Louise … Slut at Last Pt. 02

After I pressed “Send” on the email to Les (who would hopefully soon be my wife Louise’s new Master), the seconds ticked by at a glacial pace. It was already late afternoon when I sent Louise’s contact information and weekly schedule to a man I’d only just “met” on craigslist. Soon, it was 5:30, and time for me to be heading home. But I didn’t hear back from Les, no matter how many times I refreshed my Inbox on the Outlook account I used for craigslist communications. He had just gone dead quiet on me. So, I stayed after work, finding small tasks to keep me busy, things which would put me ahead of schedule for the following work day. Finally, at 7 pm, I concluded that I was not going to hear from our new Bull today, and I drove home, a bit dispirited. Had he only been toying with me? Did he perhaps acquire Louise’s personal information as part of some identity theft scam? You never really know who you’re dealing with on the internet.

I checked my craigslist email account as soon as I got home. Still, nothing. I checked it many times before leaving for work the next morning. Nothing. I was pretty sure I had been played somehow, by this fellow Les with the enormous cock. Or, who knows? Maybe just with pics of someone else’s enormous cock.

I drove to work with the wind taken out of my sails. But when I arrived at work, after handling my first batch of work emails, I checked the Outlook account again, and Les had written back:

“Time to buckle up, Cuck! I’m going to take “your” wife from you today. Get ready for a wild ride! REMEMBER, you said you wanted this! No turning back now, loser.”

My cock started to get hard. I scanned over the email I’d sent him the afternoon before, to see where I’d told him Louise would be today. Grocery shopping, gym, or literary club. It could be anything, really. But I figured he seemed pretty eager, and the literary club met in the evening, so I was guessing he’d stalk her at her gym.

*********************

Louise, meanwhile, went blithely about her daily rounds. First, she went to her small local gym, where she made sure to chat amiably with Jim and John, her two “pursuers”, making sure to bend down nonchalantly before each of them to show them a bit of cleavage. For Jim, her Luster-in-Chief, she had a special treat. She had not worn panties today under her leggings, and she made sure that Jim was well-positioned on a treadmill in front of the lying leg curl machine, before she did 5 sets (light weight for 20 reps per set) of hamstring curls, her back arching to show Jim her beautiful tight, lush, ripe round married ass. Well, she didn’t think of it in exactly those terms. She just thought she was doing a nice thing for a nice man. But for Jim, in reality, it was torture, and he wondered if Louise was some kind of sadist, the way she purposely stuck her ass up like that, which gave him a raging boner every time. He looked down now at his asymmetrically arranged gym shorts, flat on the left, but with a pronounced cylindrical shape pushing them out on the right. Louise finished her last set and took a look at Jim’s shorts. Then she gave him a wink and headed for the shower.

After this was grocery shopping. Always uneventful, and a tad boring, but it had to be done. She had a system, though, and was methodical in choosing which aisles to go down, and in what order, so before long Louise was pushing her 3/4 full cart out to her big, dark red sedan. As she rolled her cart to a stop in front of the trunk, a gentle warm breeze made her stop and be thankful for the day. She unpacked everything into the cavernous trunk, and gently closed the lid down over her purchases.

As the trunk lid latched with a pleasing thump, a man approached her slowly from the direction of the supermarket, a man she did not know. He spoke softly and said,

“Pardon me, ma’am, but I saw you in the store and I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were shopping … but I couldn’t help but notice your wedding ring. It’s really something! May I see it?”

“Okay, this is weird,” Louise thought as she tried to size the guy up and think of escape routes. “He knows that this is my car; he just saw me put the groceries in it,” she thought. The fellow was taller than average, and had a good, solid build. He was dressed in loose, cotton gym pants and a t-shirt that showed a very decent physique for his age. She would have estimated him to be about her same age, mid-forties. He had a neatly trimmed beard, and ice blue eyes. He was not bad looking, certainly not a panhandler. But, what kind of man asks to see a woman’s wedding ring? She half thought of jumping in the old Mercury, and high-tailing it out of there. But the silence after his query had become too long, and she didn’t have a viable plan yet. So she cautiously held out her left hand for him to see the ring. It suddenly struck her what he was … he must be a jewelry thief.

While she was thinking this, the man deftly but gently grasped her hand, and in a fluid motion brought it downward and placed her palm on the crotch of his pants. There, her fingers encountered the barely disguised shape of his fully erect member. Thinking about it later, she wondered why her first thought had not been, “My gosh! That thing is HUGE!” But that was her second thought. Her first thought, as he gently moved her hand along the length of his hard shaft was … “What kind of material are those gym pants made of? So sheer! I can feel everything through them!”

