A Change in Our Marriage

by Sarah Girl

04

 

I looked out the window and watched my wife climb into her SUV, her dress riding up her thigh, to her stocking tops. I could not believe this was really happening.

Sure, she claimed to be going out with her girlfriends, but I knew better, and she knew better. She was going out, on a date, with a man. A 'real man' as she liked to say. Unlike me.

What could I expect? Honestly? She caught me months ago surfing all sorts of cuckold web sites.

She caught me looking at transvestite web sites.

She caught me looking at female domination web sites.

She easily got me into feminization, and I wore lingerie all the time, dresses at home.

I admitted over and over to her that I was not a real man, how could I not?

I looked down at my legs, slim, shapely, nylon clad, ending in heels. No wonder she wanted a man. Living with this, this thing she created, this creature, neither man nor woman, of course Sara must crave, desire, even need something more.

I knew she loved me. I knew we were soul mates.

I was her true love, my heart and soul, but I knew I had nothing masculine to give her. No, that was not quite true. What I had to give her, well, that's not what she wanted.

But, still, was I ready for this? To cross the line from fantasy to reality?

Could I take this? Could our marriage take this?

Or was it all a part of her subtle torment of me. Maybe she really was out with her girlfriends.

Yes, of course, she was playing with me, a cat toying with the mouse.

But the funny thing is, I'm not sure that thought comforted me. Sure, a part of me, the small masculine part, but there was more. There was this feminine side, and more importantly, this submissive side.

Fuck. The thought that she really might be out with her friends did not make me feel better, it almost made me feel worse. Fuck. I actually wanted her to be out with a man. That's how depraved my fantasy had become. A big part of me wanted it to be true.

But that was the rub, so to speak. While I was laying there, crying, my penis was as hard as it could get in the stupid cage. I was picturing Sara, on her back, in the lingerie I had bought her, panties thrown aside, legs spread, pulling some big stud into her pussy. Into my pussy. My tears flowed freely, but my cock got even harder, pressing on the sides of the cage. I wanted to run away. But I wanted to masturbate like crazy. And I knew I could do neither. I could not run and I could not play.

Sara had me trapped. Part of me hated it, and part of me was going wild.

By midnight, I had cried myself out. I got up and got ready for bed. Seeing myself in the mirror, breasts, wig, makeup, nails, that part that hated this wanted to rip it all off and throw it out the window. Part of me wanted to go to the store and buy some nice cotton underwear, men's underwear. To be a man again, to sit there, and wait for Sara and confront her. Fuck this. A small part of me wanted to throw out all the lingerie I had, to dress like a man, and act like a man. A man does not let his wife fuck around.

But there was that other part, that sexually driven part, that loved it. Loved Sara. Loved what she had done. The submissive part, I suppose, which was the bigger part, that only wanted to follow Sara anywhere.

That part was bigger. The feminine and submissive part was much stronger than the masculine and aggressive part. I was trapped.

So I did what that part demanded. I dressed for bed as a feminine thing, hoping to please my love, Sara when she got home from where ever she was, be it a date or simply out dancing..

Sara had a white merry widow with garter straps in her dresser. Taking a chance that she would not be angry if I borrowed it, I put it on, lifting my fake breasts into the cups. The panties that matched were too skimpy-not that my little cock did not fit into them, but the chastity cage itself was the problem, so I decided to forgo the panties. I did put on white stockings, gently, careful not to ruin hers with my nails, and heeled slippers. Finally, I took a white satin gown from Sara's closet. Wrapping myself in it, and seeing myself in the mirror, I shuddered. Fuck, in white, I looked like a bride on her wedding night, waiting for her groom.

In a way I suppose, subconsciously, that is what I was, for this was truly a new beginning to our marriage.

I understood why she had put that stupid chastity cage on me. Without it, I would certainly be masturbating like crazy. I knew too, that if I did, that if I had an orgasm, I would lose my libido, and most likely, I would be pulled too hard to the small masculine part of me. I would find this too much, the lingerie, the waiting, the thought of what she was doing.

I'm sure that's why. She did it to protect me. It was not to punish me, but to protect me. Chastity not out of anger, but out of love.

SARA

I opened my eyes some time later, hearing a noise somewhere in the house. I had fallen asleep on the bed, on top of the covers. The candles I had lit in the bedroom made things seem like dreamlike. I tried to focus on the room, on where I was. You know how sometimes when you wake up you cannot figure out what is going on? That's how I felt, confused, dazed, not quite placing reality.

In walked Sara. Our eyes met. "Oh, Julie," she gushed, "oh my sweet, sweet lover."

"Sara," I croaked, "I..."

"Shhh, don't say anything, lover. Look at you, waiting for me.

Reality caught up in my head, and I started to shake.

"Sara......did..."

"Julie," she growled, "I said no talking."

Sara walked to the dresser, opened a drawer, and took something out. Walking over to me, she smiled, "I'm taking this off," she said, pointing to my cage, "but I don't want you to get too excited yet, so I want to get your hands out of the way. Do this." She motioned me to put my hands over my head, to the headboard.

I followed her request. No, that's not right. Her tone was not that of a request. I followed her command. In one of her hands she had a balled up pair of pantyhose, which she untangled and wrapped around my wrists and the headboard.

