Thursday, July 31, 2014

Learning the hard lessons - Just because she unlocks you, just because she wants to be intimate you, doesn't mean you'll experience an orgasm.


Just a few more sessions and she'll be ready to try it for real


Yea, there's a lot on my mind...like is this right?


It is. It's strange, but it is.

Yes, it's odd, but deep down inside, if given the choice, I'd want her to do this to him, not to me.

Deep down inside, I'd tell her to suck him, not me.

Deep down inside, I'll pick her physical pleasure, not mine.

Deep down inside, I'll trade his orgasms for my orgasms.

Deep down inside, Ill take emotion over sex.

If told by my wife that one of you gets a blow job today, I'll tell her to pick him every singe time.

Despite the jealousy.

Despite the humiliation.

Despite the angst.

Being cuckolded makes me feel closer to my wife.

Being cuckolded makes me love her more.

Being cuckolded makes me happy.

It's odd. But true...so true.





Eventually she'll come home and something will be leaking through, right?


Intimacy


Last night Emily was in the shower after a run; I was sitting on the bed, reading, not really paying to much attention. Until I hear the click of wine glasses.

I looked up, she was standing in the doorway wearing a a champagne colored satin chemise carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. "Whoa," I said, "what...what's this?"

"Intimacy with my pretty, chaste husband," she gave a shy smile.

"Chaste," I said.

"Intimacy," she said in reply, walking to the bed, pouring the wine. "It's important to me...intimacy...with you. Remember when we first met, how we'd sit in bed, cuddle, talk."

"Yea," I smiled, fond memories.

"That's when we fell in love...we get busy with life..." She handed me a glass of wine, got into bed, snuggled against me. "I like this," she touched my arm. "I miss this."

"Em...we always can."

"But we don't enough."

"Are you...are you okay? Are you...compensating?"

"No, sweetie," she looked up at me. "I thought you'd think that...is she forcing this...no...no...no...this, all of this...it makes me feel...close to you...you feel that, right?"

I pulled her against me. "Yea."

"Are you jealous?"

"A little...some..."

"You're okay with that?"

"Yea," I said, "I mean..."

"It turns you on...right"

"Yea," I said again. "It's fucked up."

"So," she said. "Do you feel...I don't know...betrayed?"

I pulled back, looked at her. "Betrayed? No, not at all...jealous...not betrayed. This...this was our decision."

She pulled me back to her. "I...I like attention...he's so....different."

"Are you trolling me," I chuckled.

"No...maybe," she said, "say it then."

"He's a man, Emily, I...I never feel that way."

"Masculine? Dominant?"

"No," I shook my head, "I...never..."

"I wouldn't love you if you did, you know that, right?"

"Of course," I said. "And that's what excites you, right? That he's so different than me."

"This is a terrible analogy, but he's like...I don't know...it's like I'm the horse, he's the rider."

"That's kind of what they do...men...lead...take charge...assert control."

Emily shuddered. "I'd never want you to do that...that's the point...day to day, I could never be...I don't know."

"You're too stubborn, Em, you could never be married to a guy who tried to control you."

"But sometimes..."

"Sometimes it feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she said. "But it would never replace you."

"I read this somewhere, emotionally monogamous, physically promiscuous."

"Yes," she said, "though that's probably a little stark. I'm not promiscuous...that sounds slutty."

"You don't have an inner slut?"

She laughed. "I might have an inner bad girl, maybe even half-slutty, but not promiscuous. I'm never going to be the girl picking up random guys, you know."

"That's not what I want," I said.

"He doesn't either."

"I...we haven't talked about that," I said.

"No, but Matthew and I did. He might have been presumptuous but...he said if...if we were a thing, he and I...the three of us I guess...my words...kind of...it was just him."

"And me, too."

"Yes," she said, "he meant just him as a...lover's not the right word..."

"Boyfriend."

She shrugged, didn't look up...yea, that was the word. "We should get tested."

"You told him that," I asked her.

She was quite for a moment. "He...he said that...I would have...but no, he said that. He...he said..."

"What," I prompted.

"He doesn't like...condoms."

I shuddered, felt dizzy for a moment. "Em..."

"Yea...remember something..."

"What," I asked.

She tightened her grip on me. "Emotionally, you're mine. Only you. I'm yours. I mean, to be honest, I like him...you get that...but it's...it's not...it can't be...this."

