Cuckolded - My Wife at the Renaissance Faire - Extract

Hi all,

My new Cuckolded book, "Cuckolded - My Wife at the Renaissance Faire" is out today and I've priced the ebook at 99 cents today (Friday 28th Feb) - normal price $3.99. It's similar in theme to "Cuckolded - My Wife on the Oil Rig," in that a husband encourages his wife to flirt, but the wife is then deceived by a group of men into thinking he's happy for her to go further, and he's powerd to watch. However, in this one the one it's all about submissive fantasies. The wife--Tabitha--dreams of being helplessly taken by not just one, but a whole group of strong men. And when she's tricked into believing her husband's okay with it, she doesn't hold back.

Be aware that this is probably the most explicit story I've written. Also be aware that it's full of role-played fantasies (with safe words) of a woman being taken against her will. It's only role play and very much consensual, but I wanted to flag it up anyway.

It's a huge 38,000 words. It's available at four different retailers, including one that takes PayPal and one that allows you to pay via your cellphone bill (if you'd rather not use your normal Amazon account), and also as a paperback.

Whether you choose to pick it up or not, I hope you enjoy what's below. This is the first quarter of the book.

Cuckolded - My Wife at the Renaissance Faire

Chapter 1

"It'll be like Disneyland," I told my wife. "For grown ups."

Tabitha looked at the website—which, I had to admit, didn't really explain the Renaissance faire's appeal. "Bawdy comedy?" she asked. "Wood carving? That doesn't sound—"

"It'll be great. Everyone'll be in costume. There'll be hot guys with swords, wearing armor and stuff."

My wife was a big fan of those historical cable dramas about Roman slaves and Vikings, and I suspected a big part of the appeal was all the oiled muscle on show. She blushed and, for a second, it looked as if it had worked. Then she narrowed her eyes. "What aren't you telling me?" she asked. "Why do you want to go?"

I blushed. "I just thought it'd be fun. We could...dress up and stuff."

"Dress up? Wait. What would I have to wear?"

Damn. "Just a dress, like all the other women," I said innocently.

Tabitha stole the mouse and clicked through one of the galleries on the website. "Like this?!" she asked, horrified.

There was a gorgeous redhead on the screen wearing a low-cut wench's dress. Her creamy cleavage was almost escaping.

"Maybe," I said. "I mean, something like that."

Tabitha looked aghast. "But you'd be able to see...everything! All the other men would be able to see me!"

I had to stop myself reacting, because at those words a deep, hot ripple of arousal went through me, finishing in my groin. I actually felt my cock twitch. All the other men.

That was exactly what I wanted.

"Come on," I said. "It's no big deal. Everyone dresses like that. It's just a bit of fun. And there'll be mead and ale—"

"So takes guys will be gawping at me?"

"—music and dancing and...lots of stuff. Come on. Please?"

She tossed back her long, chestnut hair and stared at me. I could tell she was uncertain, but my pleading eyes eventually melted their way through her defenses.

"Okay, okay, fine," she said. "But you have to wear something equally ridiculous."

***

Let's rewind.

The first time I realized that I loved showing off my wife was almost a year before. It had been our wedding anniversary, funnily enough. Four years married, six together and everything had been going great. Well, nearly everything. Good jobs, nice house. No kids, but we were talking about it. The only problem was in the bedroom.

I'm kind of a shy permister—always the one in the corner at parties. When I met Tabitha, everyone said we were made to be together because she was just like me: quiet and studious, preferring a book to a night out (historical romances were her idea of a guilty pleasure). Except that neither of us quite fitted the shy permister mold.

Tabitha didn't look as if she should be shy. Tall, with full breasts and long, silken hair, she was alluring in a way that wallflowers aren't meant to be. She had to fight the guys off—in fact, that might be why she first agreed to go out with me, because I was the only one too shy to hassle her.

I couldn't match her in looks, but what I did have was a sex drive set much higher than a shy guy should. It was as if I had the sexual needs of a player, one of those cool guys who bedded a different girl every night. I knew how lucky I was to bag Tabitha and I cherished every moment with her...but it didn't change the fact that I was horny all the time and she wasn't—or, at least, she didn't appear to be.

It wasn't that I wanted sex with other women. I was a hundred percent faithful, and so was she. It was that I needed...more. I wasn't sure what. It wasn't as if sex with Tabitha was bad—we did it at least every couple of weeks, which I told myself was pretty good after four years of marriage. And I loved the sex we had; it was just that it was...tame. I'd go on top or, occasionally, she'd go on top, and that was the limit of our experimentation. I'd coaxed her onto all fours once, loving the way her breasts hung down and bounced as I drove into her, but she'd seemed really uncertain.

"Did you like it?" I'd asked her when we'd finished.

She'd blushed and looked away and I'd cringed inside, assuming that I'd pushed her into something she hadn't wanted to do. A few days later, she'd quietly asked if I wanted to try it again, but I reassured her that I wouldn't ask her to do something that degrading ever again.

