Something for you to think about

At our friend’s wedding, Susan is holding his hand. Lance’s hand, the black lothario that she has been seeing for near on a year now. The woman getting wed, a girl called Angela, she’s watching. She’s watching how Susan openly kisses Lance, watching how I then react. Angela notices pretty much everything. She notices the way that Lance and I chat over a drink at the bar. It looks convivial doesn’t it? I don’t seem to mind that Lance is shafting my wife. I didn’t seem to mind the holiday that they took together, nor yet the pictures of Susan topless with him on that beach. She was kissing him there too, kissing him so that her head was bent back, her pretty white mouth was open against his and her barely covered buttocks were squeezed tight in his hands.

If you studied my wife, if YOU studied her you would notice something. There was a brightness in her step, a sparkle in her eye and yes a frisson there, whenever Lance walked in the room. Even if you didn’t know her you would realise instinctively that she was his. It might be the little things, the way she touches her hair when she looks at him, the way that look lingers and she sometimes adds lippy, just in case  she looks less than entirely alluring. Because Lance is not only fucking her, but dating her openly, she is very very happy. She has a contentment about her, a poise, a dressing, that says she realises what perfect living entails, what it means to have your cake and eat it.

Angela asked me, at the wedding, whether Susan let me watch them fuck? She was genuinely interested, sincerely eager to understand. It wasn’t a freak show enquiry. I got the impression that Angela was marrying for money. Perhaps Charles, her husband to be, wouldn’t end up the only man in her bed. It’s difficult to answer a question like that. You have to convey the dynamics, the assumptions, the etiquette, the need inside different heads. Of course I watched Lance fuck my wife! But not always.  It was always on their terms. Sometimes Lance wanted me to lick his bitch up ready so that her sex glistened with my spittle. Often times he wanted to lick her wet snatch out afterwards. It was a hierarchy thing, tasting his semen, the cocktail of his and her juices blended as one. But Susan wanted it too, in her own very personal way. She wanted me to co operate with Lance, to show my devotion to him. I was to be his fan like the guy was a sports star or something. That usually comprised of lying beneath them, so closely, so intimately, and licking his clenching black balls as he inseminated her.

I couldn’t say that Susan required me to love Lance, that would be misconstrued by Angela. It would come over all bi sexual or something. To say that I was required to worship him, worship the way that he fucked her, so that her nipples stood out proud, her body shook on his cock, that sounded lame. Susan and Lance are perfect together, they are essence sex. He fucks her just so. She climaxes on him pristinely. He never wears a sheath, so when he has finished she smells and tastes of him, inside, dripping, wet, contented. She is perfectly, completely contented because of his cock and the way he uses that inside her body, up her sex, in her mouth, sometimes in her ass too, making her realise just how securely he owns her. It is so absolute, so inevitable, so entirely ordained, that the intervals between their coupling, when she dresses to please him, seems like a waiting room only for their bed. It can seem as if sleep too is unduly long, too distracting from what life is really about between them.

I put on my happy face, the absolutely committed to the project face, the union of three and smile at Angela.

‘It’s very intimate…. I’m allowed to watch, sometimes, I need to watch the sex, but then too, Lance demands that I watch as well and Susan likes to show me what proper sex is.’

Angela sipped her vodka and orange. She has hazel brown eyes and they are very inquisitive.

‘You admire them, you admire them intensely?’

‘Yes’ I admit, choosing to keep it all very simple.

‘You admire that he fucks her so beautifully and that fucking makes her so complete?’

Angela is really hinting at something deeper. It’s rather more than just admitting that a black guy knows how to lay my wife better than me isn’t it? She’s intrigued by a woman having it all. A super stud lover, smooth and widely admired for his looks, a powerful and successful man and… a well behave cuckold husband. It’s about not trading the lesser guy in. Why wouldn’t you? Isn’t that how women are made?

‘Look at the way she dresses’ I suggest to my interrogator, ‘what do you notice?’

Angela studies my wife at a distance. She is dancing with Lance now, in his embrace.

‘She dresses very raunchy… her skirts are so short, she wears stockings doesn’t she?’ Angela ventures.

I nod. Do YOU remember. Do YOU remember that video clip I sent you? The one where Lance was fucking her casual against the wall and her suspender straps were straining because he had her legs hooked up high? Well, it was Susan who asked me to share that. She wanted YOU to show your wife. So she can see what is possible.

‘She dresses his way, to please Lance.’ I explained. ‘She dresses to secure and keep his interest. It’s a loop that never ends. She’s hooked on his cock, how it makes her feel when he is fucking her. You know Angela, she’s a feisty head strong woman,  but now…. now, she’s his bitch.’

‘It’s very sexy, ‘ Angela whispered, ‘the way that she needs to submit to him. Women… I…. we… need that.’

I nod.

‘She’s wearing the same Rolex model as he is..’ Angela murmured the words as if the revelation was entirely new, her breath catching with the soft surprise. ‘She’s signalling to the world that she is his.’

I can feel my cheeks start to colour. The blood rushes up through my neck, up around my ears and forward into my cheeks.