"Fuck," I though. I was shaking. I must be dreaming, I thought, pulling my arms. My arms, stretched above my head, immobile. Not tight, not cruel, she left me a little slack, but they were immobile.

She then unlocked the cage, carefully, gently, lovingly removing it. The release, the tension gone, emotion flooded through me. Sexually charged emotion.

"Sara, please, I have to know," I started, suddenly fearful, desperate to hear it from her own mouth. Needing confirmation of what she did. Was she still teasing me, slowly taking me farther down the road of shame? Or did she really do it, fuck a man. Was it tease or reality. I couldn't take it, I had to know.

"Shhhhh," she responded, stopping my confrontation of her, denying me the truth, denying me even an admission that something was amiss. Free from the cage, my cock immediately grew. Instinctively, an animal like hunger took over and my hands tugged on the pantyhose around them. I had to touch it. The sexual energy was flooding through me. My god, what had she done to me. She knew what she had done, the uncertainty drove me wild with lust. The thought that she fucked another man charged me much more than the confirmation ever could.

"Please, Sara," I whispered, struggling in the bondage.

She walked to the closet, stepped out of her dress, hung it up, cupping something in her hand. My god was she beautiful. She knelt by the foot of the bed, "my, my, look what got caught up in my web," she purred. "Look at the innocent fly, caught in the web of the deceitful spider. Struggle all you want, poor thing, but it only make you trapped even more." She was right. Like a bug in the web, struggling only tightened the bondage on my wrists, making my hands tighter, unable to escape.

She stuck out her tongue, and slowly ran it up my right leg. Starting at my toe, her tongue on the stocking, she purred as she licked my shin, my knee, my thigh.

"You taste soooo good, my little captive, just what I need. Look at you, lover. Bondage becomes you. Does my sissy like being tied up? Does she need a strong mistress in her life?"

"Saaarrrraaaa," I moaned, thrashing.

"Yes, lover, yes, my slave, yes," she said, taking my cock in her

hands, "I know what you need, I know you need to surrender,

"Sara...oh," I moaned, " did you..."

"I said no talking, lover," she snapped, "there are other things I want from your mouth."

Sara continued her tongue's journey over my body, just past my free cock, looking it over. Her tongue darted out of her mouth, a quick lick on my cock, almost causing me to explode right then and there. But as quickly as she licked it, she moved on, working her way to my stomach, kissing her way up the merry widow, up my body.

Sara moved to straddle my body as she reached my chest, her stocking covered legs taking position on either side of my head. As she moved her torso up past my chest, the smell hit me for the first time.

Musk. Damp. Strong.

I thought back to her decision earlier, to leave her purse and her condom behind.

The smell. God, what was that smell? Her sweat? Simple dampness from sexual excitement? Or was it more. I remembered back to the fantasies I read on the web, of...of...the word...entered my brain, of creampies.

Was she doing this to me? What was inside her? Oh, God, I had to know.

"Sara, please" I moaned. I knew her smell. Was there something more?

Was I projecting my fantasies onto her?

"Saaarrrraaa..."

I saw her sheer panties, damp, almost crusty. My brain quickly processed the information. The smell. The crust on the sheer crotch. No, I couldn't do this. The line was beyond my limits, her pussy, I loved, but no, not if she...not if inside her...

"No...Sara....please...don't."

I couldn't do this. It was too much. It was beyond my limits. I knew what she was going to do, how could I not know? How could I do this? How could she ask this? I clamped my mouth shut, she was way beyond my limits.

But she knew a way around this. I felt her reach behind her, her gentle fingers, her nails, slowly, lovingly, gently, wrapped around my cock. No. No. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair at all. I looked at her, our eyes met. We both knew I could not resist.

"Please Sara," I begged, weakly, "please."

She ignored me, moving herself up, hovering over my face. "Open you mouth, my sweet cuckold, open. This is my gift to you." Her fingers slowly stroked my cock.

Sara lowered herself to my face. Her pussy. And....no, it wasn't real. I knew she must be teasing me. She would not have gone this far without talking to me about it first, not this. She would not have fucked a man without getting permission. It was just too far beyond fantasy, a step that could not be taken back. Sure, I told myself, it was just her, nothing more.

But still, it might be more. It might be

"Open, lover, open."

I wanted to get up, to cry, to flee, to protest. But I was trapped. The spider really did capture her prey. Months led up to this very moment. I was feminized, tied to the bed, my head trapped between my wife's thighs. She was hovering, letting me smell her pussy through the panties. Smell the sexual heat, the dampness, the perspiration. I could see, too, and realized just how sheer the panties were. There may as well have been nothing between me and...

No. No. No. She would not have. She was teasing, I told myself.

"Open, lover," she purred, lowering herself to my mouth.

I opened, the panties coming in contact with my lips a split second before her pussy pushed them onto my tongue.

At the first taste, I thrashed, but Sara had anticipated, and drew her thighs tightly around my head, pushing her panties onto my mouth, holding them there, letting my saliva seep into the fabric, and back into my mouth. Her fingers tightened their grip on my cock, stroking. Her thighs trapped me, physically, her fingers trapped me, sexually.

I had nowhere to go or hide.

It's just Sara.

I kept repeating that in my head.

It's just Sara.

A little voice hoped.

It will be over soon. I'm just licking my wife, I thought.

