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  Cuckolding for Beginners

  © 2015 J D Stones

  All rights reserved

  Cuckolding for Beginners

  When Peter and Erin move into their new home in the Cheshire countryside, they have new neighbours. An exciting world of female domination, cuckolding, male bisexuality and denial awaits.

  But as Erin is seeking hot men for one night stands and Peter's attentions turned towards other men, how far will they go, especially with previous torments ready to rear their ugly head? Can Peter deal with the ultimate humiliation and become a total cuckold?

  This book is full of heterosexual, homosexual and BDSM sex scenes and contains explicit imagery throughout.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter I

  The Beginning

  Every story has a beginning and my tale of perverted depravity is no exception. It's easy to think that it began when I first met Erin, who later would become my wife, and partner on my lust-filled journey of mutual discovery. Or perhaps when we turned to kink to revive our flagging sex life, or even when we moved into the spacious four-bedroomed house in leafy Cheshire.

  But the real beginning of my tale was fifteen years before that. The seeds for my twisted leanings were sown when I was a mere teenager. I thought I had seduced Holly, entranced by my witticisms, good looks, and half-a-bottle of half-inched vodka. On reflection, she had ensnared me, smirking as she rolled her hands over my virgin body.

  It was my first time; I did not know how powerful sex could be and my lust for all things female had been amplified not sated by lingerie catalogues and dirty magazines. My hormones were rampant, my self-control non existent. I thought about sex morning, noon and night. Yet, my peers and I thought of Holly as the dirty creature. She was the one with the reputation. She was the one who had slanderous tales scrawled over the bog walls at school.

  But that summers day, I became a man. Less Cider with Rosie, and more Vodka with Holly, but my three-day-old relationship with the feisty college girl saw my virginity stolen by the experienced missy. From the moment we stepped onto her driveway, to the pinnacle of my climax in the expansive forest overlooking our town, she was in total control.

  And she knew it.

  And she acted it too. The undressing of my clothes, so I stood naked in front of her, surrounded by trees and ferns in a secluded spot by the reservoir. She had a sharp intake of breath, eyeing my pasty eighteen-year old body tattooed with lumps, bumps and bruises with a wry smile.

  I remember closing my eyes as I shivered in embarrassment, scared that she would laugh at the dreadful effects of puberty on my untaken body. I had no rippling muscles or brutish strength; I had no experience or confidence.

  The sweet aroma of pine filled my nostrils as her fingers traced over my skin, trembling at her light touch caressing my bare flesh. I jolted as her finger slipped over my cock, and our lips gently touched. "Bit small," she moaned. Our eyes met. "But I'm sure you can be … some fun."

  My cock withered with her simpering observation; she sexily discarded her clothes to reveal a scintillating figure that will remained forever ingrained in my memory. Nothing can compare to her sexiness at that moment. Seconds later I fumbled at foreplay and then she pushed me onto the forest floor to mount my stiffening cock.

  Warmth like nothing I'd ever experienced: an awesome power reflected in her eyes as she rode my bare prick with desperate and unrestrained horniness. A single-minded desire to extract my orgasm from my virgin soul as her hands pushed my shoulders into the earth and her hips smashed her cunt down onto my cock.

  At yet, between the pants and groans, squeals and cries, she belittled my prowess. "Should see David Marsden's cock. It's fucking huge, size of an elephant. Massive. And Brent and Robert between them had been screaming for days. And Mr Barker after school …" And so on.

  She knew what she was doing; her eyes fizzled mischievously as her body ground against my manhood. Reminding me she was not mine. Telling me, the sex was not special to her.

  The intense urge to fill her cunt with my seed was overwhelming, the deep thrusting of my hips to meet her rhythm was instinctive. I was on edge, my face screwed and my pants desperate and short.

  She smiled as my cock pumped the first wave of cum into her pussy and my lover gently rode my dick as I savoured the unbelievable ecstasy flowing through my body. Without a word, she stood up, pausing only to wipe herself with her fingers.

