A Cuckold's Diary - Chapter 21 "Thanking the Cuckold"

[Paul_Pines]

THANKING THE CUCKOLD
December 2006

INTRODUCTION, AND A FAVOR: My wife, Sally, sees herself as way too much of a Good Girl to get involved in online conversations, especially about sex. But everything I write about is something which she has done with another man.

After she read this story, which describeds a major change inour relationship, she said she liked it a lot and wanted to hear other people's comments when they read it. Believe me, that is a first!

SO, if you would like to comment on her superb cuckolding of me, or any other positive comments directed toward her, please forward them to me. If you want to send nasty comments, feel free, too; but they will be deleted faster that obscenities in the NY Review of Books!

Send your comments to Sally at newatthis22a@yahoo.com , and I thank you in advance for being supporive of my wife's new curiousity about how the rest of the cuckold world feels about our arrangement.

~~ONWARD~~

CAVEAT: If you're looking for a story with lots of graphic sex, this is not it. This is about cuckolding, and cuckolds generally don't get to be involved in sex at all. If you get off on cuckolding, read on!

Also, if you're going to be offended if you read about cuckolding, then brace yourself: that's what this is about. So either read with that in mind, or read something else, please. I hate upsetting people when I tell them up front what's going to happen and then they get ticked off when it happens.

Here is the story: I used to be my wife’s only lover. Then I was one of her lovers. Now, I get to drive her to her dates with her lover. I’m not complaining, I am just amazed at how life has turned out.

And one last note to begin: for those who think our marriage is definitely headed for the rocks, thank you for your concern. We’ve made it through 24 years, and we’re not going to let a little thing like how bad I am at sex get in the way of another 24 years together! Seriously, one of the most breathtaking parts of all of this has been Sally’s acceptance of the fact that I just do not turn her on in bed, and her understanding that we can have a wonderful marriage even though she saves her pussy for the man who makes her wet.

We had experimented once before with her denying me the pleasure of intercourse, but that was more of a game than a change in our lives (or so I like to tell myself). But when Ty, whom she had been seeing for a few years, moved away, that part of the game disappeared. Whether she really wanted to fuck me, or just wanted to fuck someone and I was the only one around, we returned to our occasional, uninspired sex.

When I say “sex,” I am referring to intercourse only. One of the things Sally does appreciate about me is my skill at helping her get off using my fingers, my mouth and her vibrator. We have never stopped doing that, and feeling her let go in my arms brings us both tremendous pleasure. Even now that my penis is not longer invited into her, I continue to do my husbandly duties with excitement and devotion.

So much for the background.

In August, 2006, Sally and Ted (her long-term lover, at eight years and counting) had a wonderful time together. So did I, as I related in Chapter 20 of the Cuckold’s Diary, because I got to watch them in action for the first time in years. I was struck by how much I had forgotten about how intense the sex was between them, but nothing was more jarring to me than the absolutely wicked sound of his cock sloshing in her pussy as he fucked her each time. Sally has always talked about how wet she gets for him, but there is a huge difference between being told and hearing the sounds yourself. My wife literally soaks her panties, the sheets, and him every time she is with him.

After that date, she and I talked about what happened and why. I asked her if she knew why she got so wet for him, and she said, “because sex with him feels the way sex is supposed to feel.” I asked her if it ever felt that way with me, and after considering the question for a minute she said, simply, “No.” As I described in the last chapter, it was not so much her answer as the intensity and sincerity of it; this was NOT a game, and I think her admission affected her as much as it did me.

What we decided after that night was that we would not say we are NEVER going to fuck again, but that we would do it only when she wanted. Unless she said otherwise, I would assume that making love would mean helping her cum and then going off by myself to masturbate. We both promised we would hold and hug and kiss each other at least as much as we always have, and that the only thing different would be our mutual understanding that my penis doesn’t excite her at all… and his does. Ever the “good girl,” Sally agreed – but did not talk about it very much in the intervening months, other than to let me get her off, and then send me away.