She was taken aback, but the other part of her brain, the part that had been working out a way of escape, came through for her. She would play along, but only for about two seconds.

“Wow!” Louise gasped … “I’d better see if I have a condom with me!” And she freed her hand, unzipped her purse and reached in it, with the man’s face looking very confused.

“Damn!” Les thought, “This little slut is not a hard case at all! I just have to break the news to her that I’m going to be taking her little slut pussy without a condom …”

In fact, however, just as that thought was pleasantly rolling through the convolutions of Master Les’ brain, his eyes and nostrils began to sting most painfully, and he was temporarily blinded. Louise gave him one more shot of pepper spray straight to he face and dashed for her car door. Her heart rate crested at about 190 beats per minute. She thought herself lucky to be alive.

“What a pervert!” she almost growled, as she furiously drove home, making sure to take a circuitous route until she was sure nobody was following her. “What an incredible, pathetic pervert!”

It took her the entire rest of the day to calm down. She figured out which parts she would tell Will when he got home, and which parts she’d leave out (touching the penis!).

*********************

Meanwhile, I was at my office, ignorant of all of this. If you must know, I was reading Les’ morning email over and over again in a stall in the Men’s Room, wanking to the thought of him seducing my wife. Of course, today would just be his first approach to her. He’d need to be patient and take his time, get her used to the idea. But I knew he’d had success with eight other conservative or hyper-religious wives, so I was rooting for him to work his way into my wife’s panties just the same way. My little cock sure was excited by the thought. I didn’t hear anything from Les for a while, but around 1:30 pm, he emailed me. It was in all upper case letters; probably not a good omen.

“YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT YOUR FUKCIN BITCH DID? SHE MACED ME. SHE FUCKING BLINDED ME WITH SOME GODDAM CHEMICAL CRAP THAT BURNED THE HELL OUT OF MY EYES. YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR BACK CUCK. I DONT PLAY THAT SHIT.”

My mind reeled. What had I done? Was Louise safe? I couldn’t call her up and ask, “Is everything okay?” That would be suspicious. What the hell kind of approach had “Master” Les tried on my wife that got that reaction out of her in a first encounter? I typed back a carefully worded response:

“Master Les … What method did you use in seducing my wife? Perhaps you moved things along a bit too quickly for her?”

He was still raging, but he did answer my question:

“I DONE WHAT I DID WITH THOSE OTHER 8 SLUTS … I MADE HER FEEL MY DICK. THROUGH MY PANTS, NOTHING GROSS. NOT LIKE I PUT HER DAMN HAND INSIDE MY PANTS. FUCKIN BITCH. YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU AND YOUR UPTIGHT LITTLE SLUT JUST STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME. YOUR BOTH FUKING SYCHOS.”

I took a look back at my original craigslist ad, the one that had elicited a response from “Master” Lester. It contained, to my mind, two most relevant passages:

“As I said, she is set against this idea, so this is going to require a man with patience, finesse, and experience in ‘hard cases.’ My wife is extremely religious and conservative, so you’ll have to find a clever way to get past that.”

And,

“You must NOT force her … you must slowly seduce her.”

There was not patience, no finesse, and nothing slow about walking up to a woman and putting her hand on your cock. I began to wonder if there had even been eight wives that he seduced, if this was his method. Maybe he was just bullshitting me the whole time.

When I got home, Louise, was upset, but not as rattled as I had feared. She explained that there had been an incident in the supermarket lot, with a man approaching her and asking to see her wedding ring. She told me that she had just run to the driver’s door, hopped in, and accelerated away, leaving the man standing there. No cock-feeling, no pepper spray. Louise wondered if I thought she should have called the police.

“Well, given what you’ve told me,” I said, “I don’t see where he has committed any crime. But I’d shop somewhere else for a few weeks, to be safe.”

I felt hideous. I never did hear from Les again, thankfully, and he didn’t use Louise’s information to take any kind of revenge, which was a sort of miracle. The whole episode rather put me off of the idea of being cuckolded. It was way too dangerous, with so many possible unintended consequences. It was eighteen months before the sting of my bad behavior had softened enough to allow me to take another approach at it.

Of course, the bad experience with Les had not stopped making me a cuckold in my own mind. I still could not cum while fucking Louise, unless I pretended I was John or Jim or Rick or anyone but myself. And I still fueled my fantasies with plenty of cuckold porn. But I stayed far, far away from craigslist. I never did go back there.

But this fantasy, this cuckold kink, once it gets inside you, it doesn’t want to let go, and it will have its way with you, in the end. Louise and I were both almost 48 when I began to think of what else I could do to get my wife well and properly fucked by another man.