  She made me suck her fingers dry; it tasted weird.

  But every sex session was followed by cunnilingus as I would go down on my lover after our activities. She said it was the price to pay for bareback sex, but I just loved to see her orgasm and scream. I promised Holly I loved her. I think I probably meant it.

  Alas, I was eventually to find that Holly was also entertaining three other men on the side although I ignored my suspicions of her indiscretion for several months. I was happy to get my weekly dates of friendship and regular doses of rampant sex if I ignored any evidence that our relationship wasn't exclusive.

  Until I confronted her about it.

  "Of course I have other boyfriends," she laughed, dismissing my concern with ease as she slurped her McDonald's milkshake. "You don't do all your shopping at one shop, why should I only have one lover?"

  She almost resenting having to explain herself but detailed her never-ending infidelity over our nine month relationship. Emotionally it was too much: sleeping with my friends was damaging to my confidence, screwing my elder brother was crushing.

  But she never saw anything wrong with it. I ran out of the fast food outlet and released my frustration in the woods, screaming at the trees as I thought of her. I cried; angry at myself and her. I returned home to hear the familiar lustful sounds and desperate squeals coming from the bedroom I shared with Joe.

  I walked in on them; watching as Joe's buttocks drove his bare cock into the eighteen-year-old who until so recently was my girlfriend. I froze, watching my elder brother fuck Holly.

  We fought that day; we punched the hell out of each other until we had no more energy to give. I just couldn't cope with her infidelity, but in my heart of hearts I had always known she was unfaithful. Every day I had seen the evidence and ignored it, and everyone at my college had known and whispered behind my back. Every time we'd had sex she'd dropped hints.

  I guess I had dreamt of a fairytale romance. If I thought she was exclusive to me then she was, but I'd always known that she had needed many men to satisfy her. In truth, the rampant sex made her happy, and I had always known this.

  And I learnt as I got older that the role of both partners is to provide a relationship basis that both sides can get satisfaction from and at that moment, I was enjoying my dates, my friendship and my sex with the young lady and she was enjoying playing the field.

  Who was losing out, exactly?

  Unfortunately, I didn't realise that then, and it would take over a decade for me to get over my fears of non-exclusivity. Years to get over the idea that my loved one was getting sexual pleasure from strangers, from friends and from my own kin.

  After we split up, Holly continued to see my brother and my friends; she tried to explain she liked me as a partner and as a friend, but she liked the sex she got from everyone else too. She couldn't choose between those two and didn't want me to make her. She wanted both, but I just felt a lot of hate and betrayal towards my ex-girlfriend. I knew Joe continued to see her occasionally, but I ignored this and just tried to repair the relationship with my elder brother. We never talked about Holly to each other from that day we fought; a wound best left unopened.

  Six months after ou
r unceremonious breakup I met Erin: a bubbly, beautiful girl who swept my wavering fears of sexual competence away with a playful giggle. She made me feel special; abandoning her wild days of partying and promiscuity to spend time with me. And ten years, two kids and a mortgage later, we were still together.

  Only, there was something missing. In the first few months of our relationship we couldn't keep our hands away from each other and my girlfriend hardly went a day without several orgasms. Yet, as the years rolled past, sexy encounters in bed became rarer and rarer.

  I faced the prospect of her cheating, or worse still – losing her – and one night we sat down to talk about our future. Her new job as a corporate account manager at an expansive gym was dominating her thoughts, and I was a distant fourth after the children, her job and her hobbies.

  We talked, and we promised to make time for each other and the following weekend, she presented a "BDSM beginners kit" to the bedroom. A suggestion from a friend.

  It felt weird to be tied up, restrained as her flimsy flogger worked a dozen strokes on my backside. I wasn't in control at all: it was like all those days and nights with Holly as she dominated our relationship and the sex. It was exhilarating as my sexy wife pranced around me, laughing as her hand rubbed the reddened buttocks. It felt so very natural.