So we continued. Tabitha would sit in the living room reading historical romances while I hunkered in the den, sating myself with porn on my PC, searching things like anal sex and deep throat and even gang bang. I always took care to wipe my history when I was done, because I didn't want Tabitha to know I was into that stuff. I still felt that there was something missing, though, something I needed but that I couldn't find.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Then came the night of our wedding anniversary. We'd been out for dinner and were heading for a take at an upmarket bar. There's a moment I remember very clearly, because in many ways it's the instant our lives changed. We stepped out of the doors of the restaurant, Tabitha fiddling with her purse and simultaneously moving to pull a cardigan around her shoulders. She was wearing a black skirt that hugged her ass and a dark red, low-cut top. On its own, it showed off a generous amount of her soft, pale cleavage—much more than she would usually show. That's why she'd worn a cardigan with it, to cover herself up, and it had worked fine in the air-conditioned restaurant. But as we came down the steps and the muggy city air hit us, she hesitated.

"It's too hot," she said, frowning. She looked down at herself uncertainly. "Do you think I can get away without it?"

I smiled. The top wasn't that outrageous—just low cut for her. "Sure," I said. "It's fine."

She folded the cardigan into her purse and we set off. Her breasts looked fantastic against the dark red of the top, the skin touchably smooth and soft. All I wanted was to pull her into a cab, get her home and do wicked things to her.

And then it happened. As we were strolling down the street, a guy in a suit passed us coming the other way. His eyes locked on my wife's breasts and he stared.

Tabitha didn't notice—she was looking in the other direction, and the guy was gone in a second. But I sure noticed. I saw the look in the guy's eyes and it hit me like a truck. First a gleam of raw lust as he took in her beauty. Then a flicker of surprise as he saw me and finally a flash of anger as he realized he wasn't going to be able to have her.

I liked it. That's what really shocked me. Something about seeing another man plainly lust after my wife made my cock twitch. At first, I thought it was the pride—knowing that I had a hot wife. Then I thought it might be the feeling of superiority—I've got her and you haven't. But when I played it back in my mind, the real reamister became clear. He'd wanted her. For that second, he'd imagined fucking her. And if I hadn't been there to stop him...he could have done it. Seduced her and stolen her and fucked her.

The whole experience almost made me stagger and Tabitha must have wondered why I went suddenly quiet. As I walked along with her, I was more turned on than I'd ever been in my life.

Then it happened again. A guy a few years older than me, giving my wife a long, lecherous look as he passed. Again, she seemed not to notice. And this time, I was imagining in my head what would have happened if I hadn't been there. Maybe he would have stopped her and propositioned her—he wasn't bad looking, for an older guy. What if Tabitha was a different kind of woman, one who wasn't faithful to me? Maybe she would have kissed him, right there in the street. In my mind, I could see them together, their bodies entwined, his lips mashing against hers as his tongue slipped into her mouth, one hand kneading at her breast.

I swallowed and shook my head to clear it. Only a little way down the road, a group of guys was approaching and I knew that they'd stare at my wife, too. By now, though, she was looking ahead of her and would be sure to notice. So, for the first time, I took action. I waited until they were nearly on us, until they were already starting to look at her, and I pointed something out in a store window on the other side of the street. She looked towards my pointing finger, and that left the guys free to stare.

And stare they did. Long, hungry looks at her breasts and legs. And because they were in a group, more than that. I watched out of the corner of my eye as they mimed squeezing her breasts with their hands, muttering obscene comments to each other. I wanted to hear them. I wanted—needed—to hear every word they were saying. In my mind, I could see them pushing her into a dark doorway, one of them covering her hungry, gasping mouth with his as the others groped and fondled her breasts, hands yanking up her skirt, fingers working beneath until the street echoed with the cries of her orgasm.
I stumred, nearly pulling Tabitha down with me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, worried.

I told her I was. But the truth is, I was better than okay. I'd discovered something new about myself. I loved showing off my wife, having other men stare at her and fantasize about her. And maybe more. In the darkest, deepest recesses of my mind, I imagined her letting them touch her...even kiss her. And when I was alone and jacking off, I even thought of them between her thighs, a hard cock sliding into her as she gasped and moaned.

That scared me, a little. Was there something wrong with me, that I got turned on by the idea of my wife with another? It wasn't that I didn't feel jealousy—the idea of another guy with my wife made my chest close up tight with rage...but the anger was blended with lust. I knew I never wanted anything to actually happen—well, maybe if someone kissed her, that would be okay—so that left me playing around the edges. I bought Tabitha skirts that barely reached down to mid thigh: she didn't wear them. I tried to get her into higher heels: she refused. Occasionally, I'd persuade her to wear a tight dress with a scoop neck and then I could enjoy the way the waiter gulped and swallowed and angled for a better look as he was serving her, or the way the cab driver stared in his rear view mirror at her.

I never told Tabitha what was really going on in my head. And however hard I tried, she was far too shy to do any serious teasing.

