We've been married fourteen years Pen and I. I'm Oscar, Oscar Whitman, age thirty-six, I tape in at five-six and one-forty. Penelope, my wife, also thirty-six, comes in at around five-nine, one-twenty-five. Oh, and she's a very nice looking lady with some really nice female equipment: 36Cs and a truly sensational butt. Until today our lives have been pretty typical, mundane, routine: the stereotypical middle class couple. None of which, I'm discovering, are good things and maybe not normal either.
Pen is a stay at home wife, and no, we have no children. Me, I'm the head mechanic at Studstill Motors. Basically, I make sure that the used cars we take in in trade are up to legal snuff for purposes of resale. The pay is pretty good, and Penelope and I are doing fine in an era when not everybody is.
At any rate, the above being true, Penelope has decided we need to spice things up. Her method of spicing things up? She is dictating, yes dictating, an open marriage. Well, actually, that's not exactly right. She means open for her. Me? I'm to be ready to service her and her lovers on command. She is of the opinion that me watching other men do her will be thrilling for me.
What reason does she have for believing such a thing? That I would knuckle under to such a mandate? Maybe the fact that I have always given in to her. Maybe the fact that some of our late night fantasy talk has revolved around her cuckolding me, or her being the top in a role reversal relationship. Whatever it is, she's assuming, while I sit here with my head in my hands, some might say with my head up my ass, terrified that I may be losing my wife, my marriage, that I will knuckle under and do whatever she says.
"Calm down, Oscar, it won't be as bad as you think. Knowing your proclivities as I do, I am pretty sure you'll be getting off every bit as much as I do, at least in time," said my wife.
"Penelope Whitman, you can't be serious about all of this. I cannot accept being treated this way, not and claim to be a man!" I said.
"Oh pooh! You mean a macho asshole. Macho has no place in this house, Oscar, it never has, and you know it. We'll be having more and better sex than we ever had. And, I mean for you too. Just different is all," she said.
"You really intend to do this, to cuckold me. To make me a laughing stock, Penelope, don't you. What kind of a wife would do this to her husband? What kind, Pen?" I said.
"The kind that wants to put the thrill back in the sex life of a husband and wife," she said. "And, you won't be any laughing stock. No one but you, me, and Bill will ever know. Oscar, it's decided. Now, Bill will be here at seven. This one time, if you wish, you may go out and do your own thing while I am letting him do me. I'll text you when he's gone, so you'll know when to return.
"Or Oscar, If you're man enough, my husband, you can stay and watch it happen to you, your cuckolding I mean. Still, like I say, this time it'll be your choice," she said. "But, Oscar, if you do decide to watch, I need to know by, say, 4:00PM in order to prepare you for your duties. Okay?" I nodded. I began to get emotional in frustration. I was close to actually crying. I guess I was almost as big a wimp as she for sure thought me.
"Now, stop that, right now," she said, noticing my emotional state. It will be my job to make sure you enjoy this as much as Bill and me. Okay?" Her last words were delivered in a kindly tone; but they did little to calm me.
What was happening to me? Why couldn't I just say no and tell her to get real? Being honest with myself, and I hadn't been up to this point, her ideas were a turn on. That said, they, her ideas, were also terrifying. With my undersized dick, not to mention the rest of my body; and, my insecurities when it came to relating to women in general; I was sure that I was on the verge of losing both the respect of my wife and my self-respect, Penelope's reassurances notwithstanding.
By 4:00PM she'd said; I had to decide by 4:00PM. I looked up at the wall clock. It read noon. That gave me four hours before I had to make a choice. I watched through the kitchen's bay window as she left for her appointment at the salon. I knew she was having lunch with somebody; I wondered if it were Bill.
Her gone to her luncheon and salon appointment, I busied myself doing things on the computer. I'd suddenly and finally grown some balls. Her attitude was both killing my heart and making me angry, angry at the both of them. I just didn't have the guts to call her on it. So, what was I going to do about it. I was going to protect myself in case this was nothing more than a prelude to getting rid of me. I might be a pussywhipped wimp, but I was by no means a complete idiot. True I was on the verge of crying my eyes out, but what I didn't want to see happen was the two of them laughing at me as she dumped me.
