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Cuckold or Twink? Part 2

Frank can't get enough of Ruth and Paul, but Carol remains on the subs bench.

Frank's next visit was unexpected.
 
 Mid-week. Ruth had come home from work pissed-off with herself for dropping her phone earlier in the day. The screen had cracked, and she'd taken it to the repair guy, the one with the kiosk in the market hall, but it was too late for him to fix it and so she'd had to leave it overnight. He promised to have it ready for when she finished work the next day.

 Talk about a junky needing a fix. She couldn't settle without it, and so she consoled herself with vodka and early evening soaps. When Ruth was in a bad mood, I was best out of her way. I went upstairs to the office and lost myself in World of Warcraft.

Ten-thirty. Ruth long asleep in bed. I was feeling happy. I'd defeated the Lich King after an hour-long dungeon grind and levelled up.

I'd just undressed for bed when the doorbell chimed. I slipped on my robe and went down to see who it was while wondering who the fuck it might be at such a late hour on a weeknight. Never for one moment did I think it would be Frank. I usually knew when he was going to visit because Ruth would shower and change into something a bit edgy, do her face, apply scent.

And so when I opened the door, I was more than a little perturbed to see him stood there. He looked pissed-off too — even more so than Ruth had earlier.

"Where is she?"

"If you mean Ruth, she's gone to bed,"

"Is something wrong?"

"She's tired."

"I want to see her."

"She'll be asleep."

"Can we talk?"

"Didn't I just say? I'm not going to wake her."

"I mean you and me. We should talk."

The thought of having a conversation with Frank, of all people, sort of fried my circuits. I just stared at him.

"For god's sake, twink, just let me into the fucking house will you?"

He hardly gave me time to step aside, just came up the step and barged past me. He went directly through to the lounge. I shut the door and followed him.

"Got any beer?" he asked.

I fetched us both a Stella.

He took a swig and then fixed me with this crazy, intense stare and said, "You guys aren't suffering some sort of weird Swinger's remorse are you?"

"Relax, mate, she dropped her phone, that's all. She'll have it back tomorrow."

It was like the weight of the world had dropped from his shoulders.

"Mind if I run up and see her?"

"I do mind, actually."

"Really?" He held my gaze. "Why?"

"It's been a bad day for her."

"I'll make do with you, then. Come here."

"What for?"

"You'll see. Just come here."

Hesitantly I moved forward.

"Closer," he said. I took another step, was only inches from him. "That's a good girl," he said, his eyes never wavering. Finally, he gave me a sardonic grin. "You give good head, twink. Did you know that? You give head like some girlie wannabe. Really gave it your heart and soul, didn't you?"

I didn't know what to say.

He continued, "Be honest. You loved it."

"I—"

"— You did, didn't you? Just look at your face. You fucking couldn't get enough of me. You're nothing but a pretty little queer after all — like I knew all along. And do you know what else I think, twink?"

"Go on, Frank, tell me what you think."

"I think you liked my cock more than pussy."

"I'd rather it had been your missus' pussy."

"What makes you think my Carol would let a slut like you anywhere near her?" He began to laugh. "But do you know something, twink . . . ?" He didn't wait for my response, continued, "Because you give such good head, the next time we have a little get together I'm going to ask Carol along too. My treat. She likes girls, does my Caz; likes them a lot. She has something special she likes to wear for all her girlfriends."

The image of Carol kitted out with a strap-on flashed across my mind. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He went on, "But before that happens, I'm going to give you something to think about. Call it a little refresher course. You never know, you might learn something."

He undid the ties of my robe and slipped it from my shoulders, reached and put his arms around me so that his palms rested on the small of my back. I cannot fully explain how being naked in his arms made me feel; I didn't know if I was going to be cherished of abused. But my cock had no doubt. It became a thing on which you hang heavy coats.

 He pulled me into him, held me tight and said, "I don't know what it is about you, twink." He looked deeply into my eyes. "You really are sweet — did you know that?"

"No one has ever told me that."

