An Unfaithful Wife



8/13


"I'm a man!" I said.  But it lacked conviction.  What could I call
a man who takes Jerry into his mouth and his rear even when he
knows that Jerry's balling his wife?  

"Oh?  Then why should it matter to you if anyone knows you're
wearing lipstick?  Or what they think?  It's what I think that
matters!  And I think you're the dearest person in the whole world,
whether or not you're wearing lipstick!"  She kissed me gently. 
"Mmmmm!" she said.  "Especially when you're wearing lipstick.  You
look scrumptious!  Let's go to bed, shall we?  It's been a long
day."

I wasn't quite ready.  "You were in this Jason's hotel room?" I
asked as casually as I could.  I couldn't let it go.  "Alone?"

She stared at me.  "Of course.  I go to different places with
different men.  And I wasn't 'alone,' honey.  I was with Jason. 
Very much so.  We had a few drinks at the bar and talked through
dinner and then went to his room to explore each other's needs
without being distracted.  We did finish up by signing some
papers." 

I began to think I'd made a fool of myself again.  Cassie began to
grin, and her voice took on a langorous, teasing lilt.  She was on
a roll.  "Just think about it, baby.  Jason was a world class
bodybuilder, did you know that?  There we were in this luxurious
hotel room, this gorgeously built man and me, feeling each other
out.  I raised issues with him, and he took various positions
before we agreed on the right ones.  Then finally his partner came
because we needed a witness for some things, and he co-signed. 
Then I called to tell you I was about to come!"

She began to twirl herself around the room, her diamond pendants
swinging from her ear lobes, her eyes still fixed on mine,
chanting,  "Oh, darling, just imagine!  Jason and I did things
together I've never done with anyone, not even with you!  I mean,
sure, we discussed patents, and contracts, and wage packages, that
kind of thing."  Then her voice got dreamy.  "But we also talked
about rates of growth, and optimal sizes for filling existing
capacities.  I showed him a demand curve, and he countered with a
theory of reciprocating slippage.  We found we're really a good
fit!"

I was by now once again ecstatically anguished, rock hard!  Cassie
saw, and smiled, and came over, and stroked my penis gently.  "Oh,
honey," she crooned.  "How do you imagine a man and a woman spend
their time when they've had a few drinks and finally find
themselves alone in a hotel room."

I couldn't say anything.  The sweet tension was unbearable.  I just
had to trust her, that's all.  But I asked anyhow, "Did you?  Did
you ...?"

She kissed me with her hand still on my cock.  Her wet lips rubbed
against mine.  She then clasped my neck with both arms and rubbed
her whole body against me, against my strident erection.  Then
still writhing, she resumed.

"He's very handsome, honey.  A hunk, that's how he got started in
sporting goods.  Tall and strong, O my yes.  Much bigger and
stronger than you.  He has all sorts of muscles rippling under his
shirt.  He insisted on showing me."  She paused for the longest
time, as if remembering.

"And?" I said.  I couldn't bear it, these confessions of my worst
fears.  This helplessness.  Not that I didn't deserve it.  I
shouldn't have been so suspicious!  But it was anguish.  She kissed
me again.  

"Ah, honey," she whispered seductively.  "Don't you love where you
are now?  Don't you?  There's that strange sweetness in your tummy
because you're powerless, I can go anywhere I want and do anything
I want with other men, and you won't ever even know.  Doesn't your
penis drool at that thought, the way my pussy does?  Isn't it eager
for that to happen?  Oh, yes, there you are, so rock hard yet so
impotent!  So huge and yet so helpless!"   

She'd never teased me this openly before.  She was mocking me! 
There was a demon in her!  What was she doing?

She reached back down and stroked me some more.  My cock was now
fully engorged.  Bursting!  "Mmmmm!"  she said.  "Are you wondering
what Jason's prick is like, compared with yours?  Do you want to
know if I found out?"  She looked me straight in the eye and asked,
"Do you hope I found out?  You do, don't you?"

Why was she playing games with me?  Well, I wouldn't play.  I had
to trust her.  I tried to swallow and finally managed it, and then
said only "No, honey.  If you know, don't tell me.  I need to
believe you're true to me.  I trust you.  I love you.  Let's go to
bed."  And I kissed her.  

"I love you too!" was what she replied.  Whether she was
disappointed or reassured that I wouldn't play I couldn't tell. 
"You know that's why I torment you!"  

But that told me nothing about Jason.  The old Biblical saying came
to me from Sunday School, "faith is the knowledge of things hoped
for, the evidence of things not seen."  Or was it the other way
around?  I'd never before understood it.  But that was where I now
had to live.  