The first thing I realized was that the man to turn my wife into a slut was going to have to be someone she already knows. No strangers walking up to her in the gym or a parking lot. It would have to be, of course, a guy who was her physical type (which I really was not). She like slightly older (early to mid-fifties) distinguished looking guys … they had to have a kind face, and a thin body. And it had to be someone who already connected with Louise on some deeper, mental or spiritual level.

I also thought about what “drives” Louise. I came up with a list, and that helped me to select the guy I was going to have fuck my wife. She seems very often driven by duty. So if there can be a way set up that she would “owe” the man a debt she could never repay … well, that would motivate her. Louise was also driven by compassion for those in difficult situations. So, possibly the guy could play the “victim” card a bit. But that seemed out of character for a real man, for a Bull. Still, I added it to my list. And then, too, she was motivated by justice. If I could somehow brainstorm a way that fucking the guy would set right a horrible wrong … well, that also might do the trick.

I had in mind to approach one of my wife’s close male friends. I would invite them out for a beer and circle around the subject of my wife, and his friendship (attraction?) with her. I could ask the kind of questions that would let me get a sense of the man, to be sure he was up to the task. First of all, he had to already have a real, solid lust for Louise. I didn’t think it would be hard, given that 95% of the men who meet her seem to fall into that category. Second, he had to seem completely safe to her. He had to be the kind of man she wouldn’t think twice about sharing a meal or coffee with. Someone respectable, honorable. But, third, he had to be a bit of a bad boy, and dominant. That seemed to go against the second criterion. I mean, in the end, that’s what mattered: the guy had to be willing to hunt down, seduce, and fuck my wife. So, in a way, the third requirement of “easy immorality” was the most important. But even Les had had that. So all the criteria were important, and I weighted them equally.

This will sound stupid and geeky, but I actually made a decision matrix on an Excel spreadsheet. I put all the candidate names in column one, and their scores in subsquent columns. At the far right, each man would have a Grand Total number. The guy with the highest Grand Total was going to have a beer with me very soon, and hopefully bed my wife.

The scoring ended up a bit different than I would have anticipated. I expected Jim to finish first or else very near the top. She’d known him for about ten years, and they saw each other five days a week in the gym. I know he’d fuck her in a New York minute, given half the chance. But Louise had mentioned to me some creepy things that he had said to her, which pulled him down on the Safety criterion.

John was a similar, but more “muted” version of Jim. I had laughingly put Fred on the list, just to see how low he would score. He was an obese, smelly guy in my wife’s gym, who was in the habit of asking all the female gym members to sit on his lap. He was creepy and unattractive, so came up with a low score. He had perfect marks, though, on Easy Immorality. I know he’s been wanting to fuck my wife for 3 or 4 years. He’s pretty open about it, even to her.

Rick, the pervert from church, finished low in the scoring also, earning the lowest score on the Safety criterion. A few other church members scored high in Safety and Attractiveness, but I was quite certain that they wouldn’t do it, for religious and ethical reasons.

So, who won? It was a kind of dark horse candidate: Mark Upshaw from her Literary Group. He scored a perfect 10 on Attractiveness; he was EXACTLY Louise’s type. He also scored perfectly on Safety. The way Louise had talked about him, I knew that she trusted him completely. In fact, they had often shared lunch together, just the two of them, to talk about their writing. The only area where Mark did not score perfectly was in Easy Immorality. I just wasn’t sure how corruptible he was. I knew he found Louise attractive; I’d watched him when they were both in a room together. But he never leered at my wife or ogled her. His look was always above reproach (at least, as far as could be discerned by his facial expression and his eyes). Also, he was married, which might present an ethical roadblock for him. Still, I was willing to bet that the prospect of getting to fuck his sexy writer friend, with her husband’s complete blessing, would be too good an offer for him to turn down. I was going to trust the process, trust the Decision Matrix.

I waited two days before contacting Mark, just to get used to the idea, and to work on my approach to him. The thing was risky. And Mark was a risk for exactly one of the reasons that made him the perfect candidate: he was already my wife’s close friend. It was quite possible that he’d turn me down, drive home from the pub, and promptly email Louise with an account of my proposal to him. I mean, I could see a trusted friend doing that. Still, I set my face like flint and determined to call him the next day, a Thursday.

I couldn’t believe how nervous I was when I called Mark at lunch time on Thursday. And this was just to ask him out for a beer. Good grief, what would me heart rate be when I actually proposed Project Fuck Louise to him?

Mark did not seem surprised at my offer of drinks, and suggested Friday night at 6pm, at Callahan’s Pub. Great choice.

