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. Wasted…all the way back to the cave

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by Lutheran Maid, Nov 28, 2017.

. Wasted…all the way back to the cave 4.3 5 3votes
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  1. Lutheran Maid

    Lutheran Maid Well-Known Member Author!

    There came an evening, when, without prior discussion about lifestyle, my wife dismissed me. We were at a Chistmas party a year ago. I'd been invited to the boss's big house on the smarter side of town and Clara had dressed to the nines. I don't know where she got that black cocktail dress, somewhere exclusive probably. But it fitted her, it fitted her so perfectly, so that her pretty rear stood out, her breasts looked just so and her waist, so slim, so svelte. One of the new exec's was there, a charming, easy with everyone guy called Lucien. Lucien had a Jamaican father and a west coast of Ireland mother. It leant him all the physical and the communication charms. Lucien was easy on the eye and the ear. That Lucien targeted my wife didn't especially surprise me. Clara is very very pretty. But that he did so, whether I was around them or not, disturbed me some. Flirting was one thing, but this was suavely direct. He asked my wife, in front of me, I kid you not, whether she wanted to get rid of me for a while? It was like I was an annoying dog about their legs. Clara looked calmly at me. It was a micro second assessment. I glimpsed it like a zephyr playing on leaves, sending them skittering across the floor. 'Yes' she told him and he smiled. He smiled in that 'thought so' kind of way. He smiled triumphantly, in a moment, for a moment.

    'He resist that kinda thing?' Lucien wondered.

    Clara fed me another look, an indecipherable look, a look never shared before.

    'No….I always get my way don't I Martin?' she said smoothly.

    I didn't want a scene. I didn't. This guy, Lucien, he could be nasty at work. He was going to take charge of our team in the new year. And to be honest, to be starkly honest, Clara shocked me. The comment was so arrogant and so cold. It was like she was a Ice Queen or something.

    'Yes' I said, and felt my neck flush.

    She nodded and glanced at him as if to say, 'see?' She glanced my way again.

    'Go home, Lucien will drive me back later'.

    I left the house feeling perplexed, confused, ashamed. I left feeling all of those things. I also left, even more embarrassingly, with a hard on. It was bolt hard in my pants. It was fucking painfully stiff and that shook me. What the fuck!? What the bloody hell was that all about?! You know, some of you do, the cucks who read these confessions. I didn't. I didn't back then. My head was still swirling with the sight of it. Lucien glancing touches to her waist, once against her bottom. The way her eyes followed his as though she was magnetised by him. The little smiles, the giggles, the keen interest. Clara, dead God, Clara wanted him.

    Clara didn't make it home that night. I remember waking around eight the next morning, my dick sticky from where I had masturbated myself in a half sleep. I stared around the bedroom. She wasn't there. I listened, she wasn't in the shower, neither had she crept into the guest bedroom so as not to wake me. I swore. Fuck it! Fuck it!! My head hurt. I checked my phone and there was a message.

    'Don't make a fuss Martin, I will be home later today.'

    When Clara did get back she was dressed in a new pair of designer jeans and some cavalier leather boots. A new silk blouse covered her lovely breasts and there was a Frey Wille enamelled pendant choker at her throat. Someone had been shopping. I was preparing supper when she breezed in and you know what, I inhaled instinctively. Now, months afterwards I understand. You inhale to see if you can smell him on her. You inhale in case there is the scent of sex. This is what a beta male does. He lives on the droppings, the slipped in messages that reassure him how the world truly is. He lives by being near people who have the right to fuck because they are beautiful and alpha and confident. I didn't know for sure what 'not making a fuss' entailed, but I assumed that it included asking where the hell my wife had been and whether that bastard Lucien had fucked her? Instead of asking anything I simply stared wonderingly at her appearance. She was chic. A word that means everything and nothing to some, but which here means, wow, style, beauty, instinctive good taste. For that was how she struck me right then. She watched me. She watched me shrink, metaphorically collapsing down into myself so that I stared up at her, kneeling on the ground. The way a woman dresses, the way she looks at you, that can defeat you. It can humble and cripple you. It was what she did then. Without a word, she crippled me.

    I remember that at last I admitted that she looked astonishingly beautiful. It is how a woman always looks after she had been fucked hard by an alpha male. It is an aura they possess. Anyway, I must have passed the test. I hadn't resisted. I hadn't challenged or interrogated. She smiled and kissed me. Then when I kissed back, softly, pleadingly, she teased me with her perfect full lips.

    'You are a good boy aren't you?!' she whispered.

    I tried not to look the pound puppy, but I didn't stop it. I didn't. She kissed me again, her eyes open, drinking down my submission.

    'Do you need to lick me out…..Lucien said that you would' she murmured.

    You need to understand that I had considered none of this. I had chatted with Clara about none of it. You know, I didn't. I must have stared at her stupidly, but she lead me up the stairs, told me to lie face up with my head at the foot of the bed. I watched her as she pulled off her boots and peeled down the new jeans. Dressed top half only then she moved forward and covered my face with her sex. It was swollen. Her cunt lips were swollen and it was as if she had fought there. Her sex, it looked pulled open. It looked as if it had been used all night long. A bead of white semen peeped from within her hole, sticky and glutinous now with time. Her sex…..please, God……it smelled of fucking. It smelled of a lot of fucking.

