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A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 06


by Paul Pines





My wife, Sally, and her longtime lover, Ted, re-established their affair last year. What with life, schedules and such, they only get to see each other about once every two months, so when the Big Day approaches, everyone gets excited.


On their last date, I was required to be at work in the late morning and again at night, so they got to be truly alone together for the first time. They had a great time, and were even kind enough to call me from their hotel bed. I had gone home after my first appointment and was masturbating, wondering what they were doing, when Sally called to tell me they had made love and were going to do it again. Then Ted got on the phone and told me how wonderful my wife looked, lying in bed naked with him. To sum it up, a good time was had by all, and Ted and Sally realized they MUCH preferred being alone together, without me watching (as I did when they began) or listening at the door (as I did last year). They both said they hated the thought that they were "performing" for me, and the time alone was much more intimate and much more passionate. Afterward, they each talked to me about what they had done, and told me everything I had missed, which was tremendously exciting for me. Ted has an amazing way of never laughing at me while he tells me all about cuckolding me; it's like he's sharing a wonderful experience with a friend. That makes it a great conversation, and I have the awesome experience of remembering from time to time, "That's MY WIFE he's talking about!"


But there were two things which made Sally uncomfortable about that date: the long drive she had to make by herself to meet Ted – nearly an hour and a half each way - and that he knows a number of people in the area where they met, so during lunch they had to look as businesslike as possible. This was not easy for either of them, as they kept thinking about the bed that awaited them. So when plans for today's date were made, Sally asked if I would be willing to drive with her, have lunch with them, and then leave them alone when they went to bed together. I realized from the outset that it would not be the easiest thing to do, but of course I agreed. I asked only that Sally help me get ready for the experience, too, and she agreed.


Five days before their date Sally began to prepare, and to prepare me. She said I was no longer allowed to see her undressed or have any kind of sex with her; she was saving herself for Ted. Every time I tried to peek she'd jump to cover herself, saying, "It's not for you." The only exceptions she made were the two times I helped her to cum, which we did in complete darkness so I could not see her, and as soon as she was satisfied, she pulled the covers back up told me to go jerk off if I wanted. At night she would undress in the bathroom, and she replaced her silk negligee with long, flannel pajamas. As her date approached, she skipped our long-time rituals of me helping her to shave her legs and prepare her breasts and her pussy; she never said a word about it – she just did it all on her own. She did let me do her toenails, but made sure her legs (and pussy) were covered while I did them. Only once, when I was about halfway done, did she say anything about what I was doing it for: without any buildup she said, "I'm really looking forward to seeing him." Knowing that I was preparing her toes to wrap around him during sex, I nearly polished a racing stripe up her foot!


Two days before their date we went to Victoria's Secret, where she asked my advice on choosing a new bra and panties. Not that she needed them, but we both enjoyed the thought that we were choosing new underwear for Ted to see, and to remove. When we got them home I asked to see them and she said "Sure," but all she did was take them out of the bag and hold them up.


"Could I please see how they look on you?" I asked.


"No, you can't. They're not for you," was her self-satisfied response.


As she instructed, I reserved a hotel suite with a bedroom for them and a living room for me. And she had me go to her office and pick up her "white noise" machine. She said the thought that I might be "lurking" (her word) outside the bedroom door was "creepy" (also her word), and she wanted to make sure I could not hear anything while they were making love.


Interesting – that was the first time she ever referred to what they did as "making love," and I asked her if that was the proper way to describe it. She thought for a minute, and said yes.


I chatted with Ted online several times during the week. He was pleased to hear the part about "making love." He was also blunt and not at all shy about telling me how much he was looking forward to his date with my wife. He told me in great detail WHAT he was looking forward to, and I kept wondering what the proper, polite response is when a man tells you that your wife's nipples are delicious, and he can't wait to suck on them. When I figure out the ave way to answer, I'll let everyone know; all I could do was cringe a little and masturbate while he described his plans.


He LOVED hearing that my wife was saving her body for him, and that she told me it was not for me.


Ted said he would meet us at 1 p.m., and we planned accordingly. Then, that morning, he emailed me and said he could arrive by 12:30. That's when I realized how serious HE was about his date with Sally.


Of course, Sally dressed in private. When she was ready, she asked me how she looked. I did not know how to answer that, either. She looked beautiful, she looked sexy, but she was not asking me that. She was asking me how she looked FOR TED. "Absolutely great," I stuttered, and we set off.


We listened to the radio, made a few phone calls, and talked about nothing important on the way. Every few minutes I looked over at her and thought about she was going to do, and the fact that I was driving her. I haven't told her how exciting that was – she'll learn about it when she reads this story.


Just before we arrived, she said, "Thank you very much for driving me," as calmly as if I had given her a ride to the park. I told her she was welcome, and that I hoped she had a very good time with him, and I tried to give her a kiss. She instinctively turned her mouth away from me, as any woman does when she is avoiding a man's unwanted advance.


"It's not for you," she said, and got out of the car to greet him.


Lunch was nice, but strange for me. No sex talk, just conversation between three friends. But Sally made sure Ted sat to her left, so he could see that she had opened one button too many on her shirt. I couldn't see anything, but I could tell exactly when her shirt fell open: Ted's eyes were immediately drawn downward, and I saw him ogling my wife's chest. That itself was not so odd, but the realization that he was enjoying a peek of what my wife would give him after lunch made it difficult for me to swallow my food.


When we (actually, they) finished eating we went to the hotel room together. Once inside, they sat on the couch in the living room. They sat close together, cuddling while they continued to talk about work, life and everything else. From time to time they kissed, and I could see them gently touching each other's leg. I realized that no one would think twice about this picture of a loving couple, sitting and talking together, except that Sally is married to ME, and I was sitting in a chair across from that loving couple.


They talked for about ten minutes, then Ted said, "Well, I've had enough of this. I want to take you inside."


We had talked about what would happen next, but still, it took me by surprise. Sally, still sitting on the couch, turned to face me for the first time. She said, "Ted and I are going to bed now, and we want to be alone together. I really don't want you listening at the door, so please stay here on this couch while we make love, okay?"


I nodded dumbly as Ted took Sally's hand, and led her to the bedroom. Just one pause along their way, as Sally bent over and turned on the "white noise" machine sitting in the hallway outside the bedroom door. Then I heard the door close, and I was left alone.


Less than a minute later, Ted called me from the other room and said they needed my help. All kinds of thoughts raced through my mind: had they decided to let me watch? Or did they at least want me to "help" by undressing Sally before they had sex? I ran into the bedroom, and saw the two of them standing with their arms around each other. Both were fully dressed, except almost all the buttons on Sally's shirt were open (Ted LOVES my wife's breasts, and they have both told me that he dives for them the minute they are alone).


There is no way for a cuckold husband to be cool in such a situation, but I tried to be at least coherent. I asked what I could do to help them. With a slightly evil smile, Ted said, "We'd like you to pull down the covers, and make the bed nice for us."