By committing to a time, I had put myself on a 30 hour deadline. That’s how I work best — under pressure. If the meeting with Mark had been set for a week later, I’d have done almost no preparation until the final 24 hours, anyway. So, this was perfect; I was in my element.

I knew some of the approaches I wanted to take, but I didn’t know the main thing yet: how to bring up the “C” word — as far as I know, guys sharing a pint in an Irish pub do not just bandy the term “cuckold” around — unless it is meant as jest — as an epithet to throw out at other guys you have agreed not to like for some reason.

It took me until my evening commute to figure out this keystone to my approach. And, perhaps not surprisingly, it hinged on the fact that Mark Upshaw was a published author. He had two novels published already, to wide acclaim, and a third in the hopper. I’d read the first two, since Louise had them around the house and had recommended them to me without reserve. And, truly, they were excellent. Truth be told, I was a little jealous of Mark’s ability with words and ideas. But there was one chapter in his second effort, “Crawl Out Your Window” in which an event happened that could serve as an ice-breaker for our cuckold conversation.

I was now truly excited as I pulled in the driveway. Louise was not home yet, so I quickly pulled a fat paperback, “Crawl Out Your Window”, by Mark S. Upshaw, from it’s place on one of Louise’s huge bookshelves. It didn’t take me long to find the right chapter and give it a quick re-read, remember the names of the three principals involved.

It’s not hard, if you’ve read this far, to guess how our evening went. I was giddy around Louise, though I tried not to be. And when we fucked at bedtime, I was definitely channeling Mark Upshaw as my cock went balls-deep in my pretty wife. Not that “balls deep” was very deep for the likes of me, of course. Louise, for her part, seemed to respond very well to my efforts, which was gratifying. Hopefully, the real Mark would be in her swollen pussy soon.

With the cornerstone of my approach in place, I hardly worried through the work day on Friday. I arrived at Callahan’s a bit early and picked a small table away from the crowded bar. Somewhere private where, if the word “cuckold” happened to be spoken between us, there would be no ears close by to perk up and take notice. Mark sauntered in about five minutes later, and sat down with me. I was already working on a brown ale, and when the waitress came, he ordered the same. Mark looked more like a lean, lanky lumberjack than someone who earned his living pushing a pen. He was about 6’2″ tall, with a mop of dark hair, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow, at least the times I’d seen him. He must shave at night, I thought. He had khaki pants on and a sharp looking dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, showing the bands of his muscular forearms.. His brown eyes were always smiling, as if he’d just remembered a secret joke.

We talked about trivialities until we were both on our second drink, and then I steered the conversation gently in the intended direction.

“What do you think of Louise’s novel, Mark? I have a lot of respect for your opinion, so I’d like to hear what you think.”

Louise had completed editing her first novel early the previous year, but did not have a publisher for it.

“Oh, it’s great. She’s really honed her craft over the past few years. She just keeps getting better.”

“Well, that’s gratifying to hear,” I said. “I have no real way of telling how good a book is; at least not like a trained writer could.”

Mark accepted the compliment quietly, taking another draught of the cool, dark ale. I went on, changing the topic slightly.

“You know, that reminds me, Mark. There was chapter in your second novel that I think I understood, but I wanted to ask some questions about, to see if I really got it.”

“Shoot,” Mark said with a smile. Most authors love to talk about their “c***dren” — meaning their books. He looked eager to do so.

“Well, okay … so in the chapter where Ben Withers has the affair with Tom’s wife — Julia? I knew the name full well, from reviewing it the night before, but I put a questioning intonation at the end of my sentence, to make it seem as if I was going from memory.

“Sure, yes, I know the part you mean,” Mark replied.

“Well, I understand, naturally, how Julia’s husband might feel, but I’m curious as to how Ben himself felt, taking another man’s wife like that.”

Mark did not miss a beat, but grinned at me broadly.

“Stolen water is sweet! That’s what the Good Book says.” He chuckled.

Now you see THIS is why I was right to choose Mark. A guy who could quote Proverbs from memory was just the sort of fellow who could get into Louise’s panties. I was elated, not only that he had used Scripture, but that he had used it to explain the pleasure a man could get from cuckolding another man.

“So, he really felt no guilt about it?”

“None,” Mark replied. “Only pure elation.”

“So.” I moved in for the kill. “About Louise …”

I just let my wife’s name hang in the air like that, to let Mark put whatever spin on it that he might. He looked mildly alarmed.

“Hey, Will … look, I NEVER touched Louise, not like that!”

Before he could sputter out any further denials, I came back with, “Well, how would you like to?”

It took about ten seconds, but finally a large grin spread across his handsome face.

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