Would You Call Me a Cuckoldress?

I'm not sure what I love more about Hvammsvik Hot Springs -- the warm water, separated into pools of varying temperatures, the bar you can wade up to, or the views. Justin and I share a glass of wine, gazing out at the mountains.

"Is the water warming things back up?" I say.

"I'm still shivering. My balls are shriveled so tightly, I doubt you could see them."

"I told you not to do the cold plunge," I laugh, "It is snowing."

I hand him the glass and slide closer to him. The water is clear, but the sky is darkening, so if anyone walks by, they likely won't see my hand move inside his bathing suit and between his legs.

"Where is it?"

"I told you. It must have fallen off."

I feel around, high and low, until I find it. His dick ice cold and no bigger than my thumb nail.

"Let me warm you up," I say, teasing it lazily with my pinky.

"Not here. I'm okay."

I huff and pull my hand free.

"I'm trying here."

"I know."

"You said you wanted me to be more adventurous. Less vanilla. Well, it goes both ways. You have to let me."

"You made your point," he says, jaw tightening.

"Maybe when you said those things about me, they were really about you," I say.

His face droops. I knew as soon as I said it that I pushed too hard. I know I am not wrong in feeling the space between us. He has been vocal about it as well.

But who bought the lingerie? The sex toys? Scheduled date nights? Reached for the other first?

I did.

He looks miserable.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"It's fine."

"It's not. We're in Iceland. This has been our dream for so many years. And yet..."

I don't need to finish the thought. We both feel the same way.

"I think I'm done," he says.

Done with the water, or done with me? I don't say it. Instead, I take one more sip of wine.

"Meaning?"

"Done."

"With us?"

"I think so. You make me feel small in every way. I don't even mean laughing at my dick."

"I wasn't laughing at you. I know what cold water does to a man."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't patronize me."

"I don't care about the size. I want to be with you."

"Do you?" he says.

"Of course. If you'll let me."

"And what if you're right. What if don't want to be with you..."

"Justin-"

I scoff, folding my arms. There's anger and there's sadness, equally strong. I can't bring myself to look at him.

His micropenis isn't the issue. How I feel about it isn't either. But I feel something else -- his resignation.

I quickly stand and water drips from my bikini bottoms to the hot spring. Before I can reconsider, I climb out of the water. He doesn't call after me. He no longer chases me. He truly is done.

I was a fool to think I had been the reason for this. My eyes are burning. Either from the salt scrub mask the spa had given me, or my tears -- I'm not sure which. While it's blurry, I can still see well enough to navigate the path back to the main building. The locker rooms are around the back. I can't read Icelandic but I remember the women's was on the right.

I walk in to the sound of someone showering. Otherwise, it's quiet. At the sink, I feel around for the small hand towels and wipe my eyes. Blink. Wipe again.

I'm even more disoriented now because the walls are a different color. The showers are on the wrong side of the room. The figure under a steaming shower head has his back to me.

The man is tall, broad-shouldered, and well-built. His dark skin glistens with water. His ass looks like it's carved from black granite and just as hard. While I'm trying to figure out why he's in here, it begins to dawn on me. My heart thumps, louder and louder.

We had walked into the locker rooms at the front of the spa. My right then, would have been my left at the back of the building. Fuck.

He's looking right at me. It's too late.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the shower handle and shuts the water off. I don't look away from his eyes, afraid that I'll reflexively see something I shouldn't. The only sound I hear is a steady drip of water from his body to the shallow pools on the tile floor. I know the water is likely dripping from just a few spots, and I shouldn't see any of them.

"You're in the wrong room," he says.

"I am." And I'm trying to think of some valid reason. I'm in a bikini. Can't say I'm staff.

I've got nothing.

I don't decide to look. My eyes just drop, the way you touch the pot even though you know it's hot.

Oh.

He's not even hard. That is what undoes me. His cock hangs heavy and thick between his legs. My brain does exactly what it absolutely should not do. It lays the image of Justin -- pale, ice cold, the size of my thumb nail -- beside him -- steam rising from his big black cock. I thought that was a myth, or worse, a harmful stereotype. But if the contrast with Justin is any indicator, it's true in this case. Water runs down the length of him, following the curve of veins until it spills over his tip. Each drop from his cock sounds like a warning siren.

No, that's not right. It reminds me of something else -- a dinner bell.

"Done?" he says, voice a deep baritone.

