Interview with The Cuckold

Author's Note: Followers may recognize the Randy character from my earlier story, Interview With The Bimbo. This story is completely standalone, sharing only the same narrator.

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When Mary texted me asking if I was free for a call, it was a bit strange. We had messaged on occasion, but I don't think we had spoken once since meeting a few months ago at a party. At the time, I was happy to exchange numbers with her. She seemed interesting, even if any relationship we might build would likely be platonic. Not that she wasn't attractive, but we weren't exactly in the same place in terms of our interests. She struck me as a good Catholic girl who just never rebelled. And me, well... I had broken from conventional attitudes a long time ago. At any rate, I liked chatting with her, so I replied with a 'how about now'?

Thirty seconds later my phone rang.

"Hey Mary, what's up?" I answered.

"Hi Randy... I know this is going to sound weird, but I met someone last night I think you might be interested in talking to."

This was indeed sounding weird. Was Mary trying to set me up with someone?

"Really?" I replied, sounding interested, even if for the wrong reason.

"Yeah, this guy is into the kind of stuff you write about, but I think he's somewhat of a rare bird, from what I understand of the species."

Now I was getting interested for her reason. I had told Mary I was a Literotica author, but I got the impression her awareness of... let's say alternative lifestyles, wasn't all that wide-ranging.

"What species are we talking about, Mary?"

"Cuckolds."

She spoke the word in a muted voice, as if afraid someone would overhear her. I was dumbstruck for a beat, suddenly re-ordering my thing to the possibility that my assessment of Mary might have been off the mark.

"So, you're saying this man you met is a cuckold?"

"Yes, he is. But that's not the interesting part - I mean, the part that might be interesting to you. I remember you told me you like to write about people who are a little different, or unusual for some reason. I did a little research last night, and he seems different from most of the stereotypes I keep finding online."

"Go on..." she had the hook firmly set and I wasn't about to put up a fight.

"Well, aren't... cuckolds... usually rather slight, ineffective men with an obsequious nature?"

"That is the stereotype, along with modestly endowed; but as with all stereotypes, there are exceptions. The world is, after all, a very big place, and it does take all kinds."

"Okay, but what about a 6-foot 3-inch Adonis of lean sculpted muscle with a chiseled jawline, dreamy eyes and a captivating smile that projects confidence?"

"You got me." I confessed. "That does sound like a rare bird. I'd like to hear more. Can we get together and talk soon... maybe grab lunch?"

I wasn't convinced this cuckold would interest me enough to base a story on, but the chance to have a conversation with Mary about the subject was intriguing. We agreed on a diner midway between our workplaces and met up the following day.

After joining Mary in a corner booth and ordering, I couldn't stand it any longer. I leaned across the table and with a conspiratorial half-whisper, said

"Alright, now tell me all about this guy, let's start with his name."

"His name is Eric" she said, and I noted a brief sparkle of something pleasant flitted across her face.

"Eric, okay. And how did you meet?" I asked.

"At a happy hour with some of my workmates. One of them invited him to join and we just started talking."

"So, how does something like that come up in casual conversation. I'm guessing he didn't just come out and volunteer that he was a cuckold."

"Not exactly, but that's actually pretty close." she said, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"Alright, sounds like you've got a story. Care to share it?" I prodded.

"Okay, so a group of us were talking for a while at the same table, and Eric and I just started talking to each other more than the others. People started leaving, and the two of us just found ourselves more-or-less alone, eventually. I guess I noticed it right around the time Eric did, because right out of the blue, he says,

'I'm sorry, I probably should have said something sooner, but whenever I find myself in a situation like this, I'm required to tell you that I have a small penis.'

Well, you can imagine my surprise! Shock, really. For some reason, my first reaction was, what does that mean... 'a situation like this'? A split second later, the reality of the second part hit me. I'm sure my mouth fell open, but that was all I could manage at first. When my brain caught up, I laughed out loud and said,

'Really! Required? Who requires you to tell me that?'

And he says, 'My wife.'

'Wow.' I said. 'Why on earth would she want you to do that?'

And then he launches into this whole diatribe. I can't remember everything he said, but it went something like this...

