Cuckold Story

Caitlyn and Terrance

Everything was perfect. The roast warmed in the oven, the veggies simmered on

the stove, and my wife Caitlyn hummed a tune in the bathroom as she applied her

makeup. I turned down the burner and headed to the dining room for one last

check.

The table was set for two with our good plates and glasses. The silverware was

polished and arranged neatly; the linen napkins were properly folded. A candle

graced the middle of the table, which was covered with our best tablecloth.

I jumped at the sound of four loud raps at the front door. According to my

watch, it was only a quarter to 8. He was 15 minutes early.

My mouth went dry as I approached the foyer. Bowing my head, I reached for the

doorknob and pulled open the front door.

Terrance strutted inside, took off his coat and handed it to me. "Bring me a

drink. Where's Cait?"

"Um, she's in the bathroom getting ready for you, sir."

"Well, tell her I'm here."

My wife had the blowdryer on, which explained why she hadn't heard her lover's

knock. I stood in the doorway with my head bowed, peeking up every few seconds

until she caught eye-contact with me through the mirror.

"What?" She spritzed her hair with a bottle of hairspray and arranged her bangs.

"Um, Master Terrance is here."

"Well, why didn't you say so, dumb-shit?" She applied a coat of lipstick and

pushed past me.

I bent over to pick up several discarded Kleenexes my wife had tossed to the

bathroom floor, when I heard Terrance's gruff voice: "Where's my drink?"

With a gulp, I dashed toward the kitchen; on the way I peeked in the living

room and saw my wife and her boyfriend making out on the couch. I fixed

Terrance's usual Jack and Coke, slipped the serving tray from the cupboard, and

minced to the front room. As I've been trained, I knelt by the couch, head

bowed, while Caitlyn and her boyfriend dry-humped on the sofa.

I knelt there for a good 20 minutes before they came up for air. Terrance

snapped his fingers and I handed him his drink. He sat up and took a sip.

"Uggh!" He spit the mouthful back into the glass. "The goddamn ice melted." He

glared at me.

"Sir, I am so sorry; I'll get you another drink right away, sir --"

Without warning, he leaned forward and poured his drink on my head. Caitlyn

giggled as the sticky liquid dripped from my hair and nose. "You need to clean

that off the floor," she said.

Terrance handed me his glass. "You're getting an ass-whipping later, fag," he

said.

"Thank you, sir." I gritted my teeth. It wasn't my fault they kept me kneeling

there until the ice melted!

When I returned with the fresh drink, Terrance had the remote control in one

hand while his other was draped over my wife's shoulder and playing with her

tit. I knelt and offered the tray to my master. He downed the drink and rattled

the ice. "Refill," he said.

My wife stretched and yawned. "I'll take a glass of wine."

I was back in a jiffy, kneeling in front of the couch with their drinks. They

sat up and took them from the tray.

"I brought you some laundry," Terrance said. "It's out in the car."

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem. Run down and get it; you need to get started now, because you still

have to get my garage clean by Sunday." He threw his keys at me; they bounced

off my chest and fell to the floor.

"Yes, sir." I trotted outside, his keys jingling. His SUV sat in our driveway;

whenever Terrance visits, my wife makes me park on the street so he can share

the driveway with her car. I'm sure the neighbors wonder whose truck is always

parked there – sometimes for days on end. Nobody ever asked, although I had an

answer ready if they did: I'd tell them it was my brother visiting.

I opened the door and sighed when I saw two large garbage bags in the back,

overflowing with dirty clothes. I lugged the bags into the house and began

sorting the whites from the colors.

My wife's whiny voice interrupted me: "What are you doing? We're hungry."

I ran upstairs and served dinner. As usual, I stood near the table like a

butler, head bowed, waiting for one of them to snap their fingers and point at

whatever they wanted. Otherwise, I was ignored as they talked about various

topics.

Halfway through dinner, Terrance reached under the table and began playing with

my wife's pussy through her slacks. She giggled at first, but then sat back in

her chair and threw her head back. I focused on my shoes, not daring to watch

them.

Terrance smiled at Caitlyn. "Want to go upstairs, or should we finish eating

first?"

She pushed her hair back. "What do you think, lover? I'm ready?"

They rose and walked away hand-in-hand. Terrance glanced over his shoulder at

me.

"I wouldn't screw around too long on my laundry," he said. "That garage is a

mess, and I want it sparkling by the time I come back on Sunday."

Caitlyn stopped in her tracks. "Wait a minute, Terry – I thought you were gonna

give the wimp an ass-whipping? I love watching you thrash the little creep; it

turns me on like crazy."

