussy little cuck when he saw one.

I’d walked in my socks across the carpeted office to his desk; he didn’t ask me to sit. I’d invited him to dinner, saying that we, “my wife and I” would love to have him over. If he wasn’t sure before, the way my face reddened, the way my tongue felt heavier in my throat told him everything he needed to know. The “dinner” was bullshit, a guy like Jackson Stone knew that, and a guy like that could also see that here I was, subserviently approaching his throne in my socks to ask him to fuck my wife.

“So this has nothing to with the promotion speculation going around the office?” He leered at me, daring me to admit that this was a way for me to pay my way into the position.

I stumbled, stammering in my beta way over my word choice. No, I assured him, this wasn’t even about that! We just wanted the pleasure of his company in our home.

“
We
, hmm?” Mr. Stone leered at me over the desk, his eyes twinkling, almost as if considering the offer. Finally, he’d stood, his large impressive build filling out his expensive suit that I eyed jealousy.

“Fine, its a deal Weston.”

And that brings us to tonight; tonight where everything had to be perfect.

Kelly looked fucking amazing. She was wearing a form-fitting, tight and short black dress with a plunging neckline. I looked at her forlornly and jealously and cursed my jeans for denying me the ability to remotely satisfy this woman who had bewilderingly agreed to spend her life with me.

If this is what it took to keep her happy, to keep her with me, so be it.

*****

“The roast is excellent, Kelly.”

My wife blushes flirtingly at Mr. Stone, taking a sip of her wine as she leans towards him bashfully. God, she’s acting like a little schoolgirl with a crush.

“Oh, actually Bob cooked.” Mr. Stone only smirks as he takes another bite.

“Of course he did.” He looks at me across the table, and winks at me. I swallow heavily.

“Weston;” He keeps calling me by last name, like we’re still in the office and he’s still my superior. It kind of irks me.

“Would you mind grabbing me some more of that delicious sauce?” He’s looking at me pointedly, a smirking look on his face. Kelly is all but hanging off of his arm, ignoring me completely as she gazes at his perfect jawline. Her eyes flit and trail down over his chest, a line of muscle definition showing at the top of his dress shirt where the buttons are left undone.

He wants me out of the room, I know that.

“Absolutely!” I say it way too eagerly, hoping out of my seat with a sycophantic grin on my face. “I’ll just, ah, go...ah, get the sauce.”

Mr. Stone just looked at me, smiling thinly.

In the kitchen, I try to catch my breath, try to slow the hammering pulse in my chest.

Holy shit, this is really going to happen! This is him establishing dominance over me, in front of Kelly. Make the man go fetch him food from the kitchen? Yeah, none of us are going to have any illusions after that about what the dynamic is here and. Just like no one here has any illusions about why he’s really here for dinner.

I stand over the sink and splash cold water on my face. Am I ready for this? Am I really ready to accept my place as a cuck, and let my boss fuck my beautiful wife?

I breath and count to ten. Taking a deep breath, I turn and head back to the dining room.

I’ve gotten to just shy of the doorway back into the room when I realize I haven’t even brought the sauce! I curse under my breath and start to turn back, when I
heard it.

“Oh,
very
good baby, that mouth feels
incredible
.”

I freeze, almost collapsing in the hall right there as my gut drops out from the bottom.

Holy fucking shit!
Is he doing it NOW? Is he really going to take my wife right fucking there in my dining room while we eat fucking dinner?

I’m sweating now, chilled; am I ready for this? I take a huge breath, steel myself, and stride around the corner and into the room.

My world drops out from beneath me.

Mr. Stone is standing next to my wife’s chair, one hand on his hip and the other holding her hair firmly. But what really catches my eye is the fact that her lips -
my wife’s fucking lips
- are wrapped tightly around my boss’s huge, throbbing cock.
 

