Prelude

Let me begin by saying that I have always been a submissive. This wasn't a part of our sex lives, but it was a part of our everyday lives. More often than not, I agreed to whatever she wanted to do, where she wanted to go, and to pretty much anything else she had a mind to do. While there were some things I did by myself that she didn't like, in twenty-six years of marriage we have had an active and fulfilling sex life, even after children. We both enjoyed giving the other oral, and after sex, I always licked her clean. She enjoyed getting both vaginal and anal, and I enjoyed it when she'd strap on a toy and do me. So I was a little shocked that evening after supper when she asked my opinion.

“Say that again,” I said, as I rose back up from putting plates in the dishwasher.

“Don't look so shocked,” she laughed. “I just was asking if you'd agree.”

“And I'm asking you to repeat the question.”

“A former client asked if I'd have sex with him,” she said, a smile on her face. “It is only going to be sex, and he said that you could watch.”

My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. I found the idea to be exciting, but also a bit degrading. But I also found the feelings of degradation to be stimulating. Picturing her having sex with another man also gave me a feeling of weakness and was somewhat scary, yet intriguing.

“I'll even let you paint your nails and wear your handcuffs and shackles,” she went on. Neither of these, like my wearing of women's panties and nightgowns, did she approve of.

“How--how'd this come about?” I asked, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me.

“When I was redecorating his club room, I came across his collection of things, and the conversation grew from that.”

“His things? His sex toys?” I quizzed.

“Yes. He was embarrassed and apologized profusely,” she went on. “I assured him that it was quite all right, that it wasn't the first time I had run into such.”

“But how did it go from his stuff to asking you for sex? And that led to you asking me-”

“No, that was almost three years ago,” she laughed. “Since then he has sent flowers to my shop as part of his apology, then yesterday stopped by to ask about me doing some more work. In the conversation, I remarked about that, and one thing led to another, and-”

“And now let's fuck,” I interjected.

“Harry, your language. If you don't want to, he's fine with that, I will still have his contract for more work.”

“I see,” I said. I felt as if I had no control over what was unfolding in the kitchen that night.

“Think about it,” she quipped. “There's no rush.”

Chapter 1

It was slightly more than a week later that I finally said anything, and then all I did was walk up to her and said, “Okay.”

“Okay, what?” she asked.

“I'm okay with us doing that sex thing.”

“Let me think about it,” she replied after a brief pause.

A couple of days later she came back and asked me, “Are you sure you are going to be alright with me having sex with someone else?”

I assured her I was sure, and after a brief pause, where I'm sure she weighed it over in her mind, she said, “Okay.” We hugged and engaged in a passionate kiss; as we broke she told me that she wanted to do the planning, and was I okay with that. Naturally, I agreed.

Over the next two weeks, she got everything set up. He was coming for dinner and as such, she planned the menu, bought the foods, and set up the guest room. I liked the idea of things going on here, as it made me feel a little bit more comfortable. But at the same time, I wasn't at all thrilled that some stranger was going to have sex with my wife. Yet, as time passed and her plans took shape, like hers, my excitement grew. I didn't tell her, but within me also grew a silent dread. My mind began to worry about the what-ifs.

About three weeks into the planning, her friend began to call her here at home. She would sit there next to me on her cell phone chatting away with him. At first, these conversations at bothered me, but the conversations often ended with us making love, so the bother quickly passed. About a week prior, our daughter asked about the groceries and clothes shopping, and my wife gave her an answer that seemed to work. She was meticulous in her preparations, but I was not prepared for what she had in store for me the afternoon of the appointed day.

On the afternoon of Friday, May 21, as the meal was roasting, simmering, and chilling, we got ourselves ready. First, we gave each other an enema, then we took a showering together. Containing our nervous excitement, we washed each other, pausing to hug or kiss at times. Lovingly, I ran the soap over her firm smooth body. She verbally chastised me when I took too long in the fold of skin under her 40DD breasts, and between the lips of her gloryland. In both cases, as when I looked into her brown eyes, I tried not to think of what the evening would hold. I kept my thoughts on her body, the joy we had shared and would continue to after this night was over.

