i_want_to_watch
Member
Posts: 2
|
I love this site. The stories, the pictures. Tentative first steps, time served full-on hotwives and cuckolds – beautiful. And how delightfully appropriate that we have to pay for access to discuss our willing offenses.
My story is going to be rather tame compared with many of the stories told here. Married young, girlfriend even younger and pregnant. I think she still had some living to do that was denied her by early domesticity. Fast forward; some eight years into the marriage, I thought we were happy. She had a job in a local department store and expressed an interest in doing some additional weekend work for a male colleague, who had his own little shop. I remember a not-altogether unwelcome sense of unease the first time I watched her being driven off in his car.
Some months later, I arrived home after work on a warm sunny weekday and they (he and her) were sitting outside the house at the back. Her going away on Saturdays was one thing, but here he was midweek. There was an atmosphere you could have cut with a knife; some electricity in the air, a sense of interrupted convivial conversation. After he'd left, all very polite and British, of course, no heated accusations, we talked and she seemed relieved to confess that yes, there was a relationship. I was livid, angry, disgusted, let down. I sent her off to his place, in the family car, with some of his stuff that had found its way into the house. I'd actually been fixing his computer for him....and at that time I wasn't sure if I wanted her to come back. She did, and we talked, in a more or less civilised way. She also told me that she'd previously had two lovers since we'd wed.
The following weeks were pure misery. I was humred and ashamed and angry. I thought we were OK as a couple, and she'd been shagging other guys.
We made peace, we decided to stay together and try to patch things up.
Now, I'm not squeaky clean. Whilst I had never been unfaithful to her, I'd had a long-term interest in porn (this was way before the internet and broadband changed all our lives!) and had the occasional surreptitious wank over girlie magazines. Business trips overseas gave me splendid opportunities to survey the late night TV. One program that caught my attention was Please Bang My Wife on American TV one night in a hotel. It planted a seed....on my return I started looking at my wank mags with a new interest, seeking out the wife-watching stories, the lucky happy men who discovered they liked to see their wife with other men. I fondly remember one about a guy whose wife had been out with her girlfriend, and they return with two guys, but the girlfriend tosses off our hero whilst he secretly watches the two guys take his wife. Or the one about a guy whose wife is obliged to host a stag party and she willingly becomes the centre of attention. I realised that I was enjoying thinking about my wife with her lovers, and I started to wonder if she had gone to them because I was in some way not fulfilling her needs.
I found the courage one night to tell her about enjoying these hotwife stories, and showed her some of my favourite wife-watching stories in my secret collection of wank mags. She didn't, and never has “got” cuckoldry, but she seemed happy to amuse me with discussing the subject.
At this time, she was going out once a week to play cards in a local men's club, and fuelled by a story by a man who'd discovered his wife was going out and posing for a photography club and satisfying all the members' needs, and being photographed whilst doing it, I began to enjoy the thought that she might not be just playing cards – though unlike my camera club story, I didn't expect a set of large glossy pictures showing her indulging in anything and everything you could think of. One Saturday, whilst she was at work, I had a few takes, worked up some dutch courage, and when she came home, put it to her that I'd like her to take a lover. In my mind, I wanted her to dress provocatively and go out on the pull, and then come home late and takes, either well used with stories to tell, or with some new friends who would not merely accept me watching, but maybe enjoy belittling me whilst they made love to her.
She was angry at first, but in a surprisingly short time, told me that there this is this guy at the card game evenings she rather liked....
Not quite what I wanted to hear. I didn't want a steady boyfriend for her; I wanted danger and excitement, the fear of the unknown. I wanted to be made to watch and to be humiliated by her bulls. But beggars can't be choosers. I'd even written up a cuckold's contract, which she could use to blackmail and humiliate me. I'd signed it, but she didn't seem quite sure that this was all for real, and, to my regret, didn't add her signature. As I said before, she didn't “get” the cuckolding thing.
The next Saturday was the day. An assignation with her card evenings friend was set up. We found her a pretty dress (she normally wears jeans) and some fuck-me heels. Nice matching bra-and-thong set. No stockings this time, it was a warm night. I delivered her to the rendezvous, a local pub, and left her there, my heart pounding, dry lips. I watched her walking away from me, her pretty legs shown off well by the dress and the heels, and she walked briskly, eagerly, without looking back. I couldn't settle. I drove round for hours that evening, smoking myself hoarse, bought some more wank mags. She sent me a couple of text messages to reassure (taunt?) me with the news that things were going well. I eventually got settled enough to go home, and started takeing and wanking furiously, wildest fantasies crowding into my head. What were they doing together? Was he undressing her slowly, showering her body with kisses and caresses? Was he good? Was she she being bad? Was he bigger, better, longer-lasting than me? Was he a s*******ed and attentive lover? Had he brought along his mates to share her with? I went to bed very late, sore and quite drained.
We met up on Sunday morning and went for a pub lunch. She was quiet. I'd wanted her bragging, shaming me with lurid tales of his prowess. Ho hum. However, she seemed willing to do the same next weekend.
This went on for several months. Occasionally she'd come back to me and let me lick her clean, though she never quite understood why this meant so much to me. She'd get later and later coming back to me, until, as no doubt you've guessed, one day she didn't come back at all. I'd enjoyed those solitary Saturday nights, wondering what she was doing, who she was doing it with, wanking myself sore, getting takes, trawling the 'net for other cuckolds, looking for the stories by other sad small-dicked wimps, waiting in anticipation of madame's return, with her soiled knickers and swollen, moist, used pussy. So many scenarios to consider; she goes out pretty, or sexy, or full-on tarty, with or without underwear, dancing up close, feeling them and being felt, maybe carefully lining up one guy for special attention, or getting in with a group of guys, or maybe just a series of casual knee-tremblers and other brief encounters. She'd come back alone, but with her pussy full of love juice for me to lick out, or with one or more new (or old?) friends who would find my timid, forgiving, grateful, submissive and subservient demeanour amusing if not worthy of totally abusive derision. I'd wear a chastity device, or something humiliating like a maid's outfit, with make-up and carefully painted finger and toenails. She's never done anal with me, but seems willing enough with her new loves, or maybe if she's not in the mood, volunteers me to offer my little aperture. Either way round, I happily return the favour by enthusiastically submitting to ass-to-mouth, taking their soiled cocks into my mouth to clean them and restore them to gleaming, shiny readiness.
We've moved on. She moved in with her lover. I still wank myself sore, thinking about how it might have been; me as a sissy servant, meeting her and her lovers' needs, cleaning her out, sucking him (them?) back to full hardness, whilst my happy little cock squirts out its impotent dribbles of love juice.
Part of me wants her back. I still love her, and I want her enjoying a new sense of self-confidence in her looks and desirability. I want her calling the shots, and telling me how it's going to be. I want her going out, proudly, dressed provocatively and maybe sluttily, leaving me locked in to make sure the house is clean and tidy and ready for her return with her conquest of the night. Or maybe I have to be on call, to go collect her and her lover and bring them back to our home. I'm not allowed to touch myself whilst she's out at play – perhaps she'll insist I wear a chastity device, whilst she's out, showing herself off, takeing and flirting and deciding who is the lucky guy tonight who gets to come back with her. Maybe tonight she'll let me wank whilst I watch....
|