But it got worse. Or better. I didn't know which. With her free hand, Sara reached down, and pulled the sheer fabric to the side, letting her swollen pussy come to rest directly on my mouth.

I could not help myself. As much as it revolted me, it excited me that much more. I stuck my tongue out, into her pussy.

"Yessssssss," she moaned, rocking back and forth on my mouth, "deeper, deeper."

I was thrashing like crazy, hard, shocked, humiliated, excited, shamed.

"Ohhhh, lover, if you only knew how wonderful sex was with a man."

Oh, no. No. NO. NO!

It's just Sara, I repeated in head

"Sara," I mumbled, my tongue in her pussy, tasting her.

"How good a man's cock tastes, how it fills up my mouth."

"Sara, please," I begged, "what did you do," I mumbled, mouth to her pussy.

"Hmmm," she moaned, "How wonderful it is to have a man's cock in your pussy."

That almost pushed me over the edge of sanity, but she pushed me again.

"If you only knew how wonderful it is to have an orgasm when a man fucks you."

I could not believe what we were doing.

It's only Sara. It's only Sara.

Oh, please, my mind raced, don't tease me. Please don't tease me.

Please don't stop teasing me.

"How wonderful a man's hard, hot cock feels inside me," she growled.

I was literally going wild. If my hand were not bound to the bed, I would have been stroking myself like crazy. Still she pushed on. I was desperate to orgasm. I was desperate to bring her to orgasm.

She lowered her voice, "How wonderful it feels to have a man cum in my pussy," she moaned, driving herself down onto my tongue as I licked, fully aware now of what was going on.

"Saraaaaaa," I screamed, when she lifted herself up, and silenced when she pushed herself back down on me.

It's just Sara. She would not have done this, my loving wife, she would not have fucked a man. It's all a game.

It's all a game.

Fantasy. Yes, it's fantasy, I hoped and prayed. Wanting it to be real, all the same.

"Yesssss," she moaned, pushed over the edge or orgasm, pushed there by her evening, by her reaction to my humiliation, my submission. "Harder, now...taste it. Taste me. Taste him," she yelled.

It. What was it. Him?

No, it's fantasy, my mind screamed, she is teasing you. Playing on your fears and emotions.

Sara shook in orgasm, wave after wave, shuddering as I tongued her. I was hypersensitive now. I strained at my bonds, thrashed, my face covered with Sara's juices, the remnants of her lover. Sara climbed off me, her mouth, hungry, found mine, attacked me, licking my face. Her mouth raped mine, a desperate passion. She was an animal awakened; a sexual beast I had never seen before, demanding, amazing.

My eyes suddenly went wide, as Sara's drenched pussy descended onto my own cock. I started to thrust, I could not help it, I needed it.

"Don't move," she growled, "not yet, or I'll leave you here, unsatisfied."

"No, please, don't," I begged.

Sara's hips pushed onto me, holding mine in place, my cock in the warmth of her pussy.

"Sara," I panted, "please."

"I love you so much," she said, her mouth all over mine, as she lifted her hips, friction and warmth on my own cock, then pushed again.

The damn burst, violently, of course, because there was no other way. I was too pent up, too frustrated, too charged. I exploded in her, shaking, a feeling I had never experienced in my life. It literally was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced, unmatched, unparalleled.

Sara collapsed onto me, also spent.

I felt her hands reach above our heads, untie my arms. We rolled to one side, intertwined, our stocking covered legs all mixed up, my arms, now free, around her, and hers around me. We both quickly drifted off to sleep, as one as we could be. Sara, John, Julie, me, her, husband, wife, all together now. One.

We were one.

As close as we had ever been, physically, emotionally, spiritually.

It was just a fantasy, I kept repeating to myself, just a fantasy, as I drifted off to sleep, not knowing if I was a cuckold or not, and at the time, not caring.

Morning came, and slowly waking, I realized that we hardly moved all night, we both slept so deeply, so tightly intertwined as one.

I think falling asleep was the best thing that could have happened to us last night. Awake, after orgasm, libido gone again, I would have thought. Unhappy thoughts. Disturbing thoughts. Waking up now, like this, eying my wife, the lovely, tender, sexy Sara, I was not quite sexually charged, but I was still closer to some comfort level than I would have been last night.

I felt Sara stirring, her leg moving, letting the scent of sex drift up, the musky smell, of whatever was mingled inside her. It stung my nostrils, a reminder of the night before.

Sara opened her eyes, stared at me. I was about to speak, to ask her what she did last night, what was fantasy, and what reality. I had to know. The sexual excitement gone now, I had to know.

"I love you," she whispered.

Three simple words. I felt my heart melt. The sting of the smell, the lingering discomfort I felt quickly melted with those words.

"I love you too," I answered, unable to speak anything else.

"Are you okay?"

No, I thought, my arm was asleep, my back was in an awkward position and my bladder was full. But that's not what she was asking.

My soft cock was resting on her thigh, on the nylon. I felt it stir.

She did too, for she smiled.

Was I okay? I didn't know.

"Sara......did...did you..."

"Shhh, Julie," she smiled, "I love you."

She wasn't going to answer. For some reason, she did not want to. I was to be kept on the edge, not knowing if I was a cuckold, or just a sissy.