That was it? No sex, no undressing? My heart sank, but what could I do? I removed the bedspread, then pulled down the sheet and blanket, folding them neatly near the foot of the bed while the lovers looked on. Sally told me to keep the covers where she could reach them, because "I get cold without my clothes on." Without any time to consider the immense sexual significance of opening the bed for my wife and her lover, or of her statement that she would soon be naked, Ted said, "Thank you, now please leave," and I did. To my own surprise, I made sure their bedroom door was tightly closed behind me, and I returned to my place on the couch.


I'd love to give you all the details of what they did during the next two and a half hours, but I have no idea. I'll be honest: several times I left my assigned place on the couch and tiptoed over to the bedroom door. I strained to hear something – anything – from the other side, but all I could hear was the damn noise machine. Later, I asked Sally if they had been particularly quiet making love. She gave me a very surprised look and said, "No, not at ALL." When I told her I didn't hear a thing, she was genuinely pleased.


Denial is a powerful emotion, and I felt all of it. Not just the physical denial of my wife saving her body for Ted, but a strange, psychological denial, too. For a full hour, I actually convinced myself that there was a chance they weren't doing anything sexual at all behind that door. After all, I hadn't seen them undress, I hadn't heard a sound: maybe they just decided to sit and talk? And maybe – just maybe – when they really started to do something, they would call to me again and let me watch?


Oh, sure, I pulled down my pants and masturbated. What else could I do to pass the time? But I found that as excited as I was, I could not get close to cumming. I didn't actually want to cum – I never do while Sally's on a date, because it helps to be very, very horny when dealing with the overwhelming emotions of being cuckolded. But I couldn't even get close, because there was that nagging suspicion – or maybe it was a hope – that they would decide to include me. They KNEW I was right outside, and I knew they hadn't forgotten I was there. Maybe...


One hour after my wife and her lover entered their bedroom, my comfortable little denial-world caved in. I heard the doorknob turn, and I thought, "This is it!" and my cock sprang to attention.


Sally came out of the bedroom, completely naked. She crossed the short distance in front of the sink, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I couldn't believe my eyes – literally. I had caught a momentary glimpse of her breasts, her ass, and all the skin of her body. She was naked, and she had just come out of the bedroom - the room where I had seen Ted standing with her. Yes, I know it's stupid to have thought that they were only sitting and talking, but it was not until that moment that the sledgehammer of reality came down on my head, and I knew – KNEW – that my wife had been fucking her lover in their bedroom.


I wanted to meet her at the door when she came out of the bathroom, but I decided to show her I was doing what she asked, so I stayed on the couch. I couldn't wait for her to come over and tell me what they had been doing, and what they were going to do next!


When she came out of the bathroom, she washed her hands at the sink. I could see her perfectly from behind: her head, her naked back, her ass leading down to her slightly-parted legs, all the way down to her bare feet. I sat patiently, quietly staring at her and masturbating while she washed and dried her hands. When she put down the towel, she turned and went back into the bedroom without so much as a glance in my direction. I heard the door click shut behind her, I realized she was not going to share anything with me. Nothing. Not a word.


I came. Hard.


I tried to stop it, because I was overwhelmed with pain and humiliation and I knew as soon as I was done cumming, it would be a lot more difficult to cope with my feelings, but there was no stopping it. After an hour of waiting, after having nearly convinced myself that my wife and that man were just sitting on the bed and chatting, after thinking they would invite me in, after expecting my wife at least to come tell me what they were doing, I was alone with nothing but my own penis, impotently squirting cum all over my hand. As Sally was sliding back into Ted's arms, I sat on the living room couch wishing I could take back the orgasm I was having and wishing I could take back my offer to drive her to her date. But it was too late for both.


Later, I asked Sally if she had thought about talking with me when she went to the bathroom. She looked puzzled and said, "No. Why would I? I didn't come out to give you a show, and I couldn't wait to get back to Ted." Even though she would not tell me that until later, I knew it then; there was nothing phony about her actions or her body language. She had to go to the bathroom, and that was the only thing interrupting her time with her lover.


After I cleaned up, I sat there on the couch wondering what to do now. Now that I knew they had made love, I knew they would do it again. But the excitement was gone, and my cock hung limp between my legs. I tried to get hard again, imagining all kinds of exciting images of them fucking, but it didn't work. The combination of reality and cumming left me empty, physically and mentally. I actually read the newspaper for a while, but found that to be more humiliating than sitting there doing nothing. Real chauffeurs read the paper while waiting to drive their passengers home; I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was nothing but a driver for my wife that day.


I tried listening at the door again, with the same result as before. I tried using X-ray vision as I stared at the wall separating me from the lovers, but to say I'm no Superman would be stating the obvious. A few times I got semi-hard but just could not sustain my erection, and I cursed the damn orgasm that left me feeling that way even as I realized it had been such an erotic experience to have my wife act the way she did.


I didn't even realize another hour had gone by until I heard the door open again. This time it was Ted, and he was as naked as my wife. He, too, went directly to the bathroom, and again, I was struck by the reality of it all: not only had he made love to my wife, he didn't even bother to cover himself when he walked by me. He had taken her, he had been intimate with her, he had made love to her, and he was completely comfortable walking by me in his birthday suit!


When he emerged from the bathroom, the earlier scene repeated itself. He stood at the sink and washed his hands while I stared at the back of the man who had fucked my wife. When he was done he turned to go back to the bedroom, and I saw his penis sticking out between his legs. He was not hard at all, and I knew it was because my wife had satisfied him. I saw him for only a few seconds, yet what I saw spoke volumes: he made love to my wife. He fucked my wife. He came in my wife. Now he was satisfied, and he was soft; that's what happens when lovers go to bed together.


He closed the bedroom door behind him, and I no longer had trouble getting excited. I masturbated as hard as I could, thinking about the one minute of sexual stimulation they had given me in the past two hours, and realizing that they only gave it to me because I was able to see the hallway and the sink from where I sat. I remembered what Sally had told me all week: "It's not for you." And I understood that she really meant it. And so did Ted.


Half an hour later – two hours and thirty minutes after they closed the bedroom door – Ted came out, dressed. The last time I was with them (when I sat and listened at the door while they made love) he talked with me for about five minutes on his way out, giving me some of the highlights of their lovemaking. It hadn't been easy for me, sitting there masturbating while this fully-dressed man told me about fucking my wife, but hey – it was exciting as hell. I was hoping he would do the same this time, and I had already swallowed my pride about jerking off in front of him. But things were different this time and I should have realized it. He looked at me, laughed quietly, and said, "Gotta go. Drive home safely," and he left.