"Well, I'm ready to fuck now," he said. "Besides, the fag has a lot of work to

do." He turned to me. "I owe you one ass-whipping. Now get the fuck out of here.

Hubba hubba."

My wife's eyes twinkled. "Have fun cleaning my man's garage," she said before

taking Terrance's hand and leading him toward the bedroom.

I stood in the doorway of Terrance's garage, blinking back tears. I'd be

cleaning all night!

It looked like a tornado had hit. Auto parts were strewn everywhere; a huge oil

stain covered half the concrete floor. Tools lay everywhere. Beer cans dotted

every shelf and tabletop.

To make things worse, I'd have to work around Terrance's '66 Mustang, which he

was restoring. I knew if I so much as smudged the windsheild, he'd beat me so

badly I wouldn't be able to sit down for a week!

With a sigh, I got started, stacking the auto parts neatly in the corner while

wondering what Terrance was doing to my precious Caitlyn.

"She loves it when he's rough with her, and treats her like a rag doll. I don't

understand it -- I get the shit slapped out of me if I look at her crossways.

But she loves giving in to him. How can the same woman be so relentless with me

and so compliant with him?"

It's the crux of the cuckold relationship: I'm the weirdo, not her. She's a

healthy woman who needs a healthy, normal, adult sex life. When I came to her

early in our relationship asking to be her slave, she embraced the idea, and

soon began seeing other men. That was an erotic time in our life together, as

she began exploring her dual sexuality, denying me while giving everything to

other men.

Then Terrance came along and changed everything. He had been her high school

sweetheart, but he joined the Marines after school and they lost contact. She

ran into him in the park one day, after he'd been discharged following a 12-year

stint. Everything happened so fast, and the next thing I knew, Terrance was a

permanent part of our lives, often spending 5 or more days a week at our house.

My thoughts distracted me as I toiled in the garage. Although my back was

throbbing, I didn't dare stop; I knew I still had to head back to my house and

do Terrance's laundry ... two huge loads, no less.

I knelt on the hard concrete floor and tried to scrub away the oil stain, but it

just wouldn't come clean. After nearly an hour of furious scrubbing, I broke

down and cried, knowing Terrance would beat the shit out of me if I couldn't get

the spot out. Then it dawned on me that I already had one ass-whipping coming,

because the ice in my master's drink had melted. I cried even harder.

Finally, the floor came clean. I collapsed on the concrete, completely

exhausted, and closed my eyes. Birds were chirping; dawn had broken.

As much as I wanted to lay there and take a much-deserved break, I knew better.

I locked up the garage and trudged to my car. The clock said it was 8:12, which

I thought would be plenty of time to drive home, throw a load of Terrance's

laundry in the washer and get started on their breakfast. But when I walked

through the front door, I blanched when I saw my wife and her lover eating bowls

of cereal in the living room.

Terrance sneered. "Where the hell were you? We had to get our own breakfast."

"Um, I was cleaning your garage, sir."

"Well, what took you so long? You should've been done a lot quicker than that?

Were you laying on your fat ass?"

"No, sir. The oil stain ... it took a long time to get it out."

Terrance shook his head. "Get over here, fag. Kneel down in front of me. Take

off your glasses." I removed my glasses and cringed, waiting for the blow I knew

was coming. POW! I fell to the carpet clutching my eye. I heard my wife giggle.

"Good one, honey," she said. "You up for whipping his ass now?"

Terrance chuckled. "Damn, you do love watching me beat the poor little wimp,

don't you? But first, I'm gonna have him whip something up; this cereal ain't

cutting it."

"Yeah, I know." My wife pushed the bowl away. "What do you think, baby? Pancakes

and sausage?"

"You read my mind," he said, then snapped his fingers at me. "You heard the

little lady, faggot: pancackes and sausage. And get these goddamn bowls out of

here."

As I bent to remove their bowls, I head my wife say, "you should give the little

creep a hundred extra for making us get our own breakfast."

Her lover laughed. "Damn, girl. You are one cruel bitch."

After I served breakfast, Caitlyn made me kneel naked in the corner with the

crop in my mouth, awaiting my punishment as they leisurely ate their breakfast

and watched television.

The smell of bacon tortured me almost more than my throbbing knees and my aching

arms and jaw. I'd knelt in the corner for nearly an hour, hands on my head and

the crop balanced in my mouth. I could still smell the food they'd obviously

left on their plates; it reminded me how hungry I was.

My body ached, but it was better to concentrate on that than what was about to

happen. I strained to hold still while listening for any sign of movement from

my mistress or her lover. Every now and then I'd hear the couch creak above the

sound of the television. When a yogart commercial came on, Caitlyn said, "That

shit's nasty."