And meanwhile my boner stayed hard.  I sat on the bed to wait for
it to go down before changing into my nightshirt.  And as I sat
there, Cassie slowly, seductively took off her earrings and her
dress and put them away.  Then her slip.  When finally she was
wearing only her matching bra and panties she paused and posed the
way women do when presenting their figures, and looked at herself
in the mirror.  "I'm getting a little tummy," she said half to
herself.  "I'll have to give up a few business lunches, or else get
more exercise.  These undies feel a little snug.  There was a time
when they fit perfectly."  

She looked up at me with a trace of shyness yet also calculation. 
"Remember how they fit when you first saw these, honey?  On our
wedding night?  White, because I wanted to seduce you with my
sultry, virginal innocence.  So I made sure I was all white and
satiny and lacey and low-scooped?  I did seduce you, too.  You went
wild!"

"Yes," I said.  "I remember.  And I've never not been seduced by
you ever since."  

She smiled at the compliment, but even so just stood there waiting
for me to say more.  I sensed that she'd cued me and I hadn't
picked up on it.  I held silent.  She rotated her hips fetchingly,
then her chest, and just waited.  

Suddenly I felt what she wanted me to feel.  Jealousy.  And asked
what she wanted to hear.  "Honey, why did you wear that bra and
panty set today?  Why your bridal lingerie.  Our lingerie.  For a
business meeting?  Did you plan to seduce Jason the way you seduced
me?"

"'Our lingerie' you call it?  What a wonderful idea!  Yes, you can
share it with me.  I'd love for you to wear my bras and panties any
time you like!  We'd feel that much closer.  Will you?"   

She was staring at me now with that look of intent concern she had
when talking to clients.  I said nothing.  

"You'd drive Jerry wild the way I drove you wild.  You know, you
should dress more suitably for him, now that you want him to use
you like a girl."  She waited a moment more, then added, "As for
your question, yes, I did.  I certainly did."   

Now I was going crazy.  "Did what?"

"Plan to seduce Jason, sweetheart."  

I just stared back.  My mind was blanked out, shocked.  My cock was
now so hard it ached! 

She glanced at it, then suddenly grinned and again broke her pose. 
"I wear this bra and panty set whenever I need special confidence,
baby, whenever I need to feel from my skin on out that whatever won
me the love of the dearest man I have ever known can win me
whatever else I want too.  These my are my deal-closing,
contract-signing bra and panties.  Whenever I wear them, I'm Wonder
Woman, I feel I can do anything.  And I can!  Look what I'm doing
to you right now!  I planned to seduce you immediately after
returning home!  And I am!"  

She wriggled again, then unhooked her bra and slipped out of her
panties.  I glimpsed her perfect breasts as she turned and went to
her drawer and took out one of her babydolls, a shorty she slipped
into that ended in a cloud of lacy fluff floating just above her
bush.  She briefly dangled from one finger the matching sleep-panty
that went with it, then put it back.  I knew what that meant.  I
was sure my prick would explode, it was by now so distended.

But that was my body's eagerness.  My mind was still feeling fucked
over.  She'd all but told me that she'd had sex with that 'Jason,'
but she hadn't told me anything.  Could I ask her again right out
'Did you fuck that man?'  No, I couldn't.  She's faithful to me,
and that's that.  Whether she is or not.  She does love me more
than anyone else in the world, I did believe that.

But she'd been arousing me and my jealousy both for months. 
Because she knows it threatens my masculinity, and that puts her in
control of my sexual self-esteem.  That then I need to please her,
to submit to her.  And that need's now something of an addiction,
I get off on it and I can't do without it.  

Then, because she loves me, she wants me to enjoy my jealous
rapture to the full.  So she makes me even less of a man in my own
eyes.  She habituates me to girlhood in the service of Mr. D and
Jerry, and to bodily moves that persuade everyone we know that I'm
gay and she's at liberty.  She implies she's had sex with lots of
other men, even while I'm eating her out, and she denies nothing
and confirms everything, yet nothing.  All that drives me wild,
into a frenzied, passionate anguish, and she knows it.  That's why
she does it.

And now she wants to undermine my masculinity still further.  With
my unwitting collusion she told her new client -- maybe also sex
partner -- that I wear lipstick and eye shadow and have a boy
friend named Jerry.  Now she's suggesting I wear her underwear too. 
All to increase my conviction that I'm helplessly unworthy of her,
so I can wallow in the bliss of believing not only that I'm a
ridiculous cuckold but that I'm an effeminate clown who deserves to
be cuckolded. 

