Authors: Secret Narrative
Tags: #anal sex, #cuckold, #bondage, #spanking, #confessions, #stranger sex, #bisexual pairing, #mmf, #mm, #voyeur, #fantasy
Erotic Letters to My Cuckold
January – June
Copyright, Secret Narrative, 2012
Warning: Adult Content
Featuring sexually explicit content and graphic language from the beginning.
Please do not view the sample if you are under the age of 18
Erotic Letters to My Cuckold
January to June
Copyright ©, Secret Narrative, 2012
All rights reserved
including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author's imagination, and any similarity to any persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed are the author’s own and are not representative of the opinions of the publisher or distributors.
Letters to My Cuckold
My Dear, Husband… Let’s go back to the beginning shall we? Our first meeting.
You were a bachelor more than fifty years of age and me barely in my thirties but desperate to be free of a disastrous marriage to an unsuitable man. It was easy to seduce you; I set my sights and concentrated all my efforts on capturing you. Little did I know that you’d love playing sex games to a similar degree; that we’d make a formidable team you and me. A team of two, other participants on the periphery for my pleasure during our time apart, and my taking delight in regaling you with pornographic detail when we reconnect.
My first dalliance for your entertainment occurred soon after our first date, which in turn led to our first time in bed. I did my best to satisfy you, and I succeeded to some extent by providing an impeccably performed blowjob; swallowing and savouring the result of my efforts, afterwards, we talked for hours, and you asked me to tell you about my sexual experiences, so I did.
There have been so many dalliances I can’t remember them all.
I’ve lost count of those who have fucked me prior to and since you. The number being high in the hundreds long before we met and we’re still counting. One after the other, after the other and sometimes with the other, large groups, small groups, just the one, male or female. It doesn’t matter, sometimes a couple, the logistics are of no importance are they, darling? I play them all, and they play with me while you watch.
I told you about my first fuck.
Losing my virginity was a sad little non-event, which took place at a party in a room full of others doing the same thing. I let someone stick his cock into me without kissing, fondling, or any other kind of affection or foreplay and hammer away in my cunt until he ejaculated, thankfully into a hanky having pulled out. I can’t believe how reckless I was, I never saw him alone again, his choice, not mine, even though we lived in the same neighbourhood, he avoided me after he popped my cherry and I was labelled a ‘slag’ along with the other girls who’d ‘put out’ that night. So we girls continued ‘putting out’ with anyone and everyone who’d have us, reputation preceding us wherever we went and no shortage of fucks with any number of boys we’d let into our cunts. By that time, I’d developed a deep and constant yen for sex and had already reached double figures, although I never had an orgasm; climax eluded me for many years.
There was the time I tried respectability, I met John, and we got engaged, he was much older than me, from out of town and had no idea about my reputation. By that time, I had left college, friends from the early days drifted away, and I’ve never contacted them since. I can never get my head around social networking sites, why do people want to get in touch with ‘friends’ they haven’t seen for years? I lose touch for valid reasons, which rarely change with the passing of time. We all outgrow each other eventually; I’ve always thought it pointless hanging on to something or someone way past ‘use by’ date.
John introduced me to anal sex, he was the first of many to fill my rectum, we used anal as a form of birth control in the beginning, but he awoke in me a penchant for anal sex so strong that we rarely did it any other way. When I wanted him, which was often, it had to be in my arsehole.
The first time he buggered me, we were in his crappy little room, in a crappy little bungalow he shared with two other men. All three were teachers. Goodness knows what they were thinking of, they each had girlfriends who were far too young for them, and even though they dressed everything in an air of respectability, it wasn’t decent at all. But nobody batted an eye, in those days it wasn’t taboo for teachers to date students in the upper sixth, it went on all the time, mostly male teachers with female students, although sometimes a young female teacher with a male student. There were also one or two same sex female partnerships; in fact, relationships now be deemed ‘inappropriate’ were rife.
John and I had been out, I don’t know where and it doesn’t matter. We’d both had quite a bit to drink
it didn’t prevent him from getting an erection. His cock wasn’t huge, by that
I mean not terribly long
it was quite thick, and I now know that it was meatier than the average cock. We got onto his bed, he on his back, and I lie on top of him face to face at first, so we could kiss. He had a single bed, and it was actually quite difficult sleeping in it, not that we did much sleeping, in truth, the shared residence was nothing more than a place to fuck.
That night, after a bit of messing around, he positioned me so that I ended up lying on top of him, face up, my back against his chest, my arse nestled against his cock.
“I’m going to stick it in your arsehole,” he said, impaling me with his cock surprisingly easily.