Through circumstances beyond everyone’s control, Sally and Ted did not see each other from mid-August until early December. During that time she asked me for sex exactly three times. Each time, of course, I had to use Vaseline to enter her, because even after I had helped her to a huge orgasm her pussy was completely dry. Being inside her felt awesome, but I could not help thinking each time that I was getting a mercy fuck, while she wished I was her lover.

Funny thing, though: throughout the four months we actually held and hugged and kissed each other even more than usual. We both felt good with our decision: I no longer was disappointed when we did not have sex every night, and she no longer experienced the disappointment of being completely unexcited when we did. I began to feel that I am truly her cuckold, and she, in spite of her own need to think of herself as a “good girl,” started enjoying our new understanding as well.

But it is one thing not to have sex with your wife, and quite another to know that someone else does. It was their most recent date that brought that conclusion home to me more powerfully than ever before. As I think about it now, I realize how much things have changed in our lives – in Sally’s and mine, and maybe even Ted’s.

Their date began as most do, with me driving Sally the hour and a half to the hotel. I checked in while she waited for him by the car, and I was just putting everything in the room when she called to tell me he had arrived. By the time I got back to the parking lot Sally was sitting in his car and, as usual, I got in back. I’m sure it does not seem very erotic to most people, but being consigned to the back seat while my wife sits in front with her lover is usually my first reminder of what the day holds in store.

Lunch was, by all outward appearances, the meeting of good friends. Being in public, Sally not only appreciates Ted’s respect of her desire to look innocent; she also likes my being there, as even in the highly unlikely case that we run into someone we know, everything appears above-board. After all, what wife would be suspected of having an affair with her husband sitting right there?

I knew better. I knew what they were both thinking, and I knew what they both wanted. I looked at the two of them throughout lunch, trying to imagine what it feels like to know you’re about to go to bed with this person as soon as lunch is over. I also tried to imagine what each of them thought about Sally’s comment, because we all knew what she said about sex feeling right with him, and not with me. Ted has always been a gentleman to me, but I imagined he had to enjoy the thought that my wife wanted him inside her, and not me. And that is when I began to feel different – a feeling which has not left me in the week since their date.

When Sally began seeing Ted, we all knew that he was sharing what had been only mine for 16 years. Yes, he came to know her secrets – the secrets of her body, the secrets of her feelings, the secrets of her orgasms – but so did I. Even at the most intense moments of cuckolding, I knew that she would come home with me, and I would have my turn.

But no longer.

Now, as I watched the two lovers eat and chat amicably, I realized that each was looking forward to something which only the other could give. Ted was looking forward to sex with my beautiful wife, and Sally was looking forward to sex – real sex, GOOD sex – with her lover. Not only did they want each other; they wanted ONLY each other.

So this is what it feels like to be a cuckold, I thought. Not just to be cuckolded, sitting in the next room while my wife fucks another man, but to be a cuckold: to live with the knowledge that she wants him, not me, in her bed and in her body. It was a good thing I had not cum in three days, because the pain and humiliation I felt at that moment would have made me run away, or pass out, if I had been less horny.

They sat over lunch forever. I couldn’t believe they kept talking after the meal was over, until I realized they were in no hurry. They knew what would happen next, and they were savoring their time together like exquisitely subtle foreplay. Finally they arose, and Sally excused herself to go to the rest room while Ted and I waited for her in the restaurant hallway. Always the gentleman, he made small talk, as if either of us was not aware of what was about to transpire. The businesspeople passing by us had no idea that he was about to fuck my wife, nor did they know how much my wife was longing for his touch. Just before Sally returned I managed to croak out, “She’s my wife, you know.” Ted said, simply, “I know,” and turned to smile at her as she emerged from the ladies’ room.