I slowly went to the bedroom door and knocked. My wife said I could come in. She looked so beautiful, lying there in bed covered only with a sheet. I kissed her gently on the cheek, then tried to kiss her on the lips, but she turned away – again. I laid down beside her and she said, "I had a WONDERFUL time. We made love twice, and he made me cum once." I asked her to tell me about it, but she said, "Maybe later." When she moved, her left breast came out from under the sheet, and I stared at it. When she saw what I was looking at she said, "I will tell you that he spent a LOT of time resting his head on my tits and playing with them," and with that, she pulled the sheet up to cover herself.


On the drive home, we talked about the whole experience. I told her it hurt, and it was harder to handle than I had expected, but I was excited by it. She said that she was excited by it, too – and liked it a lot. She liked the way he made her feel, and liked the way I helped her to be with him. She said she wants it to continue – not just her affair, but also my role as chauffeur and lunch companion, and also the way we acknowledge Ted's place in her life.


We agreed that at least until her next date in a month or two, she will continue saving herself for him the way she did before their date. I can help her cum when she wants, and I can even make love to her IF she wants, but I cannot see her naked anymore; that is just for him. If we make love, it will be in the dark; if I help her cum, it will be with a blindfold. Today, we went out to the mall and bought her two pairs of pajamas for her; they are very comfortable, not at all sexy, and they cover her completely. We came home and she went into the bathroom to change into them. When I tried to peek at her while she changed she shut the door and said, "It's not for you anymore; it's only for him." As we sat and cuddled all evening she told me that saving herself for him is a great idea: it makes her conscious of her relationship with me and of her relationship with Ted all the time. As for me, every time I see her all covered up, the overwhelming sensations of staring at a hotel wall and listening to white noise flood back over me. I'm hard most of the day, and all of the night.


She is SUCH an exciting woman. I know it, and so does Ted.


cuckold husband  



A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 07






It had been a long time since Sally and Ted were together. Soon after their last date in March, Ted had surgery which resulted in complications involving his prostate. It took him a long time to recuperate, and even longer to "get everything working." So when Sally and he arranged this date, he told her he could not promise how much he would be able to deliver in bed. Sally made it clear that she wanted to see him, and even if they just spent time cuddling and being close that was fine with her. Reassured by her words, he sent me an IM saying he was looking forward to seeing my wife again. It had been so long since their last date that his comment took me by surprise: I suddenly remembered that he was going to bed with my wife. I thanked him for saying that to me, and I realized how much I needed and enjoyed the little crumbs which he and Sally throw my way.


A week before their date, Sally laid out the schedule for me: we would have sex until Wednesday (their date was the following Monday), then I would help her cum after that, but would not be allowed inside her. That's pretty much our usual practice, so it did not surprise me. What did surprise me was when she told me later the same day that she had just gotten her period, which would not end until... yes, Wednesday. "Oh well," she said casually, "you'll just have to wait for sex until after Ted and I are done." That whole week, my only sex was with my hand. Pictures of Sally and Ted taken long ago (back when I was allowed to watch them in bed together), an occasional IM from Ted; that and jerking off were all I had, and I remembered how lonely it is to be a cuckold.


On Sunday, Sally showed me the outfit she chose for her date: black slacks, a beautiful purple and black shirt, and black bra and panties. When she told me of her plan to leave one button too many open during lunch, and showed me how it would look, I nearly came. She said if Ted was concerned about his "performance," the least she could do would be to provide him with some incentive, and she did; her cleavage would have raised the interest of a dead man. That night I masturbated with a frenzied focus: the image of her breasts pushing their way out of the top of her shirt and the top of her bra. I thanked her for showing me -- for tossing me another crumb.


Of course, I was not allowed to see her naked the day of their date. She emerged from the bedroom looking radiant and ready. We drove the 75 miles to the hotel talking about normal things, and even someone in the car with us would have been unaware that I was driving my wife to meet her lover for the afternoon. I don't know what was on Sally's mind, but I kept thinking about how surreal it all was: a husband and wife driving together, talking together, going together to her date with another man. I was alternately hard and completely soft as the conflicting images and emotions vied for space in my brain.


The image of normalcy continued as we checked into the hotel. We had a nice conversation with the desk clerk about the weather, his cold and the usual briefing on hotel amenities, while images of my beautiful wife taking her lover into her body flashed by. With no winter coat to hide my erection, I slinked away from the counter and headed to the elevator.


In the room, I made the few required preparations: I placed Sally's pocket rocket (with new battery, of course) on the nightstand next to the bed, I set the "white noise" machine on the counter just outside the bedroom, and I placed a jar of Vaseline discretely in a drawer in the living room cabinet, where I could find it when I needed it later. We sat together on the living room couch and watched stupid TV for a while, until Ted called to say he was downstairs, ready to take us to lunch. Sally nearly jumped to her feet, and I did my best to keep up with her as she headed out of the room and toward the elevator. Just like that -- with one 30-second phone call -- we were not "we" anymore; we were Sally going to meet Ted, and me tagging along.


Ted was in his car, waiting at the hotel entrance. Sally hopped into the front seat, giving him a quick kiss while I wedged myself into the back seat. At lunch it was clear that they were lovers and I was a friend: the waitress showed us to a table, and Ted asked if we could have a booth instead. When we got to the booth, he slid in beside her. The meal was strange for me, as it always is when they are together: normal food and normal conversation, but the food would not go down and the conversation did not register as I watched him put his arm around her, hold her hand, rest his hand on her leg, and spend way too much time looking at the flesh of her tits which was pushing out of the top of her too-open shirt. Nothing subtle about it: not only was he comfortable touching her, he was proud of it, too.


I could see the struggle in Sally's eyes as she wavered between trying to throw me a few crumbs and trying to maintain her Good Girl image in public. I think her own preference would be for the three of us to sit like businesspeople and save every bit of "P.D.A." for the hotel room, but she was aware of my reaction to every touch, every stare. As far as I could tell, Ted did not share either concern; he was happy to be with "his girl," and he couldn't wait to get his hands on her. The result was that they didn't exactly make out during lunch, but they did enough to keep my entire meal stuck in my throat.


Once back in the hotel, Sally's concerns vanished. She and Ted sat in the living room with me for a while, gently touching each other as we talked. Sally was the one to say, "Shall we go in the other room?" and Ted smiled and said, "Of course!" At that moment my heart sank and my cock shriveled up to nothing. The time had arrived, and my wife had brought it about. They arose, took each other's hand and walked away from me without a word or a glance. I heard the bedroom door click shut, and I was alone.


There has been a lot of discussion among cuckolds about whether it is harder to watch or to wait. The question is really moot, because cuckolds seldom have a say. But I will tell you that sitting and talking with them and then having them leave to go to bed together is one of the most gut-wrenching things I can imagine. Being alone is hard enough, but being with them, and then suddenly alone, is an achingly lonely experience.


I sat in the living room for about 10 minutes, listening to the soft words and noises emanating from the bedroom, when I realized Sally had not turned on the white noise machine when she went by it. My heart jumped -- I would get to listen to them! I was just about to pull down my pants when Ted called to me from behind the closed door.