While in the shower she shaved my body. I never liked pubic hair, and had laser hair removal of it from my butt, armpits, and face, but now from my arms, chest, back, and legs I was completely hairless. After drying each other off, I combed her long platinum blonde hair, and then we did each other's nails. As I did her toenails I would look at her hair-covered pubic mound and tried not to think of what was to go on, only that I wished she would shave.

To this point, I was comfortable with it all, but after we left the master bath and returned to our bedroom, she threw a curve.

“I said for you to put these clothes on,” she repeated, pointing at the items she had placed on the bed next to me.

“A dress?”

“Yes, along with the slip, bra, nylons, and heels,” she said, as she handed me a brand new pair of blue, white lace panties. “Then after you've dressed I'll do your makeup.”

“Makeup?”

“Yes, I got you your own makeup kit,” she said with pride. “Tonight you are going to look pretty.”

“Kit? Are you planning on doing this again?” It felt like my knees were going to buckle when I stood to pull up my underwear.

“If we find it fun,” she replied, as she handed me my new bra.

“Where did you get all of this?” I asked as I worked to put it on.

“The breast prosthesis in your bra came from a store that specializes in that, the rest came from Lane Bryant,” she replied. “The clerk was very helpful. I got a lot of it together and when she saw that it was a bit big for me, she asked if it 'was for your husband?' I said yes.”

“What!” I shouted.

“It was perfectly alright, as she told me a number of women come in for this for their husbands, and some bring their husbands with them, so be glad that I didn't take you.”

I felt numb as I sat down on the edge of the bed to put on my thigh-high nylons. When I inserted my foot. I pointed my toes like I have seen women to do in photos and movies.

“She asked me if this was your first cuckolding and naturally I told her yes.”

“Cuckolding?” I had not thought of this as such until just then.

“It seems she knows a good deal about such from those customers that femme or cuckold their husbands,” she went on as she adjusted her bra.

“Your bra holds more than mine,” I joked.

“Jealous?” she countered as she jiggled them.

“No.”

She then got very serious.

“You do realize that in a couple of hours' time there is a good chance that he'll be playing with them, and sucking on these big nipples that you think I should get pierced.”

“He'll be in more places than just that,” I remarked, as I tried to act like her words didn't bother me.

“I know, but I didn't want to bring that up,” she answered as she put on her slip.

“You're not going to wear underpants?” I asked.

“No. I figure if we decided to do it on the dining room table, no need to waste time. I'll just hop up on the table, spread my legs and can go at it,” she remarked, as she handed me my slip.

It was then that I realized that she was looking forward to this encounter, and my mind pictured her on the table, her muscular thighs spread wide as this guy, who I'd never met, would be pounding away into her pussy. A pussy that since we'd gotten married had only had my dick in and out of it. I thought for a moment of all the great sex we'd enjoyed, and what I called the 'clopping' sound of good sex. It is that solid sound that two bodies make when the crotches slam together. My wife, on the other hand, liked to call it the 'crotching' sound since it was our crotches slamming together. But either way, we loved the sound, the feel, and the results.

“It's going to be quite an evening,” she added, her eyes sparkling.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed, as we buttoned each other's blouses, and then adjusted our skirts.

“I did tell you that you'll be doing the serving tonight, didn't I?” she asked.

“Yes, you did,” I said, and then remembering what else she'd said, I corrected myself. “I mean, yes, ma'am.”

I added a slight bow and she laughed.

“Cuckolding, huh?” I asked, uncomfortable with the term.

“Well, she used that, but her question to me was 'are you cucking your husband?' which she had to explain.”

“Is that how you feel about tonight? Are you cucking me?”