"Yes," I whispered. The simple spoken word was an answer far more complex. Yet, so was her question. They both sounded so simple, yet they both were much deeper than appeared.

I felt Sara's other leg come to rest on my soft cockette.

"Are you sure," she asked softly.

Was I sure? Was I? Was I sure that I was okay with last night? Did I accept what she might have done? Could I stay in the dark, not knowing if she cuckolded me. She came home and...I could hardly bear to think about her on me, on my face. Was I okay with this? Was I sure? Did I accept it? Did I want it?

I felt her move her legs slightly, the friction of her nylons rubbing on my cock. Her movements shattered the connection between the logic of my mind and the erotic part of my mind. No, not shattered, reconnected. Logically, if she had fucked another man, her act was unforgivable. Erotically, it would have been pure bliss.

Not know, it was pure torture. Pure erotic torture.

Her legs slowly drifted back and forth, caressing me, making me grow.

The eroticism won out, as it had continued to do for several weeks.

"Yes," I breathed, closing my eyes, my mouth reaching out to her, kissing her.

We kissed and kissed, deep and erotic. It was my final surrender, at least to this part of Sara's games. I grew harder. I accepted what she did, and through my kiss, even though fueled by the erotic feelings of my cock rubbing on her nylons, I still accepted it.

Whether or not she did it, I was to be her cuckold. I think that was the point, that she could do it without any further acquiescence on my part. She could fuck another man, without getting permission.

As soon as I thought that, as soon as those words crossed my mind, I exploded again, the cum, gushing onto Sara's legs, her stockings, all over her thighs.

She smiled, knowing what she was doing. A continued linking of my sexual pleasure with submission, feminization and now cuckolding. Every thing I accepted came with my own sexual release. By this, she bound me.

Our weekend flew by. Hell, the week flew by. It was a week of the normal routine. Well, as normal as a woman dressing her husband in sexy lingerie every morning before he went to the office could be. Even Friday night was normal. Sara and I stayed home, wore satin robes, sat on the couch and watched a movie. Normal, normal, normal.

And a week of unspoken desire. We did not discuss the previous Friday the entire week.

I tried to bring it up once, but she stopped me.

"Sara, please, last Friday night...did you?"

"I'm not discussing Friday again. If you are uncomfortable, if you want this to stop, we can and will discuss this, lover," she smiled, "but short of that, all in good time." I was to be kept guessing. Everything revolved around her and her timetable. Mine thoughts and desires were left to wonder and linger.

I was so confused. I didn't know what to think.

 

Saturday

"Baby, I want to go out tonight," Sara said on Saturday morning. Immediately my breathing got heavy. "You...you do," I asked, my stomach tightening.

"Yes, I do. There is a new club in the warehouse district and I think we should go."

"We should go," I repeated, my voice indicating both surprise and disappointment.

"Yes, I think we need a night out," she smiled.

Perhaps she was right. After last Friday, perhaps we really did need to go out together.

But...but...part of me wanted her to go out alone. She clearly saw the disappointment on my face and smiled.

What could a sissy cuckold husband do? Tell his wife, 'no, you go ahead, go fuck some guy, I'll just stay home.' No, no, those were words that were not coming out of my mouth. In truth, I suppose, I did like spending time with Sara, even as a normal couple, a normal husband and wife.

Evening, we showered. "Honey, here, I bought you an outfit," Sara smiled, handing me a bag from an exclusive woman's dress shop in town. Immediately, the blood in my veins froze.

"Sara, there is no way..." I started to protest, thinking there was no fucking way I was wearing a dress outside, "I can't do this."

"Julie, you can't what? Oh, I get it. You silly, you are not ready for that, yet, that's just the bag from the dress I bought. Just open it. Everything you need for tonight is in there."

I unzipped the bag, and inside was a lavender silk shirt and a pair of black trousers. "Silly girl. Listen, Julie, I'd love it if you wore a dress outside, but I know you are not ready for that yet."

Yet.

"Yet?"

"Of course, yet. Someday, sweetie, you will be, but not yet."

The funny thing is that the shirt was not something I would ever wear. A bit too, well, flamboyant? Too...gay, I chuckled. But it was better than a dress, no doubt about that. A tad feminine, but to some, just kind of vogue. Better than a dress.

Taking the hangers out of the bag, I found a third one between the shirt and trousers. On it hung a black satin camisole and tap panty set, along with a satin waist cincher with garter straps. Six garter straps. Metal garters. Pure class. Attached was a package of silk stockings. Stockings just like the ones I had bought for her last week. The bag still felt heavy. Everything I needed was in here, she had said. Of course, shoes.

In the bottom were a pair of black shoes. These too were, well, "vogue" in design. A buckle, a slight heel. Men's shoes, to be sure, but certainly not ones I would have ever worn to the office. The whole effect was slightly disconcerting, but I could not place it. Not until I dressed.

The waist cincher went easily around my waist, but was a bit difficult to tighten to fit. I had to suck in my waist to work it. Sara helped with the stockings, tenderly putting them on my legs, and fastening the garters for me. The camisole and tap panties followed. The effect was very feminizing.

"Sit," she said, pointing to her makeup table. I had a horrified look on my face. "Just sit and trust me," she said, "I know what I'm doing." Sure she did. That's what terrified me.