"Do you like being a girl for me?"

And the truth is, the way he was talking thrilled me; being in his arms was unravelling me, and the way he was looking into my eyes as he spoke told me I had no choice in anything he might demand. It was ridiculous how passive he made me feel, all yielding and available. And all the time my cock pressed against him, and I parted my legs while wishing I had a cunt for him to fill.

His tongue in my mouth was a small and lively wild creature long incarcerated and now set loose from its cage. His kiss was soured by tobacco and lager, and I felt his erection jutting into my abdomen through his chinos. I remained utterly compliant. I wanted to become the girl he had accused me of being.

 Now my tongue wanted to play, declared independence and began slipping and curling about the invader of my mouth. My heart began to pound and I tried to control my breathing, which was verging on hyperventilation. My excitement fed his need as our tongues vied for an advantage.

Such a kiss became unsustainable. He broke off, buried his face into my neck, his breathing telling me so much. He calmed himself with great inhalations.

Finally, he said, "God, twink, how do you do that to me?"

Then his lips on my throat, the rasp of his stubble was so strange as he nuzzled into me. He sensed me wince and deliberately rasped harder, almost maliciously. I had already been hard for far too long when my cockhead slipped into his palm.

"I want you to pay attention now, twink. There are things you need to learn."

 He licked my chest, bit each nipple in turn, and then down over my abdomen before he actually stooped and took my cock between his lips. I could not believe what was happening as He began to suck and lick me. It was if I were ice cream and he wanted to as much of me as he could before I melted.

His tongue slid the length of my cock, up and down, then flickered over the exposed head, and then back down to take each of my balls entirely into his mouth. And his arms went about my hips so he could massage my buttocks as he worked on me, separating the halves. My anus tingled as everything went tight.

And it was wonderful. Not just the sensation of Frank sucking my cock, but my gradually coming to realise how much he desired me. And I liked that — being desired by a man like Frank, feeling and lusted after in the way he might yearn for a beautiful woman. And it was genuinely sexual, not just some weird power game of his.

 And when his chin and stubble rasped again, this time over the exposed tip of my cock, it was the most sublime sensation ever, and I came instantly — far more quickly than my ego considered acceptable. But he moaned appreciatively. I think he liked that he had undone me so swiftly, and I sensed him gulping with great relish what I released, taking it all down far more enthusiastically than Ruth ever would.

Before he got to his feet, he wiped his chin on the tail of my shirt. And then he kissed me again, and I tasted my cum on his lips.

He had done with me and said, "Did you enjoy that, twink? Don't know about you but I've got this real yen for pussy now. Think I'll go up and let you missus finish me off.

My mind was soaring high. I wanted to see him with her, sit and watch him fuck her.

"Best if I wake her," I said.

"The fuck you will. I need to speak to her — alone. And besides, who says either of us someone like you gawping at us..

"Has she said something?" I said. His words scared me.

"You have a lot to learn about women, twink."

As he left the room, I just collapsed onto the sofa. I did not have the will to try to stop him going to her, make an issue of it. And besides, the thought of him fucking her was sweet.

His footfalls bounding up the stairs. The muffled thud of our bedroom door determinedly shut — maybe in the hope of waking her. Then silence throughout the house. Occasionally a car would pass outside. Later, I was able to put things together; some from imagination, but mainly from what she told me days later.

Him finding her asleep under the duvet, uncovering her and seeing her body curled foetus-tight. Her short satin nightie had ridden high, become distressed and tangled about her waist; the convexity of her smooth hips,  skin taut and silken from her sleeping coil. And he would see her fissure as a dark scar splitting her backside. It was a sight so sublime, he would not help himself.

She might have woken when his large palms straightened her legs, glided over her flesh and down the back of her thighs, over her calves, her soles and toes, and then back again to her hips. But she did not wake just then. Perhaps it was when his palm passed over the length of her back beneath her nightdress, over her spine to her neck. But she said it was not just then either.

