Reluctant Cuckold (35 page)

Ashley was taking a stroll on a moonlit beach in her bikini with another man. Could others not see how that was just a little weird? Miguel was single, had complained about there being no single girls at the house, and now he was taking my wife on some quarter mile walk. And couldn’t Ashley think I’d have to wonder? She’d admitted to fucking Jim Murta at the same party I was at. She’d told me less than a week ago that Jim had given her a couple orgasms.

Suddenly I felt weak in the knees.

Miguel is going to try to get with my buzzed, bikini-clad wife on a moonlit beach. Would he try and kiss her?

And if Ashley kissed him back, he’d move on to more ambitious goals, like getting her top off, feeling her tits, sucking on her nipples, getting her bikini off, having her feel his hard-on, putting her hand on his hard cock.

At this very moment, I thought, Ashley could be on the beach with Miguel’s cock in her mouth. Or he could have her in a secluded area behind the brush, fucking her, Ashley’s bikini in the sand.

How long had it taken Jim Murta to go from zero to sixty? Twenty minutes?

Maybe they had never made it to the ten million dollar house. Maybe once Camilla left, there was no more third wheel.

He had my buzzed, bikini-clad wife all to himself. Perhaps right now, he was only a hundred yards from the house, fucking my wife hard in the sand as Ashley moaned over the sound of the ocean.

I could sneak out and go look for her, or say I was going to check out the view of the moon myself. I could yell out for her: “Ashley?”

It reminded me of this fat kid who moved next door when I was a boy. I was too caught up in trying to be somewhat cool in junior high to be remotely friendly to the kid. It seemed like his only real friend was his dog, Alfie. I remember lying in bed and hearing him walking down the street yelling out for his dog: “Alfie … Alfie!” It made me sad.

Would she even answer my “Ashley” call? Not if she was naked under the bushes with Miguel’s cock inside her.

They’d probably freeze and get quiet as I walked only a few feet away from them and continued down the beach. As my cries grew more distant, she’d put his hands around his bare ass, gripping it, as he’d begin pumping away again on that sandy beach.

Oh my God.

Could Ashley be taking Miguel’s bare cock right now? Why, he could be blowing his load at this very moment inside her. I imagined the moment after they both came.

“Oh my God what happened to my bikini, Miguel?”

“It’s a few yards back down the beach.”

“Miguel, it isn’t, where in hell is it?”

“I don’t know, Ashley, I don’t see it.”

“Oh my God, what the fuck.”

“Relax, Ashley.”

“Relax? I’m fucking naked!”

“I’ll sneak you back.”

“How?”

“There’s an entrance downstairs.”

I imagined Ashley walking back down that path, naked, with Miguel’s cum inside her.

“What’s wrong?” she would say.

“I don’t know; it seems locked.”

“What?”

“Hold on, I think the door’s just jammed.”

“Miguel!”

Then, hearing the commotion, Chip would turn on the spotlight. And Ashley would look up at all of us on the deck, including me. She’d awkwardly wrap one hand around her tits, the other around her pussy. When she turned around, her butt cheeks would be covered in wet sand. Mark might look back at me to see my frozen reaction. Everyone would know then. Miguel had just come back from fucking my wife.

Suddenly I came.

“Holy Shit” I said to myself, as I realized my body was shaking.

This wasn’t like Jay flirting with Ashley by the pool. This Miguel guy was having real alone time with my wife. And here I was, a guest in the house, jerking off in the bathroom, my wife MIA.

The Jim Murta night had shown me anything was possible.

I splashed water on my face and rejoined the group.

Mark handed me a margarita but I was zoning. I had to suck it up and take it—the possibility my wife was getting fucked as I sat there.

About twenty seeming-like-eternity minutes later, there was talk coming up the stairs and I heard Ashley’s voice. She was in her bikini and Miguel was in his swimsuit, without a shirt, looking fit and muscled.

“How did your watermelon margarita run go?” she asked as she gave me a quick kiss.

“Long story, cab problems,” I replied. “Did you go swimming?”

“No, we just checked out this massive beach home down the shore.”

“They were having a cookout,” Miguel said to me, “but it was a little too intimate to try and crash it.”

“I need a drink,” Ashley replied. “So, no watermelon margaritas?”

“No” I said, “but there’s margarita mix, I’m just drinking a regular one.”

“Regular one it is then,” Ashley said.

“I can make you one,” Miguel said, and I watched the guy head into the kitchen to fix my wife a drink.

I made sure to keep Ashley nearby the rest of the night. I joined her in the Jacuzzi when she went in. I hung out in the kitchen when she was making more appetizers with Camilla.

Mark offered to sleep on the living room couch and give Ashley the bedroom with Camilla.

“Thanks,” Ashley replied, “but you paid for that room, I’m just lucky to have a free couch. I’m sure it’ll be ultra-comfy. I nap on our couch at home all the time.”

I half expected Miguel to say, “I have a good sized bed in my room, Ashley.”

So I kept close.

I hung out in the living room as Chip brought out blankets, and Ashley changed into a t-shirt and sweats. Then Chip showed me the couch downstairs. I had a nightcap with Mark in the kitchen as Ashley went to sleep.

Miguel and Chip came in from the deck and said they were going to crash. I waited for their bedroom doors to close before telling Mark I was going to bed as well.

But I couldn’t sleep. I started wondering if Miguel would come out from his bedroom and ask Ashley to join him, with me, now presumably, asleep downstairs. If he had even simply kissed her on that beach earlier, it would be worth a shot for him.