That's how I hit upon the idea of the Renaissance faire. Being in a completely new environment, where the norms were different and everyone was dressed up, might help her to let loose. All the other women would be in similar clothes, so she wouldn't feel out of place. And I knew that lots of guys went there specifically to drool at the women, so she'd get plenty of attention. We were both pretty busy with work, but we cleared our diaries for the final afternoon of the faire. It sounded perfect.

I had no idea how wrong it would go.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Chapter 2

"I can make you a member of the gentry or a pirate wench," said the costumier.

"Pirate wench," I broke in. "Definitely pirate wench." Wench had to be good, right?

Tabitha bit her lip prettily. "Um...okay. Sure."

The man handed her a large bundle of dark red fabric, a small blue and black bundle and finally some hard, curved black panels joined with laces. Tabitha looked uncertainly at the pile, but thanked the man and went into the changing room.

Moments later, she stuck one arm out of the curtains and beckoned me in. I slid into the small room with her. "What's up?"

She was standing in just her black bra and panties, with the black thing around her waist. It was some sort of corset, one that only covered her from just above her pubis to well below her breasts. "I think you're meant to lace me into it," she said nervously.

I just stood there for a second, stunned. Sometimes it hit me just how gorgeous she was. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and she was mine.

"What?" she asked nervously.

I shook my head. "Nothing. You're just beautiful."

She blushed and I started to lace her into the corset. As I pulled on the laces at the back, it tightened, shrinking her waist and making her breasts appear even bigger. "That's enough," she said.

I couldn't help it. "I think it's meant to be tighter," I said. And I pulled the laces harder. I watched as her waist shrank more, until her already impressive figure was a mouthwatering hourglass.

"Stop!" she gasped. "I can hardly breathe!"

I stopped. "Is it okay?" I asked. "Do you want me to loosen it?"

She took a few breaths, looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. "No. I'm okay. I can wear it for a few hours. God, no wonder women used to faint all the time." She took another hesitant breath. "God, I bet I couldn't run or...anything."

Her eyes went distant for a second and I presumed she was thinking of how uncomfortable she'd be all day. I felt suddenly guilty. I'd just wanted her to get lots of attention; I didn't want to spoil the day for her. "I'll loosen it," I said, and reached for the laces.

"No!" she said quickly. And then she blushed. "It's fine."

The blue and black bundle turned out to be a figure-hugging top, tight enough that it showed off her nipped-in waist and the magnificent swell of her breasts. There was only one problem.

"I can't wear a bra," she said. The dress was strapless—or, rather, it had straps but they were designed to go down around the upper arms. A bra's shoulder straps would be clearly visible, ruining the look.

Tabitha reluctantly stripped off her bra. My wife has the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen, full and heavy, the same delicate skin tone as the rest of her, pale and somehow vulnerable. They're topped with perfect, pencil-eraser style nipples, light pink with small areolae.

She pulled the dress up over her breasts. The top of the dress was tight enough that it squeezed her breasts together, making them bulge provocatively out of the top. She heaved the dress as high as it would go, but she has quite a long torso, and the dress would go no higher. Her nipples were barely hidden. I could feel my cock harden in my pants. It was perfect!

"It's awful!" she said mournfully. "I can't go out like this!"

"Everyone will be dressed like that." I rubbed her bare shoulder to reassure her. "You look great."

Biting her lip again, she put on the skirt. It was made of some light, iridescent material in dark red that shone as it caught the light. It was long, covering her almost to the ankles, and at first glance not very sexy. There was no slit up the side at all.

We went back out into the main tent and the costumier clapped his hands, telling my wife how good she looked—and I noticed that his eyes went straight to her cleavage. Tabitha looked as if she was about to change her mind, but then he handed her the rest of her costume—knee high pirate boots with silver buckles and a belt from which hung a sword and a dagger. For the first time, I saw Tabitha smile. "I get a sword?" she asked excitedly.

She didn't bother going back into the changing room, just put her foot into one of the boots and then placed it onto a chair to do up the buckles. This meant hiking her skirt up above the knee, and the costumier and I were treated to a display of gorgeous, toned thigh. Under the skirt, she was wearing only a flimsy pair of black briefs. It might be long, but its looseness meant it could be pulled up very easily...in some ways, I realized, she was more exposed and accessible than if she'd been wearing a tight, short skirt.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Tabitha put her other boot on and tried walking. The boots had heels that must have been over three inches high. They weren't as obvious as a spiked stiletto heel, but they had the same effect. With every step my wife took, her ass swayed provocatively and her breasts jiggled and bounced. I couldn't stop staring at her. She looked incredible! My only concern was that, when she realized how sexy she looked, she'd call a halt to the whole thing.

Fortunately, she was more interested in putting on the leather belt that held her dagger and sword. With it buckled around her hips, she really did look like a pirate wench. She tried to draw her sword, but found it was locked into its scabbard with bright orange zip ties. "What are these for?" she asked.

"It's peace bonded," said the costumier. "That's a real sword and a real dagger. We don't want you hurting anyone. Security will stop anyone they see carrying weapons that aren't peace bonded."

She pouted just a little. "I can't swing it around?"

"No! You could take someone's head off!" the costumier told her.

"You still look pretty badass," I said.