There was the fire of this whole thing, the risk of burn. "What if..."

"No...I don't want this from him...sharing of secrets, emotional support. And you need to tell me when it's too much, too hard...too risky. Emotionally, I'm only yours."

"It's dangerous."

"Very," she agreed. "But he gets that. He understands the roles."

"He said that?"

"Yea, actually."

"Wait, wait," I sat up again, "all the roles?"

"Well, not...quite...not Sara...but do you think he'll be surprised? He likes it...being in charge of..."

"A woman?"

"And her husband."

"Why," I asked.

"Why do we like the opposite, who knows."

"He's done this before?"

"Dated a married woman, yea, twice, but they didn't work out."

"Why?" She blushed, looked away.

"You...you should ask him."

"Why," I asked again.

"The husbands were too...competitive with him, saw it ultimately, as a challenge, they weren't...deferential enough."

"Deferential."

"Submissive," she said. "He felt like he was competing with them, leading them. The wife, the couple."

"Em, I'm not going to compete with him."

"Oh, sweetie, I told him...trust me, my husband is never going to try to out man you. He said he got that sense when he picked me up but..."

"I won't, Em."

"No, not that...he...we need to meet, he said...he's right...to talk...the three of us."

I swallowed. "When?"

"He...he'll text you. That's what men do, right?"

"I...I suppose...yes."

"Take charge," she said. "I want to do this," she cuddled, "this."

"Intimacy."

"Emotional intimacy."

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

After

She opened the door, stepped in, turned and waived before saying anything to me, shut the door, leaned against it, stared.

Yes, her hair was disheveled. Yes, her makeup was no longer perfect. Yes, there was a look in her eyes as she glared.

"Em," I whispered.

"Oh, Sara, oh, my sweet, sweet, Sara."

"Em, you...he..."

She smiled, a devilish smile. "Yes, love, yes. Of course yes."

"Em," I started shaking, closed my eyes; I swear I almost squirted right there, locked up and all.

She walked slowly to the couch, sat next to me, took my hand, looked at me. "That was...he was...sweetie. I....," she said softly.

"What..."

"I...I hope...you..."

"Em," I whispered, "I...I am..."

"He's different."

"I know," I said, "he knows...right?" She nodded. "He gets it, right?" She nodded again. "I mean...us?"

"He wanted to know if I'd...you know...before...I said yes; I told him about Evan...and Jeff. He asked if you knew; I told him yes. He said he wasn't like them...he's not...he's different...obviously."

"Yes..."

"He...," she blushed, looked away.

"What?"

"He's so...I don't want you to get your hopes up."

"I won't."

"Liar," she laughed. "You do, I can tell; so can he. We...we need to get to know him, Sara."

"I know," I said. "Of course...but it's not wrong to...to hope, is it?"

"Oh, no, I hope, too, believe me, I hope."

"Was...was it...we he...good," I swallowed, feeling the throb in my groin.

"Oh, Sara, better than I could have ever imagined. He's so...he has a way about him, a presence, he..."

"He's a man," I whispered.

"Yes, love, that's it exactly." I looked down at her legs, at the hem of her dress. "You want to, don't you?"

"Em...," I bit my lip.

"Go upstairs," she said, leaned towards me. "Slip into something prettier, because I want it too. I want my pretty little sissy touching me, licking me, tasting me."

"Em," I moaned, "Em..."

"That's what you want, right? That's what you thought about all night, right? Your mouth, your tongue, licking, tasting, touching everywhere he was."

"Mfmmmgfff," I whimpered.

"He made me cum like a man would, Sara, I want you to make me cum like a sissy does."

"Emily," I said her name again, the only word I could form.

"I hope he wants what we want, love, I so hope he wants what we want."

Upstairs I kissed her and licked her and tasted her. Everywhere he did, everywhere Matthew did. It was a game, really.

He licked me here, she'd say and point to the inside of her arm and I'd lick here there.

He touched me here, she'd say and hold her breast and I'd lick her there.

He was inside me here, she said touching between her legs and I licked and kissed her there. Her swollen pussy lips, the smell of her, of sex, of musk, of condom. He was inside her, he fucked her. A man. He fucked her knowing she was married, wanted to fuck her because she was married.

A man wanted my wife (who wouldn't, many have), but he seems to want this, too, the whole thing.

