I wondered how many of the other visitors to that quintessential English Inn on that balmy August evening had even the slightest inkling what the trio who were seated in the corner of the Pub’s garden were discussing. They sat slightly distanced from the other customers, the younger man talking in a lively fashion to the woman sat opposite whilst the older man seemed to have little to contribute, but he spoke when prompted by the lady sat next to him. She was a woman in her prime and she seemed to ooze sensuality as the evening sunset was reflected from her flowing auburn hair.

The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle that evening, as my wife of nearly thirty years colluded openly with the Frenchman sat opposite us. It was the first occasion that we had met the 31-year-old Philippe and with the introductions over, the silent but obvious physical inspections done with, Jill and he were now openly discussing when the Frenchman would get to fuck my wife. I may as well have not been there and the awkwardness of the situation was apparent in my body language and inwardly I cringed with shame, as Jill described her need for fulfillment; a need that “Geoff simply isn’t equipped to provide”.

That was five months ago and this was now. After what seemed like endless online flirting and plotting between them, I was finally carrying out Jill’s wishes and was driving her the long four hour journey from our home in central England to Phillip’s cottage on the Welsh coast.  I had now ‘watched’ my wife have sex with five other men since suggesting the open cuckold lifestyle back in 2008. Four years later, I was still unable to be matter-of-fact about it. There was a definite tension as I drove, hers sexual and mine born from shame.

We paused the journey at a small village Pub, having estimated that Phillipe’s home was now less than sixty minutes drive. The bar was busy with locals enjoying the end of week atmosphere, and few of them paid any particular attention when Jill and I sat down at a spare dining table. I found it difficult to eat but Jill taunted me about needing to keep her energy supplies topped up for what was to come later that evening. After paying for our food, I waited for Jill to emerge from the ladies room. It was now that the locals did mute the hum of multiple discussions to stare at the woman who was now transformed. Jill had changed her clothes and was now wearing a very short zebra print skirt, black seamed stockings and a blouse, unbuttoned to reveal most of her 36 C cleavage. The men paused from drinking their beer, while their wives were quick to make sure their gaze was realigned back on to themselves. Then the women looked back at Jill as if to knowingly say ‘you lucky bitch – I hope whoever he is he gives you what we all need.'

My stomach now churned as we entered Phillipe’s village and I could see from the smattering of white walled dwellings that it would not take long to locate his home in such a small community. Nonetheless, Jill had called him from her mobile phone and was now exchanging deliberately provocative comments with the Frenchman as he waited eagerly for us, on his front drive. My pulse raced as the headlamps picked out his tall wiry frame and in the same instant that Jill waved excitedly and cried, “I can see you now.”

Phillipe held Jill’s hand and kissed it lightly as she stepped from the car. “You look even more beautiful than I remember and your clothes are stunning”. Turning to me he extended his hand to shake, “Geoff you must be tired,” he was grinning, “it is a long drive from Birmingham.” Then they turned together and walked arm in arm to the cottage door in an action that seemed to signify that I had just formally handed over my wife to another man.

The kitchen was large and clutter-free. Now seated at a large oak dining table, I felt decidedly small and lost. Jill stood with Phillipe on the opposite side of the table and rather than sitting as I had assumed they would, the Frenchman was kissing my wife tenderly and fully on the lips. They paused long enough for her to ease her arms around his neck and whisper “wow, what a welcome!” kissing again, passionately for what seemed an eternity. I smiled like a fool, but it was more from embarrassment than any kind of pleasure. Phillipe had told me to help myself to a drink of wine and that’s what I was now doing, simply to divert my own awkwardness. When I sat back down at the table the kissing had moved on and Jill’s blouse was now unbuttoned. Phillipe’s hands were enjoying her breasts, her nipples standing erect between his rolling fingers.

“Say thank you to Phillipe,” Jill said, looking over the Frenchman’s head as he now kissed into her neck. “He has made a bed up for you in the next room to ours, isn’t that thoughtful? Say thank you.”

He made no attempt to respond back to me as I dutifully uttered the words my wife had told me to say. Instead, he was now releasing Jill’s skirt and easing it to the floor. Her middle-aged beauty made a stunning spectacle, her black lacy panties framed by black suspenders and the seamed stockings. Her bra undone and her plentiful breasts thrust forwards as if begging him to continue his play. I was so jealous of the man stood before me, a man we had met only once and who was now easing his fingers inside the panties, my wife responding with a giggle of delight followed by more passionate and deeply prolonged kissing.

Jill whispered something in Phillipe’s ears and he smiled back one single word, “Oui”. Phillipe and I are going to bed now and he is going to show you to your room, so pick up your drink and follow us.”.

