The Cuckhold

Naturally like most writers I'm tempted to use succulent words when writing about sex. Descriptive adjectives when describing the body. And of course meaty nouns you can get your teeth into when naming the genitals, the ass, the titillating magic of the breasts. Hands with muddy hard fingers to feel the flesh, the lobster red between the legs.

If I write the word 'naked', then it conjures in your imagination someone with no clothes on. If I write the word 'dressed' then you visualize a body adorned in clothes. The word no matter how you see it, is the fruit of the word. Sex is full of organic density.

We are boned together. The clavicle, the ribs, spine, hip bones, jaw bone, pelvic bone. From these bones hang our bits, and bobs. Our cocks, and ball-bags. Our tits. Our cunts. And there is the weird. Weird people fuck better. Blood is everyone's secret. The blood inside weird people flows with the most exquisite feeling. It flows with the grace of sin.

Once I tasted that high, I wanted more of it. A female that is owned by another's cock, a cock with a marriage ring on it, is so desirous for me. To turn her husband into a cuckhold entices me. To fuck this woman in front of her husband, my erection tunneling deep into her pussy as he sits on the end of the bed watching excites my cock to higher ecstasy.

But it is more than that. It is that my cock scandalizes them both. My cock is completely indifferent to the rules of conventual behavior that binds their two bodies together in marriage. He is forced to watch his wife getting fucked, while she salaciously enjoys it. Her cunt fully exposed, literally in his face, as my cock robs her of her marriage.

Then when I am done, he has to eat her out, my brew dribbling down his chin (only a teaspoonful mind you). My cock is a thief, robbing them both of any sense of morality. For sure they were both ready for it. My cock on a platter was necessary. Their marriage needed excitement. His cock wasn't cutting it anymore. The three of us dressed in our birthday suits, my cock straining for the content of the arrangement, red, and affirmative, I would break all the nos that existed inside of them. It is my body they both crave for. The nobility, and debauchery of my naked body, represented by my beautifully erect penis. Always the beauty of my penis.

My lush body displaying the future contents of all its parts. My thighs, and smoothly rounded buttocks, lithe, and strong. My stomach lean with its exquisite belly button. The ball-bag pendant swaying back, and forth, between my upper legs. The hollow following the inner curve of my thigh ending in the groin. My back knuckled, and highly visible. What the husband wants is the image of the body of passion, not passion itself. The structure of the bones that move beneath the surface of the flesh. I had commanded him to lick my ass, kiss my arms, and legs, place his hand on my ball-bag as it wallowed in the fucking of his wife.

To add insult to injury, before the fucking began, I had asked him to smear his erection with his wife's facial cream, which he dully did, two fingers in the jar, and spreading the Ponds all over his member. Then instructing him to spray his wife's perfume all over his body, paying particular attention to spray the stinging substance onto his anus, and over his balls, his scrotum wrinkled like old man's skin and on the bed where I would licentiously fuck her, this boudoir of marital intimacy, where only his erection had entered the butterfly lips of his wife, he would never forget me, fucking his most precious possession, I would make sure of that.

My writing is the art of recreating reality for your pleasure. I could go into each descriptive element of the genital thrust into her cathouse, but I won't. Or how my lips moved from tit to tit, nibbling each pregnant nipple. Or describe my cock in more detail, looking like a bird in flight, its marbled veins gorged with red blood looking blue to the eyes.

That his wife's body, and my body were in a state of sexual competition, two distinct pleasures begging for more, while he with his hand on my ball-bag could feel each powerful thrust into his wife's sacrament through the jostling movement of my balls, and I failed to mention he had to wear a three cornered dunce cap on his head, as my fucking his wife was to humiliate what was left of the man his limp cock covered in ponds beauty cream, and stinking of woman's perfume.

Of course he was also dressed in the negligee of his choice. Hose that came gartered to midway up his thighs, they were a nun's grey color. A G-string banditing his anus, and supporting the slouch of his Pond's creamed member. And of course a bra covering his tiny nipples. I failed to mention a pair of pink, fluffy earmuffs, that prevented him from hearing the marble-clink of my low-hanging fruit, at the entrance of her weeping monastery.

He was impatient to see the juice that shrinks my cock. Not just to taste the grey orgasm, but to signal that his ordeal was over, and he could get his wife back. But my balls were rolling easy, and the root squeezing was still cooking my branch, as she cried out for more, don't stop. The cubit of my perturbant did not shrink, but I am sure enlarged in the sloshing. I could draw you pictograms of the scene but I have no pencils. Yes she begged for more, which made her husband cry dew-like tears onto the lace of his pink panties.

The elixir of reduction, the juice that shrinks, had only encouraged his wife to beg for more. She was smacking, and whacking, my bum cheeks were I a horse with a bet on it. Then we swapped places and she was on top, displaying her cunt lips to her husbands eyes as she grabbed my erection, placing it before those lascivious cunt lips, and ever so slowly sliding down my glistening penis., all the while her eyes locked on her husband, as she slid up and down my erection. So I dutifully persisted until I erupted inside her cathouse for the second time.

Before this all began, I had drunk six glasses of cold water. So you can guess where this is going now. My cistern was full. I withdrew my cock from the swallowing beatitude of her hole, and looked up at her disheveled, and yawning cunt lips, and my cock which at the beginning had looked pretty, and wholesomely round, now looked ugly, but was full to overflowing of urinate from the six glasses of water, so I knelt there embedded in the crunched up sheets, and pissed it over her, my penis straining with the watery luxury, and my piss was a torrent went onto the sheets, and of course over her husband sitting there prettified in his three cornered dunce cap, as they yeed! and they yelped!, at the watery baptism, my penis held out like a hose, covering their articulated bodies.

I did not take my leave until husband, and wife had fucked together on those sloshed sheets, standing there with my deflating cock, dripping urine-like saliva from a lolling tongue, now at morphological rest between my legs.

When the deprived couple were choosing their cuckhold, they both wanted someone who had a god-like body. Someone with gym-like pecs, a toned ass that was rideable from the back, and had a stomach that cried out SEX. They wanted someone who would stir those butterfly wings of hers to fly. They required a body of exposition. They wanted a body with a beautiful penis. A penis that would make their mouths drool. Color was important. A penis with a ruby-red head, and a long shaft that was ropy-veined for the job of fucking the wife. And the ball-bag needed to hang clangorously low, and that it would sway back, and forth with each bull-like thrust into her cunt. Well my body fitted their needs, with the psychological need for the husband to be humiliated, and his wife to be aroused by the sight of my nakedness. Everything about my skin-wear was perversely lewd.