She indicated for me to sit at her makeup table. I sat in horror, thinking she meant to make up my face, knowing I could not go out as a woman, she said I was not ready for that.

But she had a slightly more devilish plan. No, not to make me a woman, but certainly to take away my manhood. If I was not to be a woman, I was not to be a man, either.

Sara applied some clear nail polish on my finger nails. She did some light makeup to my face. Not lipstick and eye makeup, but some basics. Watching in the mirror, I saw what she was doing. The makeup did not completely feminize me, but it certainly emasculated me. A little eye liner, slight blush, a tiny gloss on my lips. Usually, when she did my makeup, a beautiful feminine creature appeared in the mirror. Not this time.

The effect was...so...I could not place it. I looked like a man...but with just a slight softening, a slight emasculation of my features. Combined with the blouse...shirt...I looked...I could not believe the word that popped into my mind...gay. Instead of feminizing me, she emasculated me. Not a woman, but not a man.

"Sara," I protested, "I look...g...gay."

"Don't use that word like that, John," she scolded, "you don't look gay, you look, metrosexual."

Metrosexual? Fuck, to the guys at my office, it was gay. But to Sara, well.

"Here, put on your pants and your shoes, babe," she said.

I slipped into the pants, the stockings making me shudder. "Um, socks," I asked, pausing at the shoes.

She shook her head, no.

"Sara, ..."

"Trust me," she smiled, "please."

Metrosexual my ass. Looking in the mirror, I shook my head. Fuck, why was this worse than what she had done before? She had made me a fucking complete woman, and here I was wigged out over looking gay, or metrosexual, or whatever.

Her kiss sealed the deal. Her kiss, along with the grab of my crotch through my pants. "Honey, you look so sexy, I almost want to stay home."

How could I say no to this woman.

"Here is what was in the bag, silly," Sara smiled, taking a hanger from her closet. On it was a black shimmering cocktail dress. Sara dropped off her robe and pulled it over her head, naked, the dress slithering over her body. The front of the dress dropped down, exposing her breasts. "Oops, the halter needs to be tied," she giggled, "I don't want to go out with my breasts exposed."

Reaching around the back of her neck, she tied off the top of the dress. She then did her makeup and hair, taking much greater care to pretty herself than she did with me. Both were amazing, but she still shocked me. "As soon as I get my shoes on, we can go," she smiled.

Fuck. She was going practically naked. The dress, no bra, no panties, no hose. Holy shit, I immediately started to stir in my panties. Fuck. I watched her slip on some incredibly sexy, strappy heels, her toes painted to match her fingers. Fuck. She was fucking amazing. I realized how glad I was we were going out together, I'm not sure I could have taken staying home alone, her like that.

We made quite the pair, the "metrosexual" and the "hottie" I thought looking at us walking out of the bedroom to the car. Amazing.

Holding the minivan door, watching her get in, I could not help but stare at Sara's tanned legs, long, trim. She put on her seatbelt with me standing there, mouth open, and it just showed off her breasts even more. "Jealous," she smiled.

I blushed. In so many ways. Jealous. Because she was so incredibly sexy. Jealous. Wishing I was that pretty. Jealous. Because of last Friday.

The club was very crowded, a line outside. Like we were waiting in line. Sara was my access. Hell, I even think Mr. Metrosexual was part of the access. The club, so chic, wanted a diverse crowd. A hottie like Sara, a pretty boy like me, walked right past the line, waived in, and seated at a dark booth on the edge of the dance floor. The pretty people get all the breaks.

Sitting in the booth, I could not help but stare at the men and women all around, at the bar, dancing. They did a good job keeping the place from becoming too crowded, and kept a nice mix of hot chicks and men looking for them. Turning towards the dance floor, I saw two women dancing, gyrating, together. Up came my little stiffy.

"I'd like a martini," Sara smiled at me.

I actually laughed. There was no way I could get up right now. "Um, Sara, ...I can't," I started to say. She looked over at me...followed my eyes to my lap.

"Julie," she hissed, "that's not very ladylike."

Fuck, it sure wasn't. She touched it under the table, kissed me, making it grow even more. "I'll go get the drinks," she laughed.

The martini did little down there, but it did clear my head. I don't even know what Sara and I talked about, I was so over stimulated, visually, by the men and women in the club, by the vodka in my drink.

"Do I have to get the second round too," Sara asked, shattering my mind back to the now and present.

I blushed. "I'm sorry, Sara," I gasped, shocked that I was still incapable of leaving the table.

"I tell you, next time we go out, you are wearing that cage," she laughed. "Even this little thing sticks out like a sore thumb."

I watched her scoot out of the booth, her legs flashing, thigh showing, but that's all. She walked across the floor to the bar, which was more crowded than before, men and women, all there getting their liquid courage. This place was like a meat market, singles from all over the city, mixing, mingling.

I watched Sara waiting, three deep from the bar, too short to see over the men in front of her. Great, I thought, some husband. I was at least tall enough to be seen. This is why men did these kinds of things. Some man. I laughed at the irony.

I shook my head, aware that Sara was talking to the man behind her. A tall blonde, tight black ribbed shirt, not ripping with muscles, but certainly masculine enough. She laughed, her hand resting on his arm. Fuck. She was flirting with him. He was pushing closer to the bar, getting drinks for her. Three martinis. Escorting her back towards our table.