The drive back to the hotel was mercifully short, and the three of us made our way to our – or rather, their – room. They sat together on the couch in the living room, and I took the only other seat available, in the chair facing them. Sally started reminiscing about their first date, and they were both amused to discover that I remembered every single detail, repeating the conversation verbatim. Ted had his arm around her, and when I talked about them first kissing, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

As I shuddered from the simple, shocking reality of another man kissing my wife in front of me, I saw that the kiss had an even stronger effect on the two of them. Sally shook a little, and Ted took her hand and helped her to her feet.

“Enough with old memories. Let’s make some new ones,” he said.

As my wife took his hand and walked toward the bedroom with a smile on her face, I said the only thing a cuckold can possibly say in a situation like that:

“Have a nice time.”

If there is a single phrase that illustrates the feeling of being a cuckold, it is that one. Sitting there in the living room chair, watching my wife and her lover head for the bedroom to make love to each other, I do not do any of the things a normal man would do. I do not fight, or even protest. I do not cry or get angry. I just sit meekly in the corner, and tell my wife and her lover that I hope they “have a nice time” making love. The words ring in my ears, mocking me, yet even in retrospect I cannot think of anything else to say. I actually DO hope they have a nice time, and I know I will sit there quietly and wait for hours until they are finished. We each have a role in this relationship, and my role is to bring my wife to her lover, to keep them company at lunch, and then to step aside so they can share time and intimacy and sex together.

Sally and Ted smiled in response, wrapped their arms around each other’s waist, and disappeared down the hallway. I heard the bedroom door close behind them.

This is it now, I thought. For the next few hours they are together, and I am alone. I take a towel from the bathroom, spread it on the couch, and start getting undressed. They don’t care what I do now, so I will spend the time masturbating. I still will not cum – damn, the thought of sitting through all of this when I’m not massively horny is incentive enough to hold back – but I will jerk off thinking about what my wife is giving to him… and not to me.

Yet I have only begun to unbutton my shirt when Sally calls to me. I walk to the bedroom door and knock – how stupid is that for a husband to do? – and Sally says, “Come in.” The first thing I see is Ted’s naked back, naked legs, naked ass: he is standing by the bed, facing toward it. Then I see my wife’s head pop out beside his hips, and I see that she was lying on the bed, sucking his cock when I entered. She smiles at me and says, “I left my purse in the other room, and it has my vibrator in it. Please get it.”

I nod dumbly and walk into the living room to retrieve her bag. It had not been even five minutes and the two of them were completely naked already; they must have torn their clothes off as soon as they got into the room! (Afterward, Sally would tell me that I was right. They got into the bedroom, Ted kissed her, she felt her pussy gush with lubrication, and they did, indeed tear their own clothes off in their rush to get to bed.) Walking back to the bedroom I steeled myself for the sight of my naked wife and her naked lover, but reality again knocked the breath out of me as I saw Ted leaning down, kissing my wife and holding her breast in his hand, his naked ass pointed directly at me as I laid her purse on the night table.

Sally broke her lips away from his long enough to say, “That’s it. Now go.” As she spoke, Ted looked up at me. I half expected him to laugh, given my ridiculous status as errand-boy for my wife, but his expression was completely serious. My heart jumped as I realized he had no desire to laugh at me; in fact, he barely noticed me. His face was that of a man intent on sex, and no mere husband was going to interrupt his goal of making love to the woman lying next to him. I felt small. I felt insignificant. I felt ignored even as I stood there. I heard a sigh escape from her lips – or was it from his? – as I quietly closed their bedroom door behind me.

Sally and Ted don’t just fuck; they make love. Of course they have sex, but they also spend hours in bed talking together. But they follow a pattern, and I know the sex comes first when they go to bed. So after being dismissed, I knew they would have no reason to call for me again, at least for a while. I quickly took off all my clothes, grabbed a towel from the bathroom and the Vaseline from my coat pocket, and sat down on the hallway floor, outside of their bedroom. My eyes were glued to the door, as if somehow I would develop x-ray vision to see what was happening inside. Unfortunately that did not happen, but I was able to make out the sounds of their lovemaking. As I have described before, those sounds tell a lot – not everything, but a lot – about what my wife and her lover are doing together.