'Because she says it's wrong to deceive people, trying to pass myself off as a man, like any other. She says when a woman is possessed of physical features that make her sexually undesirable, it's readily apparent to everyone. She can de-emphasize, distract, but she can't completely hide it, try as she might. My wife says it's not fair that guys like me can get away with pretending to be something I'm not, and present myself to others that way. Since societal norms don't allow guys to dress in a way that reveals their endowments, she says they should have to volunteer that information to anyone who takes an interest, to avoid wasting their time.'

I tell him 'Well, that's quite a perspective your wife has, but I'll be the judge of whether I'm wasting my time.'

Then I had to ask about the other part.

'So...' I said, 'how small is small?'

'Disappointingly small. Embarrassingly small.' he answered.

'Oooo... now I wanna see it! Are you allowed to show me?'

He suddenly looked worried, and maybe a little embarrassed.

'I don't know.' he said, 'No one's ever asked.'

'Is your wife here?'

'No.' he says, and now he's looking worried.

'Call her and let me talk to her.'

At that point I had a brief but lovely conversation with Heather, Eric's wife. I was able to obtain her permission to put her husband in touch with you. So, what do you think?"

"I think I'd love to interview Eric. But first, I want to know if you obtained any other permissions from Lady Heather... hmmm?"

Mary's blush told me all I needed to know; she had at least asked the question, revealing an adventurous side I hadn't expected.

"Well, I might have received certain assurances that Eric wouldn't get in trouble if a strange woman 'forced him' to provide proof of his circumstance."

"Mary O'Connell, I'm beginning to think I had you all wrong! Are you a naughty girl?"

Given our relationship to date, it was a preposterous thing for me to say to her, but my playful demeanor helped sell it. It's tough to be mad at a guy who's just trying to play. To my complete surprise though, she blushed so intensely it left no doubt she was genuine. She really was new at this, and she appeared to be pushing some sort of personal boundary.

As the blush drained from her face, she visibly gathered herself and adopted a neutral countenance. I had to accept that I had gone too far, although I knew she had gotten some enjoyment out of it. She just didn't want to admit it that to me.

Mary gave me Eric's contact info, and we enjoyed the rest of our lunch over more trivial conversation. I had no clue how Mary was feeling about what she just shared, but it had me mentally sidetracked enough to forget most of what was said afterward.

Over the next few days, Eric and I traded text messages and agreed to meet up and chat. I made it clear that my interest in him was strictly to obtain writing material. We met in a park I knew well, where there are normally plenty of empty benches scattered along a popular walking/jogging path. I like to choose meet places that are public, with plenty of people around. It's safe and puts everyone at ease. A bench like this was ideal, since the people were all just passing by, and none remained in earshot for more than a few seconds.

After some small talk about the day and the beauty of the park, I launched into a brief explainer on the way I operate, with an emphasis on how my interview subjects retain control over the degree to which I use anything they tell me. There are no forms to sign, but I do what I can to ease any privacy concerns. I want them to feel relaxed enough to share intimate details of their life with a stranger. It takes longer with some than others. With Eric it was quick, so I moved straight to the meat of things.

"So, Eric... the way you revealed yourself to my friend Mary at the bar... is that something you've done before?"

"Yes, I've had to say that several times now to different women, and to one man."

He was so matter-of-fact with his answer, I was skeptical whether he'd be able to open up with me to any meaningful degree.

"Hmmm. And how does that usually play out? I mean, are the reactions usually favorable?"

"They pretty much run the gamut. A couple women took offense, but frankly, most are at least curious. A few have given me their number; and one, my wife even invited to our house to play."

"Is that the ultimate goal? Are you essentially out trolling on your own, looking for potential partners for threesomes?"

"I'm just doing what my wife requires of me. She doesn't explain herself to me and it's not my place to ask."

"Well, she certainly has you well trained. May I ask if she has you in chastity?"

"You may. I have been instructed to cooperate fully with you, so long as I only talk about myself and use common sense about what I divulge."

I found it refreshing to meet a cuckold who retained the ability to fend for himself in social situations, while being so completely submissive to his wife, both inside and outside the bedroom. I was also impressed with a wife who let her cuckold off-leash so confidently, when he was so obviously attractive. He delivered his answer without a trace of embarrassment.