And at some point, he must have undressed and laid down beside her, moulded himself to her form because she told me it was the discomfort of his cock against her coccyx that drew her from the depths of sleep and back into her waking life.

At first, she was angry, as she thought it was me. Her annoyance was a barrage of words which I heard through the ceiling as muffled tones. Then her realising who it was, her voice becoming hushed, sweet and forgiving. Even as her protests faltered, Frank turned her brusquely while quickly yanking her nightie up and over her head.  Spreading her legs, was above her and inside her in an instant, and all of her resentment dissipated as his urgency filled her.

Their sex noises seeped through the ceiling. The rhythmic thudding of the headboard against the partition wall, and floorboards that groaned a protest. A muffled call and response. It was like something old and mechanical left long running in a basement and about to break out from its fixings. I suffered it for ten minutes, and then I fetched my tracksuit from the back and went to the car and drove to the all-night service area, where I drank coffee until one-thirty, which was when his text came through to say he had done with her.

The following night Ruth had her phone back, and all was right with the world again. He was in Edinburgh on business, had been texting her all night from his hotel room.

"Frank says he's bored," Ruth said.

"Poor Frank," I said.

"He wants us to entertain him."

"How does that work, then?"

"He wants you to stream me masturbating,"

"To his phone?"

"He has his laptop."

"When?"

"He's in the restaurant just now. He'll let us know when. "

"Are you sure that's what he wants?" I asked.

"Read it yourself?"

I read his text.

"It'll be fun," she said.

"He might use it."

"Use it?"

You know... Post it online."

"Frank wouldn't."

"How do you know?"

"He just wouldn't. I know him."

"You only think you do."

"I don't care," she said.

But I could see the doubt I'd planted taking root.

"Does he say anything else?" I said.

"He wants you to make love to me after I've cum — See how he thinks of you, Paul?"

"If you say so."

She stood up and began to walk towards the door, said, "You coming up... or what?"

"Is he ready?"

"We don't have to wait for Frank."

In our bedroom I asked her, "And when is Carol coming over?"

"He hasn't said anything,"  She looked at the bed, then around the room, "Is there enough light?"

"Yeah. Plenty."

Ruth has always enjoyed exposing herself to me, always loved having me stare at her cunt before I entered her.

"Paul. Be a sweetheart and undress me —  touch me, just until he's ready. I need to get in the mood."

"I thought you said he wants to see you masturbate before we make love."

"He won't know  We'll stop when he's ready for me."

I had intended to use the iPad to film her, but now I put it down and went and stood behind her, circled her waist and drew her to me, her rump cushion-soft against my groin. Her warmth and curves had an immediate impact, and my cock stirred. I inhaled her hair for a moment, then pushed it aside to kiss her neck. And while I tasted her, I thought maybe I did not need anyone but her; Neither a Frank or a Carol, she was enough.

She raised her arms so I could ease her top over her head, and when she was rid of it, she shook her hair back into place as I unclipped her bra. It was the type that fastens at the front, pink and laced. I  squeezed and released, and then rested my palms on her breasts, lifted them a little, to get their measure. And while I kissed the nape of her neck softly, the tips of my fingers and thumbs became spiteful with her nipples.

My hand down her leggings, in her panties; her sex was warm, almost moist from her day. My fingers slipped here and there until I found that spot. I worked her gently, and she moaned quietly, echoes from her hidden world.

"Are you thinking of him?" I said.

"Mmm,"  she moaned.

"What would he be saying now, if he were in my place?"

"Frank always says such wonderful things..."

"Such as?"

"That I'm the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You are beautiful," I said.

"More beautiful than Carol?"

"Apples and pears," I said — Because they were.

Frank says he'd do anything for me, absolutely anything — kill for me, even. He told me that last night. Would you do that, Paul — would you kill a man for me?"

I found her words so fucking hot, it was almost impossible to concentrate on pleasing her. At that moment I just wanted to be inside her, fucking her while she told me these things.

"Just tell me who you want dead," I said, though I knew my stab at machismo would convince no one.