"Paul, come here please."


I walked to the bedroom door... and knocked. What an asshole, I thought: knocking on the door so I don't disturb my wife in bed with her lover! But I waited before entering, until Ted told me to come in.


They were throwing me a crumb. But oh, what a crumb!


The lights were off, but daylight coming through the curtains illuminated the scene: my wife was lying in bed, wearing nothing but her black panties. Ted was naked, lying against her side. His right arm was under her head, and his left hand was caressing her breast -- her naked breast. As my eyes adjusted to the diminished light, I saw motion between their bodies and realized that Sally was stroking his penis.


"Is the noise machine turned on?" Sally asked.


"No," I replied quietly.


"I thought not. Please turn it on, and please close the door."


I nodded dumbly, but apparently I continued to stand there, staring, because Sally added (rather more forcefully than necessary), "NOW."


I did as I was told. I closed the door on that incredibly sexy scene, turned on the noise machine to drown out the sound of their lovemaking, and returned to the living room couch. I took out the Vaseline and spent the next half-hour masturbating over all the images in my mind: Sally dressed for her date, Sally undressed for her lover; Ted dressed, Ted undressed; my wife and her lover holding hands, my wife and her lover holding each other's body; the damn wall between us, and the damn noise machine. Thirty minutes of excitement and sex and shame and abandonment and loneliness and masturbating without cumming so the pain and humiliation would not overwhelm me.


But gradually they did overwhelm me. As we hit the 45-minute mark (yes, I keep track of the time; what else do I have to do?) I found it difficult to stay focused and hard. I felt painfully alone -- not because Sally was making love with Ted, which I accept, but because there wasn't anything for me. The memory of his hand on her naked breast dimmed before the sight of the sterile hotel wall, and even the thought of them making love behind that door was drowned out by the "whoosh" of the white noise machine. I started to feel very sorry for myself, and wondered if this was a good idea after all. If anyone ever says cuckolding isn't painful, I would beg to differ.


I don't know how they knew it, but they did. As if to say, "I want to keep doing this, so I will make sure you aren't too miserable about it," I heard Sally call out my name, telling me to come in again.


I walked to the bedroom door, naked and with my cock slick with Vaseline, and opened it a little. I don't know why, but I kept it closed enough that I could hide my body behind it. Somehow it just didn't seem right to be naked in front of them, though I don't know if it was for my modesty or their comfort. In either case, I need not have worried; they could not have cared less what I was wearing or what I was doing. They were in almost the same position as before, but Sally's legs were spread wider and Ted was literally draped over her side with his head resting on her left breast, his mouth a fraction of an inch from her nipple. They both smiled at me and Sally said, "We just wanted you to know that Ted passed the test. Everything works fine."


"Oh," I stuttered. "That's really great news. Congratulations."


"Now leave us alone again. Bye."


I closed the door as discretely as I could with trembling hands and weak legs. I stumbled back to the living room couch, nearly fell onto it, and grabbed my cock. I willed it back to life and was at the edge of cumming in 15 seconds. Yes, they had thrown me another crumb, and I was so grateful! They called me into their bedroom to tell me the good news that Ted was able to fuck and cum, and what was unsaid but clear was that he had just done it with my wife -- and IN my wife. Why on earth would they think I wanted to know that?


Right. Because I DID want to know that. And I wanted to hear it from my wife's lips. I never knew I wanted to, but I did. I wanted to know that my wife had helped Ted over his fear that the surgery had taken away sex. I wanted to know that my wife turned him on, and got him hard, and took him inside, and made him cum. They would not let me watch or even listen, but they were kind enough to tell me it happened. It was just a crumb, a half a minute of their time, but hearing my wife say she cuckolded me and seeing her lover's smiling face resting on the flesh of her tit was enough. Gratitude and horniness took their place alongside loneliness and humiliation, and I masturbated until my whole body was shaking at the edge of orgasm.


Some time later (I actually DID lose track of time after that experience), I heard the door open. Sally emerged and crossed the hallway to the bathroom, closing the bathroom door behind her. Only after she was out of sight did I realize that she was wearing her silk bathrobe, and a question crossed my mind: for whom was she wearing a bathrobe? I thought (and jerked off) about it for a few minutes until she emerged. When she did, she actually came over to me (another precious crumb, as last time she simply went back to bed without so much as a nod in my direction) and asked how I was doing. I told her the truth -- it had been difficult until they called me in to tell me the news -- and she smiled.


"I thought you might enjoy that," she said.


I thanked her for being so kind, and asked her if she was having a good time.


"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful," she replied.


I asked her about the robe -- was it for him, or for me?


"It's for me. I didn't want to walk around naked. Have a nice time -- I'm going back to bed."


Again, my head reeled. What did she mean, it was for her? She spent the afternoon naked in bed with her lover, and only put on the robe to go out "in public" -- out where I could see her. She wasn't comfortable letting ME see her, but it was fine to go back to him and take it off again. "Wonderful, absolutely wonderful," was how she described it.


Only when I had digested as much of that thought as I could handle, did I realize that the "whoosh" was gone. She had turned off the noise machine, too!


I was just about to get up to listen at their door when I heard it open again. Ted this time, and he, too, made his way to the bathroom. But he was naked -- stark naked. There may come a day when I can see a man walk out of my wife's bedroom naked and not want to cry, but it has not yet arrived. My stomach was in a knot as I stared at the bathroom door.


His return trip was even more difficult for me. He emerged from the bathroom and stood at the sink, washing his hands. Hard enough staring at his ass, but as he turned to hang up the towel and walk back to the bedroom, I saw his cock sticking out from his body, semi-hard. Clearly, he was not done with my wife. His sex organ seemed to point the way for him: oblivious to my presence, focused on the pleasure awaiting him in bed -- in my wife -- it led him back to her. He closed their door behind him, and I quietly took a towel and placed it on the floor, right outside their bedroom. I sat on it in silence, and I waited.


I did not have to wait long.


Kissing noises. Then sucking noises. Deep moans of pleasure from Ted. Soft whispers. Rustling of sheets. Then "that sound" -- the surprised, pleased, absolutely feminine sound Sally makes when a cock enters her. Her gasps. His groans. The bed shaking, faster and faster. Not five minutes, and his noises rise to the sounds which men make when they cum. I knew they were not thinking of me at all, but it felt so good to be able to share their pleasure by listening to them. Dear wife and lover, thank you for the crumbs!


Her vibrator begins to buzz, and the sounds coming through the door change. Soft words from Ted; I can't make out what he is saying, but Sally tells me that he always whispers words of encouragement and admiration, which she loves. I lean back against the wall, prepared to enjoy masturbating to her noises for the 15 minutes or so it takes her to cum.


