Reluctant Cuckold (11 page)

I held Ashley close to me. Maybe she was in a purgatory of her own, wondering if I would suddenly pull the marital rug out from under her.

“I love you,” I said softly and she replied back saying, “I love you, too.”

There was something to take from that. She hadn’t dropped any conversational A-bomb. She hadn’t said she wanted to leave me. There was an A-OK, normalness to the evening.

“Are you OK with this movie?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

Ashley laughed and said, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I promise you’ll pick the next movie added to the cue.”

She was leaning on me as we sat on our living room couch. She wore one of my Giants jerseys that fit her like a mini dress. I was in my boxers and t-shirt.

When she put her hand on my thigh, I popped a boner. Her hand grazed across it when she began to pull away. She saw me angle my boner towards her, and finally, she pulled my dick out of the fly and gently caressed it. But her eyes stayed focused on the movie, as I stared down on her soft, beautiful, hand on my dick.

C’mon baby, I thought to myself, put that movie on pause and put your gorgeous, succulent lips around it. You haven’t blown me since Florida, since before Jim Murta. Show me what you probably showed Jim Murta. Get on your knees and blow me, Ashley, like maybe what you were doing when Tamara sent me upstairs.

Then I thought,
holy shit
, as I realized I was about to cum.

“Wait,” I exclaimed, pushing her hand away. But I knew there was no stopping it now.

I stood and pulled my boxers up, as my dick started spurting right into them. I muttered, “Be right back” as I hightailed it for the kitchen. I could feel it dripping down my thighs. My boxers were a sopping, sticky mess.

I scurried into the bathroom and grabbed a handful of tissues. I put the boxers into a plastic bag and buried them in my closet, pulling out a new pair from my dresser.

Now I had to go back out and face Ashley. I didn’t know how to explain myself. I had just creamed my fucking boxers. And all from a lazy, half-attentive handjob.

“Are you OK?” she asked when I returned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. That was weird,” I replied, “Not sure what happened exactly.”

“You just came?”

“Um I guess, I mean, yeah, a little. Just a bit strange. I’m fine though. Sorry about that. Um, so how are you? What did I miss?”

Lying in bed I wondered what Ashley was thinking about this new sexual debacle. Perhaps she had wanted sex, but her attempt at mild foreplay had put a quick end to that.

I didn’t know what was worse—going prematurely from a handjob or creaming my underwear.

The last time I had to throw a pair of underwear away was in junior high, when I first began masturbating. At first I would stop before the tension got too much. But then one day, staring at some big-titted tenth-grade cheerleader in my brother’s yearbook, I felt this new sensation. In a panic, I tried to stop it. My first orgasm was a ‘what-the-fuck-is-happening’ moment, as my dick went crazy, shooting into my white briefs. The next day I secretly took those briefs in a plastic bag and stuffed them in the garbage in my parent’s garage.

And now here I was, twenty years later, just as shamed, about to trash another pair of underwear.

Ashley’s become familiar with Mr. four-pumps guy, but a fucking lazy handjob? What would she think of me now?

Would she think, Well, I did just admit to getting fucked in that ratty bathroom. And I told him Jim Murta had a bigger cock.

Are dots like that really so hard to connect?

In the shower the next morning I kept thinking about what had happened.

Jim Murta surely wouldn’t have cum prematurely from an Ashley Martens handjob. Stroking his cock, looking at Ashley’s tits, he was probably close enough to shoot his load all over her. But Jim Murta had stamina. He wasn’t going to bust his nut and miss an Ashley Martens full-throttle fuck-opportunity.

Stroking had been just a warm-up act. With Ashley’s husband now relegated upstairs, he would take his sweet time, savoring the fuck. Had Ashley compared the two of us last night? Jim’s big-cock stud-fuck performance and me creaming inside my boxers from a simple handjob?

I noticed Ashley’s skin cleanser in the shower caddie and squirted it into my left palm. It had the look and consistency of cum. I kept pumping until I had a puddle of white cream in my hand. I imagined it as Jim Murta’s monster load. As it began slipping through my fingers, I felt its thickness and heaviness, picturing how it had dripped out of my wife’s pussy as she returned to the party. Had it puddled up and soaked Ashley’s thong as she walked back outside? Might someone have noticed a stray glob of Jim Murta semen errantly sliding down her tanned bare leg?

Had she even put her thong back on? In the heat of the moment had Jim ripped it off, rendering it un-wearable? Or had he pocketed my wife’s thong as a Jim Murta-Ashley Martens fuck trophy?

I thought of her knowing Jim Murta’s sperm was inside her pussy as we took a cab ride home together, and suddenly came.

I knew Ashley would be at the gym for a while, so my plan was to quickly jerk off at home. I figured that would give me better stamina than yesterday, when I hadn’t masturbated at all.

I hadn’t looked at much Internet porn, certainly not since getting married. But now I searched free porn sites, entering the keywords, “amateur bathroom fuck.” I was looking for a girl who resembled Ashley—a young, petite brunette with big tits. I finally found one of a college girl getting fucked by her boyfriend that looked real and amateurish—like they had drunkenly invited a friend to film them.

At the time they probably saw it as a fun and kinky thing to do. They were capturing themselves in the natural act of fucking. But how could the girl not possibly regret it now? It’s one thing to have nude photos posted online, quite another to have a photo with your boyfriend’s dick in your mouth, and yet another to have an actual video of yourself sucking and fucking, for anyone who stumbles upon it to watch.

I imagined the crawl-under-a-rock embarrassment when another classmate would tell her, “Last night we watched Alex fucking you. Sound familiar?”