My eyes snap up. He's made no move to cover his body. It's fine with him if I look. Normally, I'd assume a man who had that confidence is a pompous ass.

"I should leave."

"Yeah, you should," he says.

As he walks to a nearby shelf, his balls and that heavy cock sway, audibly smacking the inside of his legs. He picks a towel up from the shelf and doesn't dry off. Arm slack, he holds the towel and looks back at me.

"But you haven't."

Ten feet to the wall. Fifteen feet to the pool. My husband is not even twenty five feet from me. I don't think of the betrayal of my thoughts as I admire this man. I think of how few steps Justin would need to come for me.

"My husband..."

"Is he out there? Or is he the reason you're in here?" he says.

"Both."

"What was your next move, Ms...."

"Jane. I don't know. I needed to get away from him. Shower. Change. Wait in the car. But truly... I'm lost."

"Have a shower then."

"Right," I say, turning to leave.

"Here."

My eyes scan the men's showers and the locker room beyond. No one is here but Justin's bag is on the bench. A few cubes have locks on them. Anyone could walk in.

At any second.

"Here?" I say, repeating the word and trying to decide just how bad of an idea this is. I don't even know the man's name.

"Here."

The first step is a shallow one. The second, less so. By the third, I feel committed, and I'm not sure I should. But as I pass him, his hand slides down my back and tugs the string of my bikini top. It comes loose and I wrap an arm across my chest, only just managing to stay decent.

"Oh my god. I can't believe you just went for it," I say, laughing in disbelief, but also because of the thrill of finally being pursued, even if simply for a look at my boobs.

He shrugs.

He rotates the shower handle and the water sputters and then sprays in steady jets. Steam fills the room again, draping us in fog-like cover. Enough to see, enough to feel hidden. I know that anyone walking will see plenty. But fuck it.

I slip the top off and hand it over, still sporting a handbra. I step into the water and then let go of my boobs.

Let go of my bottoms.

Let go of the woman who got out of that pool.

Until this moment, the only man who had seen my pussy was the one still outside, still within earshot -- Justin.

I twirl slowly in the water, letting its warmth cover everything. Then, I look at him. His eyes take in all of me. He's in no hurry.

Out in the hall, a door bangs. Voices, two men, laughing. Then they're at the lockers. I duck down beside a half wall, bracing myself on the balls of my feet and one hand on the tile wall. A locker door clatters.

I freeze. He doesn't.

He belongs here. I don't.

He steps to the half wall, just in front of me. He grunts so the men hear him, some sort of primal warning. He has claimed his territory.

The men quiet. I can hear them changing. Clothes rustling. A locker door rattles again. I wonder if they're intimidated by him, by his size.

I can't help but stare at his cock. It's right there. But I fight my urge and scan up his towering figure, until our eyes meet.

I didn't walk away from Justin because of his small cock. I walked away because it was time to.

It was a serendipitous accident that I bumped into this man who is making me forget the man outside. I'm not a slut. I can't explain it any other way than I fell off a bike. I have to get back on.

The only difference is that this bike is much larger and exponentially thicker, and I'm not sure I manage it.

But I want to try.

I pull him closer by his strong thighs. I tilt my head and open my mouth to take his tip. Just the tip is a lot for my small mouth, but I manage. Barely.

My lips are stretched thin and my jaw is as wide as I can open it.

"Good," he says. "Touch yourself."

My eyes go wide. I mouth a question, "Did they leave?" He nods.

Justin didn't like when I touch myself. He assumed I was thinking of other, bigger men. I scoff, though my mouth is full of dick. It's funny because now I see. Justin's small penis was the root of many of our problems. I didn't care, but he did. And that affected everything. He let it affect everything.

I slip my hand between my legs, letting my fingertips tease the fringe of my folds. I can only breathe through my nose, because there's no room to open my mouth and gasp, without breaking away from him. When I inhale, my eyes glaze over as I smell his skin. Something primal swells deep in my belly. I need more. I slip two fingers into my cunt, but two fingers are nothing compared to his girth. Three is closer but not by much.

I want what's in my mouth but neither of us has a condom. We don't have pockets.

Or clothes.

I can't risk it. Not before divorce.

Plus, I don't even know this guy's name, let alone his relationship status.

But I want more.

I slide back off his cock, my lips breaking the seal with a loud pop. Then, I stand and grip his cock and lead him to a bench against the far wall. I push him down so he sits and then straddle his lap.