If I thought he was big before, seeing him soft while taking a piss, he’s absolutely massive while hard and dripping my wife’s spit. As she slides her lips slowly off of his flaring cock-head, I actually gasp at his size. He’s easily three, maybe even four times my puny length; the shaft powerful and muscular looking. Kelly’s hand is wrapped around him, but her fingers are unable to reach all the way around his fat girth. In my mind, I picture the two of us standing side by side with our cocks out and hard, and the comparison is almost laughable.

His pants are down past his muscled and toned thighs around his knees, and he holds her hair firmly as she bobs her lips up and down his shaft. Her eyes are wide open and staring up into his face with a look of absolute lust and servitude; of worship to the god with the huge cock filling her mouth.

Her hands stroke his shaft, the length of it that isn’t fitting into her mouth, and her fingers are toying with his heavy hanging balls as she bobs and sucks noisily on his thick girth. She’s hasn’t even thrown so much as a glance towards me as I come into the room, but Mr. Stone raises his eyes at me.

“Ah, Weston!” He says it as if he was addressing a co-worker late to the bar after work. His eyes fall to my empty hands and he frowns.

“Weston, you’ve forgotten the sauce.”

I feel leaden, glued to the spot. This man is getting a blowjob, from
MY
WIFE
, in my living room, in my home, in FRONT of me! And here he is asking me about the fucking roast sauce?

I’m not even sure he’s serious until he repeats himself.

“Weston, the sauce. If you please.”

His eyes bore into mine, the only sound in the room my own heartbeat hammering in my ears and the noising moaning sucking sounds of my wife’s mouth on his cock. Dumbly, obediently, I turn, feeling shame and humiliation, and make my way back to the kitchen.

“And a scotch would be wonderful, Weston” he calls after me.

I return to the living room even more humiliated and feeling more like his servant by the minute, to find my wife’s mouth still on Mr. Stone’s impressive meat; now with the straps of her dress slipped down her arms and one, perfect, full, and round breast slipped out and exposed. Mr Stone is playing with her erect and bright pink nipple as she obediently and wantonly sucks him.

He turns and just smiled at me, in that same smug way he does when he asks me to stay late on a Friday, or to cover another co worker when he’s taking that guy out for golf or lunch.

I know I should be mad, offended even. But really, he has every right to look at me like that. Here is a man who’s truly better than me; he’s successful, wealthy, handsome and good looking, and he has a cock that puts mine to shame. On top of all of that, I can’t even claim “well, I’ve got Kelly” because there she is with her lips wrapped happily around HIS cock!

“Weston, would you bring the scotch?” He leers at me. “You can leave the sauce, I believe I'm finished with dinner.”

Is he serious? I stand rooted to the spot, feeling like a servant fetching the master his drink. What am I, a bartender?

“Weston.” His voice is commanding and sharp, and his hard gaze bring my eyes quickly up from his glistening, throbbing cock disappearing in and out of my wife’s pouty lips and up to his face.

“Bring it here.”

I swallow, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Inchingly, haltingly, my eyes wide and watching with a mixture of jealousy and humiliation and yet also a touch of something exciting, I bring my boss his scotch while my wife sucks him off.

He takes it from my slightly trembling submissive hands, smiling warmly at me, as if his gratitude were a gift for me to treasure. He sips from the scotch and then hands it back to me.

“Do me  a favor, would you Weston? Why don't you bring this upstairs to the bedroom; we’ll be up shortly.”

Jesus Christ, he’s so
blunt
about it, so blatantly clear that he’s going to be fucking my wife tonight. His eyes narrow and he seems to sense the bristling in my demeanor.

“Now Weston, don’t be like that.” His words are punctuated with the slurping sound emanating from my wife’s mouth as she sucked his cock into her warm mouth.

“We both know why I’m here. If you had this;” He brings his cock out from Kelly’s lips with a wet pop as she looks up at him lovingly, lustily. Gently, he taps the heavy girth of his shaft against her cheek and then pushes the head across her big red lips.

“If you had
this
, you wouldn't be in this position, needing me here to satisfy this gorgeous woman.” Kelly smiles up at him, blushing at his flattery as she completely ignores me.

He’s right, and I know it. I nod and take the glass from him.