  For us both. And that night became the start of our journey into kink; she enjoyed dominating me, smacking me and sadistically bringing me to cries of pain, and I enjoyed the sensual contact and feelings of helplessness.

  In the months that followed we explored our sexuality every Sunday night at what felt like a breakneck speed, reading and learning about a dozen new ways of playing with each other during the week and putting them into practice at the weekend.

  But most of all, I loved ceding control. I adored her taking what she wanted and denying me what I begged for. I endured ruined orgasms, savoured her cunt with my tongue until she could take no more and placated her every whim.

  We were flying, we thought we were well on our way to a wonderful sexual adventure.

  And yet, as I now know, for all the mild spankings and ritualistic teasing, our kinky journey had barely begun.

  To do that, we had to move house.

  Chapter II

  Moving House

  There are many things you can search for when looking for houses but "welcoming and rampantly kinky neighbours residing next door" is not one of them; they come by extremely good fortune and Erin and I were very lucky.

  At the end of a leafy cul-de-sac were two houses: one was the original manor house that dominated the plot of land, and the other was a small property at the end of the small shared drive, that was originally an ancillary house for servants in decades past. Cheshire is full of these sorts of properties, and the four-bedroomed family home was ideal for our needs, especially as it was at a reduced price because the owners were keen for a quick sale.

  The day after we moved into the house, we saw a saloon car pull alongside our neighbour's property and my wife and I took a break from unloading boxes to meet the couple whose drive we shared.

  I wasn't sure what I expected from the owners of the manor house three times as big as my property. Bryn oozed warmth: a man as tall as me with short black hair a slightly receding hairline. I'd find out later that the scruffily dressed gentleman owned a company worth £5million and yet he looked just as normal as my wife and I.

  He shook my hand, embraced Erin and welcomed us into his expansive home. Christina, his wife, was a short smiling bundle of energy. She hugged us both, pressing her warm body against our tired torsos and escorted us into the lounge. She dispatched her husband to the kitchen to prepare liquid refreshments for their guests.

  I remember noticing that she was in great shape; the figure-hugging outfit exhibited her sexy figure and well-proportioned breasts. The blonde-haired woman suggested that her husband show me around their house and Christina took my wife into their garden with their glasses of chilled white wine.

  Bryn said little about the family who we had bought the house from, but what few words he chose were less than complimentary. I felt a little uneasy as he suggested there had been an acrimonious disagreement but I found Bryn was welcoming and inoffensive.

  "Baby, Erin and Peter have only moved in yesterday and they still haven't unpacked all their cooking stuff. Go and make tea for us all please." Christina barely looked up from her chat with my wife. Bryn smiled and nodded, and refused all offers of help so I joined the chattering women in their garden.

  Their garden wasn't huge, but was secluded. It was shielded from the long gardens of the other houses in the cul-de-sac by tall hedges and I couldn't see a single house from my position on the grass. The two giggling women chatted conspiratorially and I didn't interrupt as I looked around the landscaped garden.

  Instead my mind turned back to our hosts and their relationship. From the way she spoke to him, looked at him and he responded to her, was not that of a normal vanilla couple. I recognised the interactions between them as she barked with an air of dominance and command, and he did as he was told accordingly.

  Those first couple of hours I warmed to the married couple: Bryn was passive and friendly and Christina was bubbly yet unyielding. Once she had ordered her husband to make dinner for us, there was nothing Erin and I could do to change her mind. We didn't want them to go to any trouble and our clothes were dusty and sweaty from our manual toil of moving furniture and unpacking goods for most of the day, but they just embraced their guests.

  Christina was insistent, and Bryn cooked a wonderful dinner of spaghetti bolognase with a pudding to finish. We washed down his cooking with two bottles of wine.

