I stood in the hall, trying to time my entry for maximum effect. As the guy rolled off my wife of 22 years, I carried the tray of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee into the bedroom. It took a moment for Gwen's eyes to focus on me, and another second for her mind to realize the ramifications. I saw fear in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Wow! I bet you guys are hungry after that hard fuck!" I gushed. "I have just the thing to help you get your strength back, Jack. I hope you like your coffee strong."

As I spoke, I placed the tray on the bed with the stands on either side of his naked body. To his credit, he remained calm as he watched me closely.

"Gwen's been needing a good hard fuck for sometime, now. I'm so relieved she found a real man with a big cock. I see you gave her a real big load, Jack," I told him as I motioned toward to Gwen's sloppy pussy. "Thanks for riding her bareback, man! If we have a boy, we'll name him after you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Jim! I didn't know you were home... I thought you were coming back this evening," Gwen finally managed to croak. "When did you get back?"

She tried to pull the sheet up to cover her tits as she spoke, but I had been careful to sit on her side of the bed with the sheet was still in a wadded-up ball, directly under my ass. She was unable to gain the modesty she sought.

"Sometime between the first fuck and the world class blowjob you gave Jack, Darling," I smiled. "Man, did you gobble his knob! I just had to beam with pride when I saw how well you could handle Jack's rather impressive tool. You are a cocksucker extraordinaire! She's quite the cocksucker, don't you think, Jack?"

Jack was beginning to relax and actually was sipping his coffee when I posed the question. Grinning, he looked over at Gwen and nodded.

"She sure is that," agreed Jack. "She's a natural and she never spilled a drop. If I knock her up, you can name the little bastard Jack, but use your own last name."

Gwen was recovering her senses and becoming quite agitated. Her eyes searched my face for some indication of where I was headed with the conversation. She held her left hand over her swollen pussy and her right over her chest.

"How did you like her tits, Jack? I know they aren't real big, but they still feel pretty firm, don't you think? Do I see a few little bite marks on them, you devil?"

To my surprise, Jack reached over and grabbed Gwen's left tit and pinched it as he answered, "Yeah, I've seen better, but they aren't bad, especially for her age and having a couple kids. I just couldn't resist chewing on her nipples," admitted Jack.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" erupted Gwen as she pushed Jack's hand from her breast. "You shouldn't be having this conversation! I'm your wife, Jim. How can you talk about me like some common..." and her voice trailed off as the sentence went unfinished.

"Gwen, I know when I'm beat. Jack's made me a cuckold. I may as well get used to it. Congratulations, Jack. You really pinned the horns on me. I'll probably be eating your sperm out of Gwen's pussy after you leave. I'll bet it won't be the last time you leave a cream pie for me," I chuckled.

Jack was actually eating with gusto now. He grinned and nodded again as he finished his poached egg.

"I'll do my best to keep that cunt stuffed with cream. It looks like a win-win situation. Gwen will be getting a good fuck, I'll be getting some extra ass and you'll have dessert. Thanks for the breakfast, Dude. I have to get to work, but I'll be glad to stop in and fuck her for you a few times a week," Jack stated as he slid his legs to the floor and stood.

"I've heard of guys that like to have their wife fucked by men with big cocks like me. I'm glad you're one on those guys. It makes this whole situation a lot better. Thanks for the breakfast, and the fuck. The breakfast was especially good," he laughed as he walked from the bedroom.

"Let me show you the door, Jack," I offered as I jumped to my feet and followed him down the stairs.

I managed to get to the door to the garage ahead of Jack and I opened it and motioned for him to exit in front of me. As he walked past me, I estimated him to be about six foot-two and around 230 pounds. He wouldn't be easy, but I had it to do.

I stepped into the garage behind Jack. As he pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed the button to unlock his door, I clenched both my hands together and hammered him behind the head with all my strength. He dropped to his knees, like the poll-axed steer John Wayne always referred to in his westerns.

Then, as Jack kneeled before me stunned, I pulled my dick out and grabbed my digital camera of a nearby shelf.

"You look a little shaky, Jack. Let me help you revive."