I thought of all this as Emily shook and came the way she does when I'm between her legs. I thought of it as I throbbed and throbbed, knowing I wasn't going to cum the way he did, the way she did. In a way I was glad I was locked, to keep it pure, to keep from spoiling it with my own release. My intimacy with Emily has never been about fucking her, about possessing her, about rooting like an animal. My intimacy was like this, soft and tender, meek, submissive.

"Are you sure," she asked me later as she held me in her arms.

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Yes, I do. Over and over I need to ask. I want to make sure, I need to make sure; you're more important to me than anything."

I looked at her. "I'm sure, Emily," I said, her last words the reason I was sure.

"It's different..."

"We're different," I said, "but it's okay."


Saturday, July 26, 2014

Last Update for tonight

He said to text you that I'm almost home and that he's dropping me off but not coming in. This time. Oh, fuck, love, this time!!!!!

I'm shaking...I"m fucking shaking...and I can't wait to see her. And kiss her. And touch her.

Update 3

She won't stop texting. And I don't care.

"He said to text you that we're leaving and I'll be home in 45 minutes. And that I have the best, most understanding husband in the world! And I'm adding this part...I'm tingling all over!"

Things I'm thinking about that I shouldn't be thinking about because it makes my cage way too tight





Update 2


Another text:

"Hon, he said to text you he loves your taste in lingerie. I told him you've got a special eye for it :)"


Update

Just got a text from Emily:

"Sweetie, he said to text you that I won't be home early."


Threesome


She just left. With him. Emily just left with Matthew.

I'm shaking. Fuck, I'm shaking. Literally. It's hard to type.

It's not bad. I'm not shaking because it's bad. I mean, yes, yes, butterflies, nerves, humiliation, jealousy. Yes, all of that, yes. But more, so much more.

She just left with him. On a date. And more.

We were in the bathroom, earlier, I was sitting on the edge of the tub, holding a towel, watching her shower. Watching her soap, watching her wash every inch of her body, her most intimate places. Watching her carefully shave her legs, one at a time on the ledge, back to me, turning to give me a tight smile.

Watching her shave between her legs, not bare, but trim, neat, orderly. Trimming herself, what, in anticipation, in hope? She looked at me, shrugged slightly, smiled impishly, made a gesture.

Just in case, it said, I assume, it said, who knows, it said, better to be prepared, it said, I hope, it said.

When she stepped out of the shower, I stood, dried her from head to toe. Carefully, tenderly. It was my silent acceptance, my silent approval, preparing her, helping her.

I wouldn't be dressed as Sara later, when he arrived, not outwardly, anyway. We'd discussed that. He had some idea what I was, the meek, submissive, beta husband, but not all, not about the girl inside me, not about the sissy. Not yet, she decided, we decided, not too much, too soon.

But I was dressed then. I knew what time she was getting in the shower, so half an hour before I excused myself, went to the bedroom, freshened up, donned my best maid's uniform.

She smiled when she came into the bedroom, saw me standing in black and white satin, waiting. "Oh, Sara," she said.

"Too…too much," I asked.

"No, love, no, not at all. I…you're so good to me."

"I thought…"

"I know, love, I know. You're perfect."

I rubbed lotion into her skin; she usually did this herself, but not today; today I took care of her intimate preparations, sensually, seductively, knowing the sexual energy, her desires, if fulfilled, would be by him, not me.

I opened the box with her new bra and panties, black lace, pink trim. A bra designed not so much to cover her breasts but to push them up, to emphasize them. Panties that did the same when I helped her into them, pulled them up her legs, pulled the thong between her ass cheeks. Without asking, I leaned forward, kissed each cheek carefully, tenderly.

"Careful," she scolded me after the second kiss, before I wrapped a matching garter belt around her waist. "

She did her hair and makeup while I changed again, into slacks and a shirt. "Get my small valise, please," she asked. It was a small pink bag, suitable for overnight, no more, but no more was needed. "Go ahead, get it ready."

I stared at her, wasn't sure what she wanted packed. "I…"

"Start with what you picked out for him," she said, reading my mind. The lingerie, the sheer white babydoll and panties, innocent, almost bridal. The lingerie I picked out for her to wear for him. She looked beautiful modeling it in the store, almost shy, knowing why we were buying it.

"Any…any other clothes?"

She thought for a moment, shook her head no. "My contact case. The other thing you bought. I saw them in your drawer." I looked down, blushed. A package of condoms. She was on the pill, but we both knew this was a necessity, now anyway.