Would Ashley say, “I’d love to Miguel, but Dave might come up and wonder where I am.”

Or would she think she could finesse even that? “That couch was really uncomfortable Dave, so I just crashed out on Miguel’s bed.”

Maybe he was talking to her in the living room right now. Maybe they were making out on the couch. Perhaps he had Ashley’s clothes off. Maybe they were getting off on the risk, hooking up in a public room, with chump husband Dave a staircase below. Maybe at this moment, Miguel was straddling my wife, sliding his cock between her tits, telling her to lean forward and lick it.

“A little more, Ashley, that’s it, give my cock a good kiss, oh yeah, show me that tongue, nice, good girl.”

I thought of slowly walking up those creaky stairs, trying not to make them creak. I imagined what I might see. Perhaps I’d peer out and see Miguel’s ass, Ashley’s legs wrapped around his back. Or maybe he’d have her turned around. So when I walked up, Miguel would see me quietly pop my head out to sneak a peek. Maybe he’d smile and mutter, “Hell, yeah!” as we made eye contact. And he’d pick up the pace, thrusting fast and hard as he stared me down, pounding Ashley extra loudly as she screamed out in orgasm.

“Watch this chump,” his expression would say, “look at me as I cum deep inside your fucking wife.”

Suddenly I came.

I just lay there, my heart racing. I couldn’t hear anything over the din of the air conditioner. For all I knew, everyone was asleep in the house. And it was all in my crazy head.

I woke up, unsure of where I was.

Then I looked at my watch and couldn’t believe how late I’d slept. The curtains had kept all the light out. I thought about Miguel having possibly done something with Ashley last night. It wasn’t impossible that he’d fucked her on the beach and then fucked her again in his bedroom after I had gone down to sleep.

Then I thought of Ashley in that circular Jacuzzi. I imagined going upstairs and finding everyone already in there—Miguel and Camilla sitting between Ashley, and me squeezing in on the other side. The jets would be on lightly as we all sipped our drinks.

I imagined seeing Miguel put his hands under the water, like he was sliding off his swimsuit.

I imagined Camilla trying to control her “Oh my God” expression as she saw Miguel’s cock point upwards under water.

I imagined seeing Ashley’s arm go down, trying to discreetly give this guy a hand job, ten feet away from me—her husband.

I imagined Ashley’s polka-dotted bottom being untied and held under water in her hand.

I pictured her suddenly on Miguel’s lap. Everyone would keep talking as if everything was normal. Then Ashley would cry out, “Oh God.”

People would look back at her.

“I mean, oh God, these jets are pretty hot.”

But she’d continue to softly moan, looking up at the sky, back down at the water. Miguel’s arms would be under water as he clutched her. Suddenly Miguel’s swimsuit would rise to the surface, followed shortly by Ashley’s bottoms.

I would sit there paralyzed looking at them. And then Miguel would untie my wife’s top, leaving Ashley’s tits exposed and bouncing in front of everyone. No one would not know what was going on. Miguel was fucking my wife in the Jacuzzi right the fuck in front of me.

Oh my God stop, I thought to myself, don’t do it, Miguel, please pull out, please don’t cum, not in Ashley’s pussy.

I sat there on the basement couch with cum in my hand and no tissue.

“What’s Hat Night?”

That’s what Ashley was asking Miguel when I walked into the kitchen.

“About time, sleepy head,” she said to me, “it’s almost eleven.”

“I know,” I said, “it was dark downstairs and it took a while to fall asleep.”

“Well,” Miguel continued, “we all dress up in the most outrageous hats we can find, and bar-hop as a group. It’s become a tradition.”

“Sounds fun,” Ashley replied, “I’ll talk to Camilla about it.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a blast. You would love it,” Miguel said.

“Think you could take Friday off?” Ashley asked me.

“What?” I said, as I looked for the coffee.

“We could come down Thursday night,” Ashley said, “chill on the beach, and go out with everyone for Hat Night Friday.”

“Oh I don’t know,” I said.

“I’m telling you, it’s so much fun,” Miguel said, “and the forecast for Friday is Sunny and 85.”

“And it’s Labor Day weekend,” Ashley added. “It’ll be half-day Friday anyway.”

We had a 2 p.m. bus to catch.

I went downstairs and packed. Ashley was outside on the deck when I came out, drinking a bloody with Miguel. I suddenly wondered if she’d given him a goodbye blowjob while I was showering.

“I hope you can come down later this week,” Miguel said as he hugged Ashley goodbye.

“Would love to have you down again,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Hey Ash,” I said on the bus ride home. “Did Tamara email you the happy hour photos from the other night?”

“No, she’s out in the Hamptons.”

“Well,” I said, “you remember that photo she took of us with the sales guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Jim was in the photo, and it occurred to me that she might group-email the photos tomorrow at work.”

“OK, maybe.”

“Could you talk to her and ask her not to include that one? I mean, that might get people talking again about the rumor, me posing with Jim. It might be a good idea not to circulate that photo.”

“I’m with you,” she said. “Sure, I’ll text her now.”

“I’ve got issues, Mike,” I said, when he called that night. “I could be paranoid, but whenever Ashley is friendly with a good-looking guy now, I start imagining stuff.”

“What happened?”

“I went on a liquor run, and when I returned, Ashley was taking a moonlight beach walk in her bikini with this guy we’d just met. I started thinking he had fucked her on that beach.”

“Do you think he did?”

“Probably not, but given what happened with Jim Murta, anything is possible. And then I think it could all be in my head.”

“Would you rather it all be in your head?”

“What?” I said.