I don't take his cock inside. I put it between our bodies -- against his abs, against my soft belly -- and press my slick folds to the underside of his shaft. Ground my clit against him and slide and after a back and forth, he's covered in my juices.

"I want that pussy," he says.

"And I want that cock," I say, smiling after clearly enunciating the k-sound. "But under the circumstances, this will have to do."

I brace my hands on his firm, round shoulders and writhe. My thighs dig in against the sides of his body. I press harder. My clit throbs along with the pressure and the pulsing of his cock..

When he grips my ass, then slaps it, I'm startled and then, a lit fuse. My resolve slips.

Just the tip, I think. Just to see what it feels like to be stretched by him.

Bad idea.

Marrying Justin was my good idea. Coming to Iceland to try to rekindle that spark was another of my good ideas. I've picked the good ideas all my life.

Maybe it's time for a bad idea.

Resolve comes roaring back. My thoughts are cut off. I lift my hips and grab his cock with one hand, guide that unwieldy thing to my pussy and impale myself on it.

My vision goes white. Or black. Both? I'm not sure.

"Wow," I say, gasping. "That's a lot."

He huffs a laugh. "Barely any of it."

I look down and see that he's right.

"I don't know how much I can take."

"But you want to find out," he says. It's not a question.

I smile.

I rock my hip slowly, moving up and down on him, watching where our bodies join. Watching as I ease more of his black cock into my milky-white body.

My skin starts bulging as I take more. The bulge looks just the size of his cock. Can't be. But as I move, my skin rises and falls around him. He is impossibly rearranging my insides. My heart thumps as I get used to this new reality, where a man can literally reshape me with his cock.

"Your pussy is so warm," he says. "Just as loving as a long slow kiss."

I can't help but smile.

"Then consider it a kiss I don't want to end," I say.

"Jane?" I know the voice. It's coming from just outside. I can only hope he's shouting it into the women's room, that he has no intention of going into the men's area.

"Is that your husband?"

I stop moving, sighing at being cockblocked by my husband.

"Soon to be ex, I think," I say. "Can you finish quickly?"

"We can stop."

"No," I say, grabbing his cheeks. My eyes burn. I see the same fire in his. "Come for me." I rock my hips and take him in one smooth roll. "Come for me, and I'll come too. Let me feel you fill me."

"I got you." His hands dig into my hips, fingers tightening in my skin. I'll be bruised tomorrow.

"Ten seconds might be all we have. Ten," I say, stroking him with my pussy once more. "Nine."

His heartbeat sounds within me.

"Eight."

I lean back, throw my head back as I buck harder on him.

"Seven."

I squeeze on him. Clench as hard as I can.

"Six."

I need him to come.

"Five," breathing more raggedly. My stomach tightens.

His cock pulses twice. He groans. I wonder if his precum is leaking in me.

"Four."

I slap his chest with one palm. The thud echoes.

"Three."

I sink down lower, imagining my clit is my thumb trying to break through plastic wrap. I dig in. I grind. I twist.

"Two."

I inhale and push down harder, taking him deeper still. I hold there, his tip up against my cervix, staying as long as I can. I exhale and feel him in my belly. He quivers, swelling within.

"One," I gasp, holding there still. "Fuck, let go. Come for me."

The guttural groan that rises from him fills the room, bouncing off of the tiled walls. I cover his mouth to silence it. His breath is hot against my palm.

He pulses. His leg bounces under my ass. I break just as his cock swells again. He pulses again and immediately, my belly fills with warmth. I gasp for breath as the wave floods through me. With the second pulse, the warmth spreads further. And again, further.

"Jane?"

"Fuck," I say.

I slip off of his cock. Come spills out, running down my leg. I grab my bikini and tie it back on. Looking in the mirror, my cheeks are bright red.

"I have to go," I say. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't."

"What's your name?"

"Malik."

I hope he liked it.

But I feel Malik's warm come inside and on me. How could he not have liked it?

I just wish I had a few more minutes.

I go out the front, and then into the women's room. Walking is not easy. I feel the stretch. But it's a good feeling, even if I'm sore. I smile.

"Jane. I want to go. I'll leave with the car if you don't-"

I walk outside, trying to hide my soreness. He looks me up and down. I don't know if he notices the evidence dripping down my thigh, but frankly I don't care.

"Let's go, microdick."

I don't say it quietly.