"I appreciate you taking care of that, as much as I'd like to forgo…as much as we'd like to forgo…"

"I know…"

"If it works…if he works…it's a gift we can give him later…and you, too."

"Em," I closed my eyes, felt the wave wash over me, the anticipation, the familiar tightness between my legs. She knew the look, had a smirk on her face.

"That reminds me…" She opened the drawer in the vanity next to her sink, took out a small jewelry box, the box her engagement ring came in.

"You're not wearing…" I swallowed, for the first time feeling full, real anxiety.

"No…I mean yes, of course I'm wearing them. I'm married, happily, of course. No, this…this goes in the bag…but here, open it."

I took it from her, opened it, looked inside; where the ring went, where it had been nestled in the white satin lining, was something small, brass.

The key.

The key to the cage. The key to my penis. The key to my sissy clit. My god, that's where she keeps it? I never thought to look, really, and if I did wouldn't have thought to look there.

"I'm taking it with me tonight…for symbolic sake." She finished dressing…nude, sheer, lace top hose carefully attached to her garter straps; black heels; her short, revealing black dress.

"How do I look," she asked.

"Stunning," I said. "Truly stunning."

"Sara…"

"You don't have to ask, Emily, the answer's the same. Yes."

"You're sure."

"No," I laughed. "But yes, just the same."

She answered the door when he knocked, welcomed him in. I was standing a few feet behind her, meek, quiet, not wanting to look protective or intrusive.

"Emily," he said, "you look stunning." He didn't waste time with boldness or assertiveness, stepped forward, put his hand in the small of her back, pulled her forward, kissed her cheek. It wasn't passionate, but it was possessive, and before acknowledging me, he affectively established his control of the room, his dominance of the situation, the hierarchy of him to us, to me.

He stepped back, though left his hand on Emily, looked at me. "Nice to see you again," he said, holding his hand out.

I stepped towards him, again, carefully; I was soft and subtle, I was respectful, and meek as I took his hand. "You, too, Matthew," I said.

"Emily said you picked out her dress; you have good taste," he said.

"Thank you," I said, blushed at my reaction to his compliment.

"We need to leave," he said to my wife, obviously wanting to keep the interaction with me short to avoid awkwardness.

"Of course," Emily said, looked at me, then him. He pulled his hand back, letting her move forward to kiss me.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too," I answered.

We looked at each other, in the eyes, the fire was in hers, in mine.

"Your bag," I said, picked up the case from the table.

"Yes…thanks," she laughed. "I…" she looked back at him. "I don't know…"

Matthew cut in. "I don't know what time I'll have her back," he said to me. "We'll see how dinner goes. I'll have her text you after dinner to let you know what we're doing."

"O…okay," I agreed, though his words were a statement, not a question.

"Sweetie…"

"Have…have a good time," I said.

"We will," Matthew answered, put his hand in the small of her back again, led her to the door.

I watched him walk her to the car, open the door, watched her slide into the front seat of his Audi. He looked back me, saw me in the doorway, smiled, nodded. Emily had her phone out, was doing something, put it away as he opened his own door and got it. I heard my phone vibrate, but ignored it as he pulled out of the drive, instead watching my wife.

Oh fuck, oh holy fuck. My stomach was turning, I knew it would, but I was half erect, too.

Fuck, oh fuck, she left with him.

I shut the door, heard my phone vibrate a second time, found it, saw the text from Emily.

"I hope he's the one, Sara, I hope he's what we want, because it made me sooooo wet seeing him talk to you. Love you soooooo much."

Fuck, I hope he's the one, too, because just as she's wet, I'm swollen. Just as she's excited, I'm excited, too. I don't want a man that just wants to fuck her, I want a man that wants more, that gets her, but gets me, too, that gets us...Emily and me.

Jitters

I sat down on the couch next to Emily, handed her a cup of coffee. She was wearing a satin slip, I wore a satin cami and short set.

"Thanks, pet," she smiled.

"Hmmm," I playfully purred in response, just stared at her for a minute until she finally spoke again.

"I have a date tonight," she said like she was pinching herself.

"Are you trying to make me uncomfortable," I said, she knew what I meant.

"No...yes...I don't know...I think I just like knowing you're looking forward, too."

"I am," I said, paused, took a sip of coffee. "This..."

"What."

"I feel like...we keep talking about this...this is different, isn't it. I mean...he's different."