"What's that?" Terrance asked.

"D-Brand Yogart. Hey, dipshit -- next time you go grocery shopping, don't get

that disgusting yogart; get G-Brand. Why did you stop buying that, anyway?"

My answer came out as "mmemmmrmmpherfffee." Had the crop not been in my mouth,

it would've sounced like, "I'm sorry, Mistress, but King's Market stopped

selling the G-Brand."

It wouldn't have mattered. Prissy Miss Caitlyn was put out.

I heard the couch creak as she presumably settled back into the arms of her

lover. "Put yourself down for another 50, dipshit," she said.

"mmmyrfsmmmmmm."

Terrance chuckled. "Damn, what are we up to now? 150?"

"I thought it was 200," my wife said. "Make it an even 200, baby; I'm horny.

I've been waiting for his." Her tone changed. "Hey, dipshit, have you been

waiting for this? I have."

The wet sound of kissing lasted a few seconds. Then my blood ran cold as I heard

the couch creak again, and the sound of my master standing up. My heart pounded

as his footsteps padded across the carpet toward me. He snatched the cane from

my mouth.

"All right, fag, you know the drill," he said.

I shuffled on my knees toward the couch, where Caitlyn lay with her hand working

beneath her nightie. It's funny how the mind works in a crisis: Through my

paniced haze, with my master about to thrash me and my wife playing with

herself, I focused on the strips of bacon and half-eaten toast on the plate in

front of her. I put my nose to the carpet facing her, with my ass in the air.

Caitlyn looked over me at her lover and said, "Um-hmmm. Damn, you are sexy." She

sneered at me. "Hey, wimp, aren't you glad we have a sexy guy like Terry around

to take care of us?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Thank him for taking the time to punish your sorry ass."

I swallowed. "Sir, thank you for taking the time to punish my ... my sorry ass."

"No problem, wimp," he said. "And that ass is gonna be sorry when I'm done with

it. Don't plan on sitting down for a few weeks."

Caitlyn giggled. "Wiggle that ass, wimp," she said. "Wiggle that ass for your

master. Let him know how much you're looking forward to his punishment. Wiggle

it."

My face flushed with shame, I wagged my tail like a pathetic puppy until

Terrance ordered me to stop.

"Hold still. I want to get this over with and fuck that sexy lady over there."

Then it began. I had to count each blow and add, "Thank you, Sir." It was

difficult not to cry out, but I knew that was an automatic 200 tacked on, plus a

three-day starvation diet. So I dutifully peeped out each one: "67, thank you,

Sir. 68, thank you, Sir ... 137, thank you, Sir. 138, t-thank you, Sir..."

My wife watched the proceedings with her fingers in her pussy, staring at her

lover the entire time. She wasn't interested in me; I was just the sacrificial

lamb, a means to an end. It could've been any old wimp being dominated; Caitlyn

cared only about watching her boyfriend, getting off on his raw, masculine

aggression as he tore into my poor ass.

By the time I blurted out, "200, thank you, Sir," I could only see blackness

before me. I heard him take a step backward; then he brought the crop down one

last unexpected time, causing me to flinch. I almost yelled out, but literally

bit my lip. I could taste blood as my master sauntered into view and slithered

onto the couch next to my wife.

She smiled. "Hello, you."

"Hey, beautiful. You ready?"

"Oh, yeah." Her voice switched from love bunny to castrating bitch. "Lester!

Quit listening in on our coversations and get these plates out of here. And do

the dishes. Oh, and you need to polish all my shoes tonight -- I want an

extensive cleaning done on every pair of shoes."

"Yes, Mistress." By now, the world had come back into focus. I rose unsteadily

to my feet and removed their plates. By then, they were already kissing, and my

master's hand was roughly massaging Caitlyn's pussy. I scurried from the room

and started on the dishes, already planning out the rest of the day.

"If I start on Mistress's shoes right after the dishes, maybe I'll have time to

get all the housework done by midnight. Oh, wait! I forgot about Terrance's

laundry! Two huge bags."

I slumped, scowling at the pile of unwashed dishes. I had a lot of scrubbing to

do.

After scrubbing the pots, pans and plates, I'd spend the next several hours

scrubbing all 50-some pairs of my wife's shoes. Then I'd scrub the floors and

toilet.

And while Caitlyn lay in her bed curled up beside her boyfriend, I would be up

all night scrubbing shit stains out of his underwear.

"I guess that makes me a scrub." I sighed and returned to the dishes.