"I do?" she asked shyly. "Really?"

She ran—as best she could, in the boots—over to a mirror and I tensed, waiting for the howl of outrage as she saw her exposed cleavage. But none came. "I don't look badass," she said quietly. "I look...." She trailed off, and got that distant look in her eyes again.

I frowned. I'd never seen her like this before. "Do you like it?"

She coughed and nodded and I swore I saw her blush. Why would she be blushing?

I decided I'd figure it out later. The important thing was to get her into the faire before she changed her mind. "Let's get in there," I said, and took a step towards the counter to pay.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah," she said. "I'm not going out there dressed like this with you in jeans. You said you'd wear something equally ridiculous."

I'd completely forgotten about my own costume. I asked the costumier to give me a standard male outfit, but he rubbed his chin in concern.

"The problem is," he said, "the faire is pretty busy, and there's a lot more men than women. And you're a little on the small side."

I flushed. I am a little on the short side for a guy, and slender, with it. Tabitha being tall doesn't help. With her heeled boots on, she was a good few inches taller than me.

The costumier looked through the racks and shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have any male outfits that would fit you."

My jaw dropped. "You're not telling me I have to wear a woman's outfit?"

"Oh, gracious no. I have a youth outfit here that'll fit you. It just might be a little...tight."

It was.

When I came out of the changing room, I was in a pair of cream tights that were so tight you could see the bulge of my cock and balls. On my top half, I wore a sort of waistcoat the guy called a jerkin, with no shirt underneath. On a bigger guy, it might have looked quite good, but on me it hung limply on my slender chest, showing off my lack of muscles. A pair of rough, worn boots that didn't lend me any extra height completed the outfit.

"Don't I get a weapon?" I asked plaintively.

"No," the costumier said. "You're a stable boy."

My wife looked at me. "You look great," she said. Then tried not to laugh.

I sighed. I was in a hurry to get into the faire, because we were only there for the afternoon and it was already well past noon. It's worth it, I thought. It's worth it to see Tabitha in that costume. I paid the costumier, we put all our twenty-first century possessions in a locker, and we headed in.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

It was like Disneyland for grown ups. For the first few minutes, I didn't know which way to look first.

There were vendors hawking their wares—everything from clothes to furniture. There were food and take stalls, selling ale and mead and twenty different varieties of meat-on-a-stick. There were jugglers and singers and people dancing.

The difference was that, in Disneyland, you ignored the rest of the attendees except when you had to stand in line behind them. Here, the guests were as much of a draw as the attractions.

Almost every woman was in a low-cut dress, a peasant blouse or some sort of corset. Skirts were hiked up for dancing, showing lots of leg. Some of the women were in little more than a bikini made of fur or chain mail (the faire had a pretty loose interpretation of history and I saw elf maidens, cat girls and steampunk ladies...and all of them looked amazing).

Some of the men had gone to just as much trouble. I saw guys in full sets of armor and a few were even riding about on horses dressed as lords and princes. A lot of them had taken the opportunity to show off their muscles, with black leather versions of my jerkin and tight pants...only on them, the effect was a lot more flattering.

I walked on and almost smacked right into Tabitha's back. She'd stopped dead, entranced by a blacksmith working at his stall. The guy was stripped to the waist and pounding on a piece of metal with a huge hammer, his long, sandy-blond hair hanging down over his face, his muscles gleaming with sweat.

I'd never known Tabitha to look at another man before. Which, when I thought about it, was sort of weird. Maybe she'd just been hiding it well, and didn't feel the need to hide it here. Or maybe it was that these guys were dressed just like the men in the cable shows she loved. It gave me a little pang of unease to see her looking, but I quickly dismissed it. I mean, I was looking as well, right? It was only fair.

Besides, that unease was twisted around something else. The idea of her thinking of another man, even though I knew she'd never do anything about it, played right into my fantasies. I put my arm around my wife's waist and she actually jumped, she'd been so lost in watching the guy. She looked immediately guilty.

"Let's go over there," I said. "Let's see what he's doing."

She blushed. "Oh! No, I was just looking, I wasn't really—"

But I guided her over there and said a cheery hello to the guy. Who ignored me. I was put out for a second, but then I realized it was part of his act.

Everyone was in character, and you were meant to play along as much as you could.

"No time for talk, young squire," he told me. "I have twenty swords to finish before nightfall." He whacked the metal particularly hard and a shower of sparks flew up. His tanned biceps gleamed.

Tabitha was shuffling her feet and trying not to look at him, apparently quite embarrassed to be suddenly close to the man she'd been gazing at...and probably fantasizing about. "We should go," she whispered to me.

"You, wench," the blacksmith said. "Come fetch me some water. I have no time to lay down my tools." And he finally lifted his head and looked right at my wife, and I saw something pass between them. The guy was pretty good looking, with a short blond beard and a winning smile that defused his arrogant attitude. In fact, with all that tanned muscle and the big hammer, he looked like a Norse god.