Kissing, then Ted moaning. Sally must be sucking his cock again. Occasionally he laughs – not out of amusement, but out of amazement at how good she is at blowing him.

The rustle of the sheets, then a simultaneous intake of breath from Sally and a deep moan from Ted. He just slid his cock into my wife’s pussy.

Rhythmic bouncing of the bedframe – slow, then fast, then slow again – and noises which anyone from anywhere would know to be the sounds of a man and a woman fucking. I hear Ted’s excitement build, and I wonder if he is going to cum. But he stops suddenly, and I hear Sally’s vibrator start. How considerate of Ted, to make sure my wife cums before he does!

Silence. I think I hear the sounds of kissing, but they are faint and… well, so am I. Sally has told me how Ted touches her everywhere while he’s bringing her off: kissing her lips, sucking her nipples, running his hands everywhere. Every once in a while I hear the vibrator, then the sound disappears. I know it has not stopped; it is tucked tightly between my wife’s pussy lips, and I only hear it as it momentarily adjusts on its target. My wife is in heaven now: her lover in her bed, her vibrator on her clit, her husband out of sight, out of mind – and out the door.

Minutes go by. It seems like hours, as I wait for THAT sound. When I hear it, I feel a mixture of shame and, oddly enough, relief. One, long grunt – my wife’s orgasm sound – followed by the sound of something slamming down on the bed, again and again. That “something” is my wife’s body, jerking and spasming as she cums in her lover’s arms. Yes, I am ashamed to be sitting on the floor while another man gives her pleasure. But I also feel a sense of joy: I am glad to hear her feeling so good. And I know what comes next, because my wife will want to give him that ultimate pleasure very soon.

Very soon? How about, “instantly”? The only way I can tell that the bed is now bouncing from fucking is by the sounds which Ted is making. He must have jumped her even as she finished cumming, because there was no pause at all. I hear Sally speaking to him in a staccato voice: I cannot hear the words, but I know she is encouraging him to cum in her, and with each stroke of his penis he forces her to catch her breath. I hear him groaning, and I know he is enjoying sex, enjoying my wife… enjoying what she has saved for him and denied to me.

I thought about what it must feel like for him. I tried to remember the feeling of my wife’s pussy around me, but the feeling is elusive, driven away by the discomfort of sitting on a hard floor and the disorientation of hearing Ted grunting away behind the door. I really couldn’t remember what it felt like, but I knew Ted would be able to tell me later. After her came in her.

Maybe one day I will be prepared for the sound of his orgasm. Maybe, but I don’t think it will be anytime soon. I’ve tried to describe it dozens of times before, but words are always insufficient. Rather than getting easier as the years have passed, it has only grown more difficult, more gut-wrenching, to hear. Now, as I realized that I could not even remember what it felt like to fuck my wife, the sounds he made when he came made my head spin.

I sat on the floor of a hotel room and masturbated, while my wife’s lover came in her in the next room. He cried out in what some call “beautiful agony,” a series of groans and grunts as he orgasmed and ejaculated in her pussy. I knew I was hearing the product of a mutual effort: Ted fucking my wife, and my wife fucking Ted. I heard the surprised moans which a man makes when a pussy tightens around his cock, and the deep, guttural grunts of him squirting every drop of semen into his lover. Once again, I had forgotten how sexual, how obscene, how exciting it is to hear a man cum in a woman, but this time, as I looked at my hand stroking my own penis, I realized I had not only forgotten what it feels like to fuck my wife; I also could not remember at all what it feels like – what it felt like - to cum in her.

I did not cum through all of that. Years of experience have taught me that the only way to cope with being cuckolded is to stay horny enough to turn humiliation into sexual feelings, and once I have cum I am left with nothing but loneliness and shame. When Ted and Sally finished making love, I dragged my hand away from my penis, got up, and went to sit on the couch in the living room. I spent the next half-hour reviewing what had just happened, bringing myself to the edge of orgasm again and again. But there is only so long I can jerk off, and only so many times I can get excited thinking about recent events, before I must face reality: my wife and her lover are sleeping now, together, in each other’s arms, in that ultimate of clichés: “post-coital bliss.” And I am alone. A cuckold.