But she cums in two minutes. I thought I was mistaken -- maybe it was just a wave of good feeling, along the way to her orgasm? It was not. My wife cried out, and punctuating her cries were the sounds of the bed shaking from her convulsions. There is no sound in the world like that, but my excitement was once again commingled with a sick sensation: how could she possibly cum so fast? I know all her secrets, all the buttons to push, and it takes 20 minutes to bring her over the edge. TWO MINUTES had passed. What does he know about my wife that I don't know? What do they feel together that she does not feel with me? I could not answer. I could only stroke my penis, alone on the hallway floor, while my wife and her lover rested in each other's arms behind the bedroom door. I was not proud of how much I appreciated the crumbs they threw to me, but I did appreciate them.


I heard them talking softly, gently. All the urgency of sex was gone from their voices, and I knew they were both satisfied. I returned to the couch and continued to jerk off, replaying the sounds which they were kind enough to let me hear.


About a half-hour later, Ted emerged. He was dressed, ready to leave. I thought for a moment about putting on my own pants as he came into the living room, or at least covering myself with a towel, but I could not. This was my wife's lover -- no longer the guy we both had lunch with earlier, but the man who had just shared all of my wife's gifts, taken all that was supposed to be mine alone. I masturbated furiously as he dropped into the chair opposite me with a satisfied (self-satisfied) grin.


"Sally is such a beautiful woman," he began. "Such a mind, such a body, such pleasure for both of us."


"Please tell me about it," I begged.


"Why don't you ask me questions, and I'll answer," he said casually, as if fucking another man's wife and then bragging about it was the most natural thing in the world. And yet, I knew he was doing this for me; a few crumbs for the cuckold, and I gobbled them up.


"How many times were you inside her?"


"Two, and they were WONDERFUL." (The same word she had used earlier!) "I really didn't know how it would go, but she just drew my orgasm out of me."


"Both times?"


"Yes," he smiled, "both times. It's good to know I still get the same pleasure from ejaculation. The second time I wanted it to last longer, but she was unstoppable. But we think alike: we were talking and she was doing marvelous things with her hand, then she started sucking me. She did that for a little while, and I said, 'I want to be inside you' just as she said, 'I want you inside me.'"


I nodded, indicating that I was paying attention to his story. And I stroked myself faster and faster as I thought about what it felt like to hear my wife's lover revel in his pleasure and her desire for him.


"How many times did she cum?" I cannot make these written words sound anything like my spoken words, as I was grunting, shaking and gasping for breath as I masturbated in front of a very satisfied, very amused lover.


"She came twice, too, and the second one was surprisingly quick. After the second time we fucked [the word tore through me like a knife] I said to her, 'I think you have another orgasm waiting to come out,' and she said, 'Yes, I do.' She picked up her vibe, I kissed her and played with her, and in less than two minutes she was doing her dance."


"Doing her dance." Now, days later, that phrase continues to haunt me. Of course I knew what he meant; that's not the issue. But HE knew what he meant, and he knew I knew it, too. He and I -- the men who share Sally's bed -- both know what "her dance" looks like and feels like. He and I share her secrets. He and I share her body. She is ours. Sometimes mine, sometimes his. Today, she was his, and he told me so matter-of-factly how she "danced" in his arms.


"It takes her 20 minutes to cum with me," I said. "Always. Never less than that."


"Well, it wasn't TWO minutes today. I can't tell you why, but it's true."


I decided not to tell him that I knew it was true, that I had listened at the door when it happened. Because it wasn't only true, it was true for him: he made her cum faster than I ever have, and he was enjoying the confession of her cuckold husband.


"You can ask one more question, then I have to leave," he offered graciously.


"What was it like to be inside my wife?" I grunted.


I could see his eyes lift, as he thought back to the feeling. "She was so wet, it was like liquid sunshine. She's always wet for me [he watched me convulse as he said that, knowing full well that Sally is never wet enough for sex with me without lubricant], but today was something special. She was slippery-wet, and when I entered her she just drew me in. I couldn't get enough of her, but she was so excited that I came quickly. Just couldn't resist her charms."


I was right at the edge of orgasm, and thinking back now I know I was a pitiful sight, naked and hard and jerking off and grunting and shaking and dripping cum off the tip of my penis. Ted smiled, arose and walked toward the door.


"She said she wants to get together soon -- it was way too long this time, and I fully agree. She's probably sleeping now, so be quiet when you go in there. She worked hard, and deserves her rest."


I promised my wife's lover that I would be quiet when I went in to see her in their bed, and I thanked him for taking such good care of her.


"Oh, it was my pleasure. Thank you for sharing her. Bye."


The door closed behind him and I sat there, shaking and jerking off. He was so comfortable with it all: comfortable taking my wife, comfortable walking back and forth in front of me completely nude, and even comfortable sitting and telling me what a great time he had with her while I masturbated in front of him. He never insulted me, never called me names, but no name-calling could equal the humiliation I felt during that conversation. Nevertheless, it was good of him to throw me those crumbs; I still felt ashamed, but I did not feel completely left out.


Once I could stand up, I went quietly to the bedroom. Sally was asleep, facing away from me, the sheet pulled up to her neck. I went around to the far side of the bed where I could see her as she slept. Not wanting to disturb her by sitting on the bed, I laid a towel down on the night table and sat there. I looked at her face: the image of satisfaction, with a gentle smile across her lips.


After a few minutes, she opened her eyes. She saw me sitting opposite her, stroking myself, and her smile grew.


"That was really fun," she said. "I haven't ever been that wet before."


I tried to respond, but only gasps came out as I jerked off, looking at her. She pulled the sheet down a little, exposing her breasts and nipples. She looked down at them and said, "He really likes these."


Leaving her tits exposed she closed her eyes, and soon her breathing slowed and deepened; she was asleep.


For the next hour I quietly masturbated as I looked at my happy, satisfied, sleeping wife and the breasts and nipples which her lover really likes.


It may not be what every man dreams of, but I would not trade the crumbs they threw me for anything in the world.


Cuckold Paul




A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 08







On their previous date, Sally was a little uncomfortable with Ted's "public display of affection" during lunch in a restaurant before they went to bed. Always the Good Girl, she was worried that she would run into someone she knew who would see her being felt up by another man. The fact that we were 80 miles from home, in a town where we don't know ANYONE, didn't matter; Good Girls don't do things like that! So before this date she asked him to save it for the bedroom, and he agreed.


Lunch, therefore, was as casual, friendly and G-rated as it would have been with her mother. The only exceptions were that her low-cut blouse kept drawing Ted's eyes, and halfway through lunch she leaned close and whispered in his ear that she wasn't wearing any panties under her skirt. I didn't actually hear her say that, I knew she wasn't and the smile that grew on his face made it clear that he had just found out.


Near the end of the meal, Sally excused herself to go to the rest room. Sitting there with Ted, it struck me that we were NOT just friends having lunch, but that after lunch he was going to go to bed with my wife. A wave of shame and excitement crashed over me.