She laughed. "You keep getting ahead of yourself."

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because it's cute."

"What?"

"How even the thought of a dominant man in my life...our life...gets you all twisted inside."

"Em."

"Don't 'Em' me, I've heard that expression of feigned shock enough. Like you're hiding something from me? You're naturally submissive, I mean, duh. Don't tell me you don't fantasize about a man taking on a dominant role in our marriage."

I tried not to close my eyes, but couldn't help it, had to simply to breath.

"Of course he's different, it's like we're all auditioning to play a very specific part."

"Do you think...that's what he wants," I asked.

"I don't know but I think he wants more than just sex," Emily said. "I mean, that too, of course. But we'll see, won't we."

"You have a date tonight," I said.

"I know, " she smiled, "I know. Nervous?"

"Yes...I mean...he...he's picking you up."

"Yea," she said. "That's what makes him different, right?" I looked away, took a sip of coffee. "Look at you, Sara," she touched my arm. "He's not even here and you already feel submissive, don't you?"

"Is that what he wants," I asked.

She laughed again. "You're so predictable."

"Did you talk to him about it?"

"Lover, you don't have to ask a man something like that, you just know. Girls talk about their feelings, men act on their feelings. Girls sit around and ask each other, 'do you think he likes me, do you think he wants me, do you think he thinks I'm cute?' That's what girls do." She looked at me, it was obvious that included me. "Men don't talk about things like that, men just do and let women figure out what it means."

"So you think he likes you...us," I asked, realizing I just confirmed what she said when she smiled.

"Look at his actions, love, don't worry about his words."

"I'm nervous," I admitted.

"Me, too."

We looked at each other, drank our coffee, but didn't say it. Didn't say stop. Didn't say no. Didn't say wait. No. We wanted it. We both wanted it.

"He's so confident," I said, "so sure of himself."

"He's a man, love, he's a man."






Friday, July 25, 2014

Small and feminized, just how a sissy husband should be.


You see why a sissy should always be in chastity? Focus, girls, focus.


When I imagine Emily doing this, it's with a gusto, with enthusiasm, that I'm unfamiliar with


I joked about this once, said something to her like, "how would you know, you've never swallowed."

She shot back, without thinking, "No, I've just never swallowed you."

Boom!

Awake

"You awake," her voice whispered.

"Yes," I said; my back was to her, she scooted towards me, put her arm around me, touched me through my satin slip.

"Can't sleep?"

"I...I don't know."

"It's on your mind, isn't it?"

"Of course," I said. "I can't get it out of my mind."

"Second thoughts?"

"What, no...that's not it..."

"What then, love," she asked.

"I...I can't get comfortable."

"Oh...oh...that kind of comfortable. I...I could get the key...if it's too...difficult."

"No, I...I'll be okay." Truth be told I was afraid to have her unlock me, afraid I'd give into temptation, touch myself, and I didn't want to.

"What do you think about?"

"Him and you...duh..."

"Duh," Emily said. "What exactly? What were you thinking about now?"

I swallowed. "His hands...touching you..."

"Where," she asked.

"I don't know," I lied.

"Where," she asked again.

"I...your thighs...the inside of your thighs," I said.

Emily gasped; I realized she was touching herself.

I swallowed, felt the pressure between my own legs, the pressure that wouldn't go away regardless, would only get worse. "He...he looks at you, squeezes your thighs, pushes them apart without asking."

"Sara," she moaned softly.

"That...that's what a man does...he takes a woman...that's what you want him to do, don't you? Take you...not ask...not beg...take..."

Her moans were louder, I could feel her shaking.

"Emily," I whispered in her ear.

"What," she moaned.

"I...I want him to take you..."

"Hmmmm," she moaned louder, turned her head, looked a me, the begging look, the pleading look, full of need, desire.

"I want him to take you," I said again. "I want him to take you. I want him to take you."

Monday, July 21, 2014

Do we have to?

You think either of us has anything on our minds other than him?

You think I can't tell she's thinking about him all time? Planning it, anticipating it, waiting for it? 

You think she can't tell the same about me? That every time I kiss her goodnight, I'm thinking about it? That every time I look at her, catch her eye, it's on the forefront of my mind?

Not just the big it, either, not just the 'what could happen at the end of the night' it. Not just sex it. More, so, so much more.

"What," she asked me, seeing me in the mirror, standing behind her, watching her.

"Nothing," I said softly, looking away.