We were of a similar height and didn’t need to jiggle about too much. Up until then, despite my many sexual antics, I’d never had anything in my arse, let alone a fat cock, I couldn’t believe how much I liked it! I was stunned! I remember loving the feel of his hot, hard cock urgent against the walls of my rectum. I’d never had an orgasm up until that point, in spite of or maybe because of my promiscuous ways, and I still didn’t come. Incredibly, I didn’t know about masturbation or touching myself while being fucked or buggered, and even now I don’t feel comfortable doing it.
I’ve always seen myself as the being instigator of sexual satisfaction for other people, my own needs being incidental, and seem to watch myself fucked as if from a distance; it's as if someone else is in my place.
ohn had a marvellous time, ejaculating joyously into my rectal passage, I was sore for days afterwards, but it didn’t stop he and I favouring anal for the duration of our relationship.
You like that story don’t you, my darling?
From time to time, I share the details with you when we’re in bed even though you’ve heard the tale many times. It’s not our favourite fuck accompaniment, being one of myriad selected from my experiences; I’ve had other stimulating, exciting encounters, which we prefer as fuck fodder
There was the affair I had in my twenties, with a sadistic, nasty piece of work. An absolute shit of a man, a married bastard, who delighted in using me, getting me drunk and tying me up, binding me tight and spanking me so hard he left me reeling.
He’d make me gobble his cock, nearly choking me. I loved it so; I relished his abuse. I genuinely idolised him.
He achieved amusement and enjoyment by lashing me spread-eagled to a bed, usually in hired rooms. Pushing a pillow under my arse, he would blindfold me and trickle brandy into my mouth to stupefy me before plunging his cock between my lips, forcing himself down my throat until I felt that he’d suffocate me, pulling out dangerously close to the moment I’d be unable to take more.
That man got his kicks by leaving me unseeing, and standing next to me wanking. He’d spray my face and hair with ejaculate, able to get and maintain many erections during the course of the night, fucking my cunt and arse, leaving me black and blue with bruises and ‘love’ bites, my wrists and ankles ruined with chafing.
Sometimes he’d invite a friend. At those times, he’d tie and blindfold me as usual, but in a twist of pleasure he’d gag me, turn me over so I’d be face down and arse up, allowing the other man to bugger me for his voyeuristic amusement. In the end, he took that line more often than not, I couldn’t tell you if it was the same man, or a series of men, but I suspect the latter, because they all felt and smelled different.
He occasionally filmed the sessions, never showing me the results. I don’t doubt that there are images circulating, broadcasting my treatment at his hands, and providing masturbation fodder for viewers watching me being restrained, gagged, sodomised and fucked.
Days would pass, and slowly evidence of the assaults disappeared, usually immediately prior to our next meeting, when he’d do it all over again. But as I said earlier, I loved my treatment at his hands and adored him, being abused by him and his friends was my ambrosia.
Finally, his hypnosis of me diminished, and I woke up, managed to escape my mesmerising married man and met my now ex-husband, allowed him to rescue me from my sordid little life by marrying me, subsequently boring me to distraction. Thinking that I’d undoubtedly suffocate, stifled by tedium rather than a hard cock, I had to get away, and then I met you.
My ideal man, my cuckold, keeping me safe, keeping me secure, keeping me fed, clothed and providing plenty of money, as long as I fuck the help, and tell you about it, or at the very least, let you think I do, that’s the deal, and I’m happy to oblige.
Darling... Now settled into our blissful existence, I wave you off to work every morning. I watch your retreat as you disappear out of sight at the end of the drive, obscured by the hedges that surround our garden and shield the house from the lane. I stand at the door until I can no longer hear your footfalls on the gravel, a natural burglar alarm, the sound of feet or wheels crunching along on those small loose stones creating a distinct noise, impossible to miss amid the silence of the village.
Closing the door, I retreat into the house and start my day with a bath or shower, depending on what I have planned. My activities always plotted with sexual satisfaction in mind, my insatiable appetite for men and women needs regularly feeding and thoroughly on the five working days that you are out of the house.
You love it though!
My antics titillate and excite you.
When we have sex, you’re imagining what I’ve been doing all day and how many partners I’ve been with. You rarely want to know for sure, because certain knowledge would spoil the game and your need to maintain the illusion of a conventional marriage to a faithful wife.
I’ll tell you about the session I indulged a little while ago.
Do you remember when I told you there were a group of men decorating the empty house next door? (Still standing unsold, in spite of their best efforts). Well naturally, I couldn’t be rude, and knowing they wouldn’t have anyone to offer them tea, I did. I’m sure you’re pleased that I was so polite; I told them to call around if they needed refreshments. I mentioned the obvious euphemism of tea, which they must have understood because, on the second morning of that week, I had just seen you off and was still wearing my breakfast attire of bra, panties, suspender belt, and stockings, when the doorbell rang.