"I just remembered that this is not an ordinary lunch," I said as calmly as possible. "It feels a little strange."


"I'm sure it does," Ted answered with a smile. "It's not an ordinary lunch at all, is it?"


We sat there quietly, finishing our meal. The lover and the cuckold, each thinking about what would happen next. One preparing to go to bed with another man's wife, one preparing to be left alone while his wife went to bed with another man. I wanted to crawl under the table every time he looked at me.




Our usual hotel was full, so we had reserved a suite at the local Fairfield Inn. Arriving at the room, we saw that "suite" did not mean two rooms with a door in between, but two parts of a room: a bedroom, a waist-high partition and a sitting area. Sally looked genuinely upset at the thought that I would be in the same room, until I pointed out that the sitting room was at an angle to the bedroom, and if I sat in the corner I could barely see the foot of the bed. That comforted her enough, and as Ted approached her she pointed to the chair in the corner and said to me, "Sit."


I sat in "my" chair as Sally took Ted's hand and led him into the bedroom. To my surprise (and delight), she sat in the bedroom chair which was directly in my line of sight, and pulled Ted toward her. He stood in front of her and she immediately opened his pants, pushing them down to his ankles.


All I could see was Ted's back and legs as he faced her, until her hand snaked between his legs and caressed his underwear-covered ass. As she did this, he lifted up his shirt, and it was clear that her other hand was stroking his cock through the fabric. I sat there in silence, fully dressed, afraid to make a sound; if they moved to the bed I wouldn't see anything. My wife slipped her fingers into both sides of the waistband of his Jockeys, and pulled his underwear down to his ankles. I was transfixed: my wife was undressing him right in front of my eyes.


I stared at Ted's naked ass, feeling it mocking me as I sat by myself in the corner of the other room. Trying to deal with the knowledge that my wife wanted him and wanted him naked, I stared until I saw his whole body shudder and heard a sound which had never made it through the closed doors of their bedroom on their previous dates. It was an intake of breath, a reverse-gasp; the sound of sexual pleasure, the sound of Ted reacting as my wife took his penis into her mouth.


Still unwilling even to pull down my pants for fear they would see me and move to the bed, I sat there rubbing my hardon through my pants while Sally gave him an amazing blow-job. Ted took off his shirt to get it out of her way, and I saw the muscles in his back, ass and legs shaking and jerking as he moaned and groaned from her attention. I could not see her at all, it was clear what she was doing. It was also clear how he felt about it.


After getting VERY close to cumming, Ted leaned over, kissed her and pulled her shirt over her head and off her. Then he helped her to her feet and they held each other close, kissing deeply. He guided my wife toward their bed, and the last thing I saw was Sally's naked back as she turned to place something on the chair. She disappeared toward the bed again, and I was left staring at her bra which she had laid over the chair's arm.


I stared at that bra for the next three hours. Lace straps and two empty cups. I could draw the scene again in a second, because the image burned itself in my mind: empty bra cups because Ted had my wife's breasts now. Empty bra cups because my wife took off her underwear so he could touch her as she had touched him. Empty bra cups because my wife was naked, in bed with her lover, just out of my sight. I sat in "my" chair and stared at her bra. So close, and yet so far: I could see her abandoned underwear, but nothing more.


At the sound of the covers being pulled back on the bed, I took off my own clothes and started to jerk off. The sounds continued for a while -- the ordinary noises of lovers making themselves comfortable. Muted talking -- friendly, caring, loving. I couldn't hear the words, but I knew what they were saying. More covers moving, then another intake of breath from Ted, followed by louder moans. Ted has told me many times that Sally loves going down on him, and that she has a voracious appetite for his cock. I had always believed him, but now I knew first-hand. Or is it second-hand, when you can only hear but not see?


As I adjusted myself in "my" chair, I realized that if I moved just a few inches to the left, I could see the very bottom of the bed. I'm not proud: I moved instantly. What I saw was Ted's feet, toes pointed upward; he was lying on his back while my wife sucked his cock. Each of his groans was accompanied by movement of his feet: shaking, jerking, toes curling and stretching. I watched his excitement build, and I felt not just like a voyeur, but like a cheap voyeur, getting off on nothing but naked feet.


He said something to Sally, and turned over. Her feet appeared next to his, her toes also pointed toward the ceiling. Her legs moved apart, and his -- pointing downward -- stretched out between them.


Again I heard that intake of breath, but this time it came from my wife. Her feet spread wider, then disappeared from view as he opened her legs and lifted them up. (I remembered Sally telling me after every date that he loves to hold her legs up while he fucks her.) Another reverse-gasp from her, then from him. Then, thanks to the Fairfield Inn, I heard an entire concert of sex sounds: moaning and groaning, gasping and whispering, and the unmistakably nasty sound of a cock going in and out of a very, very wet pussy. For just a moment I wondered where they had gotten lubricant, but then I remembered that my wife is always soaking wet for him; they have never used lubricant of any kind, other than their own, in all their years together. Still, I had never heard his cock sliding in and out of her as if an entire tube of K-Y had been poured into her. The sloppy sounds of sex and the sight of the soles of his feet overwhelmed me; I jerked off as much as I could, trying not to cum and trying not to cry.


Sally whispers words between gasps. I can't make them out, but I know from the tone that she is encouraging him to cum in her. Everything increases in speed and tone, and I hear their bodies slapping together as he drives into her. His groans turn to whimpers, then no sound except the slap-slap-slap of their bodies. Then he cums. I sit in "my" chair and listen as Ted cries out loudly with pleasure, again and again. I wish there was a way to describe my feelings as I listen to my wife's lover cum in her, but there is not. Sex -- even just listening to sex -- is exciting. But remembering that my wife is cuckolding me, that her lover is happily reaping the benefits of my wife's unfaithfulness, tempers the excitement with a deep, hollow, empty feeling. Then he cries out again, and the pain is hidden behind the incredible sexuality of the whole thing. I masturbate furiously, not allowing myself to cum. Cumming would make it impossible for me to cope with my emotions, and besides, right now cumming is for her lover only. As my wife is for her lover only.


The noises stop, except for Ted grunting through the aftershocks of his orgasm and the gentle sounds of kissing. The covers rustle, and I hear Sally's pocket rocket begin to vibrate. Yet another intake of breath from my wife, and her feet reappear at the bottom of the bed, alongside his. Then her feet spread slightly, and he slips one foot over hers as the sounds of kissing and the hum of the vibrator continue. Sitting in the corner of the other room, a thought occurs to me: I put that red polish on her toenails.


I know it was unintended, as she had no idea I would be so close, or able to see her at all when she went to bed with Ted. Yet it was just a day earlier that she looked at her toenails and decided she wanted new polish on them for her date, and asked me to do it for her. I obliged happily, as there is not much she wants from me before her dates and because it meant I got to see her naked legs the whole time I was working on her toes. But now, lying in bed with him, she could not have made it clearer to me that I was an outsider to her lovemaking than she did by exposing her feet to my gaze, her shiny red nails laughing at me until Ted's feet gently covered them.