Ashley could probably relate in some small way after having to face everyone and the rumor that Monday.

Of course the girl on the video had it worse—that graphic intimate video for anyone to see on the Internet into perpetuity. The girl in the video was younger but resembled Ashley in a general way—not as pretty, but with big tits, long hair, and similar proportions.

The video began with her on her knees sucking the guy’s cock. He was pretty big, maybe eight inches.

How could Ashley not have sucked Jim’s cock beforehand? Maybe he did go straight for the fuck, but as in this video, cock-sucking was a fairly common preamble.

I thought of myself knocking and being sent upstairs.

And then I watched the video really begin. The guy was sitting on the toilet, his big cock pointed to the ceiling. She eased herself down, guiding his cock with her hand, like they’d fucked plenty of times before. The guy wasn’t using a condom and I was glad for that. I watched as his cock went up inside her.

I wondered if Tamara’s view had been the same.

Then the real cock pumping ensued. She had her head tilted back, her big tits bouncing, as she rode him right down to his base, his balls.

Soon he had her lying on the sink counter, and I watched him pumping quickly. I listened through headphones. The girl was moaning, “Oh yes,” “Oh God,” “Oh baby.”

Then it happened. He had her bent over the sink and he was doing her from behind. I couldn’t see his cock from that angle, but I watched his body thrust into her and her tits bounce in front of the mirror. The girl grinded back into him, like it was her mission to get his cock to explode. Suddenly the guy pulled out and shot several good bursts onto the girl’s ass. I froze the picture as the cameraman zoomed in. It was a good amount of cum.

Jim didn’t shoot on Ashley’s ass. All that cum that was sitting on that girl’s ass had gone up my wife’s pussy instead. Jim would have made a statement by simply pulling out and leaving his sperm on Ashley’s ass. But he wanted the full enchilada. That’s how Jim Murta rolls. He wanted my wife’s pussy seeded.

I rewound the video clip slightly, watched the doggy bathroom fuck, and came.

I quickly washed up.

It was a cool summer night, and I thought I’d mix it up a bit by serving our Caesar salad in the living room and setting up the table there.

Ashley came home looking all sweaty in a cute and hot way, and by the time she came out of the shower, I had everything ready and laid out.

“This looks great,” she said as she sat down across from me.

“How was your day?” I asked.

“Well, better than yesterday. It seems like accounting has eased up a bit and is going to approve a slightly scaled back budget on the convention.”

“That’s cool,” I replied, “you’re OK with that?”

“Yeah, it’s just the whole jumping through hoops nonsense,” she said, “I mean …”

Suddenly a huge black bug came screaming through the window, landing on the hardwood floor nearby. We were all frozen for a moment—me, Ashley and this big fat water bug. The bug seemed as freaked out as we were, sitting motionless, like it had just survived a kamikaze mission.

Ashley shrieked, “Oh my freaking God, Dave, do something!”

The bug made a lightning fast beeline right for the sofa.

I hustled into the bedroom and came back with a shoe.

“It’s under the couch,” Ashley screamed. “What’s that going to do?”

“I’ll get the Raid,” I said, and ran into the kitchen.

Ashley pulled back the couch as it headed under our bookcase. “Oh my God,” she said, “Did you see that? That thing was
flying
. God, this is so freaking disgusting.”

“I’ll get it,” I said, spraying under the bookcase.

“You’re getting it on all the books!”

“I’m trying, Ash.”

I saw what Ashley meant as the Raid drove the bug out. It could kind of fly. Not like a bee—more like a bloated dirigible attempting to get off the ground. It rose several inches before hitting the counter and flying a few inches more. When it stopped briefly on the counter’s edge, Ashley slammed it with a magazine.

She recoiled, muttering, “That is so gross.”

It had left a disgusting mess—white splattered goop and black bug body parts. I grabbed paper towels and used the disinfectant wipes Ashley handed me.

She was shutting the window when I returned from the living room. “What happened to the screens you said you were getting?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’m going to get them now.”

“Dave, it’s already August.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but we’re on the eleventh floor. It’s not like we’ve had bugs before.”

“What did Jimmy say about construction across the street—that residents are signing up for the exterminator?”

“Ashley, I know what the doorman said, but we’re up high. This was an anomaly.”

“Anomaly? So, you analyzed the percentages? Being on the eleventh floor trumped what he said? Based on your analytics, we don’t need screens?”

“Hey baby,” I said, “calm down. I’m sorry, I will get the screens taken care of. It freaked me out as well. But it’s over now. Let’s just sit back down and have some dinner.”

“Go for it,” she said, “I’m done, I lost my appetite.”

“Can I get you something else instead?”

“No, really, I’m fine. I’m not hungry anymore.”

She told me she’d be on her laptop in the bedroom.

That fucking bug
, I thought as I sat alone on the sofa. Of all the windows in New York City to kamikaze through, this freaking bug had to chose mine—and just as we were starting dinner.

I wasn’t looking forward to joining her later in the bedroom. I was bracing for an “If only you had put that screen in like you said you would” type comment.

Instead she said, “Sorry I was such a bitch tonight. That bug really freaked me out.”

“I understand,” I said. “I will have those screens in by this weekend.”

“No rush now. It’s supposed to turn hot again tomorrow. It doesn’t look like open-the-window kind of weather for the next week. Sorry I made such a big deal. It’s just my bug phobia.”

She motioned for me to lie beside her, and I quickly joined her.

“Well,” I said, putting my arm around her, “that was one nasty bug. I’ve never seen one like that before, even in Florida or Costa Rica.”