Baby It’s Cuckold Outside xxx

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by Lauren McAllister

I guess I’ve always been a bit of a bitch but what choice did I have? I was a real looker, right out of the womb. Cute baby, cute kid, a really interesting adolescent and a world class knock-out babe by the time I got out of high school. Sigh. It’s tough to get a real grasp on reality when everything you’ve ever wanted is just handed to you by guys (and plenty of girls) trying to get into your tight-fitting jeans.

I can remember making boys eat worms for me when I was in Jr. High. They sort of wanted to eat them anyway, I think. I was just a very good looking excuse to chow down on a mouthful of annelids. Large amounts of testosterone makes people do the strangest things. I’m certainly glad I’m not burdened with any. It got to be embarrassing. All I had to do was ask and my would-be swains ran through fountains in their clothes, jumped off balconies and kissed very large dogs. I’m not a complete ogre, though. Anyone who ended up in hospital got a quick flash of the parade floats behind a privacy screen. I didn’t tell them that up front of course, or I’d’ve had half the town hurling themselves in front of minicabs.

Of course, being so beautiful, I dated nothing but the biggest assholes I could find all the way through school. I don’t think I actually slept with anyone who didn’t have a police record until I was 22 and I was really drunk at the time so my judgment was a little off. Alas, when one treads that fine and dangerous line, sometimes one treads right on over it. I got involved with this really hot-looking psychopath. He used to like to handcuff me to his car and fuck me up the ass in State Parks. That certainly had its moments, but when he’d had a face-full, it was time to barricade yourself in the closet. One night, he came home jacked up to the eyeballs while I was having a drink with a girlfriend. The moron burst into the room, slurs out, “Let’s have a threesome.” And jams his hand up Becky’s skirt. Before he got really personal with her, I thought I should probably try and calm things down. I pulled his fingers out of Becky and told him to go sleep it off.

Loverboy slapped me so hard in the tits, I thought he’d torn them off. Things got rather ugly after that. My girlfriend, very sensibly ran home screaming but I hung around for a little while until I lost consciousness. Our relationship soured somewhat after that.

By the time the swelling had gone down, Biffo the Wonder Jerk was in jail and I was in no mood for another bad boy in my life or in my vagina. That’s when I met Derek. What a sweet guy! He had a job, didn’t get habitually fucked-up and he treated my like I pissed honey. We’d only been dating a few months when he held up this diamond the size of Sarah Jessica Parker’s nose and asked me to marry him. What could I say? I was swept of my feet and blurted out “Yes!” In no time at all, we lived in a nice house, had nice friends and…I started to feel really bored. What was it about me? Hadn’t I learned my lesson?

Our sex was okay. Derek certainly concentrated his every amorous effort into satisfying me “sur la mattress.” I didn’t make him eat worms, but I did request that he perform some less than masculine sexual maneuvers once in a while. There was this big strap-on. It was leftover from a stormy relationship I had with a crazy biker chick. I used to like doing him with it, making him suck it. Stuff like that. Most of the time though, I settled for the tried-and-true hump-and-bump-until-he-dumps sex.

One night, with my legs spread wide and my loving hubby banging away on my clit with his ever-so-considerate love-stick, I decided to test some stormier libidinous waters. I started to talk dirty in his ear. “Oh baby,” I sighed, oh-so-seductively, “I’d do anything for you. I’d fuck your friends, if you wanted me to.”

I check his reaction. It wasn’t like he came on the spot, but he didn’t pull out and slap me silly either, so I pushed on. “I’d let them stick their filthy dicks right inside my glistening fuck hole for you, baby. You’d be watching them ramming their joints into me while jerking off. Oh God, I’m coming just thinking about it!!!” That was when I faked the biggest orgasm since Meg Ryan’s in “When Harry Met Sally.”

The next night, I dressed in something really sexy and went down on my knees in front of him, in the living room. I purred like some 1960’s sex-kitten as I slowly unzipped his pants. Derek’s head tilted back like a Pez dispenser as I hungrily engulfed his priapic apparatus with my mouth. After a couple of minutes of serious and masterful sucking, I once again proceeded to enhance our love making with impassioned proposals of an indelicate nature. “You know I’d do anything for you, baby. If you wanted me to suck some guy’s cock at a party, while you watched, I’d do it baby. I’d swallow a stranger’s cum for you, because my mouth is yours to do anything you want with.” Let’s just say my aural enticements didn’t instantly send great big gobs of his man-goo down my throat.

For the next couple of weeks, I’d pepper our suck-and-fuck sessions with talk of my total-bodily devotion to him. He remained mostly mute as I regaled him with graphic depictions of scenes of utter copulatory depravity with men not named Derek, but he did experience some fairly substantial squirts in my upper and lower portals during these minor forays into fantasy cuckold-land. Of course, I’d pretend to explode in climaxes of almost fatal proportions as I weaved my sordid tales of carnal subservience.