Her feet told me everything. I could see when she opened her legs for him, I could see when she got excited, and I could see when she caressed his legs with hers. I'm not a "foot person" at all, but beggars can't be choosers; I got to see four naked feet in bed, when all I had seen for years was a closed, locked door. Four naked feet and an empty bra getting me off: pitiful, yes, but I was too excited to care.


At the end of one of their dates, Ted sat down and talked to me before he said goodbye. You can read about that experience elsewhere if you would like, but I will never forget how he described Sally cumming: "In less than two minutes, she was doing her dance." I cannot get that conversation out of my mind, even though it happened months ago -- the shocking realization that this man knew exactly what my wife looked like when she cums, and could describe it to me so simply, since we both shared the same experience. I've sat for hours thinking, "He knows my wife's dance."


Which is why it drove me wild when Sally came. I hadn't thought about "her dance" in weeks, until her feet stretched out, tightened up and then, with a loud moan from her, began... dancing. Her feet shook, shot up and down, drew up out of my sight and back again like a horizontal clog dancer. I saw nothing else of her orgasm except that, and I knew that Ted was holding her, feeling her and riding with her through it all. But I got to see my wife's feet dance with him just as he had described, and the overwhelming sensation of having lost her, at least for the moment, put me right at the edge of cumming -- and the edge of tears.


When her last spasms had ended and her "dance" was over, they began to talk. I still could not hear the words they spoke, but their tone was warm, open and... loving. They must have talked for a half hour, during which time I felt as I always do when they are just enjoying each other's company: left out, frustrated and horny. I could still see their feet intertwined, but nothing was happening to get my attention; I was alone in the other room, and I knew neither of them cared in the least about what I was thinking, feeling or doing.


After what seemed to be 17 hours, the conversation stopped and I began to hear slow, deep breathing. This time, their feet told a different story: Ted's were pointed up, Sally's were next to his but pointed away from him. The deep breathing continued, and I realized they were asleep. I watched to see if either of them moved their feet, to give me a clue about whether one or the other was awake, but no one moved for another 17 hours (trust me, times passes slowly when you're sitting in the cuckold's chair). Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer: I quietly got up and tiptoed toward the bedroom.


The problem with a description at this point is that I have to start somewhere and say one thing at a time, but that's not what I experienced. What I saw when I reached the edge of the bedroom was all of this at once: Ted was lying on his back, completely naked, his soft penis lying directly between his legs; my wife was lying on her side, facing away from him but pressed up against him, with the sheet covering her up to her chest, but her left breast had popped out of the top of the sheet and was there in full view; and last (but actually just as much first as the others), Sally's left arm was draped over Ted's body, with her fingers just a quarter-inch from his cock. Looking at this tableau before me was exciting as hell, but gut-wrenching: not that I had any doubt, but I was now faced with the clear fact that my wife was in bed with another man. Not just in bed, but in BED: naked, fucked and sleeping with him.


Then I saw something that will stay with me for a long, long time. Looking at Sally's hand resting on him and thinking about how the penis she was nearly touching had just cum in her, I noticed that her fingers were spread slightly and Ted's pubic hair was curling up between them, his curly, dark hair completely covering her wedding ring. All of her fingers were visible, even with his pubic hair sticking up between them, except for the section of her ring finger which held her ring. That was completely hidden by his hair. Gold, and diamonds and marriage and fidelity and everything else a wedding ring means, covered by her lover's pubic hair as they slept together. I looked at them for as long as I could, then returned quietly to "my" chair.




I can't even guess how long they slept; it's one of those things that is perfect for lovers to do after sex, but it's torture for the guy jerking off in the other room. However long it was, I finally heard stirring, covers rustling, and quiet words. Then Sally walked out of the bedroom, stark naked, and passed by me on the way to the bathroom. She looked SOOO good, and SOOO naked: nipples hard, nothing covering her skin from head to toe(s), her triangle of pubic hair, and her naked ass when she passed by. Funny, but I felt like I had seen something private, intimate -- something I was not supposed to see. In fact, I had: I had seen Ted's lover fresh from his bed. My wife, but his lover. I savored the naughty treat in my mind, even after she closed the bathroom door.


When she came out of the bathroom, she stopped to wash her hands and face at the sink. I walked over to her, and asked if she was having a good time. "Oh, YES!" she said with a smile. "How about you? Are you okay?"


"I'm okay. A little lonely."


"I bet you are," she answered, and walked back to (their) bed.


By now I knew the drill. Moving covers, kissing sounds, and Ted's intake of breath. She had his cock in her mouth again. More grunts, more groans, more of the sight of his feet reacting to her attention to his sex. I settled in for another feet-as-surrogate-for-sex show.


I saw them change positions, and I knew when to anticipate Sally's gasp as he entered her. She must have been soaking wet, because I heard the sloppy sounds of his cock in her pussy as clearly as if they were wired for sound. But I did not anticipate what I heard next.


"Paul, come here," my wife said through her heavy breathing.


I wondered if something was wrong, because I couldn't think of any other reason for her to call me. I jumped to my feet and went to the doorway, still clutching my erection in my hand. As soon as I got to the doorway I guessed that nothing was wrong, because in front of me was a scene I had not witnessed in years.


Sally -- my WIFE -- was lying on her back, naked. Her tits were exposed, her nipples pointing to the sky. Her legs were spread -- really spread -- and up in the air, held there by Ted's arms. I stared directly at the soles of her feet, waving up and down as Ted fucked her.


Ted was fucking her. He was on his knees, his torso straight up. He was steadying himself by holding on to my wife's legs. And he was fucking her. From the doorway I couldn't see his cock, but I saw his hips moving back and forth as he drove his sex organ into my wife's body. I couldn't breathe, and I didn't dare move.


"Since you were lonely, we thought you'd like to watch for a few minutes," my wife's voice said from behind her lover's body.


"Thank you," I croaked.


They paid no further attention to me. It was really as if I was not there, but I didn't care. After a minute of watching from the doorway, I quietly slipped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, behind Ted. I bent down a little and actually saw his cock sliding in and out of Sally's swollen, dripping pussy.


Remember when I said I had polished Sally's toenails for this date? After finishing her nails and letting them dry, I also put skin cream all over her legs to get them soft for him. When I did this, Sally lifted her legs up to allow me access to the bottom of her thighs -- wearing panties, of course, and with her breasts covered with a blanket. As I massaged the cream into her legs, she caught me admiring the view and said, "You don't get to see me in this position very often anymore, do you?" I admitted that I did not, and thanked her for allowing me to see her like that.


That is what I thought of as I watched her in that same position, but with no blanket, no panties and with Ted between her legs, fucking her. No, I don't get to see her in that position very much anymore, and here in front of me was the reason why: she saves it for him.