We were in the dark, on the edge of the floor, slightly elevated. I watched them approach, aware that while I could see them, he, she, could not see me.

I scooted backwards, unsure if I liked this development. As he put the drinks down, he caught my face in the corner of his eye, looked down, then looked back up again, a little surprised. I think, but can't be sure, that he thought I was a woman for a second.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought, are you...is he," I followed his eyes, down my wife's arm, to her left hand. He was looking at her wedding rings. Except he wasn't. They were not there. She had not worn them, I realized, at the moment he did too.

"your boyfriend," he finished his question, "I didn't mean to," he stammered, feeling the heel.

Sara laughed, touched his arm again, flirting again, "No, no, I don't date, um," she said looking to me, "men like that," she laughed.

He looked at me again, cocked his head back, not understanding her implication. "Men like that?"

She whispered in his ear, and he got a big grin on his face.

"Oh, hey, that's cool, I had a friend in college that was gay, it's okay," he smiled, "just don't think you can go after me," he laughed, dismissing me and turning his attention briefly back to the drinks, and then Sara.

Gay. I was certainly not gay, and shuddered at that thought. Okay, sexually confused, sure, but not gay? Oh, no, I loved women, and the whole fucking reason I couldn't get the drinks myself is because I had an erection from staring at all the chicks here.

"Don't worry, Steve, you're not his type anyway," she laughed.

"Steve, meet John," she smiled at us both. "Hey," she flashed a smile which I reluctantly returned. I wished he'd go away.

"Thank you for buying the drinks," Sara smiled, hand on his chest for a brief instant.

Great, she let him buy drinks. He was going to expect to flirt, at least for awhile. I wanted her to myself, and here she was letting some other guy work on her.

"Would you like to join us," she flashed a smile to him.

"Sure," he said, a little to eager.

I wanted to yell at him, 'hey, here eyes are up there, not in her chest,' he was so blatantly checking her out.

One drink became two, then three. Three martinis in Sara—not drunk, but...yes, close. Same with me. Only Steve seemed to be in control, even though his eyes gave him away too much. They continued to flirt, engaging me in their stupid small talk, but having eyes only for each other. Thinking I was no competition at all, unknowing that it was my own wife he was flirting with, Steve clearly did not look at me as anything to even think about.

When watching my wife openly flirt with him started to really get under my skin, Sara carefully intervened. She would casually put her hand under the table on my crotch, stroking me. He was paying no attention, he was so into her, but I sure noticed. Her flirting was driving me insane.

He asked her to dance. They giggled. Fuck, even I giggled. Fucking vodka. This is how she was doing it to me at a club. One part sexual tension, another part vodka, till she was openly flirting with another man.

They moved to the dance floor, the sexual tension out in the open now. Her breasts pressed against his arm, his chest. His hands wandering to her lower back, then to her ass. I saw his eyes when he realized she had on neither a bra nor panties. Animal hunger.

After the first song, he worked up the courage to kiss her. Fuck, seeing that, it was worse than last Friday. I had never seen a man kiss my wife. He open mouth kissed her, with his tongue, devouring her. She returned the kiss, pressing herself to him, crotch to crotch. I chuckled, thinking he was like me, I'm sure, hard.

They returned to the table and he left to get one more round of drinks. "Sara...what..."

"Shhh, baby, don't talk," her mouth moved to mine, covering it with a deep kiss. I could smell his cologne. Her hand moved to my crotch, stroked it gently. "Oh, you would be amazed how much bigger he is," she growled, tongue invading my mouth.

Kissing me, she asked, "yes or no. Do you want me to stop?"

"Sara, please," I gasped.

"Yes or no? Yes, I kiss him goodnight and we can go home and make love. Oh, god, I'm so hot, it would be soooo good. You can lick me for hours before we fuck."

"Sara..."

"Yes or no? No, and we see where this goes."

"Please Sara, don't..."

"No, baby, you have to pick," she gasped, squeezing me, "this is about you as much as it's about me. You have to choose our path. Tonight. The choice is yours alone."

"Yes or no? Yes, and I settle for this clitty tonight," she said, squeezing me, "no, and we see if I can get a man's cock tonight. Yes or no, do you want me to stop? Hurry, he's coming."

It was too much. I was too sexually charged. Her hand stroking my cock in my panties, her fingers tugging at my garter straps, I could not take it.

"Do you want me to stop," she demanded.

"No," I gasped, and with that, she kissed me deeply, pushed me back to the booth, moved away from me. What the hell was I doing? I could not help myself, I could not, watching Sara seduce a man right in front of me.

"Good," she said, a hunger in her voice, "but just remember, you made the choice, sissy. You could have stopped this, and you chose not to. So, whatever happens, this was your chance to stop it."

I shuddered, oh fuck.

"Steve, are you trying to get me drunk," she asked, immediately turning her attention away from me and right to Steve as he walked up to the table with three more drinks. He just smiled.

As he sat, Sara scooted closer to him, away from me. She openly started kissing him, on the mouth, deep full kisses, making out really, as if I was not even there. Thank goodness for the dark safety of the VIP booth, because they were putting on quite a show. A show only for me.

She was so close to him, leaning on him, making out with him, seducing him. This could not be happening. No. Like last Friday, it was just a tease, just her way of indulging in fantasy.