My wife blushed, but I was surprised to see her practically run forward and pick up the ladle from a bucket of water. The blacksmith stepped away from the forge a little, still clutching the red hot sword in one hand and his hammer in the other. He was taller than her, even with her heeled boots on and, as she pressed up against his naked chest to put the ladle to his lips, she suddenly looked very small and fragile. And as she reached up with the ladle, I saw him staring straight down at her breasts, perfectly offered up to him by the dress and almost within reach of his mouth.

He drank hungrily, his bare chest rising and falling as he panted between gulps. He leaned back as he emptied the ladle and my wife had to press up against him harder to keep it at his lips...and then she planted one hand right on his chest to balance herself.

The blacksmith drank his fill, gave a growl of satisfaction and suddenly pulled my wife into the crook of one arm, keeping the hot sword out of the way. She yelped, but then, as he bent her backwards over his arm, she went sort of...limp. I mean, he wasn't holding her, and she could have just straightened up, but she just hung there and stared up at him, and I saw her start to pant, her eyes wide. The blacksmith grinned, leaned down and kissed the base of her throat. The spot he chose made it light and playful—it wasn't like he was kissing her on the lips. Yet on the other hand, his mouth was only a hands-width above the top of her breasts. And still she made no attempt to move.

"Begone, wench!" he told her. "I have work to do! Distract me no more with your temptations!" He hoisted her up and sent her staggering out of his tent.

I was standing there open mouthed. The whole thing had taken only thirty seconds, but my wife had been ogled, grabbed and kissed. It was exactly what I'd dreamed of, and my cock was hardening rapidly in response.

"Well," said Tabitha, panting. "I mean—That was—Well." She didn't sound offended or angry, exactly. It was more like she was trying to sound offended and angry. As if she thought she should be.

I was grinning. I was so, so¸ glad that we'd come to the faire. Then, just as we were about to move on, I glanced back and caught the blacksmith looking at the two of us. I gave him a friendly smile, just to show that everything was cool and we were fine playing along—I understood it was all in fun. And he smiled back at me, but the smile wasn't...right.

His eyes flicked to my wife and then to me and the smile he gave was cruel and calculating, sending a deep chill through me. And it ended, weirdly, not with a final look at my wife's ass or breasts but with a sneering, knowing look at my own costume, especially the lower half.

I stopped in my tracks, a chill rising in me. For a moment, I looked back over my shoulder towards the entrance. Past the costumier's tent, I could see bits of our old, familiar world—cars and SUVs, people in normal clothes. Should we just leave?

I looked at my wife, at those gorgeous breasts jiggling as she walked along. She realized I'd stopped and turned around, flicking her long hair over one shoulder and smiling at me, as if asking what the problem was. Right then, a man passing by her took the opportunity to gawp at her chest and I felt my cock stiffen again.

I shook my head, dismissing my concerns. We moved on.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Chapter 3

For the next few hours, everything was fine. We took in a comedy show, met a whole host of medieval characters and I ate a huge amount of barbecued meat. There was ale, too, which I liked and Tabitha didn't, and mead, which she loved and I didn't care for. We soon both had a buzz going—not actually takes, but appropriately merry for a faire.

Tabitha got a lot of attention. Almost every man we passed took his time leering at her cleavage—far too many for her to be unaware of it. She didn't seem to mind as much as I'd thought she would, though. She seemed different—excitable, like a horse that can sense a storm coming. She seemed to be breathing high and fast, and her eyes were gleaming. Flighty. She seemed flighty.

I got some attention, too. Quite a few people, men and women, glanced down at the front of my tights as they passed. I eventually looked down and realized to my horror that my cock was standing erect, its outline clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. You could see I was hard and, worse, you could see my size.

I'm not the biggest guy. I mean, I'm not tiny, but I'm not hung. I reddened as I realized that everyone walking towards us had seen me...judged me. And I couldn't lose my hard-on. The sight of my wife right in front of me, with her tight ass swaying and her breasts bouncing, with all the other men staring at her...I was permanently hard. I had no choice but to walk around like that and suffer the looks from other people. It hit me that the blacksmith hadn't been looking at my costume when he'd given me that final sneer. He'd been looking at my erection. I reassured myself that there was no way he could know that it was the sight of him kissing my wife that did it to me.

"Do you want to try that?" asked my wife. She was pointing towards a tent filled with couples dancing. We could only get a few glimpses through the tent mouth because it was pretty dark inside. I wasn't much of a dancer, but it didn't look too difficult. A sign outside said "Adults Only, Role Play." I only had a hazy idea of what role playing was, but I presumed we could figure it out.

Inside, the tent had been lit with candles and a quartet of musicians with lutes and harps were providing the music. The dance seemed to be some sort of formal, lords and ladies thing where you followed the directions of a caller at the front. Everyone but us was in elaborate embroidered gowns or suits with frilly shirts.

I took my wife's hands and started to dance. God, she looked amazing in the dress, with her long brown hair shining in the candlelight and her smile gleaming as she giggled. I felt like the luckiest man alive. We stepped past each other, turned, linked arms, and turned again, copying everyone else. I held her corseted waist, marveling at her new look. Tabitha's figure was great already, but with the corset exaggerating her hourglass shape she was stunning. And she appeared to be having a good time. For the first time since we arrived, I started to really enjoy the faire as a couple, instead of just thinking about the men staring at her. We should do this again, I thought.