    She held open her cunt so that I could see close too the mess that he had made of her and she instructed me to 'lick gently'. I was to tease her with the tip of my tongue. It was OK to swallow Lucien's 'seed', that was permitted. I licked her. I felt the soft resistance of her lips as my tongue moved and then the glutinous mess of his spunk. On my tongue, it tasted of Clara and it tasted salty. I tried to spit it out, by my wife was moving against me, slowly, delicately, her sex gliding over my mouth. So, ashamed, gutted, I swallowed.

    'That's so sweet Martin…..that's lovely' she purred. My wife masturbated, using me. She masturbated soft at first, teasing my mouth nose and chin with her sex and then increasingly hard as she imagined what this would look like to him. Then she ground down onto me, gyrating her hips and pressing my head into the bed. She pressed and pressed, I gasped, she gasped and my mouth filled with her fresh squirting juices. Her perfect white thighs quivered as she ejaculated. I felt them thrill down to her knees, left and right, against my ears. I heard Clara groan softly, a deep and husky voiced pleasure. When she had finished with me, she stood and inspected me. She glanced down at my crotch, wet now from an accident of my own. There was no need to wank me off. No need to start my training that way now. I'd signalled my arousal at her supremacy in the most shameful and obvious way possible.

    'You're half decent with your tongue' she whispered. I didn't know. I had never given her head before. I had never done much that was adequately intimate. Really, I felt a fucking lemon. 'But I don't want your cock any more…..understood?'

    My wife didn't wait for my response to that. She shook her auburn hair and took up her jeans again, pulling them on and then zipping up the boots. I watched her seat herself on the dresser stool and start to apply lipstick. I watched her squirt perfume onto the pulse points of her wrists. A myriad urgent questions surged up inside my head, but I was like road kill on that bed. It was as if I couldn't move until she told me to.

    'I will be back around eight tonight….if you would cook dinner for then' she said curtly, and then, 'please don't phone or text me, I don't want to be disturbed.'

    Lucien picked her up in his Porsche targa twenty minutes later. He didn't come in. Clara didn't explain what she was doing. I watched him kiss her, get the car door as she slipped into the passenger seat, and then they were gone.

    I sat on that bed and thought in a panic. The thoughts, they came tumbling forward, like shoppers when the sales doors open. Christ, had she been seeing him for some time? No. He was new at work. This was instant chemistry. Had she decided to leave me? Don't be stupid, this was one night, just one night. The questions, they were stupid, frantically stupid. But this had hit me like a juggernaut. I was spinning around, trying to make sense of it. The sheer fact that she had slept with him was bad enough, without warning, but then she had as well come home and taunted me. Lucien said that I would probably lick her out. It was like she was inducted into some arcane knowledge, in an instant, as if he had shot it up her vein with an hypodermic. I tried to breath. I tried to slow my breathing and I struggled. How could Clara have done this? How could she do it so instantly? I cried. I tried not to, but the tears welled up anyway and they streamed without hindrance down my red cheeks. The windows, the room, it blurred, it all blurred.

    May be it was a week or more before Clara actually spoke to me about what was happening. May be it was longer. She just came and went as was her wont and as was Lucien's need. Whatever Lucien wanted, she did. I remember staring at him at work, eyes narrowed and he quietly told me 'to shut the fuck up' as if I had said something. The inference was that my life could become a misery if I tried to interfere. Each evening, Lucien dropped by and Clara dressed for him. No commentary, no explanation, no apology. Then, at last, at long last, some words.

    'You've been very good, ' she started diplomatically, 'Lucien said that you've been well behaved at work too.'

    I felt like swearing but instead I nodded.

    'You can't stop this, I won't let you. If you make a fuss then you will have to go' she said firmly.

    'Please….no!' My voice caught. I couldn't bear the thought of her leaving. You know, you know so well, i was just learning.

    She paused, her eyes searching my face.

    'Alright then….but you must move your things to the guest bedroom' she said crisply.

    I gasped. The air dry in my throat. I croaked the words, the only words possible right then.

    'Any terms…honest, any terms'.

    'You will lick, only Lucien fucks, understood?'

    It was like someone cast a heavy blanket over my head. Like I couldn't move, or breath. Like the air was heating quick time and I panicked for any last gasp.

    'This is just how it is Martin….these are my terms'.

    I nodded. As if to prove it, I looked beneath the dining table where we both sat. Clara was wearing a tartan pleated mini skirt. She moved the chair around and glanced across at me again. I was meant to do it now. I was meant to prove my fealty to her rule. There was a look of surprise, but then affirmation too as I slipped down onto my knees. It was like, OK, he will do this. He will do anything. You rule him with your cunt. His whispers, his imaginary whispers filled the room like they were a support at her elbow, every step of the way.