Being a cuckold is exciting, but it is also painful. In fact, it is painful much more often than it is exciting, as I live every day with the knowledge that my wife is unfaithful to me. I may hear her fucking Ted for a half an hour, but I sit – in the living room of the hotel, in the car on the way home, and all the rest of my life – knowing that she wants him in her, not me. Part of me wants to knock on the bedroom door, to tell them to fuck again so I have something to entertain me, but I know that is not a cuckold’s role, and it would not be well received at all. My job is to drive her to her dates, to keep them company in public, and then to wait quietly until they are done making love. A thought crosses my mind: there should be a Hallmark card for lovers to send to cuckolds, thanking us for our help.

An hour and a half after they went to bed, I hear the bedroom door open. Sally emerges, naked, and walks quietly to the bathroom. I resume masturbating furiously: I just saw my wife the way Ted saw her: skin, breasts, pussy, ass, legs… my own wife!

I hadn’t even begun to assimilate that image when she came out of the bathroom and walked over to me. I asked her to sit down, but she said no, she would rather stand. I could not even think of standing on ceremony; I masturbated like mad as she stood next to me, her pubic hair at my eye level, and said she was having a great time. I looked at her standing so proudly, both of us knowing what she had done and would do again, and I couldn’t breathe. I kept thinking it was so nice of her to say hello to me before returning to her lover, but only a cuckold could understand that thought. I shook and gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, and she laughed.

She turned to go back to him, and I asked her to wait.

“What was the best part?” I asked through my sexual delirium.

Sally – my wife, my partner, the mother of my children – thought for a moment, then said, “I was sopping wet when he came in me.” Then she walked away from me, closing the bedroom door behind her.

What part of that do I deal with first? Do I deal with my wife’s nudity, knowing she shared herself completely with that man in the other room? Do I try to accept that she was “sopping wet,” when we all know she never got wet at all when she and I made love? Or do I try to accept the fact that my wife just told me another man came in her – that she came to report to me that another man’s sperm was now swimming in her womb? It was all I could to do to keep from cumming, or crying, or both.

But it was so kind of her to take the time to visit with me before going back to him. I felt warm and loved, in a way that only a cuckold could possibly understand. Even sitting there all alone, I was reassured and revitalized. But the best was yet to come.

Just a few minutes later, Ted called to me. I answered, puzzled as to what he might want. I was certain he would not ask me to watch them fuck again; both of them had made it clear that the last time, when I did watch, was not something they wanted to repeat.

“Come here, Paul,” he said.

I went to the bedroom door, and again, I knocked. He told me to come in, and I tentatively opened the door. I was naked and hard, and I was both embarrassed and feeling like an intruder. But he asked…

Here is what I saw when I opened the door: My wife was lying on her back, the sheet pulled up to just below her breasts. Her nipples were hard. Ted was lying next to her, his right arm under her head, his left draped across her body. He was caressing her right breast with his left hand, and they were kissing.

I did not know what to say, or what to do, so I stood there dumbly. After a few moments, Ted looked up, smiled at me, and said, “I realized we haven’t thanked you properly for everything you have done to make this possible. We really appreciate all your efforts, and we want to thank you formally. We would never have had this time together if not for you.”

With that, he kissed my wife again, and she shuddered as he gently squeezed her nipple between his fingers.

How can a man feel completely empty and very proud at the same time? I don’t know, but that is truly what I felt. I stood there as that man held, kissed and felt up my wife, and along with my shame I suddenly understood that I had done something good for both of them – and for me, too. I had brought two lovers together. I had helped my wife find something she never found in our marriage. And I had made it as convenient, easy and comfortable for them to be together as I possibly could.