Then the caller said to change partners.

I had to move one way, towards a red-haired woman, and my wife had to move the other, towards a guy with curly black hair. I could see Tabitha blink in surprise, her eyes going wide as the guy closed in on her. She glanced between him and me. Is it okay? she seemed to ask.

I nodded quickly. Of course it was fine if she danced with someone else. I mean, it was only dancing.

A little voice spoke up in my head. Unless it turns into something more.

Which was stupid. I was right there in the tent with her. It wasn't going to turn into anything.

But you'd sort of like it if it did, teased the voice.

I looked at my wife again. She wasn't looking at me anymore, but staring up at the guy who was dancing with her. He was big, like the blacksmith, and was dressed up as some sort of nobleman, with a shirt that was stretched tight over a broad chest. As I watched, he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. Something jumped inside me, a mixture of panic, jealousy and lust. It's fine, I thought. It's just a dance.

"Boy," the woman standing in front of me said, "Do you care to dance, or not?"

I flushed and took her waist, and we began to dance. She was quite pretty, a few years younger than me, with a green low-cut dress that displayed a mouth-watering scoop of pale cleavage. Dancing with her, though, meant I couldn't keep an eye on my wife. I kept trying to look over the woman's shoulder, but the room was packed and I couldn't see Tabitha anywhere.

The woman twirled around, sending her auburn hair out in an arc, and spun into my arms, her ass pressed up against the bulge in my tights. "Oh my," she said lightly. "I do believe the stable lad is excited."

I flushed bright red and gave her a sheepish smile. And then, through a break in the crowd, I saw my wife.

She was standing in the same position as my partner, with her back pressed up against the man's chest. Her ass was snugged just as tightly into his groin, but...I swallowed. The guy had tight trousers on and he, too, had a noticeable bulge there. A much bigger one than I had.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

My eyes tracked upward. He had an arm around my wife's waist, and she had an arm thrown up around his neck. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed. As I watched, I saw his gaze rake over her exposed cleavage. He grinned to himself.

My partner twirled away from me, pulling me to a different part of the dance floor and I lost sight of my wife. Minutes passed before I saw her again. This time she was facing her partner, snuggled up close against him, his hands on her back. Then, as I watched, his hands snaked down and clasped her ass.

Something like an electric shock went through me, crackling down through my chest. My own partner was forgotten as I watched his large hands smooth over my wife's ass and then squeeze.

My wife pulled her head back a little, looking shocked, then reached back and lifted his hands off her ass and back to her waist. The guy just grinned, leaned down and whispered something in her ear. I saw her blush, breathing hard for a second—almost panting. The guy then slowly and deliberately put his hands back on her ass.

She left them there.

The crowd closed up and I lost sight of her. I danced an automatic pilot, only vaguely stumbling through the steps. Inside I was raging, torn between the desire to run over there and drag the man off her and the need to watch. Why was she letting him grope her? Maybe it was just accepted here.

I tried it for myself. I slid my hands from my partner's back down to her ass.

She leaned back to look at me and then there was the whistle of something whipping through the air. My head jerked to one side, pain exploding across my cheek, and I realized I'd just been slapped.

Everyone around us turned to stare. The music stopped, and it all went very quiet. "How dare you, boy!" the woman said loudly, and everyone laughed. "Do you take me for some strumpet?"

I flushed red and released her. "I'm sorry! I thought it was all...part of the dance."

She tossed her hair theatrically and sniffed. "A stable boy shouldn't even be allowed at this sort of occasion," she told the woman next to her, who nodded. "He certainly shouldn't try to besmirch a lady's honor."

I glimpsed my wife through the crowd again and my jaw dropped. The man she'd been dancing with had scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her. She had her arms around his neck and was staring into his eyes. Her skirt was rucked up above her knees, and the combination of bare skin and knee-high boots was alluring.

I backed away from my partner, my face stinging, putting my hands up in apology as her friends harangued me for being an "uncouth beast." She didn't seem all that annoyed...in fact, the whole thing felt like an act.

And then I remembered the Role Play sign outside and it clicked. She was playing a role, and so was I. Part of the fun was doing things you normally wouldn't, if the role permitted it. A woman could dress up as a noblewoman and be romanced by some dashing prince who wasn't her husband. A man who had a lowly real-life job could pretend to be rich, and a woman who was a high-powered lawyer in real life could play at being a lowly serving wench. It wasn't that I'd grabbed her ass. It was that a stable boy—a peasant—had grabbed her ass, when she was a lady. No doubt if I'd been dressed as a lord, she'd have accepted it. No wonder it's an adults only event! Everyone was using it as an excuse to hook up!

Then I remembered Tabitha. She was in a wench's outfit, surrounded by men playing rich, powerful lords.