Earlier I had finished off three cups of coffee and now was the time to rid myself of them. I began to piss on Jack's head and shoulders. I directed the stream with one hand and snapped a few pictures with the other. He came out of his funk and turned his head to yell something at me, so I just aimed for his mouth. That was my favorite photograph, by far. Jack's mouth was stretched wide open with piss flying in it. Jack started to get to his feet so I stepped back and put the camera back on the shelf as I squeezed off my stream and replaced my cock in my pants. A man cannot respond to danger very well while as his cock is exposed.

"You miserable little bastard!" yelled Jack as he started for me with clenched fists. "You cold-cocked me. Let's see how you do in a fair fight!"

I pulled my Smith & Wesson from my waistband and cocked it in his face. Suddenly, Jack wasn't as belligerent.

"A fair fight? You weigh 50 pounds more than I do and have three inches on me. That may be your idea of a fair fight, but not mine. You shit all over me when you fucked my wife. Surely you had to expect I'd be just a little resentful, you dumb fuck. In return, I pissed all over you and have a few pictures to prove it, asshole," I raged.

"A fair fight is when the rivals are equally matched. If you have the balls, show up at the county fair grounds at six this evening. Bring your biggest gun and we'll have a fucking fair fight! Now get the hell out of my house. If I ever see you near here again, you'll get a "blowjob" you won't like. I'll blow a fucking hole in your balls!"

I pushed the button for the garage door to open. Jack backed away and climbed into his car. As soon as it started, he sped out into the street. I closed the door and headed back upstairs.

Gwen was in the shower when I reached the bedroom. I stripped and went down the hall to the guest bathroom for my shower. I was back and getting dressed when Gwen finally turned the water off. I was completely dressed by the time she entered the bedroom.

It was obvious she had been crying. Her hands shook as she clung to the towel wrapped around her.

"Jim, I'm so sorry!" she wailed. "It was a mistake. I am so ashamed. Are you going to leave me, or throw me out?"

"Why would I do that, Sweetheart? I asked. "You've made me a cuckold. I'm new to the whole thing, but I've been reading up on it all night. I'm not an unreasonable man. I'll have to give it a chance and see if I like it before I do anything rash, like tossing your cheating ass out. Why did you shower so soon? It was my job to clean our your pussy with my tongue."

"Oh, Jim! I know you wouldn't do that! The very idea is sickening. Please don't suggest it again," cried Gwen.

"That Jack seemed like a nice guy, didn't he?" I lied. "Now that we have a bull, I'll be expected to do things to please him and show him my gratitude for fucking my wife. Maybe he'll give us a son! Wouldn't that be an honor?"

"Jim, don't talk like that. I don't want his baby. I feel nauseous considering such a horrible thing. Our two daughters are the perfect family."

"Gwen, you had him cum in your pussy, God only knows how many times. I'm sure you understand that's how women get pregnant. You wanted him to cum in you, so I can only conclude you want to have his baby. If it's a girl, let's name it Mary, after your mom."

"I don't want his baby!" bawled Gwen. "It's the wrong time of the month for me to get pregnant."

"Well, that's only reliable to a point. I remember how surprised you were when you got pregnant with Jen. No matter, the next time Jack sleeps over, he'll take another shot at it," I reasoned.

"Jim! What's wrong with you? He'll never get another chance. It's over! I'll never be unfaithful again. I swear!" sobbed Gwen.

"I have to get to work, Gwen, but we'll discuss this later. If Jack isn't a suitable bull, it's my job as the cuckster to find someone that is. I'll think about it while I'm working," I told Gwen.

She burst into louder sobs and threw herself on the bed as I headed out the door. I was hoping she was beginning to feel some of the torment I had experienced when I returned home a day earlier than scheduled.

It was around ten in the previous evening when I pulled into our drive. I decide to leave the car outside because the garage door opener was noisy. Gwen wasn't expecting me and hearing it open could upset or frighten her. It wasn't till later that I saw Jack's car in my spot in the garage.

I found a pair of man's pants at the bottom of the stairs, along with one of Gwen's dresses. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what was transpiring. I went upstairs and heard moans and other noises that should not come from my bed. At least not when I was standing in the hall.

Gwen and the asshole were doing the dirty. They had a light on and the door open. I could see them quite clearly in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Stunned, I went back downstairs and poured myself a stiff drink. It helped, so I had another.