"Oh, Paul..." she cried out as I manipulated her clit. I thought her about to cum.

 But not yet. I continued to work her.

"My pussy... He loves the taste of my pussy — Oh!"

"Do you love  his cock?"

"I do. I do. I Love Frank's cock. I love it so much." her breath was coming in short, foot-pump gasps, her words bordering on whispers as she said, "I love his cock sooo much." It was as if she was reliving touching, tasting him.

"You wish he were here, don't you? You wish I were him?"

"Oh, god. Yes!"

She quickly took my wrist and extracted my hand. With focused self-control, she said, "That's enough."

"Is it time, then?" I asked.

"Not yet, but..."

She turned and kissed me before sitting on the bed edge to pull off her socks, which were those hiking type that women wore over the bottoms of leggings, thick and long and folded back on themselves. When she had removed them, she stood again and wriggled out of her leggings and panties. Her face was flushed, her eyes quite feral. Her toenails were coloured lilac.

She lay down on the bed while I placed a chair at the foot of it. I got the iPad, and a cushion to rest it on.

She texted again. Waited — only a moment. Then the ping and she smiled as she read his words.  She put the phone on the bedside cabinet.

Then she got a pillow to prop her back against the headboard. She fixed her eyes on me, not the iPad that I held. Slowly, she parted her legs, taking her time, wanting to get it just right for him. I was shocked by the span she eventually managed, and then I remembered her Yoga classes. A dark slash emphasised the two plump halves of her haunches. Her knees were angled outwards. Her inner thighs were as soft and pale as clotted cream from Cornwall.

Her fine-fluff pubes concealed little of her raw inner pink, and those outer folds were darker, like nearly vanished bruises. She always kept herself well trimmed below. Back when we were new to each other, and I first touched her there, the wispiness of her pubes astounded me. I'd never had a girl with pubes as ethereal as Ruth's. I thought them as delicate as dandelion floaters, and that first time that I went to touch her there I was so afraid my reaching for her would waft it all away.

Her phone pinged again. She reached out and picked it up.

"He wants you to talk to me."

She put the phone back.

"What about?"

"He wants you to ask me about him," she said

"Do you think he's alone?"

"I'm sure he is."

"He might not be. He's Frank."

"Who would he have with him?"

"A girl — a beautiful Scottish girl. A redhead."

"Why a redhead?"  she said.

"Why not? Do you like redheads, Ruth?" 

When I  asked her If she liked redheads, her hand became ferociously insistent on her clit. "If he wanted to share one with you... Would you?"

"Only if she were young and beautiful."

"Like you?"

"yes...  like me."

"What happened last night?"

"Late last night?"

"Yes, when he woke you."

Her hand stopped dead, and her voice changed, "What do you think happened?"

"You tell me."

She sat up and looked at looked the iPad, and  I saw a flicker of anxiety momentarily sour her face. She turned, picked up her phone and began texting.

He replied instantly.

She steeled herself to tell me: "It was my first time like that."

"Like what?"

"From behind!" She resumed her earlier position on the bed, her body once again slightly propped, her knees arched, legs wide, then she adjusted her position again. She angled her knees more sharply, rotated her fingers more urgently.

"We do it doggy all the time," I said.

"Not that."

"What then?" I asked, though I already knew what was coming.

"Do I have to say it?"

"Only if you still love me."

"Anal."

"Frank and you?"

"He was considerate..."

"I don't believe you."

"He truly was..."

"No — that you let him do that!"

"I'm so sorry, Paul."

"Are you really?"

"Yes."

The hiss of that "Yes," was like her dying breath. And as the word flew away, her abdominal muscles began their spasms beneath the veneer of her soft white belly flesh. Her breathing became sprinter-fast, and even in the midst of her orgasm, her fingers did not slack. And as her bliss abated, she drew up her knees, way back, so that the front of her thighs pressed down on to her breasts while her feet dangled uselessly in the air above her.