"I am not wearing a cage, and I have only been required to on rare occasions, as punishment."

Since his wife had essentially given me free reign, I tossed aside all diplomacy and asked,

"Are you allowed to masturbate whenever you want?"

He glanced quickly over at me, and I wondered if he was about to get shy on me, when I was distracted by an attractive jogger passing by for her second lap of the long, looping path. I had become increasingly aware of the reactions of the women who passed us while we talked on the bench. Each would look at Eric at least once, and all had a favorable reaction. Of course, those who walked by had the most time to stare, and many of the walkers were up in years. These older women tended to look upon Eric with a wistful appreciation, usually culminating in a smile they might or might not try to hide. The joggers tended to be younger, but their brisk passage didn't preclude the opportunity to glance and register whatever it was that he was projecting. These fit young women displayed varying degrees of positive interest, ranging from approval to downright hunger.

My first impression of Eric had been that he was handsome; inarguably an attractive human being, regardless of one's sexual preference. But there was clearly something about him that I had missed at first glance. He finally overcame the emotions that my highly personal inquiry had stirred up, and delivered his well-considered answer.

"I am only allowed to masturbate in front of my wife, with her permission. She would be highly disappointed with me if I failed her in that regard, so I will not."

It was a simple statement of fact delivered as such, and I didn't doubt it for a moment. In fact, I admired the degree of will-power.

"I notice you never refer to your wife by name, even though you are aware I know her name. Why is that?"

"I would never use that name. Names are for equals, and I'm not her equal, I'm inferior. She doesn't often treat me like one, but I know that's what I am."

"So, what do you call her when you two are alone together?"

He shot another glance at me, and for a moment I became afraid, suddenly aware that this man had 3 inches and 40 pounds on me, not to mention 15 to 20 years.

"I don't feel comfortable talking about my... wife... like that with you."

He had caught himself just before revealing something, and it seemed to close him right up. I needed to get his guard back down, so I asked him about his success with women, noting the obvious attraction I had witnessed on those passing by. Once the topic became strictly him again, he immediately relaxed and launched into a story.

"It started when I was in high school. I went through the worst of puberty over a single summer, so the girls in my grade didn't see me at my most awkward, when my voice was cracking and my face hosted more pimples than I could keep up with. The following fall, I felt like an exchange student in my own school. Sure, everyone still knew who I was, but they all regarded me differently. The few guys I was friends with were still cool, but all the others either regarded me with jealousy or aggression. The girls though, they were all the same. Some were more shy than others, but they all seemed unusually happy to be around me, inviting me to accompany them wherever they went and just generally spend time together. It couldn't help but build my confidence, which in turn made me even more attractive to the girls. After I graduated there were lots of women, and they all seemed to enjoy being with me, even if they all eventually left for... greener pastures. That is, until I met my wife."

I knew that was the end of that story, at least under his current constraints, so I decided to ask about his pre-pubescent years.

"With all that success with women, what made you become a cuckold? Do you think there was anything in the way you were raised that made you want to be submissive with your wife?"

Now the look I got was vulnerable, almost if he were saying, please don't make me talk about that. I held my tongue, letting the silence work on him. I wasn't making him tell, his wife was.

"I was the youngest child of a single mother, who already had three girls. Mom was used to raising girls, so she treated me the same as them. If it would have been just her, I may have ended up being some kind of sissy, I don't know. But growing up with three older sisters made it tough. Kids can be mean, you know? They were bigger than me, stronger. They did things to me..."

He was deep into his memories now, and I didn't wnat to intrude with questions. I just waited until he was ready.

My oldest sister, Becky, was the strongest, and she loved to wrestle me. She'd get me in a humiliating position, force me to surrender. It wasn't long before crying 'uncle' wasn't enough. She'd put me in a headlock and make me do things like smell her armpit, or her stinky shoes. My middle sister, Linda, would tickle me mercilessly. She was relentless, my stomach muscles would often be sore from laughing. But it was my little sister who was the most aggressive. One of her favorite things was to pin me down flat on my back and hover her face over mine, then slowly drool spit onto me, coating my tightly closed lips. Eventually she figured out that if she could make me scream or laugh, she could force my lips to part. Later, after my older sisters went away to college, I was alone with her. She was still older than me by enough to physically dominate me, but by then, I don't think I even resisted her that much. She got me to do things like foot worship. It was all very innocent on her part -- never anything sexual. Still, when I think back to those times, it now seems like there were undertones to it all."

