Reluctant Cuckold by David McManus Read Free Book Online Page A

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    But I reminded myself of the stress of the past week. Being alone had left me idle, restless, stir crazy, whatever. It had simply been a weird day with weird thoughts.
     
    “I’ve been through a lot,” I reminded myself. “Don’t beat yourself up, just put it behind you.”
     
    I went out and picked up groceries and then watched some of the Yankee game.
     
    But that rumor kept creeping back. I thought about how Craig had said he’d done Ashley over the sink.
     
    Jim Murta had taken my wife doggy. Fucking doggy?
     
    Ashley and I had tried that a few times, but on a bed. How would that even work standing up?
     
    I went into the bathroom and leaned over the sink.
     
    Jim Murta was a strapping 6’3’’ guy. I wondered if Ashley had to stand on something or on her tiptoes. What a slutty position to fuck in, something she’d never done with me. That must have been his idea He was asserting his dominance by fucking her that way. She might rank higher at work, but in the confines of this little bathroom, he seemed determined to give Mrs. Ashley Martens an authoritative fucking from behind. I imagined him slapping her toned ass, saying something like, “C’mon Ashley tilt up higher, I want to see that pussy pop out from behind.”
     
    He must have marveled at how easily it all happened as they got synced into rhythm. Less than an hour earlier, he’d been drinking beer with some work buddies, shaking their hands—with me, even.
     
    And now he was having Ashley look at herself in the bathroom mirror, and he could watch Ashley’s fuck-face expressions, as my wife took his cock.
     
    I shook my head. Good God, another erection. But I figured, I’d already done it twice, what was one last time? Ashley wouldn’t be home for a while. And I’d get a grip, return to normal tomorrow.
     
    I grabbed another bikini photo from a vacation album, lay it on the living room sofa and pulled my dick out. I wondered what they’d been doing when I knocked on that bathroom door. Had they already been in the middle of fucking, only pausing while Tamara sent me upstairs?
     
    Had they all known it was me—Ashley’s husband at the door—before Jim had gone on to fuck my wife?
     
    The power-rush he must have felt, getting my wife to submit to his doggy fuck as her husband bumbled away, oblivious, upstairs. Had Jim pointed that out? “You’re getting fucked, Ashley” he might have said, “with your husband right outside.”
     
    “I know, it’s crazy,” she might have said back, as he pumped inside my soul-mate.
     
    Repeat it back to me,” Jim Murta would have said as he bent my wife over the sink like his personal fuck doll, “What are you doing Ashley, tell me?”
     
    “I’m getting fucked, Jim.”
     
    “With your husband right outside.”
     
    “With my husband right outside.”
     
    “Look at yourself, watch yourself in the mirror as you get fucked, and tell me that again.”
     
    “I’m getting fucked … with my husband … right … outside.”
     
    “Again.”
     
    “I’m getting fucked … with my … Oh god… my husband … right … out … side.”
     
    I came hard again.
     
    Then I came back down to earth, big-time.
     
    What the fuck?
     
    Some strange, foreign thoughts had barged through my mind’s front door today. And now I wanted to lock box them all up and throw them off a bridge. But I didn’t want to dwell on or rationalize what I was doing. It had been a crazed, stressful week.
     
    It had happened, and it wouldn’t again. Move on and forget it.
     
****
     
    Ashley startled me an hour later as I came out of the shower. I hadn’t expected her home so soon.
     
    “I know the kitchen’s a mess,” I said, giving her a hug, “I was just about to clean up.”
     
    “It’s OK, how was your day?”
     
    “Pretty good,” I replied. “I got some groceries, did some work stuff, watched the Yankee game. How’s Leah, how was your day?”
     
    “She’s good, we had fun, we