I felt utterly twisted.  My suspicions were as rampant as ever, and
so was my cock!   Worst of all, now I did wonder what it was like,
wearing her bra and panties.  Would I feel myself even less of a
man?  If so, more of a woman?  More respectable as a woman?  More
a fit temptress for Jerry?

Now Cassie was sitting at her dressing table with her breasts
poking out perky under her fringed babydoll, her nipples as aroused
as my penis.  What was exciting her?  She glanced over at me, her
face as beautiful and blank as a model's, and then said, "Lover,
come here and sit beside me now, will you?"  

I just sat there on the bed.  She sat quietly and watched me.

Then she said in an intense whisper, "You want to believe that
you're no longer man enough for me, no longer a man at all.  That
I now find other men more satisfying?  You want to believe that. 
We both know it.  Say so right now.  It's true, isn't it?"  

She looked at me impassively, waiting for a signal.  Finally I
nodded.   

"Say it!"

"I want to believe I don't satisfy you, I'm not worthy, other men
are!  Oh, God!"

"Well, go with it, honey!  Believe it!  Look what it does for you! 
Look at that erection!"  

I glanced at my rigid cock.  She saw my eyes move and a slight
smile crossed her face.  Her body relaxed and her voice changed. 
She'd won.  What she'd won or how was beyond me.  In a kindly,
matter-of-fact voice, as if she were explaining a third grade
homework assignment, she said, "Some men love getting whipped. 
Some love getting tied up and tortured.  You love this kind of
torture!  It's hell, and despite that, because of that, it's heaven
too, isn't it!"

"I ... it's ...."  I couldn't go on.

"Now is the moment, sweety.  I'm going to be absolutely honest, and
you need to be honest too.  I want you to accept what's happening
to you.  All of it.  Trust me.  I could never whip anyone, but I
must torture you this way.  You know why.  Do what I ask and you'll
endure the torments of the damned, but also the joys of paradise. 
You'll blow your mind.  You'll be mine forever and I'll be yours,
and we'll be bound together for all time."  

I tried one more time.  "Cassie, I just want to know ...."

"No, you don't, honey.  You don't want to know.  Not now.  You
aren't yet quite enough in love with your own humiliation to really
want to know.  Not yet.  So come here, sweetie?  Please?  Sit down
next to me?   Never mind that nightshirt, we're done with things
like that.  Sit here."

She waited.  This was somehow a moment of truth.  It was as if our
whole relationship, our marriage was at stake.  "If not now,
never," she added.  "But also, after now there's no going back." 
Did I detect a hint of sadness in that last statement?  Of defiant
warning?

I couldn't force a crisis.  Not now.  

I sat down naked at her dressing table alongside my beloved wife in
her cute babydoll.  We stared at each other in the mirror
immediately in front of us, me worried, Cassie expressionless.  Yet
-- I could see from the slope of her shoulders -- relieved.  

"You see?  You're still wearing lipstick.  It's almost as fresh as
this morning.  And it does change your look.  Touch up your hairdo
a little more, and you'll be a girl."

"So I see," I said.  "Should I be?" I asked her beautiful
reflection in the mirror.  I was thinking instinctively, fearfully,
that whatever was about to happen, I should stall it with talk.

She looked at my reflection.  "You tell me, honey.  I've wanted you
to think you're inadequate as a real man, blissfully inadequate,
and that's meant you've had to go either gay or a girl in your
self-image.  You've tried out both for months now, with me and with
Mr. D and with Jerry and by yourself.  And pretty much decided that
you'd rather be a girl than a femme gay -- a musclebound leather
gay was never an option for you, was it.  Am I wrong?  If I'm
wrong, it's not too late to push you the other way.  But you need
now to commit, so we can move forward.  Which is it?"

I tried to back off.  "Mostly, I'm neither.  I'm me.  But of the
two, yes, I feel more natural as a girl than a queer.  Now, which
of these is the cream I need to remove this lipstick?"

"I'll show you, honey.  In good time.  But first I want you to see
something else.  Just how pretty a girl you can be.  You got angry
when I called you pretty on the phone, but there's no shame in
being pretty.  It's an achievement!  You'll look even prettier when
you do a few of the things I do to be pretty.  You'll get less
self-conscious about it, because it'll feel natural to you,
perfectly every day.  The way I feel every day.  Here, let me try
a little eye make-up on you to go with that lipstick."

"Honey, I'm a man.  I don't need to be pretty."