I got the distinct impression there was more to that story, but suspecting there may also be landmines, I backed off. His story was rich, but I was feeling blocked; and most of it was due to the tight grip Heather had on his balls. I wanted to get to know her, maybe learn how she saw into him when no one else did. Plus, I thought, a woman who could engender such devotion in an acolyte must be extraordinary.

I decided to go for broke and push for a joint interview with the two of them. Eric was completely non-committal in reply, promising only to convey my request to his wife.

By the time she agreed and we were able to synch our schedules, I had freed up my brain's short-term memory via keyboard download to my writing/ideas file. With my best accounting of what I'd been told now documented, I was confident that at least a few snippets would eventually find their way into one of my stories. I spent the remainder of the time anticipating the emotional riches waiting to be mined.

It was Heather's stated preference to meet at their place, or as she put it, "her place". It suited me perfectly, once again with an eye toward putting my subjects at ease. When Eric let me in, it felt very normal, like a couple entertaining a new acquaintance. I had mentally prepared myself for anything, up to and including a naked Eric answering the doorbell. I was shown to the living room, where Heather awaited me, comfortably seated. She beckoned me to join her, and we all took our places in a cozy conversation pit that looked perfect for the occasion.

Even though Eric had already heard my basic assurances, I felt the need to go over it again for Heather.

"As you know, I write erotic short stories, and I'm talking with you in the hopes of obtaining material. Let me start by explaining a little about how I work, and how I might use your story. I like to get people to tell me their stories. I find that immersing myself in the mindset of my characters helps me identify with them. Very rarely do I write these stories exactly the way they are told to me, and sometimes I alter events radically, or use separate scenes across multiple stories. Names and descriptions are commonly changed. Sometimes I'll embellish activities to the point where the original participants don't even recognize the scenes. What I do preserve are the emotions. That's what I'm really after -- the way you felt about things and why, why you did the things you did, how you coped. Those are the things that I want to capture and understand. Does that make sense?"

They both nodded and murmured their understanding. When no questions followed, I proceeded.

"Alright Eric," I opened, "how about we begin with the story of how you became a cuckold."

Eric looked at Heather, who gave the subtlest of nods, which was all he needed to launch into the story. A story which, oddly, he started telling to her.

"I remember that moment well. In fact, I replayed it in my head so many times I memorized it. It happened after a night of hard partying. I had made a beer run at one point, and when I returned, you were acting all weird, and I couldn't figure out why. I was sure you wanted to tell me something, yet I couldn't get it out of you. It was like you were brimming over with news, but couldn't speak. It wasn't until the next morning that I found out why. We were at the breakfast table when you finally got the courage to tell me. You said,

'I need to tell you something. When you left me alone yesterday with your friend, he showed me his cock.'

'What!'

I was floored. I didn't know what to say.

'I'm sorry, baby.'

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything with him, did you?"

'No.'

'Alright, then he's the one I'm upset with, not you. Why are you sorry?'

'Because he made me tell you. He said, 'if you want it that bad, I'll give it to you. But you have to tell your husband first. Tell him everything you just told me.''

'You told him you wanted it?'

'Yeah, but I'm afraid it's not that simple. You see, that's not all I told him. I also told him that I'd never seen one that big, and that it was way bigger than yours.'

"Awww, hooneeey! I can't believe you told my friend that!'

I'm sorry, baby; but that's not all. I told him that his cock was gorgeous, and that... I wanted it inside me. Then I asked him if I could suck it. I practically begged him to let me. I'm so sorry.'

I know I sat there numb for a long time. I just couldn't get over how emasculated I felt. How ashamed I was; not only because of the size thing, but the fact that my own wife wanted it so badly that she would surrender herself and sacrifice our marriage over it. In the end, my greatest humiliation came from the realization that if it was true, I couldn't really blame her for wanting it.

'It's really that big?' I asked.

'Oh yes, baby! You really should see it, it's magnificent!'

'Shit.' I said, as I digested the inevitability of the situation.