I fought my way through the crowd towards where I'd last seen her. There was a huge mound of silken cushions in one corner of the tent where people could flop to take a break. There was quite a bit of kissing going on, but I couldn't see my wife anywhere.

Then, right at the back in the semi-darkness, I saw her. She was sitting on his lap, his arms around her waist, blushing as he muttered in her ear. As I watched, he pulled her a little tighter to him and she gasped.

I went to approach them...and then veered off and turned my back, breathing hard. Suddenly, a different idea had popped into my head. What if I didn't intervene? What if I just watched?

It was dark at the back of the tent, and if I stayed away from the candles I was almost invisible. I crept closer, until I could hear them.

"I told you on the dance floor, wench, you will learn to obey me or I'll have you arrested and strung up. I know your sort, arriving aboard some pirate's galleon and bringing disorder and ruin to a respectable town."

My wife gasped again, and I waited for her to say something like, "Um, this is all very fun, but I should probably be getting back to my husband now." But instead, in a fair approximation of a British accent, she said, "Sir! You have made a mistake. I'm merely a maiden, not a pirate!" And then she...struggled against him. And when I say struggled, I mean...didn't really struggle at all. She just sort of writhed against him as if helpless, even though she could have easily got up off his lap. It seemed to be calculated to rub her ass against his crotch and tease him with her hair while doing absolutely nothing to actually free her.

My wife was playing along. She was actually acting out her role, even though we'd just wandered into this role play thing accidentally.

"Then why do you have a dagger, if not to plunge it into a relaxing man's heart? Perhaps you mean to ******* me in my relax after I take you?" He reached around her and unbuckled her belt of weapons.

"No, no—" said my wife. "Don't take my weapons! Don't leave me defenseless!" She did another one of those non-struggles. A real change was coming over her, now. Her mouth was open and her breath was coming in hot little pants. She's not just playing along, I thought in shock. She's turned on.

"Now," said her dance partner. "Now that I've made you safe, open up those sweet lips to me, or I'll see you dangle from the gallows." My wife was leaning back against him and, as I watched in horror, he shifted so that her head lolled back onto his shoulder. He smoothed her hair out of the way. He was about to kiss her!

I waited for my wife to say something to stop him.

She didn't.
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

His mouth descended on hers, and just before they connected I saw her soft, pink lips part in welcome. Then he was kissing her, deep and hungry, and within seconds I could tell that his tongue was in her mouth. She arched her back, pressing herself against him, and I saw one breast rub against his upper arm. He was doing something with his other hand, too, on the side of her facing away from me. I craned around for a better look.... Holy cuckolds brownie! He'd yanked her skirt almost up to her waist on that side, and his hand was sliding along her thigh, upward and inward.

I was numb with shock...and at the same time more excited than I'd ever been in my life, my cock almost painfully hard, my heart pounding. That my wife would allow this was unbelievable—at home, she was so shy! Putting on the costume must have unlocked something inside her, and then finding herself in this role play event must have been the final straw. I remembered her dance partner whispering in her ear, out on the dance floor. He must have explained how the event worked, and that she as a wench should be subservient to him as a lord. Of course, Tabitha would have known full well that she could just walk out at any time—it was only a game. But maybe the role play was just what she needed as an excuse. She'd never kiss another man, of course—she was a hundred percent faithful. But if she "had" to kiss another man to stay in character, if, in her mind, she was a helpless pirate wench, in thrall to an evil lord....

A bomb went off in my mind. Then she could do anything she wanted!

My chest went tight. Maybe I'd been reading my wife wrong, all these years. Maybe she had needs I'd never known about, and had just been too shy to express them. How far would she go, now that she had an opportunity?

The man nodded towards the dancers, as if telling her that it was time for them to go and rejoin the action. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and she blushed. His hand was under her skirt—God, was he feeling her up?

She blushed again. She had a strange look in her eyes—she was turned on, but it was more than that, more like she was off in her own little world. And then she nodded. He made a sudden motion with the hand that was under her skirt and she yelped and blushed even more. Then she slid off his lap and he strode off into the crowd.

I stepped forward into the light.

"Ian!" She blinked twice and seemed to snap back to her old self, the distant look in her eyes gone. She blushed crimmister, glancing at the departing back of her partner. "You...saw that?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn't know what to say. Yell at her, for kissing another guy? But she'd done exactly what I'd secretly wanted her to do—let a guy leer over her and flirt with her and get her alone—and it had been just as much of a turn on as I thought it would.

Of course, she'd gone a lot further than I'd wanted...I mean, I'd thought about her kissing someone as a fantasy, but I hadn't wanted it to actually happen...had I? And she didn't know that it was a fantasy of mine, so she'd sort of cheated on me.

I looked at her face, distraught and on the verge of tears, and I knew that I couldn't be angry at her. I'd be faking it, making her feel bad just to righteously defend my manhood. Instead, I took her hands, pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "It's okay," I told her quickly.

"It—It is?" Her eyes were moist.

I sat her down on the cushions. "It's okay. Really. I'm not angry."

She swallowed, looking at me disbelievingly, but seemed to calm down. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I just...." She blushed. "I got kind of...into it, and it just sort of..."