"Sweetie, you aren't a man.  Not any longer.  You don't do any of
the things men do.  You don't walk the way men walk.  You don't
fill your mind with manly things, and you don't hang out with the
guys.  A large part of every day you do girl things.  You suck
cocks and you spread your legs to get fucked, and you love both,
I've seen it!  And you're already pretty.  You need to make
yourself prettier, that's all.  Because in about ten minutes, maybe
less time than that, I want the prettiest person I know to make
love to me.  Passionate, devoted love!  Wonderful, tender love!  I
want you to be that person!"

I was hard as iron pipe.  "Not the handsomest person?"

She averted her eyes from my eyes as reflected in the mirror,
glancing down for a moment, then back up again to stare at me
wordlessly.  I got the message.  I was not the handsomest person
she knew.

I couldn't help saying it.  "Maybe Jason's more handsome?"

"Handsome isn't why I married you and love you so utterly,
sweetheart.  It's other things.  But I am glad you're worried about
Jason.  I'm glad for you because that kind of rivalry must be
incredibly arousing for you.  You're right though -- handsome
doesn't begin to describe Jason.  You're no match at all.  So don't
try.  Just be the best you can be!  Be pretty!  What I want now is
for someone pretty to make love to me."

"I'm ready now!" blurted out of me in a kind of growl.

"Oh, I can see that.  Just look at it, that penis is so desperate,
the poor thing.  But tonight it won't get its wish.  Not tonight. 
Tonight it will yearn to sink itself into me in vain.  Tonight it
will learn the supreme joys of sacrificing itself and its manly
pleasures to womanly pleasure.  Tonight you and I will make the
kinds of love that only women can make."

I thought I understood what she meant.  Reciprocal mouthing. 
Sixty-nining.  We'd done it sometimes, and I loved it.  Me licking,
kissing, fondling her on her neck, her breasts, her thighs, her
sweet clit, and finally thrusting my tongue deep into her slit as
far as possible.  While she did the same for me, and sucked my
cock.  The two of us wrapped blissfully in each other.  

That was how we'd made love before, when she was in an odd mood and
didn't want me to push myself into her and then pound my belly on
hers.  We'd do everything but fuck.  Fantastic!

"Honey," I said mildly.  "I'll love making love to you that way. 
We've done it.  I'll kiss and lick your pussy as I always do, and
you'll just lie back and enjoy it.  You know I love to do that."

"Honey, I want something a little different from those things.  I
want what Jerry's got, a sweet, innocent girl who loves getting
laid and is grateful whenever it happens.  The girl inside you who
looks up to Jerry and tries to please him and then gets frantically
passionate when he responds.  Who gets so lost in her own pleasures
that she loses her mind with him and even forgets where and who she
is.  I want her to love me the same way, as an act of adoration, of
worship.  Of joy!"

That was a very different mind space.  Whenever I'd made womanly
love to Cassie before I was nevertheless a man, a husband stroking
her affectionately, kissing her romantically, and providing all the
sultry oral sex she could stand.  But Jerry's massive cock was so
intimidating, so overwhelming that my own manhood never survived
it.  On my knees in front of Jerry, looking up as his benign eyes
looked down at me,  I became a young girl fervent to fulfill her
sexual dreams with an incredible man.  I'd placate Jerry by first
sucking his thing and then lecherously opening my ass wide to it,
and I'd gloat how none of the other girls had a man like this, and
I'd think myself privileged.  I'd die for his approval.  And in
return Jerry would pump my body and my mind mad with delight.  

Could I subordinate myself to Cassie the same way, as if to a
superior being?  Look up to her and serve her faithfully,
devotedly, gratefully, blissed out by the touch of her hand?

Cassie seemed amused to read those thoughts in my face.  "That's
right, sweetheart," she said.  "I want to make you pretty so we can
be two women together, you pleasing me while I lie back like a
princess!  I dream of it sometimes, my lovely darling kissing my
pussy passionately while I finger hers.  You're almost there.  Your
hair's naturally curly -- we'll just fluff it up instead of
brushing it back, and it'll be gorgeously girly.  And you're
already wearing lipstick.  A little eye shadow and mascara and
you're perfect.  Perfect!  I want to see your dark, soulful eyes
looking up at me from my crotch when I look down at you.  Your
woman's eyes.  I want to make love to you as if to a lovely young
woman, my feminine self, my soul mate!"

Why didn't she want my masculinity?  Because she'd gotten all she
wanted from Jason earlier?  Because I don't measure?  To remove me
altogether from competition?  Maybe.  I hoped not.  Maybe only for
that other reason she once hinted, to try having sex with a woman,
or at least with someone who looks like one?  