  I felt a little guilty when they refused to let us help wash up and Erin drunkenly giggled as Bryn bent over to retrieve a spoon he dropped onto the floor. His tracksuit bottoms slid down his bum and revealed a bright pink, lacy pair of womens' knickers encasing our host's buttocks.

  "Nice panties," Erin instinctively cried, causing Christina to glance at her husband and snigger. Bryn blushed slightly, mumbling as he got up and hurriedly carried our dirty plates into the kitchen. "Sorry," my wife offered to our host.

  "No problem." Christina called her husband back into their dining room, glaring at him as he tightened his scruffy tracksuit trousers. "Our guest has just complimented you on your underwear, what do you say?"

  "Ummm …" He blushed brightly, staring at the floor as he took a deep breath. "Thanks Miss," he finished, smiling gently at my startled wife.

  "Now as my guest here," Christina continued, gesturing at Erin and ignoring me, "has already seen that I often put you in some lacy underwear then perhaps you shouldn't wear that scruffy tracksuit."

  "I'd rather …"

  "I don't care what you'd rather. You've embarrassed yourself in front of Erin and that shows me up." She glanced at my wife holding an empty wine glass and licked her lips. "I don't think he has the right to wear trousers if he wants to flash his panties, do you?"

  "Definitely not." Christina clicked her fingers at her partner, staring at him as he wordlessly unbuttoned his clothes and allowed his tracksuit bottoms to fall to the floor.

  I tried not to look; I was feeling mildly tipsy, slightly uncomfortable yet curious: aroused yet apprehensive. His hot pink lacy knickers did little to hide his bulge and they looked ridiculous on the six foot man.

  His cheeks burnt in humiliation; his nose sniffed as his wife talked disparagingly about him. Yet, she chose the words carefully, "my husband's damn silly but I love him."

  I recognised that dynamic from our books, our videos and our play: a punishment and a reward. A psychological carrot. He was burning up with shame at exposing a secret part of him to another couple, but then there was his tormentor saying she loved him.

  "I did tell you we were very kinky," she needlessly added.

  "I know! Us too!"

  "Oh, you got him in panties? Men are so much better when they are in their place!" Christina lau
ghed, as my eyes returned to the dining table. I blushed, shaking my head and spluttering; we must have had too much wine. "Prove it!"

  "Ummm … I'm not sure …"

  "Peter," my wife cooed gently. "Bryn's shown his. It'll be a giggle!" Her glazed eyes swept across my hesitation. "I'd really love you to join in the fun with us."

  Her voice never raised, her tone never sharp but she guided my will into standing in front of our hosts and unbuckling my jeans so they cascaded between my knees. Plain blue boxer shorts. Boring, functional, masculine.

  But Christina just beamed, pouring more alcohol into our glasses, which I was still drinking from ten minutes later as we sat underneath the patio heaters soaking the last remnants of the Sun before it dipped below the horizon.

  I sat in just my boxer shorts, my host in just his pink panties; our T-Shirts confiscated by the giggling tipsiness of our wives. They both laughed as they removed the faded cotton garments and Christina openly fondled my clothed buttocks. "That's so spankable and damn fuckable!" She exclaimed, treating me like a discardable sex object for her entertainment. "I hope you don't mind," Christina continued as she stretched out on the loungers. "But we are having a few friends over next weekend. A bit of a party until late." Her eyes fixed on Erin as she spoke softly. "We have them every so often."

  Bryn shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps they would …"

  "I don't think so," she interrupted. "It gets a bit … passionate!"

  My wife fidgeted. "We are … quite far back from your property and ummm … I think we might be away this weekend. Or are the kids at your mums?"

  "Our kids spend a couple of weekends a month with my parents," I added but Christina didn't stop staring at my wife, trying to read her expression. I think they may have communicated telepathically as both women broke into a smile at the same time.

  I don't think I was on the same wavelength as them although I guessed their party would be a very adult affair and bored with the minimal conversation Bryn and I tossed a beachball between us and began, in just our underwear, play football on their garden.