I saw her cunt and how it glistened, and the shadow chasm of her backside's split. It drew my eyes, and I thought of what had passed that way. Whenever I had asked for that rare treat she had always refused me, said I was too big, that it would spoil her. My cock was not as big as Frank's.

Her phone pinged again. For a moment, she could not raise herself to reach for it. It's tone repeating became a summons. Finally, she turned and took it and read his words.

"He wants you to do the same."

"Masturbate?"

"Not that."

"What then?"

"What he did last night."

"Say it, Ruth. Just fucking say what Frank wants me to do to you."

"I can't."

"Say it!"

The phone sounded. Ruth picked it up and read his message. There was shame in her eyes as she said, "Frank wants you to fuck me in the arse."

"Well, I'm glad that's clear," I said, my sarcasm undisguised.

I'd never done anal with anyone but had always wanted to, and now all that I had to do was put my anger and jealousy aside. I undressed quickly and got on the bed beside her. She tried to kiss me, but I avoided her lips. I coaxed her over,  onto her belly, and positioned myself behind her.

"You'll need this," she said and moved from under me. She reached into the drawer of the cabinet at her side of the bed and took out the tube. "Frank used this," she said.

I reached to take it from her.

"Let me..." she said, already unscrewing the cap.

She smeared my cock, and then she squeezed more lube into her palm and smeared it between her buttocks with considered care. There was a small box of tissue on her night table, and she took three sheets and cleaned her finger. Then she retrieved a bobble from her draw and strangled her hair fiercely in a tight ponytail. She looked around as if trying to recall something, and then she took two pillows, plumped them up and placed them in the middle of the bed, one on top of the other.

"He had me like this," she said as she lay over them so that her buttocks curved like an old stone bridge. She raised her upper torso, supported herself on her elbows and looked straight ahead.

 "I'm ready," she said. Her voice was resigned, as if to a long-anticipated punishment.

I parted her buttocks with both hands and looked uncertainly at her anus. It was much darker than in porn — those girls bleach themselves, I believe. It appeared bruised, and I was hesitant. I began by stroking the end of my cock against her, hoping her sphincter would snap at my cock like some seabed ambush predator, swallow it whole. But she only stirred a little, adjusted herself and pushed her buttocks up to encourage me.

She asked, "Is that better for you?"

I did not want to hurt her, but I still lent my weight to it, and it was as if a rubber seal was about to rupture, and then it gave, and I was inside her. She pushed her butt up to draw me still further in. Her moans were unsettling, and I backed off again. Barely over the threshold again, I lay there hardly daring to move. The concave of her fleshy buttocks cushioned my hips but I sensed her muscles close around the end of my cock and grip it like a constrictor. There were spasms inside her, and they felt more delicious than anything I would have ever anticipated.

She was not as tight as I'd thought she would be, and I wondered if Frank had loosened her too much, perhaps irreparably. Maybe he'd damaged her in that way she had always feared that I would.

I asked, "Are you okay?"

"I think I am, " she replied.

I pushed into her again,  but her muscles rebelled, became as tight as I'd imagined she would be.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not like Frank."

I pushed at her, burrowed deep. And then I had no reserve to feed her, became still and rested heavily between her buttocks. I reached and separated her cheeks with my finger so as I could grind against her further, my pubes like steel-wool. And the knowledge that I was so far inside her thrilled me, and I felt the steam of my excitement rattling the lid of my desire. And before I knew it, my cock had pumped itself dry.

I lay very still, letting myself dwindle inside her. She adjusted her arms so that they no longer supported her. She allowed her head fall, rested her cheek on the pillow. She stared at the silent phone on the bedside table that did not ping.

It was when I was done that I realised how tense she had been, how she'd braced herself.

"Was it like with Frank?" I asked.

"How could it be? You've seen him."

She eased herself from beneath me and picked up her phone.  She began to thumb the screen. When she had sent her message, she went into the en-suite, and I heard the noise of the shower running.

I picked up the phone and read the message.

"When will I see you again?"

And as I read her message to him, his reply to her flashed up on screen:

 "Soon," it said.

 

To be continued.

 

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