‘The humiliation must sting’ Angela observed, sipping more of her vodka. She cannot bring herself to check my expression. She cannot bear the thought that she might see a tear in my eye.

‘Lance insisted on that…. that they were open amongst our friends, that we went out to show the life could be lived this way.’

I shudder thinking about that. I shudder right down to my toes. Do YOU remember those pictures that I sent? After the video clip of the fucking in stockings, up against that alley wall, there were other pictures because YOUR wife was curious. Yes, Susan is ‘marked up’. The queen of spades anklet could be taken off but it never is. The ace of spades tattoo on her left buttock, that’s there permanent, for Lance to see when he fucks her pretty ass for her. YOU know something, you know something friend, YOUR wife contacted Susan after that. Girl talk… you understand?

‘People have been nice to you though, they have supported Susan in her choices haven’t they?’ observed Angela, catching another drink as it passes on a tray. I am meant to confirm its dandy aren’t I. I’m meant to say that the film ended happily… if differently.

‘The women look at me a little strangely’ I offer testily. Well, that is true! That IS what it is like. Susan didn’t adequately anticipate the cut of a thousand pitying looks. I know what the looks say. I know what those women mean by those looks. I was meant to fight for Susan. I was meant to knock Lance’s smug fucking head off!

Angela is looking at me quizzically. She clearly thinks me a little strange, if polite, if not real a threat because Susan has me ‘nicely to heal’.

‘They look at me as though I show fight the man?’ I answer, filling in the gap. ‘They look at me as if I’m not being a man.’

Angela enjoyed that confession. YOU haven’t felt that yet? Well, it will come. Once your wife takes a lover. Once a woman judges a man as somehow less, somehow a second. If he doesn’t fuck and fight, then what is he? What does it mean to be male if you submit to another guy who beds your wife? The sensation for a woman, a woman like Susan, like Angela, may be like YOUR wife is that she is the sensual prize, the judge and the jury, that which is better than you, that which is sexier, superior, better bred. Think about that. Fucking well think about it! That’s how a fucking woman starts to think abut herself, about YOU when she cheats and you do fuck all abut it. Don’t YOU ever believe that a woman cannot enjoy humiliating you. That’s as raunchy as a multiple, its part of a symphony of sex, friend.

‘It’s possible to be different isn’t it?’ Angela said. Charles is waiting to dance with her, it is after all their wedding day. But he can wait thank you very much. She has the pre nuptial agreement now. She wants the information about how Susan treats me.

I glance at her, in her wedding dress. Its a demure off pink satin, a confection of feminine loveliness. Beneath the folds of her skirt, beneath the fripperies, Angela is beautiful enough, arrogant enough, to become a bitch too.

I decide to brazen it out.

‘I suck cock for Lance, when he tells me, after he has had Susan. I lick her pussy too.’ I said, calmly, as if it were simply a do it yourself chore about the house.

There is a passing triumph in Angela’s eyes. It is there like a flight of the rarest and most perfectly soaring bird that you can imagine.

‘That is too sweet’ she observes and touches my arm. YOU had better believe it. A woman likes to have her cunt licked. If YOU are beaten, if YOU are subdued and you can’t expect anything more.

She has taken a little note from her vanity purse, the one hanging on a silk thread from the extravagant wrap around her slim waist. The excitement in her eyes is startling. It is as if she has just shot heroine or something. She hands me the note and I unfold it, dumb, stupid, unwitting.

There is Susan’s perfect handwriting. It is fucking perfect, scribed with an expensive fountain pen.

‘Daniel, you will treat Angela as your mistress too, understood? Lance and I expect that from now on. Susan xx’

The bride waits. Her groom has finished his drink somewhere across the room and is impatiently hoping for another dance with her. Susan and Lance are dancing, now, they neck, slowly, my wife’s arms about his neck.

YOU saw that huh. The casualness of it. How are YOU feeling? Sick in you fucking stomach? Are YOU?

‘I want you to teach Charles to lick me’ Angela said.She said it sounding as though she was a fucking popsicle. She said it like that, but ever so soft. I glance over at Susan who is laughing with Lance.

This is fucking crazy. It is fucking insane.

Angela waits. She is wearing a beautiful little cocktail watch on her wrist, something old that Mama gave her for her wedding day. She checks the time. I know that she might have a word with Lance, just a word you understand.

‘Yes Miss’ I blurt and now, yes now, my face is puce red.

The bitch looks so certain, so powerful, so perfect about her cunt. She can rule with what she has between her oh so  shapely legs. This is her day, her week, her year. She knows it. YOU know it don’t YOU. YOU know what women can do. Except YOU don’t… not all of it. Fucking hell friend, YOU don’t know half of it.

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lutheranmaid

I've been writing erotic literature for something over a year, certainly that with a cuckolding assertive woman twist. I've written a cuckolding novel and as at summer 2018 two collections of raunchy short stories that you'll find by internet searching 'Lutheran Maid'. Frankly I love intelligent cuckolding sex. But there's scope to explore more widely too!