"It just sort of happened?" I asked gently.

She shrugged guiltily. "Yes...but that wasn't what I was going to say. It just sort of...turned me on," she said in a small voice.

"Kissing a stranger?" I asked, thinking I understood.

She nodded. "Yes, and...."—she looked away, unable to meet my eyes—"He was a lord, and he was going to have me hung as a pirate if I didn't do as he said. I was..."—she almost whispered it—"helpless."
Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

My jaw dropped. Helpless?! We'd never played around with BDSM. Tabitha wasn't into that...was she? Suddenly, all that non-struggling made a lot of sense. I realized she was still looking at me with big, worried eyes.

"Look," I said. "Honestly, it's alright."

"But...aren't you angry?"

And there it was. Decision time. Tell her the truth and expose my fantasies, or lie to her and make her feel terrible?

It wasn't any decision at all. My love for her gave me only one choice...and, ultimately, doomed me.

"No," I said softly. "I'm not angry." I edged closer to her, not wanting anyone else to hear. "Look, I should have said something a long time ago. I..."—I took a deep breath—"I get turned on, seeing other men looking at you. Seeing that guy kiss you was even better."

She stared at me for a long time.

"Say something!" I said.

"I'm just...aren't you jealous?" she asked.

"Yes! Jealous and angry. But turned on as well. More turned on than angry. I mean, being turned on makes it okay." I sighed. "It's difficult to explain."

"So you...want me to do things with other guys?" she said slowly.

I nodded. "Do you think I'm weird?"

For a heart-stopping moment, she said nothing. Then: "No. I mean, I've heard of people liking that. It's just...wow. It's a lot to take in." She looked around her at the candles, the lords and ladies. "I can't believe we're having this conversation here."

"Maybe we had to have it here," I said. "Maybe this is a good place to...you know. Both come out of our shells a bit."

She glanced back at the cushions where she'd sat on the man's lap, and blushed. "Maybe." She thought for a while. "So it wouldn't be cheating? I mean, you'd really be okay with it?"

I had to think about it. I'd lived so long with the fantasy that it was hard to get used to the idea of it becoming a reality. "Yeah. I'd have to be there, though. That's what would make it not cheating. That I'd be there, and know everything that went on."

She nodded. "How far would you want me to go?"

And that was the moment. All I had to say was, "No further than kissing," which was about how I felt. Or maybe "No clothes come off," which was definitely my limit. Why didn't I just say that? My brain was screaming at me to say that. But I still had an image in my brain of Tabitha being mounted by her dance partner, his strong body between her legs, and even though I knew it was just a fantasy, knew for certain that I'd never want it to happen in reality, it made me hesitate. What if I drew a line, and then wanted to go just over it? What if I said No further than kissing, but then wanted her to go just a little further and she called a stop to things?

And so, fatally, I said, "I don't think we should set a limit. I'll be there. I'll just stop you if it's too much."

She swallowed and I saw her breathing speed up. "Really?"

I nodded slowly. I was still thinking in terms of kissing and groping—I never considered that she might be thinking of much, much more. "Yep." I stood up. "Now...how about we get out of here?" And I held out my hand to help her up.

She smiled and took it, pulling herself to her feet. Then she threw herself into my arms and kissed me. "Thank you!" she said.

"For what? For giving you permission?"

"For being honest with me." And she hugged me. As we walked towards the exit, I was elated. I had visions of us having happy adventures together, with her dancing and kissing strangers in bars and me watching from a few feet away, and then fantastic sex afterwards. I thought we'd just taken a huge step forward in our marriage. I had no idea of the mistake I'd just made.

Just as we neared the exit, I saw Tabitha's dance partner. He was side-on to us, taking a break at the side of the tent and watching the dancers. As I watched, I saw him lift his hand to his face. In his huge palm was a scrap of black, silky fabric from which dangled some thin bands. He raised it to his nose, inhaled deeply, and grinned.

I had to turn the image around in my head before I realized that I was seeing a pair of women's panties with the waistband snapped.

Tabitha's panties. He'd torn them off her as part of their scene.

I walked Tabitha out of there before she saw him, but my brain was already working overtime. Suddenly, I was seeing things in a different light. I could imagine, now, what he'd been doing under her skirt. He must have had his hand bunched in her panties, stretching them away from her pussy, and whispered something like, "I will take your underclothes as a trophy, you harlot."

And she'd agreed. Not just to giving him her panties, but to having them ripped off. That was way beyond my comfort zone.

And then I'd come along and told her that I was fine with the whole thing. She now thought I was okay with far more than I really was.

I looked across at her as she strolled happily along. Should I say something? But if I did, she was liable to panic and be upset, and we were only just getting started on this whole new adventure. Best to chalk it up to experience, I figured. She'd gone too far, but nothing like that was ever going to happen again. I'd step in and stop things before it did.


<<<<>>>>

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Bestselling author of the "Cuckolded" stories, available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play and All Romance Ebooks http://victoriawessex.com

Pretty good start, I'm persuaded to buy it.