"Seriously, what?"

"You...you're going on a date," I said.

"I am," she answered.

"It feels...different."

She turned, looked at me. "God, you feel that way too, don't you?"

"Yes...why?"

"I don't know, Sara, he feels different, I can't explain it."

"I can. He knows," I said.

"Evan knew I was with you, so did Jeff."

"No," I said, "Matthew knows. Like, he knows. You had a thing with Evan, before me. He didn't know, he just...it was about you. And Jeff, he's like..." I laughed. "He collects pretty things, you just happened to be a married, pretty thing. Being married didn't matter all that much."

"So..."

"Matthew...he knows. I mean...he...you don't happen to be married, I think he wants you because you're married." She didn't say anything, even glanced away. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Emily, what?"

"I don't know, it's just...you're right, of course."

"He wants you because you're married?"

She nodded. "He...yes. He wants me because I'm married, it's obvious, right?"

I looked away. "Em..."

She turned, touched my arm. "Sometimes I'm afraid I read you wrong, sometimes I'm afraid you don't want what you think you want."

"Emily, I...it's not that...I do...I just...I'm afraid he..."

"What," she asked, "he what?"

"I...I don't want him to just want you, I don't want him to just want to fuck you. I mean, do I like it when I see that look in a guy's eyes? That he wants you? Yes, you know that. That's like our little secret...flirting...this is different. I...I want..."

Emily stoked my arm, moved her hand to my chest, touched the bra I was wearing. "My pretty little sissy doesn't just want a man to fuck me, I know...you want a man who wants to take charge."

I took a deep breath, she knew what I wanted, deep down inside she wanted it too. Not just a so-called bull, but a dom, a dominant man who did more than fuck my wife. An alpha man who, in some ways, became a part of our relationship, part of the dynamic. Not to replace me, emotionally, but to enhance what Emily and I had. I didn't want my wife to simply fuck another man, in a way I wanted him a part of us, a threesome, as it were, though in a very unique way. I wanted a man who was willing to take charge, to some extent, of Emily, of me, of us.

Wasn't that the true nature of cuckolding? Of my submissive desires?

"Don't get ahead of yourself, love," she said.

"Meaning?"

"You're projecting too far," Emily said, "I mean, I get it, I know what you want, I know what you fantasize about, I know your goals."

"So," I said, for the first time defensive. "You don't agree? You don't share them?"

Emily laughed. "My pretty little sissy."

"Em..."

She smiled. Then she shuddered. "Love, I share them, of course I share them, love. My god, to have intimacy, and that's so important, support, love from you while..."

"While?"

"While having a man, too? What woman wouldn't want that? I'm just saying that we don't know he's the guy to give that, we don't know his goals match your...our goals. They might, they could...he seems...different."

"Like he gets it," I asked.

"Saturday," she said, "we have dinner reservations at eight."

"Yes," I asked, feeling the tightening between my legs.

"He texted me...last night."

My eyes narrowed, my mouth opened, the disappointment was obvious.

"Honey, no, no," she said seeing my face. "God, if I ever doubt that you want it as much as me, I just need to remember that face. Does he know? Does he share our goals? We have dinner reservations at 8, he texted me last night that he's picking me up at 7."

"Here," I said, "he's picking you up here?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You're right, Sara, he knows. He totally knows."

"Em," my voice quivered.

"I don't have to, love, you know I...we...don't have to..."

"Yes you do...yes we do," I answered. "I mean, I know we don't have to, but..."

"But you want to," she answered for me.

"Yes...yes."

"So do I, love, so do I."


Thursday, July 17, 2014

He's the kind of man...

"I need to go shopping," she said.

"For," I asked.

"Well, we need to go shopping," she corrected herself.

"For," I asked again, looked to the kitchen.

"No," she laughed. "Not groceries. I want to buy something to wear...you know...next Saturday."

"Oh," I looked down.

"You're funny."

"Why?"

"That forlorn look you have, the 'my wife needs to go buy a dress to wear on her date' look...like it's a bad think...like it doesn't turn you on like nothing else turns you on. Like you aren't fantasizing about it every night when you drift off to sleep. That look, like I want it more than you, like you're just going along...when it's all you want, when surrendering me to a man is everything."

"Em..."

"Am I wrong?"

"No," I swallowed.

"You want it."

"Yes," I said, "yes, you know, yes."