“Not in the strictest sense of the word,” she answered, after an extended pause.

“Huh?” was all that I could utter.

“I looked it up and there are several definitions, but the one closest to what we are doing tonight is me having sex with another man with your consent.”

“I see.”

“I love you so much,” she said, as she walked over to me and wrapped her arms around me.

“And I love you,” I said, as I squeezed her tightly to me. I could feel her ample breasts press against me, her upper body pressed the breast prosthesis against my freshly shaven chest.

“I just hope the evening goes well,” she said after we separated.

“What could not go well?” I said to reassure her. “He suffers from premature ejaculation?”

“What if he isn't satisfied with me? What if my pussy-”

“Will you stop?” I said as I interrupted her. “You are a beautiful, sexy woman. Hot and sexy, all five feet six inches of you, and every horny ounce of your one-hundred-and-thirty-one pounds.”

“Thirty-two pounds,” she interjected.

“Whatever,” I added. I knew she was nervous by the fact that she said 'pussy'. Except during intimacy, she was never that graphic unless worried. “If for whatever reason he changes his mind, we can have fun.”

“It's the whatever that bothers me,” she remarked, her voice filled with worry. “What if he looks at that thing and-”

“Will you stop?” I told her. “If he has a problem with your clit, he can get out of here.”

My wife had always been self-conscious of her clitoris. At almost five-eighths of an inch, and about as big around as a pencil, it is larger than normal, but it is one of the many things I loved about her.

“I have a freaky pussy,” she said, as her voice broke.

“It matches your inch-long nipples,” I countered, as I again hugged her. “If he doesn't want to suck on it I sure will, now, let's finish getting ready.”

She went into the kitchen to check on the meal, and when she returned handed me a panty liner.

“You're gonna leak precum so put this on,” she told me.

I did as I was told, then sat down for her to do my makeup.

“You look very pretty,” she said as I observed myself in the mirror.

“Feels funny,” I remarked.

“You'll get used to it,” she said, as she started on her own makeup.

“Get used to it,” I echoed.

“That's right, get used to it.”

“You mean tonight?”

“What else?”

“Kinda felt like you want to do me up all the time, what with the kit you bought me.”

“That's up to you, but it seems to me that you are comfortable in your new outfit,” she observed.

“You mean our matching outfits? I am.”

“I had a hunch that you would be so I bought you a few more things,” she said, a smile on her face.

“What?” I nearly shouted, shocked, embarrassed and excited.

“Go look in the bottom drawer of your chest of drawers, and the far right of the closet, and then put your heels on and go check on dinner.”

In the remaining time before the arrival of my wife's friend, we worked at getting me to walk in heels.

“That is no better than the last three times you walked past me,” she laughed.

“What do you expect? I'm a guy,” I chuckled.

“For what I paid for your stuff, I don't want to see a guy walking, I want to see a lady walking.”

“Lady walking, huh?”

“Yes. Remember you are going to be bringing the courses, and clearing the table for me and Pete,” she reminded me. “So I expect you to conduct yourself like a lady.”

“Peter?” I said, thinking that the name fit him, as it seemed he had been thinking with his peter.

“Yes. We'll see if his member fits his name,” she joked.

“Then there is the beautiful wife, Nancy, and her cuckold husband, Harry,” I remarked.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Of course, I was having second thoughts; what man wouldn't?

“Not at all, Hun, are you?”

“I'm just a little worried about you,” she said, as she took my hand in hers and patted it.

“Me?”

“I'm going to be having sex tonight, and all you'll get to do is watch, that has to bother you.”

“So long as you are happy, I'm happy,” I stated. “If he is gentle and loving, I'll be fine.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

I opened my mouth to respond when the doorbell sounded.

“Six o'clock, right on time,” my wife said, a nervous quiver in her voice.

“We both walked to the door to greet him, my wife in the lead.

“Well, here goes,” she nervously stated and opened the door.