“You’re welcome,” was all I said.

“Please leave us alone now,” Ted answered. There was no meanness in his voice; no sense of superiority; no intent to embarrass me. We all knew how things were, and he was simply saying what needed to be said. Thank you, and goodbye.

I closed the door gently as I left, and I sat down on the towel in the hallway. As I heard the first sounds of their lovemaking begin again, I noticed for the first time that I was sitting directly opposite a full-length mirror on the hallway closet door (funny how my attention had been elsewhere earlier in the afternoon). As I looked at my image in the mirror – a grown man, naked, stroking his rock-hard cock while he listened to the sounds of his wife fucking another man – I realized that the pride I felt in doing a good job as a cuckold eased my pain and increased my excitement. This was the way things were supposed to be: Ted’s penis in Sally’s body, and mine in my hand. And then I did something I don’t ever remember doing while Sally and her lovers were together.

I smiled.

Through his second orgasm and hers, I masturbated without release. But I was not frantic, and I felt good about everything that was happening. My loneliness? It was all right. My horniness? All right, too. My wife’s infidelity? All good. The lovers appreciated what I was doing, what I was giving up. I relaxed in the understanding that I no longer had to FEEL like a cuckold, or act like one. I am one, and we all know it is supposed to be that way.

By the time Ted went to the bathroom to shower, I was back on the couch. When he finished, he did something he has never done before: he walked into the living room while toweling himself dry. Once again, without a shred of meanness or superiority, he talked about how wonderful it was to fuck my wife. He talked – raved, actually – about how wet she was for him, how she could not keep her hands and mouth and pussy off his cock, how good she felt cumming in his arms, and how good she felt when he came in her body. Most of the time his penis was exposed as he dried his arms, chest and back, and I could not help staring. He was soft, and small (at least, small for him); obviously, my wife had satisfied him completely. But it was not his penis which held my focus the whole time he spoke; it was the knowledge that this was the penis my wife wants.

I did not feel sad, or angry, or even hurt. It was as if the game was over, and I had lost; no use crying over that which is done. I knew Sally was still my wife. I knew she would go home with me after Ted left. I knew we have our lives together, and I knew our love for each other is strong. But I also knew that, for all the things she wants to do with me, sex is not one of them. Sex is saved for the naked man standing in front of me, telling me the things my wife did with him that she does not want to do with me.

He returned to the bedroom, dressed and said goodbye to his lover. As he walked by me on the way to the door he said, “She’s sleeping now. She had a busy day. We give each other such pleasure, and I really do appreciate everything you do to make it possible. Bye.”

When he left, I walked to the bedroom door. It was closed, but not latched. I was about to push it open to see how Sally was doing, to get a look at her in their lovers’ bed, but I thought about what Ted said, and decided against it. I returned to the couch, leaving her to sleep undisturbed.

About an hour later, I heard her moving around. I expected her to come out to me, but the noises continued and I realized she was dressing. Another few minutes and she emerged, as prim and proper as if she had just finished a business meeting. She walked over to me, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and said, “Time to get dressed. I had a wonderful time, and now it’s time to go home.” I asked her if I could masturbate for a few more minutes with her in the room, but she gently said no. She was finished, and now it was my job to drive her home.

That night, sitting together after the kids went to sleep, she told me about their date while I jerked off. I asked her to hug me while I came, and she said no; I needed to do this alone. I asked if I could see her tits, and again she said no; they were not for me today. “Let’s just enjoy the way things are,” she suggested, and she smiled as she watched me. Her eyes were filled with love… but no hint of desire. That is what I saw when I came.

Sally still reserves the right to invite me inside her whenever she wants. So far, she has not wanted. She and Ted are working on a date for late January, and one night she said it was quite possible that I would not be inside her before she saw him again. I thought it would hurt much more than it does. But a “thank you” goes a long way.

Comments welcome; flames cheerfully ignored.

Cuckold Paul Pines
newatthis22a@yahoo.com

[truman2005]

great story