In the years since I had last seen my wife make love to another man, I had forgotten EVERYTHING. I had forgotten how much naked skin there is. I had forgotten how exposed both lovers are to each other. I had forgotten how intimate it is, sharing bodies, sharing kisses, sharing... everything. Sex is wet and hairy and erect and sweaty and loud and horny and so fucking DIRTY that people pay good money to look at porn, but this porn was not for money, it was for pleasure. My wife. giving and getting pleasure. With him.


Then I noticed something: her leg muscles were moving, but not just from him fucking her. They were moving to fuck HIM, and his groans matched the contractions of her muscles. Looking between his legs, where his cock was completely inside my wife, I saw that her pussy, too, was contracting around him. I thought back to when we make love and Sally just lies there, motionless while I get off inside her. THIS was what she had been waiting for. She was fucking him passionately, when all I had known from her in recent months was amused passivity. I thought I knew what I had been missing, but I was wrong; the reality I saw in front of my face put my most intense fantasies to shame.


I stayed at the bottom of the bed, hidden from her view by his body, for fear she would say it was time for me to leave. But I don't think they would have noticed if I had been banging cymbals together, given the intensity of their lovemaking. I watched, masturbating like a madman, as Ted's speed increased and as he pushed her legs higher and his cock deeper. I heard my wife urging him on, telling him she wanted to feel him cum in her, and her words cut to my soul as they inflamed my cock. He was getting close. She was driving him over the edge. She was fucking him.


Then he came, and again words fail to describe what I witnessed. He cried out with pleasure over and over, and the sound of him -- another man -- cumming like that made me insane with jealousy. His body convulsed -- not randomly, but with a singular purpose, as I watched every muscle in his ass, his back and his legs contract to squirt his cum into his lover's womb. Again and again his body worked to reward my wife's fucking with his sperm; it was like a biology class, a porn movie and a thousand people laughing at me, all at the same time. There is nothing more intimate than cumming, and nothing more animal than a male inseminating a female. Ted cumming and inseminating my wife.


He collapsed on her when he was done, and I saw his softening penis slip out of her. I don't know why I expected a moment's respite, but I did not get it -- they were no longer interested in resting. He immediately began kissing her: starting with her mouth, he kissed down her neck, her breasts, her shoulders, her arms, her belly. She reached for her vibrator and placed it on her clit as he kissed and licked and sucked her everywhere. As his mouth approached her ear he began whispering, and I knew he was making love to my wife with his words as well as his body. Sally smiled, looked at me, and with a flip of her hand waved me away.


I knew better than to argue and I was grateful they let me stay so long, so I (slowly) made my way toward the door. Halfway across the bedroom, I heard that same intake of breath from her that had become the day's refrain, and I stopped to look. Ted had her right nipple in his mouth, and from the up-and-down movement of her breast I could see that he was sucking on her like a baby nursing. Like our babies nursed from that same breast when they were young. I stood, transfixed, at this sexy violation of our private lives, as my wife fed her nipple to her lover and shuddered from his attention.


Sally gasped, opened her eyes for a second and saw me standing there, masturbating. With a look of annoyance which left no room for doubt, she pointed to the other room and mouthed the word, "Now!" I turned and walked back to "my" chair.


Still reeling from the past 10 minutes, I sat and watched their feet once again. His feet sliding up and down her legs, her feet stretching and tightening in sync with her moaning, and finally "her dance" as she came -- loudly -- in his arms. I sat as quietly as I could through her aftershocks, hearing her grunts and seeing her feet jump each time, my eyes torn between staring at the little I could see of them and focusing on the empty bra laid out over the chair. I was right at the edge of cumming, but I contented myself with getting to the edge over and over again.


Soon, they both began to move. Sally walked over to her clothes on the chair without so much as a glance my way, and began to dress. Ted was obviously doing the same out of my sight, as I heard the sounds of zipping and belt buckle. They spoke casually, comfortably; like two lovers who knew each other (in every sense) well enough to relax together.


When they were dressed, Ted took my wife in his arms and kissed her deeply. The fierceness of their earlier kisses was gone, replaced by satisfaction and affection. They had made each other feel good, and now they were saying "thank you." I knew what was expected of me: I sat silently in the corner, masturbating in the semi-darkness.


Ted picked up his briefcase and walked by me on the way to the door. "Take care," he said, as if we had just shared a beer, not my wife.


"Thank you for making my wife feel so good," I whispered, too horny and too submissive to even slow down my masturbating.


"Oh, it was my pleasure. My PLEASURE. Bye." And he was out the door.


Sally slowly made her way over to me. "Did you have a good time?" she asked, sitting down on the couch facing me.


"Thank you SO much for letting me see you!" I blurted out. "It was incredible. I had forgotten. I had forgotten EVERYTHING."


"I know. That's why I thought we should take advantage of this weird 'suite' and give you a little show. It won't happen again so soon, so I'm glad you liked it."


"Oh, I really did. Did YOU have a good time?" I asked, as I continued to jerk off in front of her.


"I had a great time. I really like that he respected my wishes to be less 'hands-on' in public, and that made me SO ready for him when we got to bed..."


She paused for a moment, weighing her words, and after she spoke I understood why. Even with everything I had seen, everything I had heard, I was not prepared for the honesty and intensity of what she said next. Sally looked right into my eyes -- with love, but without a hint of doubt or show or guile -- and said,


"Sex with him is what sex is supposed to feel like. No sharp edges, no uncomfortable moments. It's just GOOD."


I don't even know where I got the strength to ask, but I had to ask:


"And with me?"


She did not hesitate with her response. "Sex doesn't ever feel like that with you. I love you, but it doesn't feel GOOD with you."


I sat there naked and masturbating in front of my fully-dressed, fully-satisfied and proper-looking wife, and tried to come to grips with everything that had happened, with what she just said and with the knowledge that Ted's sperm were swimming inside her as we spoke. My mind went to overload and came four days' worth of cum. I screamed out and squirted cum everywhere, while she sat silently and watched. Not with anger; perhaps with a little pity, yet still with love, my wife let me make myself feel just a little bit of what her lover made her feel, and what she made him feel. But we both knew it was not the same. Something had changed, and we felt it.


Since then, Sally has talked about how much she loves her relationship with Ted and how much she is looking forward to their next date. She wrote to him and told him what she said to me, and he answered he was glad she felt that way, because he did, too.


I don't know what it will be like the next time we sit at lunch together, but I do know I will be much, much less comfortable. There will be fewer moments when it seems like "just a normal lunch among friends," since I will not be able to forget what all three of us know: that for my wife, sex with him is what sex is supposed to feel like, and it doesn't ever feel like that with me.


It's not just words. It is reality.


Cuckold Paul




A Cuckold's Diary Ch. 09





In August, 2006, Sally and Ted (her long-term lover, at eight years and counting) had a wonderful time together. So did I, 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.





proceed to Cuckold's Diary chap. 10-11



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