It happened later that same night, you went to his place without me. I guess the waiting was just too much to bear."

"And after I came back home to you," she added, "you were like a man possessed. You ate me like a savage! You even tried to fuck me." As an aside to me, she explained, "This was back when I still let him try."

I offered encouragement to Eric, pleased at how quickly he had broken the ice.

"I love that story, Eric; it's exactly the kind of thing I'm looking for!"

Eric looked pleased with himself, but it wasn't in reaction to my praise; it came when he saw Heather's approval of his story. I wanted to draw Heather into the flow of things, to get her perspective on their relationship. I told her,

"I'm impressed by how mindful Eric is of your privacy, how protective he is over you with others. Was it always that way, or is it the result of training?"

"Ha - no, he wasn't always so controlled out in public. In fact, I remember one time early on, when he behaved most disagreeably in public, but it proved to be easy to correct, with the proper incentive. Eric, do you remember that surprise encounter with me on the street downtown?"

He needed only a moment for the memory to click and he was off on another story.

"Yes, I remember. Through an odd coincidence, I chanced to run into her on the sidewalk just as she was leaving her bull's building. I knew he lived there, so I knew what she had been doing. As I walked along with her, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I pestered her for blocks, until I finally wore her down and she pulled me into an alley. She shoved my head beneath her skirt, telling me to take a good whiff. The crotch of her panties were sopping wet, and the intoxicating aroma filled my head. I knew she was having fun teasing me, but my lust got away from me. I grabbed her ass and pushed my face into her crotch, sucking hard at the wet fabric, trying to pull their juices out. She lost patience with me and pried my arms off her ass, pushing me away. She was very stern with me, saying,

'If you don't behave yourself, when we get home these panties will go straight into the washing machine, this pussy will go straight into the shower, and you'll get nothing!'

I felt so small, like a scolded child. It made me realize that the role I enjoyed as her cum-eating cuckold was not one I was entitled to; it was one filled with privileges which she granted, and could just as easily deny. It was a lesson I took to heart."

Once again, it was pure gold, and I loved it. But was I going to have to gag him to get Heather to start reminiscing? Once again, I tried to shift the focus on her.

"Heather, I'm curious to know how Eric's submissive nature has affected you. I've heard from several different wives or girlfriends that find being placed on a pedestal tends to change them after a while. They get to like the dominant role they are placed in, even if only by default. Do you think it has affected you in any way?"

She thought for a bit, then her eyes lit up with a recollection.

"I remember when Eric certainly thought that would be the case, that I would be the boss in all my relationships." She turned to him and playfully asked, "Eric, do you remember when you first found out my bull fucks me in the ass?"

Eric said nothing, merely nodded and cast his eyes to the floor. Good, I thought; she's quieted him. Now tell the story!

"This was fairly early on, before Eric was allowed in the room with us. I'd always go to my bull's place, so Eric hadn't seen us together yet. He had become accustomed to eating my cream pie when I returned home, it was just a little different this time. I thought it was actually funny, how he really couldn't comprehend that I could be so different with my bull than I was with him.

So, this one night, as soon as I got home, I flopped onto my stomach on the bed and stuck my ass up in the air, commanding him to eat me from behind. I had done that before... I like when he digs his tongue deep into my pussy, and has to get his nose into my asshole to do it. Anyway, this time I reached back with both hands and spread my cheeks apart, showing him my gaping asshole.

He said, 'Wait... did you let him fuck you in the ass? I can't believe you let him fuck you there!'

I told him,

'You don't understand the way it is between us, baby. Once I open my legs for him, he just takes what he wants. Tonight, he wanted my ass.'

'So, he just took it?'

'That's right. And I just took it, baby; just like I always do for him. What, did you think I was going to stop him? Would you have tried to stop him? No, of course you wouldn't. Because a man like that takes what he wants, and a cock like that deserves whatever I have to give. So yeah, I took it - right up my ass! And now, what I have to give you is in my ass. The question is, do you still want it?'

Well, knowing cucks as well as you do, Randy, I suppose you know the answer to that. My good little cuck here ate what I gave him, and I didn't hear a single complaint."

Eric still stared at the floor, as if there was refuge available somewhere down there. Heather seemed to enjoy what she was putting him through, because she volunteered the next story unprompted.

