CUCKOLD: My wife brings home a stranger after work

CUCKOLD: My wife brings home a stranger after work, My wife brought him home after work one night.

She was a little drunk, otherwise I like to think she might not have had the guts. But, slightly tipsy, she’s always a horny flirt. Usually I get to benefit from that, but it appeared someone else would be lucky tonight.


He was young, early 20’s if that, muscular and happy to show it off in a wife-beater t-shirt. Stubble covered his jaw and I wondered briefly if he was capable of growing more. He had the good grace to appear uncomfortable after realizing her husband was home. I smiled as graciously as I could, took Lynn by the elbow and pulled her into the other room.

“Who’s this? I asked.

“My present,” she said.

“Present for what?”

“For me. For you.”

“How’s this a present for me?”

“‘Cause” She touched my crotch. “You know you want to watch.”

If instantaneous erection is possible, I had achieved it, as her fingers caressed my cock through my shorts.

“You’re serious?”

“Painfully.” She took my hand and moved it to her own crotch. Lynn’s not one to go commando, but a lift of her skirt revealed nothing underneath but soft hair and engorged pussy lips already slick with wetness.

For a moment I felt blinded by incoherent jealousy, and only just managed to whisper, “You fucked him?”

“Not yet.” She squeezed my cock, a little bit too hard. At the same time a pleading look crossed her face. “But soon?”

That she phrased it as a question, a request, made me feel guilty. That she wanted this so bad, that she’d thought about it, planned it, took the action toward it, made me want to see her get what she desired. I pulled her face to mine, wetly kissed her lips, tasting the alcohol on her tongue as it ran circles around my own, and then let her go. I gave her a brief nod, and her smile lit up the room. She kissed me again and pushed me toward the living room. “Go take a seat.”

I did, on the edge of my recliner, as if the most exciting thing was going to happen in front of me that I’d ever seen.

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I was right.

I heard Lynn talking to the guy in the other room, rushed whispers. He probably balked at her suggestion, but then there was silence. My head filled with the image of her drawing his fingers to her swollen labia. I smelled my own fingers, so recently there, and knew it would be all the coaxing he needed.

Right again. She entered the room holding his hand, pulling him behind her like a lost little boy. She smiled at me, the actress on the stage. She shoved the coffee table aside and stood with him between the table and the couch. She moved the hand she held to her waist, and with her other hand caressed his stubbly cheek. He bet down to her—he was easily a foot and a half taller—and they kissed. It started soft, with lips caressing like butterflies, but when his hand moved to her ass, her mouth opened and tongues started flicking at each other. This was all about passion.

Along the length of his left pant leg, his tumescence grew. It didn’t take Lynn long to find it. Her hands were moving over every inch of his body, their lips never leaving each other. She lightly ran her palm along his dick. I heard her moan against his mouth.

I sat back. This was really happening.

The guy’s hands were now under her skirt, rubbing her ass cheeks, pulling them apart and smooshing them together rhythmically. Lynn lifted his shirt and he paused rubbing long enough to get it off. She went directly for his nipples, biting them like she does mine. At the same time, she reached under her blouse and unclasped her bra, freeing breasts as perfect as a 19-year-old’s.

Things were moving fast now. Lynn unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and had his pants down around his thighs. His cock was pushing against dark boxer shorts. When she finally had the shorts down as well, I saw it was long, though not as thick as I’d expected. Still, thick enough to do the job, and growing with ever beat of his heart, especially as Lynn reached out almost daintily. When she gripped it, close to the base of the shaft, she held it hard, like it was slippery and might slide away at any moment.

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“Jesus Christ,” the guy said, his head lolling back for a second.

I had my own hand down my pants now, my cock gripped almost as tight.

She went down on her knees in front of him, worshipfully, the little eye of his dick at the same level as her own twinkling eyes. She pulled it down just a bit. Mouth level. Her lips hung open like a hungry dog. I thought maybe she’d salivate.

Take it, I thought. I stroked my dick.

He didn’t take him in her mouth all at once, but instead stuck out her tongue tentatively, running it along the mushroom head, the tip across the slitted hole. He shuddered. Lynn moved her hand up and down the shaft once; he shuddered harder.

I glanced through the legs of the coffee table and saw Lynn’s other hand under her skirt.

She inhaled like she was going underwater for an extended period of time, and then his cock was in her mouth, sliding along her lips, her booze soaked tongue guiding it to the back of her throat. She took him in until her lips met her own fingers, still coiled on the base like a spring.

“Sweet Jesus,” the guy said, and his hands, both discretely at his sides to this point, wrapped around the back of her head, fingers in her hair. I thought she might protest, but she let him control the blow job. He pulled her head back and forth, back and forth, and after he did that a few times (her massaging his tightened ball sack), he stopped and moved his hips, stroking his cock in and out of her moist mouth. Never one for an overly sloppy blow job, Lynn grabbed any extra moisture that might dare drip and massaged it into the base of his member and on his balls.

I’d undone my pants and held my dick out for all to see. I felt like I might explode. I knew if I did, if I lost my desire after a huge orgasm, I might find myself emotionally spent and would kick the kid out before anything more could happen. I didn’t want that. Still, it took all the will-power I could summon to let go of my own penis and put my hand on the arm of my chair.

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Lynn had, through all of this, managed to unbutton her blouse. It now hung off her shoulders, her tits still inside the lacy, cream-colored bra unclasped at the back. She stood, letting the guy’s cock-head pop out of her mouth with an audible plop—but she kept at one hand on it, stroking. Always stroking.

She licked his nipple again, he kissed her with a wide open mouth, and ran his fingers over her shoulders, pushing her bras straps down into the sleeves. For the first time, she took her hands off his dick—he winced with displeasure at the sudden loss—and with a fluid motion that seemed well practiced, Lynn unzipped the side of her skirt and pushed down all the clothes—blouse, bra, skirt—along her legs until they rested in a circular pile around her feet.

The guy had to bend over almost in half due to his height, but he couldn’t circumvent his desire to suckle at her tits. His tongue—which I noted was extremely long, like, Gene fucking Simmons long—ran from nipple to nipple, back and forth, as if it couldn’t decide which was better. Lynn had never been one for much nipple play, her’s weren’t very sensitive. Instead she spread her legs—in fact, she lifted one leg in the air, putting a foot up on the coffee table. It gave me a perfect view of her ass and pussy.

Still, the guy didn’t seem to get it, so entranced was he by her chest. I knew how he felt, I’d been there many a time.

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