I watched his hands roaming on the outside of her dress, her hands roaming on his chest. Quickly, Steve had her turned around, back to him, straddling his left leg, the leg closest to me. I watched, awe struck, as he untied the halter to her dress, letting it drop free, as it had when she first put it on earlier today. With that, her breasts were bare, in full view for me, but hidden by the shadows to everyone else in the club. The music pumped away, pulsating dance music, pounding, as Steve's hands cupped Sara's breasts. I almost lost it right there.

Sara's head was moving all around as Steve cupped her breasts. Her hands were behind her, on his crotch.

NOOO. My brain screamed. NO! STOP! THAT'S MY WIFE! NO!

"Hey, you are not wearing panties," he laughed. I looked down to see his hands under her dress, on her pussy.

To me, time had stopped, somewhere in that club with the dance music blaring. Our marriage had stopped, our lives had stopped. It was theoretical last week. Today, it was real, happening in front of me. My wife. Another man. A strange man. A man. No. She was going to stop. She had taken it as far as she was going to take it. In a few minutes, we would go home and make love like animals.

She was no longer on his leg, I saw, shaking my head. She was on his lap now, her skirt pulled up. Staring, I saw it. His cock. Between Sara's legs. She was rubbing it. It was between her legs. It was pressing the folds of her pussy, the light reflected off it, glimmered. Wet.

It was wet.

"Oh, holy fuck," I thought. It was wet because Sara's pussy was drenched, coating it.

No, Sara, no. My brain was in overdrive now. No. That's it. That's enough.

"Sara, no" I moaned.

Okay, okay, this is it. This is where she stops. Fuck. She already went too far. Her pussy was rubbing another man's cock. Oh my god, the humiliation was killing me, exciting me. Okay, stop, Sara, stop. I got it. You got me. As excited as I've ever been. Please, stop, we have come far enough.

Sara shifted her hips, and slowly, carefully, lowered herself onto his cock. She stared at me as she sat, mouthed the words, "I love you." I just watched, terrified, thrilled, scared, shocked, helpless, actually cuckolded before my very eyes.

That was it. It may or may not have happened last Friday, she would not say. But this was it. There was no denying it, sitting here, in the dark, in the club, music blaring. My wife had another man's cock in her pussy. I was in heaven and in hell. What beast did I marry?

I shifted in the seat, felt a garter strap tug at my leg, suddenly self conscious, as a man, a "real man," actually fucked my wife right in front of me.

I looked up at Sara's face, contorted in pleasure, and caught Steve looking straight at me. What was that look? It was almost bizarre, and caused me to shudder. What? What was it? It was a look of conquest. Of possession. It struck me as strange. Did he? Could he possibly?

It slowly dawned on me. Perhaps Steve was not some random man we ran into tonight at the club. Was this prearranged? Did he know that we were married? Did he know he was fucking another man's wife. Right in front of him? Did he know I was a sissy? Would Sara do that?

They were both staring at me now. I wished the booth would open up and take me somewhere else. Sara was pulsating to the music, Steve's hands were using her breasts for leverage. The scene was terrifying. But there was more. I was as hard as I had ever been. The cuckolding, seeing my wife get fucked like this, was so erotic, I was terrified to even touch my trousers, fearful I would explode all over.

I watched Sara, the look of pure joy on her face, the animalistic hunger, the passion. I had never seen her so into sex. Making love? Yes, she did that to me, passionately. This was different. It was lust, pure animal lust.

I sensed her orgasm, her breathing gave her away. Steve sensed it too. His orgasm, on the heels of hers, was apparent. They both groaned, panted, their animalistic grunts hidden to everyone but me, drowned out by the thumping music. To me alone though, they were music. Grunting together, moaning together, almost in sync with the blasting rhythmic dance music. Her moans penetrated my ears, singing to me. His grunts, matching his thrusts, stung me. The effect was overwhelming.

His grunting, the final deep thrusts into Sara, the man's attempt to get his cum all the way in the womb, nature trying to make a baby, I realized, suddenly hoping that Sara remembered to take her pill. I watched them cum, orgasm, the pleasure on their faces, my wife and this man. I felt drained, too, but yet, every fiber of my body was on edge. Watching my wife get fucked like that was the single most erotic thing I had ever seen in my life. I was simply amazed, and the love I felt for her was unmatched. I felt as if I'd given her a gift tonight, a gift of sexual pleasure and it actually warmed me.

Carefully, Sara ground onto him, pulling his cock as far into her as she could work it, letting the last parts of her own orgasm wash away. "Ohhh, Steve," she moaned, "that was amazing."

Amazing, yes, how such simple words could both sting me and excite me.

She worked herself off his cock, onto the seat of the booth between us, her eyes staring at me. She reached on the table, took a napkin, turned towards Steve, reached for his still hard cock, dabbed it off, zipped him up. She kissed him, a deep, wet, almost loving kiss. It was the kiss, it was the kiss that hurt. That was the only part of the evening that truly made me angry, jealous.

As she backed off him, broke their kiss, she took the ties to her halter, covered her breasts, tied them off.

"Thanks for the drinks, Steve," she whispered, just over the music.