"That's not the only example, though. I remember the moment when I shifted from merely letting my bull take me however he wanted, to really being motivated to submit to him. It happened after an intense throat fucking. I always like it when he takes my mouth and throat and uses it however he wants.

To start with, he usually lets me play with his big, beautiful cock however I want, and suck it as long as I want, because he knows I like it. I invariably push myself to take more and more of it, because I know how much he likes to see me take it all. Once I get relaxed enough to swallow his entire length, he'll start holding my head down on it briefly. He'll hold me down on his cock for just a second, then ease up and pull out. I'll snatch a quick breath, then he'll push me back down all the way again, hold for a second, and release again. Every 3rd time, he'll hold my head down for longer, cramming himself into my throat as far as possible. He holds me down on it for so long it feels like I'm going to choke to death, then he lets me up long enough to catch my breath. Then he repeats the whole thing again.

He keeps doing that until my throat opens enough to allow him to move in and out with no popping, just an easy slide. That's when he gets into a rhythm he likes; one that I can at least tolerate, and he throat fucks me. He gets aggressive at times, but I always take it.

I never fully appreciated how much he gets out of it until this one time, I asked him afterwards, what it's like for him, why he likes it so much. I thought he'd say something like the way my neck bulges, or the trails of throat slime running off my face, or the fear and desperation in my eyes as I struggle to take him without choking. But he said what he likes most is when he gives me a break, and before he even thinks about pushing back in, I willingly open my mouth for him and stick my tongue out - unable to speak, my eyes filled with tears, yet silently pleading for more. That's when I truly understood the joy of submitting."

I admit I was floored, and delighted. These two sure knew how to paint a picture. I asked Eric,

"How far has the cuckolding progressed. Heather mentioned that you didn't used to be allowed in the room with them, so I take it now you are. How is that for you? I mean, I suppose you're allowed to watch them. Are you allowed to masturbate in front of them?"

This time Eric didn't even look to Heather for permission, he was in the flow, and he seemed to enjoy reliving his humiliations.

"Sir - that's what I call her bull -- Sir... Sir lets me watch, but only if I don't touch myself. He knows if I do, I'll end up cumming and wanting to eat it. He doesn't let me eat my own cum. He says it encourages me to think my cum is desirable, when it's not. His is, mine isn't. He says mine must be disposed of. He makes me jack into the toilet. But he doesn't let me flush. He says it's not worth the water. That it almost is water. It being in the toilet isn't going to offend anyone, It's so milky thin that they probably won't even notice it. He even gave me a peel and stick plastic target and had me drain the bowl dry - don't ask how - and stick it on the back of the bowl, just below the rim. He says it's so I have something to aim for. If he's feeling particularly cruel, he'll leave the bowl filled with his stale piss. It's mostly symbolic, making me add my cum to his wastewater. But also, he knows me. He knows that if the water were clean, I'd be tempted to go in after it with my tongue. To lick my cum off the bowl -- at least what doesn't make it into the water. His piss being in there doesn't mean I'm not still tempted though. Sometimes I think he's conditioning me to the smell of his piss. I try not to think too much about why."

Jeezus, I thought; this poor guy is way down the path. I wondered, was he just pretending to be that clueless; and if so, did he know he was the only one who might be falling for it? I asked Heather,

"Your husband seems like an exceptionally well-trained cuckold. Are their things you are still working on, or are you generally pleased with where he's at right now?"

She didn't have to ponder that one.

"I'm very pleased with my cuck's behavior. The only thing I'm really working on is his homophobia."

She shocked me with that one, and I guess my face showed it.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, it's not like that. He doesn't have any fear of gay people, he just has these vestiges of societal indoctrination. He fears having the labels applied to him. He fears being thought of as gay, or thinking of himself as gay. it's some kind of cognitive dissonance thing he's got going on. And don't even get me started on the word fag. I'm working on him, but those words and associations stir such deep feelings.