A few days later, we were attending this awful party for this awful friend of his when I decided to push the experiment to the next level. There was this youngish guy, nursing some trendy drink, who was really giving me the eye. He knew perfectly well that I was married to another attendee but that didn’t seem phase him one jot so I toddled over to say hi. It didn’t take much more than a few seconds of less-than-riveting conversation with “Mark” to realize that he was just some handsome-but-empty, self-centered jerk. He was perfect. I flirted with him and he stared at my tits like they were the last bottle of Guinness at an Irish wake. At some point, Derek came over to me with a glass of white wine. He was such a dear. “Baby, this is Mark,” I informed him, taking my drink. “Can you come with us into one of the bedrooms; I need you to watch the door for us.”

“The door?” he queried.

“That’s so sweet of you, baby.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Come on you two.” I smiled meaningfully and pulled on Mr. Jerk’s tie. Unlike my clueless beloved, he knew exactly what was going on and followed like a dog that was just about to get his bone licked. Within seconds I had negotiated our way through the vapid crowd and found a comfy little retreat where I could get to know my new friend a little better. No sooner had Derek closed the door than I had my tongue down Mark’s throat and my left leg wrapped around his thigh. I could hear my hubby shuffling his feet uncomfortably behind me but he didn’t say anything. Mark already had his hand up my blouse and was massaging my shamelessly engorged nipples through my bra. Waves of sexual yummy were rising up through my abdomen from my very wet candy machine. I was very anxious to see how this was all going to play out as I brazenly ground my quivering lunch bucket into his upper leg. It was time to get this penis-party started before I came all over his 500 dollar slacks. I bit Mark’s lip gently and slowly slid down his front till I was on my knees, face to face with his zipper-straining bulge. Derek just stood there like an unhappy mannequin as I nibbled my way up and down the length of Mark’s trouser-cannon. Zip. Zip. It was out, rock hard and in my hand. I rubbed it lovingly for a few seconds before I glanced over at my hubby and smiled. “Mmmm, look what I have, baby.” Before Derek had time to beg me to stop, I dropped my warm, wet mouth down upon Mark’s purple head and kneaded the underside of his shaft with my tongue. I looked over at my beloved several times as I pumped Mark’s glistening schlong into the back of my throat.

“I’m getting really hot. Hold my hair back, will you baby?” Could anything be more humiliating? I felt him gently grasp my hair and pull it away from my face. Now he could feel my every head thrust on this other guy’s dong. I moaned orgasmically, and quickened my pace to further drive home how much this was turning me on. Mark started to huff and puff like Thomas the Tank Engine, climbing a big hill. Things were about to get very sticky. I quickly pulled his insanely rigid rod out of my windpipe, and began to jerk it while licking the underside of his balls. Swallowing this load was out of the question. I was dying to see Derek’s reaction as another man shot cum all over his wife’s face. I didn’t need to wait long. Blam! Big flying puddles of penis-pudding rapid fired out of Mark’s manhood and coated my cheeks and lips. Jism shrapnel landed on my eyebrows and forehead. It dripped off the end of my nose. I have a feeling that it had been awhile for this guy, by the sheer volume of cock cream he produced. Mark was pretty well done with me after that. He wiped the last bit of semen, leaking out of his boy-barrel, onto my lower lip and plopped it back into his pants.

“Thanks man,” he said to a speechless Derek. “You’ve got a really hot wife there.” Mark marched out of the room in search of a new trendy drink, leaving me to clean up his mess. Isn’t that just like a man?

All the way home in the car, I was as lovely-dovey as can be. I rubbed Derek’s crotch while he was driving and cooed in his ear. “You are the absolute best, baby. You know I’d suck any cock you wanted, if you asked me to. Did you see all that cum? I think he like it, don’t you?” Derek was pretty upset, but I managed to get him hard despite himself. When we got home, I mounted his jolly jumper in the apartment parking lot and fucked him in front of a shocked older couple coming home from late-night grocery shopping.

I left things as they were for a couple of weeks but made sure to give him the best sex of his life. Eventually the moping stopped and things returned to normal. That’s when I started to salt his sausage soakings with sordid scenarios of sexual intemperance. I’d wait until he was good and inside me and then I’d sigh. “Fuck me baby. You know I’d do anything for you, sweetie. God, you’re so big. You know I’d sleep with your friends if you wanted me to. I could be the prize at one of your poker games. The winner of a pot could have me suck him off, right there at the table. I’d suck him for you, baby. You could have them over for a football game, if you’d like. I could serve them drinks and snacks naked and at halftime they could all line up to pump their cum into me. That’s how much I love you.” Followed by an ear-splitting fake orgasm.

You get the idea. My sagas of unspeakable indecency got more unspeakable and indecent at the weeks rolled by. At some point, I switched from his friends to my co-workers. There was this asshole at work who was always hitting on me. I admit it. I’d get a little of that bad-boy tingle up under my skirt whenever he’d “accidentally” brush up against me or make one of his lurid double entendres while staring down my top.