He smiled, "my pleasure, Sara, my pleasure. Can...can I call you," he asked, again, looking at her, then at me over her shoulder, flashing that smile, that knowing smile. That smile of possession, of conquest. To me that smile said everything. He knew, I knew, our eyes locked and there was no doubt. He was the king of the jungle, taking possession of my wife, taking it away from me. His eyes said it all. She is mine, not yours. She may go home with you, but I was the one that took her. Fuck you, they said, a laugh, a humiliating kick in the ass. I broke the gaze first, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

"Oh, I think so," she said, taking a book of matches off the table, a pen from her purse, writing down our phone number. Holy fuck, I thought, that's our number. Watching Steve walk away, Sara turned to me, "Thank you lover, thank you so much."

I was beaten, humiliated, conquered, possessed.

She took my hand, stood up, straightened her dress, and we walked to the door. My cock was making a tent in my pants. I didn't care, she didn't care, and in the dark club, no one seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn't care. They did not care about one beaten, humiliated, cuckolded husband, following submissively, his wife out the door.

She led us to her minivan, opened a side door, pushed me inside. Sara moved to the back bench seat, and I noticed that the middle seats had been folded into the floor. Sara sat in the middle of the bench, a bench now fit for a queen, my queen. Queen Sara.

"Sara, ..."

"No," she commanded, silencing me. The door was shut, the lights off in the van. Enough light came through the tinted windows to outline her, the features of her face.

"Undress, down to your lingerie. I don't want to see you pretending to be a man," she laughed.

"But Sara, people might see," I protested.

I think the experience in the club unlocked something inside her. But how could it not. She utterly and completely humiliated me, took such total control of the situation, assumed such power, there was really no other way. It was wicked, raw, powerful.

Queen Sara.

Assumption.

The throne.

Truthfully, as terrible as it may seem to an outsider, to me, wracked with inadequacies, sexually charged, the power was overwhelming, not in its cruelty, but in its sexual power. Whatever was awakened in Sara, by acting like this, also awoke a similar, if opposite beast inside me. Seeing my wife actually fuck another man did not revolt me, as I feared, instead it charged me, stirring, violently, the most powerful sexual reaction I have ever experienced. It was as if every last nerve of my body had become an sensitive zone, a combination of cock, clit, breast, nipple, palm, ass. If at that very moment, Sara's soft tongue touched any part of my body, elbow, knee, ear, eye, hair, finger, anywhere, I would have cum like it was my cock itself.

"Strip, lover, now," she repeated, "after that, after you sat there, and watched him do that to me, after you said nothing, and acquiesced to a man fucking me right in front of you, I think, dear slut, that you have no right to claim any kind of masculinity. So, out, out of those fucking clothes," she hissed.

She was right. Who was I kidding? A claim to masculinity? I think not. For what man, in his right mind, allows that, allows his wife to do that. It would be bad enough if she simply cheated and was caught. A man, a real man, might forgive that. But what she did? In front of me, seducing and fucking a man, challenging my very role in life? No, a real man, a real husband, a masculine husband would never tolerate that.

She was right. That's not what I was. I was a sissy. A sissy. A cuckolded sissy.

She was right. I had no right to wear men's clothes. I was not a man, not a true man anyway.

I undressed, peeling off the lavender shirt, wiggling out of my trousers, my clunky shoes, down to the lingerie, the very thing that objectified what she made me. The essence of femininity. The sissy uniform.

Given the confines of the minivan, I was left there, on my knees. Intentional on her part? Of course, like every step of the last few months. I was left there, sissified, feminized, dominated, and kneeling before my queen. I knew what came next before she even spoke the words. There was nothing else that could have come next, but surrender to the queen, the bow, down, the loyal slave.

Kneeling before my queen, I watched her spread her legs, her dress at mid thigh. The scent of hunger lingered in the air. The scent of fear. The scent of authority. The scent of surrender.

The scent of sex.

"Lick," she commanded.

Lick.

Lick.

The order finally given, my destiny realized, I did what any vassal, servant, slave, slut, would do. I surrendered to Sara, I accepted her control, her dominance, her place in my life.

I leaned forward as Sara lifted her dress, my head between her thighs. I leaned forward, my mouth open, my face pressed to Sara folds. I felt her foot move up, brushing my thigh, to my own folds. Her foot, resting on my panties, stroking me, Sara took my head in her hands, pulled my face deeper into her, into her folds, into her pussy, into the mess the man in the club left in her. Where I was uncertain before, about the taste inside my wife, this time I knew for sure, having witnessed it myself.

Friday, I said to myself, it was only Sara.

This time, there was no doubt. It was so much more.

The taste, smell, feel. It was Sara. It was her lover. Her juices, his cum, all over. My mouth open, I surrendered, tasting it, reveling in it, needing it, wanting it, as I've never wanted anything in my life.

I surrendered, taking it. My own desires, desperate, as she stroked me with her foot.

I felt it, tasted it, eating it, the humiliation, the sexual thrill, how proud I was, of her, of me, as I felt her orgasm, spasm, go out of control.

And I felt me too, gushing, in my panties, on her leg.

We came together, Sara and I.

One.

As I surrendered to my wife's dominance.

I became one with her.

Complete.

In love.

In lust.

With Sara.

 

To Be Continued...

 

Post Script.

This part ended where the story could end. You could read no more, parts 1, 2 and 3 can be complete.

But I have more.

For Sara.

For our little whore.

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