They were half way through the kitchen door and Jill had to totter on tip toes to keep up with him as he led her by the hand towards a room at the end of the hallway. Phillipe turned and gestured with an open hand. It was the first time he had looked at me since we shook hands outside. “Voila” he grinned, “sleep well Geoff”, and with that they were gone through the door that formed a right angle with my room.

I looked at my bed for the night. It was an old mattress dumped on the floor, draped uncaringly with a sleeping bag that would struggle to keep out the cold January damp rising from the grey Welsh stone floor.

I lay for a while, with the sleeping bag open and around my shoulders like a shawl. The silence itself was imposing. Then it started. A quiet, almost stifled whimper at first but in recent years, I had heard Jill moan through sexual pleasure enough times to have an accurate perspective on how quickly things were progressing in the next room. And because I had never been the one to ignite these feminine sounds of delight, on one occasion she had gone to the extreme of recording four hours of intense lovemaking with a boy half her age, for me to hear. Her moans, like birth contractions, were getting closer together now and she held the tension each time a little longer before letting it go with a loud and necessary breath. My watch told me that Jill and Phillipe had been alone for just twenty minutes when her moans rolled into one seamless volley of cries and gasps for breath. She had enjoyed her first orgasm of the evening, and my guess was that it came from the actions of her new lover’s tongue.

Some twelve months earlier, Jill had presented me with a ‘gift’. She had researched and purchased a chastity device for me. For those familiar with these contraptions, mine is the clear plastic variety and coded brashly ‘S’ for small. She insisted that I wore my ‘cage’ whenever she met her men, for however long she stayed with them. Tonight was no exception and I became aware of it’s discomfort, as the groans from the next room began to build once again, though this time they were interlaced with the unmistakable thwacking sound of a man’s heavy balls slapping as a victory serenade to the thrusting of his hips and the claiming of yet another trophy wife.

The fucking and the orgasms went on into the small hours while I periodically went back to Phillipe’s kitchen for more wine. At around 3.30 am it finally fell silent – they had been enjoying each other for six hours. A text alert from my phone broke the silence and my broke my dream. My phone told me it was now 7.30am on Saturday morning and someone was messaging me. It was Jill and the message simple read “you can come into our room now”.

Any heaviness from the wine in my head evaporated instantly, sobered by the sight that greeted me as I shuffled into the bedroom. Jill my wife of nearly thirty years, the girl who took my virginity as a college kid, lay naked alongside an equally naked Frenchman, both of them on top of the quilt. Yet it was the manner of their calm and comfort that hit me. Phillipe had his arm extended around Jill’s shoulders and she lay with her head nestling upon his chest, allowing him to lovingly stroke her long red hair.

“We would like a drink. Water for me and black coffee for Phillipe. Then when you come back, Phillipe needs you to do something. Oh, and get rid of these.”

The three very full condoms Jill had pressed mockingly into my hand, oozed cum as I made my way back towards the kitchen and I marvelled at just how much seminal fluid one man could produce not once, but three times. Over the years, Jill has constantly reminded me that “you never even managed twice on our wedding night!”

When I returned to the bedroom, Jill had eased herself down Phillipe’s slim body and was now expertly kneading and stroking his cock, stirring it immediately back to consciousness. I placed the drinks on the matching pine bedside cupboards but neither of them acknowledged my return. All those months previously when he had replied to Jill’s online ‘bull required’ posting, Phillipe had used the phrase ‘my cock is eight inches long and I don’t measure it from my arse’. He wasn’t kidding! In fact, as I watched Jill licking and probing its length with her tongue, I felt he had very much undersold his dimensions. I couldn’t help but stare and admire how his penis seemed to hoist itself upwards, growing with each pulse and fattening like a soldier puffing out his chest whilst on parade.

“Take off your clothes.” Jill looked at me with devilment in her eye and headed off any opportunity to contest her command by immediately engulfing the now engorged head of Phillipe’s penis into her mouth. I fumbled with my shirt buttons like a schoolboy attending his first medical examination. “Hurry up! I want Phillipe to see your toy!”

She was laughing deliberately at me yet maintaining the skilful manipulation of the ever fattening phallus which now required the attention of both her hands. The last garment I removed were my white briefs and I avoided eye contact with either of the lovers as I now stood naked but for a few pieces of clear moulded plastic encasing my genitals.

“Look,” she howled, “I told you he can still get hard inside it and this was the smallest one I could find on the entire internet”. Phillipe smiled with his eyes as he looked from the contraption that housed my version of the male organ, to my eyes, and then back to the device. This was it. The bitter-sweet rush that only a cuckold husband would recognise; that feeling of having nowhere to hide, no excuse to make for his inadequacies laid bare and exposed for either scrutiny or simply to mock. This time it was both and the longer I stood in their gaze, the more that the submissive rush became a thrill and the more painful the grip of Jill’s gift became.