Her notion of how to spice up a marriage notwithstanding, Again, I intended to not be a complete fool and just let the destruction of my marriage, if it did indeed came to that, destroy me along with it. My becoming a cuckold might be inevitable, but my economic ruination was not. I had to do something just in case. I headed for my little in-house office; the computer would be my friend. It would be the tool I would sue to set up my economic defenses in case the worst case scenario happened to me.
I heard the garage door opener operating; she was home. The door to the kitchen slammed.
"Oscar, can you help me please," she called out.
I came into the kitchen and saw her carrying a load of groceries; the salon had done their job: she was gorgeous, just not for me. I went to her and relieved her of her burden. "Any more in the car?" I said. "Oh, and you look beautiful. Your lover is going to be very pleased. I just wish it was for me." I said this last kind of quietly, but she heard me anyway.
"Oscar! Stop it now. It is for you. You could, should, and I hope will be the guest of honor tonight, not Bill. You're the one who will become a cuckold, my personal cucky; and that's a good thing! And I intend to make sure you are a very pampered cuckold. Okay?" she said.
"And yes, there are more groceries in the car, if you will," she said. "I need to go freshen up. We'll talk in a few minutes." She gave me a frustrated look and headed for the bathroom; I headed for the car.
I was just about finished putting the groceries away when she came back into the kitchen. She sat down and waited for me to do or say something. It was my play.
"I'm gonna be there," I said. "I'm gonna watch, and hopefully just watch. Okay?" I said. She looked down. She seemed to have lost a bit of the confidence that she had displayed earlier in the day.
"Oscar, if you're going to be here. No, it's not all right for you to just watch. At lunch, well, Bill made the decision that if you are going to be a cuckold; you're really going to be one. You will need to serve us, and service us. Please understand, it's part of it, part of you learning your place, your new place in the scheme of things." Well, now I knew who she'd had lunch with.
"Oscar, it is your fantasy after all. You don't have to be here. But, if you are..." she said. I nodded. I sighed.
"Okay, I guess. I can always run away if I can't handle it. Right?" I said, trying to lighten the moment a little. She just smiled benevolently. "What do I have to do?"
"Follow me," she said. He headed for the guest room down the first floor hall. There were clothes hanging on the closet door hook.
"Put these on," she said.
It was a suit—no—a tuxedo: bow tie and tails, the whole ball of wax. "What? A tux! I can't wear a tux, honey. Please, not a damn tux, okay?" I said.
"Bill requires it, baby. Don't worry, you're going to get a really good reward if you can just hang in there. Okay?" I was not happy. I wasn't afraid anymore, and I had been. I was humiliated.
I answered the door, and he looked me up and down. He didn't laugh. But, he did approve. That to me was worse than outright laughter. I was to be his servant for the evening, and he approved of me. I was his servant for the evening as Pen informed me, and I was to remain silent unless spoken to. I was soon to discover that good 'ole Bill had plans for me.
The party began in the living room where the two of them had drinks, served by me, and made out like a couple of teenagers on the couch. It was hot; I had to give them that. I stood near the couch in my tuxedo and bow tie, maybe five or six feet away; I had a small serving towel hung over my forearm. I had been told by Penelope to just relax and enjoy the show for a while.
Bill stopped feeling her up for a moment and reached under her dress and began slowly pulling her panties down; she raised up a little so he could slide them off of her. They resumed their kissing and feeling each over up, but now his hand was under her dress and he was obviously finger fucking her; she yelped a couple of times when he got a little too macho with her.
They stood up. Pen turned and looked at me, and then came to me. "You okay, Oscar? I want you to be okay," she said.
"I'm okay, honey, it's just, a little new to me. I'll be okay," I said. She nodded, smiled at me, and gave me a peck on the cheek. The look on Bill's face when she kissed me, even though only a peck, was not friendly. I felt kind of good about that.
They began stripping each other's clothes off, slowly. Finally naked, they stood, in front of me embracing. Their hands roamed everywhere within reach. I could see his finger penetrate her anus; she just smiled at him; Pulling his finger out of her, he sucked it—his finger.
.... There is more of this story ...