    I started to ease her skirt hem up with my fingers but was ordered to place my hands behind my back. I was to nuzzle with my face, like a dog. She eased forward, splaying her legs a little till her bare and wet sex peeped at me. Her peachy wet cunt was framed by her luxuriant curling pubic hairs, her button prominent from the hard usage it now knew. I felt physically sick. Not because I didn't want to lick her. I wanted any gift she granted! No, it was the giddy descent that this all represented. It was the shaming licking at her lap like a dog thing that twisted my insides. I licked her sex, smelled her body scent and teased upwards with my tongue tip. She sighed softly. I felt her fingers twist into my hair. There, this was settled then. Martin was going to treat her as his mistress. She was going to always and everywhere be Lucien's to fuck. Why? Well, now, through chemistry, through the dark night kind of magic, she was too good for me. My cock, it was pointless.

    'I like you doing that, I won't get rid of you provided you lick like a good boy when I tell you' she breathed huskily.

    'Thank you' I managed, my tongue dancing against her gently moving body.

    'Send Lucien an email…..copy it to me….thank him for taking me off you. I want to see it….' she groaned.

    'Yes Miss' I whispered. Take her off me? I shivered. But I guessed. I guessed what she really meant, take her off me as a man. I wasn't a man anymore, well….was I?

    ' I like this….I like putting you down' she moaned more deeply now.

    I flicked my tongue to her clitty. It was bullet hard, swollen immensely, glistening and wet.

    'Women chose….it's inevitable, we are meant to chose, to judge' she groaned.

    I suckled her clitty. She gasped.

    'It's instinct….I want Lucien not you….it's instinct' her voice caught as she fought for her breath too. 'Show him that you submit, show him, I want him to fuck me in front of you'.

    Clara was groaning and grinding against me now. I felt her nails dig deep into my scalp and I winced. I felt her body bucking against my face.

    'Fucking well lick it, worship what he fucks. Worship what he owns!' she snarled.

    I licked with each grinding contact. I drank down her squirting liquids and felt her thighs rhythmically clenching against my head. Had she twisted now she could have taken my head off. Her spasms racked through her thighs, her muscles, tensing, tensing against me. The surge of desire, the weltering urgent need to buck consumed her and my mouth followed her violent path. Gasping, grunting, ecstatically as the sensations and the thoughts propelled her. A quick breath, i caught it. Then…..at last…..at long last…..the grinding subsided.

    'Good boy…..that's a good boy…..you're such a good boy…' she soothed and ran her fingers softly through my hair.

    I licked delicately. Snuffling, sniffing her perfume, licking up what she would let me for afterwards her sex was super sensitive.

    'It's always been this way….always Martin….' she managed, enjoying the softer, the gentler tonguing now. 'Women judge men, coupling with the best, subduing or discarding the weakest….'

    A litany. From the cave. Form the cave of our genes. From the cave where only the light of a fire revealed the hard coupling of the alphas whilst the weak looked on.

    'You don't want me to get rid of you do you Martin?' she asked and gently held up my wet face, lifting my chin on her manicured fingers.

    'Please…no Miss' I whispered. It was like I was back at school. But no, the camp fire flickered. I was some place way back before then.

    'So you'll do everything that I tell you too?' her lovely cornflower blue eyes quizzed me. She stroked back the matted hair from my face.

    'Yes Miss'. I gulped down a breath. I hated it. No breath. Stop breathing. Crawl away some place, crawl away now. Into the shadows. Away from the fire, near the cave entrance.

    'And everything that Lucien tells you to as well?'

    I wet myself. With wee. I wet myself. It was that terrible.

    'Yes Miss' I answered, my heart racing, my pants wet, wet, wet….

    'OK, you may go and get cleaned up now' she said sweetly. Was there a pat on the head? No. But the words felt like one. They felt like one.

    I went, washed and changed my clothing. I stood in the shower and wept. Yet, and it makes me shudder still, how right this seemed. How right it was that the woman who brushed her lustrous hair now and took a call from her lover, confirming that I was being 'a sweetie' should have this degree of control. I needed to wank. I needed to wank bad and this time, this time, I glimpsed how natural it was. What had confused me at that party didn't confuse me now. I started to tug at my cock. I tugged on it hard and grunted.

    'Martin?' a soft female voice from outside.

    'Yes Miss' I responded against the noise of the shower.

    'Are you pulling your winky?'

    A moment's silence. A terrible moment.

    'Yes Miss' in my best caught scrumping apples voice. Christ, the shame of it.

    'Well please don't, not unless I tell you to, understood?'

    I clench my fingers tight and nearly throttled my modest erection. The pain inside, the knotting pain.

    'yes Miss'

    Another brief silence.

    'You do want to lick pussy again don't you?'

    'Yes Miss'

    'Well you must do as you're told Martin, there's a good boy'.

    High heeled foot steps on the wooden floor. By the time I am out of the shower and peep through the curtains of the bedroom window, i can see her getting into his Porsche again. I can't stop myself. I masturbate….hard.
     
  2. SissyHub

    SissyHub Member Member

    Great story, as always.
     
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