I considered the situation. Gwen and I had been married 22 years. We had two daughters in college. We had worked and sweated for everything we owned. We had always been a team and it was difficult to consider life without her. Still, I had to accept that she fucking another man in my bed at that moment. What should I do?

Divorce was the obvious answer, and the most likely. I knew that. Then I thought about how I could divorce Gwen anytime. That was the simple part. What could I do to make Gwen see what she had done to me, and my trust? How could I make her feel what I felt? With the help of another scotch, I decided on a course of action.

She wanted to act like a slut and make me a cuckold. I decided that I would become the cuckold she seemed to want me to be, and then some. Why do anything half way? I knew I couldn't eat her out after sex with another man, or even allow her to have another man as long as we were still married. I also knew she would be scared to death when she realized I had discovered her having sex with that asshole. I would talk the talk of the cuckold, but I wasn't going to walk the walk.

I dug out my camera and managed more than a few clear pictures of my bride and her houseguest. I downloaded them and printed some. I checked the wallet in the pocket of the guy's pants and found out who he was and where he lived.

I Googled the word "cuckold" and found all kinds of stories, articles, and web sites dedicated to that fetish. I printed out a lot of them. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, so I spent most of the night on the computer. Then I placed different stories and articles, as well as pictures of Gwen and her lover, in various rooms of the house.

Finally, it was time to make some breakfast and begin my life knowing I was a cuckold. I had no idea how long I had actually been one. I realized I'd never know that unless Gwen told me the truth, and how would I know it was the truth? That seemed unlikely.

Later, as I sat at my desk at work, it occurred to me that I had pretty much challenged that asshole, Jack, to a gunfight. Now that I had cooled off, I could see no upside to a duel to the death with some dumb fuck. I had to get out of it. That is if the asshole was going to have the balls to show up with a gun.

I left work early and went to the street where Jack lived. His car was in the driveway. It appeared that he took the day off. Around five, I saw him walk out of his house. He had a large golf bag in his hand, and it contained no clubs! I watched as he opened the car door and carefully placed it in the back seat. It looked like he was keeping our appointment and he wasn't planning on using a putter, or being on the short end of a gun battle!

Luckily, I had kept his cell phone when I returned his wallet to his pocket. I dialed 911 and anonymously reported a deranged man making threats with a gun of some kind in the area of the county fairgrounds. He was driving a blue Ford sedan with "motherfucker" spray painted on the passenger side. It seems Jack had not yet noticed my detailing efforts on his chariot. Even the town cops should be able to identify that car! I wiped the cell phone clean and tossed it in the Lehigh River and went home.

Gwen had dinner ready when I came through the door. It smelled good and I was hungry, so I sat down and ate. Gwen picked at her food and kept watching me as if I was a cat and she was a mouse. She jerked when the phone rang. I answered it before she could get to it.

It seemed that a detective Anderson wanted to know if I knew a guy named Jack Sherwood and if I had challenged him to a gunfight for having his way with my wife. He had been picked up after a tip, and he had a sawed-off shotgun and a colt revolver in his possession!

"I don't know the guy. Maybe he's thinking of running for vice president or something," I opined to the detective.

The cop admitted Sherwood's story sounded strange. Then he let the other shoe fall. He told me that Jack Sherwood was on parole for assault and was not allowed to have any weapons in his possession, let alone an illegal shotgun. It looked like he was going back to the big house!

I was glad to hear he was going back up the river, but felt a nagging concern about my safety when he was released. Would he harbor any grudges? I made a mental note to use the internet to track his progress as a guest of the commonwealth. I made another mental note to pick up a few more weapons and ammunition.

Gwen had listened to my end of the conversation, but I knew there was no way she could have determined what I was talking about or with whom I was speaking. She didn't yet have the nerve to speak to me.

I moved my personal hygiene products into the guest bath and went to bed early. It had been a long night and I was exhausted. Gwen watched silently as I closed the door of the guest room.

Things went on that way for almost a week. Gwen finally screwed up the nerve to speak to me.

"Jim, I've apologized to you. I can't go on like this. Tell me if you're divorcing me or not, please. Tell me if you hate me. Tell me what you're thinking," she pleaded.