Maybe that's why she'd kept alluding to it when we'd discussed my
guilty secrets?  Because that's one of her guilty secrets?  She's
a little bit bi-sexual, or bi-curious?  Partially lesbian?  Maybe
I've been looking in the wrong direction for my rival?  Maybe I
should have been fearing not affairs with men but with women?   

I do get intensely aroused whenever I imagine her with another man
-- we both know that now.  Is she as much aroused when she imagines
herself with a woman, but she loves me too much to try sex with
anyone but me?  So I need to be the woman?  Is that what's
happening?

Of course! I had to conclude.  This way she can explore her lesbian
desires and yet not disclose them to anyone, not even to me, and
yet also remain faithful to me.  This was heartening.  She wants to
stay faithful to me!

"Say you'll do this for me, honey!  Say you'll be a girl for me! 
Oh, please!"

She'd never asked anything so fervently!  But now that I understand
her, I was thinking, wearing make-up seems so inconsequential. 
What's a little blackening and colored powder on my eyes, all so
she can imagine ... well, whatever she chooses to imagine?  

"Of course I'll be a girl for you, honey," I said a little grandly. 
"If that's what you want, I want you to have it."

"I want it,"  she said, and then without losing a moment more she
reached for some of the little vials in front of her.  "Just sit
still for me."

I closed my eyes and felt a brush slide gently across my eyelids,
then in the hollows just above them.  And moisture encircle each
eye -- liquid eye liner?  And a thin brush sweep my lashes up and
almost open.  "Your mascara, baby," she breathed.  "Oh, you look so
gorgeous!  Don't open your eyes yet, but feel here what you're
already doing to me!"

She took my hand and pulled it over to her bare crotch.  She was
incredibly wet!  Not just moist, wet!  Soaked!  Eyes still closed,
I kissed her mouth, and her lips pursed to kiss me back.  We did
kiss, sweetly, devotedly.  Then she broke off and stood up.

"That's so nice," I said to her.  "And you feel so ... wet!" 

"Yes, I am wet, darling!  It's pussy honey, and it's all for you! 
Oh, come, you precious thing, my baby girl, I must feel your face
down there!  I need you to taste me and eat me and fill your belly
with me!"  She pulled me by my hand all across the room to our bed. 
Then she fell back, her legs over the side, and in the same
movement spread them wide.  

I was now staring directly into her drenched cunt, with its pink,
glistening lips.  Her white thighs were as open to me as the doors
of a church.  I was amazed by her fervor.  "I want you there!  Oh,
do me!  Kiss me there, lover!  Kiss me!"

I knelt between her legs, intending first to lick her clit
delicately, to pay my respects to it, but suddenly both thighs
closed over me and circled my head, pulling my face deep into her
wet snatch.  My nose squeezed into her gash.  I looked up over her
mound, and saw her looking at me down the length of her body with
her teeth clenched and her eyes gleaming!  "Oh, perfect!" she said. 
"Oh, perfect!  Oh, just look at me and keep looking at me, my
darling, my darling girl, oh, lovely, lovely, and kiss me, lick me,
suck me, oh, yes, suck me, yes!  Ooooh!  Aaaaaaaghh!"

And before I'd even pursed my lips or extended my tongue, she'd had
her first orgasm.

Clamped in as I was, I had no choice, not that I would have chosen
to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.  I was her darling
girl lover.  Her devoted admirer.  I stared steadily up at her, and
she looked down at me and smiled, and groaned, and rolled back her
eyeballs and squealed, and threw back her head and cried out "Yes!
Yes!  That's it!  More!  More you sweet creature!"  I tongued and
licked and sucked and kissed her sopping slit, over and over again. 
Never had my mouth excited her like this!  My whole face was
drenched, and with each of her spasms more and more love juice came
out of her, so slick and sweet, the way it always felt and tasted,
and now and then a glop that was thicker and saltier.   Was it ...? 
Was I ...?  Was she ...?

My stomach suddenly knotted up.

My brows must shown something troubled, because as she rose toward
another grand climax she began to shout "Yes, my sweet darling
girl, that's right, that's right, that's what it is if that's what
you think it is, and that's the way it is!  Suck me, suck all these
sweet juices out of me!" 

And her legs clamped vise-like around my neck and mashed my face
into all that slippery slop in her slot.  I sucked and filled my
mouth and swallowed repeatedly, trying to breathe in short gasps as
she shifted her grip on my head!   Then with a tense "Aaaaaaaaah!
and then finally a triumphant "Ahaaah, Ahaaaaaaah!" her pussy
clenched and throbbed and she gushed more into my mouth.  Then no
more.  And then her thighs relaxed, just a little.