I remember the first time it presented an obstacle was when I was working him through his hesitance over sucking my bull's cock. I could tell he really wanted to, but he kept getting hung up on labels, and self-image issues. I don't think I handled it well, early on. When I was getting him used to the idea of his first blowjob, I tried telling him,

'It's not gay if you don't want to do it. You'll be doing it for me. It'll turn me on to see it. Because it's you, doing it for me. He'll probably call you names. Names like faggot. But no one can make you something just by calling you that. As long as you don't call yourself that.'

A little later I tried,

'It's not gay, because he isn't attracted to you, he's just wants to do it to demonstrate his domination over you. And you'll just be doing it to show him you accept his authority and submit to it. It would only be gay if you liked it.'

Looking back, I think that was the wrong way to go, because it turned out he did like it. We talked about it again just before he did it, and I remember he said,

'Being in the presence of a much bigger dick makes me feel so small.'

I tried to use it to arouse him, saying,

'I understand, baby. Now just think how small you'll feel when you've got that big dick in your mouth.'

Then after he sucked my bull -- and did a wonderful job, I might add -- he asked me,

'Is it wrong that it makes me feel like a little faggot?'

'I don't know...' I said, 'do you like feeling like a little faggot?'

He hung his head, nodded and meekly whispered 'Yes.'

'Then how could it be wrong?' I asked.

I thought defusing the word would help, but I'm coming around to the idea that some of the power in that word might be worth preserving. Anyway, regardless of what my bull and I make him do, I always tell him that it doesn't make him gay.

He's so fucking afraid of being gay. Meanwhile, all the time he's sucking cock, my bull calls him a faggot. But I told him he wasn't, and Eric always believes me over anyone else, because I'm his wife. At least I thought that's why he believed me. Turns out it isn't so much about who's telling him, it's about who's telling him what he wants to hear. After the fact, he wants me to tell him he's not a fag, because that's what he wants to believe, most of the time. But during his submission, he likes nothing more than to be called a fag. A great big, nasty, cock-sucking faggot. I must admit, even I find it confusing at times."

"Well, I'm not qualified to comment on delicate psychological issues, but I find it fascinating to hear about. And I know I want to use it in my writings. In fact, I'm thinking you've given me enough to build a nice little story around, featuring just you two. If it works out, I'll send you the link when it gets published."

"That would be great, Randy." Heather replied.

"When I think about writing up your story as a standalone piece, the part I wish I understood better is how you unlocked the submissive side of Eric, when all those other girls he dated apparently never had a clue. It sounded like you weren't naturally dominant before you met him, right?"

"That's right."

"And didn't you mention that you never even heard of small penis humiliation until after your roles were well established?"

"Right again."

"Huh. Well, whatever it is you did or didn't do, I'd say it worked out pretty well for both of you. I'll do my best to write up your story in a positive light."

As I rose, prepared to make my exit, a final thought occurred.

"This is totally apart from the interview, but when my friend Mary talked to you, did she ask permission to do anything with Eric?"

"Not exactly, It was more like her asking questions, and me making suggestions. Why do you ask?"

"Well, to be honest, I've always thought Mary was attractive, but too sexually repressed for us to be a good fit."

"Aha, well... I'm not going to divulge details of what Eric and Mary might have gotten up to. As far as I'm concerned, that's up her. But I'll make a slight concession to your curiousity, and let you know that one of my suggestions involved a blindfold. I'd say you might just be surprised at the things your friend Mary would entertain with the lights out."

I smiled appreciatively and thanked Heather, then rose to leave. Eric played the good host and walked me to the foyer as I entertained ideas involving my newly curious friend.

At the door, I decided to make one final stab at the mystery of Eric and Heather.

"You know, I asked Heather if she did anything that brought out your submissive tendencies, but it just occurred to me... I never asked you. Did she?"

"No, she didn't do anything. I just felt that way with her from jump street, just like she threw a switch in me. I didn't let on right away, for fear of scaring her off. But I needed to submit to her from the moment we met."

"So, it's just who she was?" I asked him.

"No, not who she was. Randy, do you remember what I told you about my sisters?"

"Of course, it was foundational stuff."

"Yes" Eric agreed. "And do you remember their names?"

"I think so. Let's see... the oldest was Becky, the middle one was Linda, and the youngest was... no, I guess I can't remember the name of the youngest."

"That's because I never told you."

"Wait a minute... you're not saying..."

"I already told you, I never use that name."