“If you are a good boy and help us, I may just find the key, come here and hold me open! Phillipe is going to take me from the side.” Jill was in total control now and I knew exactly what she doing. She was taunting me and ridiculing the single sexual position that I had used all of those years, the only position I can maintain penetrative sex in. She wanted me to see variety up close – to literally rub my nose in it!

Jill rolled on to her side, her back resting on Phillipe’s chest as he did the same. He immediately began kissing her neck as she raised her left leg pointing her toes to the ceiling, man and woman using a hand each to support the raised leg. “Come on, make yourself useful and consider yourself honoured to help.”

I knelt in front of them and reached down with my left hand. Jill’s labia was pink and engorged and its wetness made it difficult at first to hold open up her pussy lips. Phillipe’s enormous cock was easing over Jill’s inner thigh like a glorious warship coming home to port. “Condom?” I asked looking at her rather than him. She was sucking the little finger of her right hand and laughing at me with her eyes as she eventually replied, “No, I don’t think so.” Then I felt it pass between my fingers easing its length and fatness deeper into my wife than I could ever imagine until those big balls that had kept me awake with their ‘thwacking’, pushed against my hand like two enormously ripe plums.

Phillipe eased in and out, forward and back gathering pace and adding a little more power to each thrust. And as he did so my wife closed her eyes and pursed her lips as those ever familiar groans began again. After ten minutes or so I could see Jill was close to her crescendo. I waited for her to explode before my eyes but instead, Phillipe slowed and eased his length out of her wetness. I let my hand fall as he then guided my wife to the edge of the bed and moved his face between her thighs. She was ready to cum but he was holding back – so that was the secret of sustained lovemaking! I had never lasted more than a few minutes. Phillipe seemed to co-ordinate finger, thumb and tongue expertly manipulating my wife’s clitoris until very soon and uncontrollably her hips were convulsing as her back arched and wave after wave of sexual pleasure rolled from her body.

She lay smiling, the skin of her neck to her breasts flushed but her body now relaxed. “Thank you,” she whispered looking up into the Frenchman’s eyes. Her smile fell as she turned to me and said, “Go and fetch my handbag, it’s on the kitchen table.”

When I returned clutching the bag, the couple had repositioned themselves and Jill had resumed the manipulation of Phillipe’s cock, maintaining its engorged state. I stood in stark contrast with the ridiculous device forcing my own small erection back inside my groin. My testicles may be mere raisins next to those plums of Phillipe’s, but they were purple and pained from the cage’s grip.

“Come here then,” Jill’s tone was sharp, irritated even. She held a small key. “Hurry up!”

The relief was enormous as the securement ring and small penis case separated. The satisfaction was quickly chased away by my embarrassment as I was now fully naked in front of a very potent and virile man, my own excuse for an erection not coming close to measuring even half the size of his.

“Show Phillipe how you wank,” taunted Jill, as she resumed work on the other phallus. His cock hadn’t visibly retracted at all and if anything was looking more threatening now that there was a poor imitation in the room. Again, I knew what she meant. Whilst I am able to cup my erect penis within one hand, I find it easier to masturbate by tweaking the gland between my forefinger, index finger and thumb. Dutifully I did what she wanted. This time, they were both laughing aloud and the more they laughed, the more intense the submissive rush was for me. Not even Jill expected me to cum but within a minute of beginning their laughter and commentary, they stopped abruptly. I stood with two fingers on the tip of my penis the other hand cupped underneath to capture the drops that had made the short journey of release.

“How pathetic,” Jill’s words were expressive, yet not damming. “Take your clothes and go and get dressed. Wait in the kitchen.”

Then Phillipe spoke with an unmistakable mix of mocking and arrogance in his voice, “Geoff, the shower room is across from the kitchen. We will see you some time later.” He said something else as I made my way along the hall but whatever he said was directed at Jill and whatever he implied she laughed genuinely loudly at.

I showered, dressed and busied myself in the kitchen. By now the all too familiar sounds of intense sexual play made their way up the hallway and tapped my on the shoulder to stop whatever it was I was doing to pass the time. Finally at around 10.30 am came the finale of male and female voices unashamedly releasing intensity together again and again and again. And then quiet. However they finished fucking and in whatever position they finished in, they must have lay together in sweet contentment for another forty-five minutes.

I thought about taking them another drink. As I pondered I became aware of what I was now staring at. On the kitchen work surface to the right of a black microwave oven was a stack of cellophane wrapped, small narrow boxes. I recognised them instantly as the variety of condoms Jill had pressed into my hands almost four hours earlier. And then I remembered her words as I questioned the need for fresh supplies. “Condom?” I had asked.

I pictured her sucking the little finger of her right hand and laughing at me with eyes as she eventually replied, “No, I don’t think so.”