"That's why I love the forlorn look, love," she said, "that's what turns me on so much, that's what makes it so much more than just a date with some guy. I want you to want to share me...to give me to him."

"Emily," I was breathing heavily.

"You know I'll never leave you, right? Never, Sara, never."

"Yes," I looked at her, she meant it, totally, fully.

"He's the kind of man who...he asked about you."

"What?" I sat upright. "What do you mean?"

"If...if you knew..."

"What'd you say," I demanded.

She smiled. "Of course he knows. I...I told him you're...different."

"Em!"

"Not Sara different, just, I don't know, different, different."

"You'll...you'd...like him...you'll like him...he's so...sorry, I don't want to get ahead of myself, here, fuck, we haven't even done anything. He's so...he's the kind of man who...he's so..."

"He's so what," I asked.

"I asked him if he knew what cuckolding."

"Jesus, what'd he say," I said. "Em!"

She smiled. "He texted me back, right away. Something like, 'I'm going on a date with a married woman, of course I know what cuckolding is.' I asked him if he was sure, if he really knew."

"Does...does he?"

"He's the kind of man...he didn't answer...but he said I...we...need to go shopping."

"Yes...Emily, does...does he? Does he know?"

"He said...he said we're going to dinner at..." She named a restaurant, a good one, a great one. That happened to be connected to a hotel in his city.

"Em...does he?"

"He said...he said to buy a new dress...he said you need to buy me a new dress...one that...that's..."

"That's what?"

She swallowed. "That's sexier than I'd normally wear, that's more...revealing."

"Em."

"Tell me, you think he knows?"

"Emily,"

"You think he's the kind of man who knows what cuckolding is?"

"Emily," I half moaned.

"He wants you to buy me a dress, Sara, for our date; tell me, does he know?"

I don't think a guy that just wanted to fuck her would give a fuck what she told her husband about their date. Maybe I was reading too much, maybe I was too hopeful. Maybe I was playing out fiction in my mind. Maybe. But I think he might know. Whether he knew before, I think he knows now.

"I want a dress that tells him that...that I'm his...that we know I'm his...if he wants." She showed me a picture on her phone. "Something like this."


I just stared, mumbled something.

"I want to buy something else, too."

"What," I asked.

"Something...something to wear later, too. Something else to let him know I'm his after dinner, too."


Monday, July 14, 2014

Wrap dress*



*Also known as the "She wore it to an outdoor jazz concert/kind of date with a guy she has a crush on because she wanted to look kind of conservative because there were kids around but sexy, too, because, well, she didn't want him to get the wrong impression, like think that he should totally behave dress."

And did he totally behave?

"No," Emily said, "men like that are way, way more aggressive than you can ever imagine, Sara."

"You...you didn't kiss, did you," I asked, wondering how aggressive he got.

"Kiss...it...it's beyond that, love, it's touching a woman's arm, it's leaning close, occupying a woman's personal space, it's taking her elbow and guiding her someplace. It's being dominant, it's asserting control. You know how you try to be non-threatening to a woman, safe, deferential, like letting her know you're not a sexual threat? That's you're 'safe' to be around?"

"Yea," I said.

"He's none of that, just the opposite, everything he does makes it clear exactly what he is and exactly what he wants. He...he's an alpha man, Sara, he doesn't try to reassure a woman that he's safe, that's he's platonic, by instinct he's making it clear he's the opposite. It's not, 'don't worry, I'd never make a move until I was totally told to by you' like you do, it's 'you'd better worry because I'm so totally going to fuck you."

"Fuck, Em, he said that?"

"Said it," she laughed. "He didn't have to say it, love, that's the point, it he projected it, something so much more powerful than saying it."

"Em..."

"Sara...next...next week...next time...I....I don't know if...if I can..."

"What?"

"If I can stop..."

"I know..."

"I mean it, I...he's like...I don't know if I can stop."

"Do you want to," I asked. "Stop?"

She looked down, bit her lip, shook her head. "No," she whispered.

We didn't speak another word for an hour; I couldn't because my mouth was too busy between her legs, licking her to orgasm after orgasm, and she couldn't because she was too busy moaning and moaning and moaning. I didn't speak, I didn't need to, my service, my submission, was all that was needed.

Later, though, later, as we fell asleep, I finally spoke, whispered. "Emily?"

"Yes," she looked over at me, eyes heavy."

"I don't want you to stop."

"I know, love, I know."