One night I invited Josh over for some dinner and told him to bring a change of clothes. I told him that my husband would be there but that in no way diminished the about-to-get-fucked sparkle in his eye. What a festering shitbag.

When I got home, I immediately jumped into the shower, after telling Derek that we were having a “special” guest over. “A really cute guy from work.”
I let that simmer in his brain while I shaved everything up for entertaining. Josh arrived at eight. He didn’t have flowers or a bottle of wine, just an overnight bag and a smirk you so wanted to slap off his face.

“This is Josh, baby,” I told Derek as I playfully gave our guest’s crotch a gentle squeeze. Hubby was, once again, silent.

We had a quick and very uncomfortable bite to eat and then I got up and soul kissed Josh while straddling him on his chair. I turned my head and casually glanced down to the other end of the table. “We’re going into the bedroom now, baby. Why don’t come in and bring us a beer in about a half an hour?” And we were gone.

Josh made sure to leave the door wide open as we entered the room. He seemed to take a sadistic delight in causing my husband as much pain and humiliation as possible. “Am I so very different?” I wondered and I unzipped his fly. His pants were down around his ankles and I was down around his doodle-wanger in seconds. I hungrily scooped it up onto my tongue while glancing sideways at the sad shadow on the other side of the doorway. Somehow, it made that forbidden dick taste all the sweeter. I made obscene moaning noises and sloppy slurps just for effect, occasionally pushing his head far to the back of my throat so I would emit choking noises. Pretty soon, it was flat on the bed with my legs spread wide as he impatiently pushed his way into my wet hole with his throbby-knobby. How I love that moment of vaginal muscular collapse when all propriety is surrendered to unseemly
unmitigated desire and the evil man-shaft breaks through and slides up inside me like a ravenous demonic snake demanding salacious satiation and death. And boy, did he ram it into me. The bed slammed hard against the wall with each powerful thrust. My breasts were banging around like buoys in a hurricane. You reach a certain juncture in sex where the man is totally alone in the room. It is just him and the end of his dick as he thrashes it about in a desperate primal battle to disgorge his mung. It is in this rising concupiscent crescendo of fervent cock-walloping that my fornicatory fires are truly ignited. I came three times before he eventually grunted and poured his steamy essence deep into the epicenter of my womanhood. Josh lay there for a couple of seconds and then pulled it out, flipped over on his back and yelled, “Hey old man, how about those beers?”

What and ungracious fuckhead.

Dear sweet Derek brought two Rolling Rocks in on a tray. Mr. Grateful grabbed a cold one (not even bothering to hand me the other) and gleefully smirked at my poor cuckold with a repulsive, self-satisfied look. “Hey man, I got to hand it to you. Your wife is one great fucking lay. She’s got a cunt like a fucking dick-milking machine.’ He looked around the bedroom like he now owned it. “Yep, I may make this place a regular drop-in spot.”

Again he beamed that sickly condescending smile. Derek stood there for a moment, very silent. I could hear the Rolling Rock bottle on the tray rattle as he began to shake. Then his face darkened into this terrifying shade of purple. I’d never seen him like that. It looked like he was about to explode. Loverboy stopped smiling right about then. A roar blasted from Derek’s throat. The tray smashed to the ground as he grabbed Josh around the neck and squeezed and squeezed with superhuman force. I tried to pull him off but it was useless. After a couple of minutes, the struggling stopped. Josh was obviously dead. Derek didn’t seem to notice. He just kept squeezing him, harder and harder. I began to talk to him very slowly and calmly. I didn’t really know if I was going to be next.

“Baby…baby, you can let him go now sweetie. It’s all over.”

I could see the rage start to dissipate and the gentle man I knew start to return. A look of shocked horror erupted on his face as he realized what he’d done. He let go of Josh’s neck like it was a molten-hot stovepipe and burst into tears. He was inconsolable. I got down on the floor and wrapped my arms around him. This was a very tough jam and I needed to come to the aid of my husband.

“Everything is going to be okay, baby. Just do what I say and everything is going to turn out fine.”

He was still weeping in a fetal position while I put my clothes back on. I had to keep my calm and take control. It was our only hope. Derek was distraught but followed my orders to the tea.

We wrapped Josh in plastic, threw him in an old cedar chest and dragged him down to his car. I drove it out to a remote back road with Derek following. We soaked the car in vodka, threw in a pack of cigarettes and set that fucker on fire. We could hear the explosion of the gas tank as we reached the main highway. When we arrived back at the apartment, I left our car out front with the keys still in the ignition. It was gone by morning.

Back in our bedroom, the waves of regret and horror returned even stronger and Derek collapsed in my arms.

“I love you so much. I’m so, so sorry.” He sobbed.

“That’s okay, baby,” I softly whispered as I stroked his head to comfort him. “Maybe you won’t kill the next one.”

I told you I was a bitch.

Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister

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