Nick Has Been Cuckolded–Part III: Post-cuckold

NOTE: I don’t like to read long blog posts, so as I began to write the story of Nick’s and my first cuckold experience, I decided to split it into three separate posts:

  1. Part I: Pre-cuckold
  2. Part II: The Act
  3. Part III: Post-cuckold

hawkings-sheets

ELISE WRITES:

When I arrived home, I pulled into the garage, turned the car engine off, shut the garage door and sat for a few seconds, trying to decide how to react to Nick when I walked in the door. Should I be honest? Break into tears because I felt so bad? Or suck it up, be a big girl, draw on my Elise blood to enjoy the experience?

All I knew to do was play it by ear. So, I walked inside.

He headed down the stairway as soon as he heard the door open, and met me, hugged me, held me close. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I felt him trembling.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He pulled me closer. “I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you. Are you okay?”

“I’m good. But glad to be home with you.”

He took my hand and led me into the bedroom. “Come tell me about it.”

I started to undress, and he followed my lead, as if he’d been waiting to see what I’d be comfortable with. We climbed under the sheets together, and it was heaven to feel his arms around me, feel the warmth of his body pressed against me, take a breath of his familiar scent.

“How was it, sweetie?” he asked again.

“It was okay.” But there was one thing I needed to tell him before we proceeded. “He didn’t use a condom.”

“I thought you said–”

I interrupted him and explained what had happened, that I made the mistake of letting him enter me without a condom, and that I didn’t know until it was too late that he’d cum.

He admitted that he was pissed, but not at me–at Robert for not putting one on, though he’d told me he would.

“Do you think he was safe?” he asked.

I told him I thought so, all the while thinking, “How can I really know?”

“How was it other than that?” he asked, the warmth of his cock pressing against my thigh.

I decided to wait to tell him the details of how I felt–decided to take advantage of the eroticism of the night. So, I smiled and said, “Well, other than that, it was pretty hot.”

As if my words gave him permission for his passion, he sighed, kissed me. “Oh, darling. Can I taste you?”

I’ll admit, this is something I just don’t get about the cuckolding–that Nick wants to taste the cum of a man who has fucked me. I know it’s part of the scene, especially part of the “routine” of a dominatrix, part of his submission. So, whether I “get” it or not, I decided to go with it . . . give Nick what he wanted.

I crawled on top of him and slid up to sit on is face. He licked me, and I watched the ecstasy written all over his face as he filled with submissive desire.

“I can taste him. He came inside you. Thank you, sweetie. Thank you.”

It was so hot for me to see Nick so turned on, almost helpless with desire. His cock was swollen, hot and rock hard as he asked, “May I come inside you now?”

Don’t ask, I thought. Just take me!

But, in role, the Dom answered. “Yes, you may.”

He pressed his body on top of mine, prepared to enter me. My cunt was hungry for him. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel his cock plunge in and out of me to erase the memory of Robert.

And then he slid inside. I was wet with desire for Nick, still wet with Robert’s cum. Deep, so deep inside, he was swollen and full. I can hardly find the words to describe how I always, always feel when Nick first enters me. It’s a union of our bodies, our minds, our hearts, our souls.

I know, I know. It’s almost cliche. I sound like a lovesick teenager. And isn’t it great, that I’m more years beyond a lovesick teenager than I care to admit, and I can still feel this way?

But, back to the hot, desire-filled joining of our bodies. Nick was ravenous. He whsipered breathless questions about my play with Robert.

“What did he do first?”

“He licked my clit. He flicked his tongue over it lightly.”

“Oh, lightly? And did you like that?”

“Oh, I did.”

“Did you cum?”

“No, cumming is only for you.”

He moaned as if that sent a surge of pleasure through his body.

“What did he do next?”

“He climbed on top of me and thrust deep inside me.”

“Was he big?”

“He was long, but not as thick as you. But he went deep inside. So deep, it almost hurt.”

Nick plunged deeper, the way he always does. A deep plunge with another push on top of it. Ecstasy.

“Oh, baby. I’m about to cum. Can I cum?”

This is a highlight moment for me. A moment of pure power. Should I let him cum, enjoy the feel of his exploding inside me, listen to his cries of ecstacy? Or should I make him wait, either hover for a few seconds, right on the edge, or perhaps even throw him off of me and tell him he must wait.

That night, that first encounter after the cuckolding, I wanted to feel Nick cum and I told him, “Yes, baby. I want to feel you cum.”

I’d barely finished saying “cum” before Nick did. He moaned and cried out my name–my real name, not “Elise.” He rose up then plunged hard several times before falling limp onto me for a few seconds. Then, he gazed at me with the warmest, most loving smile.

“Thank you for cuckolding me, Sweetie. I love you.”

Our bodies wrapped together, we talked about what had happened–about what each of us felt–in the hours preceding as the cuckold took place.

But again, to keep this post short and focused, I’ll discuss what we thought, what we learned, in another post titled “Afterglow.”

For now, I’ll close by reminding you of the power of this cuckold. That night, our physical and sensual explorations–our shared fantasies and desires–continued until sunrise. Nick and I made love and he came another four times, until at last, we collapsed into sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

NICK WRITES:

I heard the garage door open and felt relief and nervousness. Like a first date, almost. I wondered how we’d do together. Wondered how I’d tell her what I had been feeling and even if I should. What would happen between us? I had no idea how she felt but I knew she’d have some reaction, some real feelings. This was the first time she’d cuckolded me. Her first time ever, as far as I knew, of having sex with a stranger.

We met in the dark on the middle stair and hugged. I held her as tight as I ever had. She felt warm. Though there was so much to say, we kissed wordlessly for a long time. While kissing, the spell returned. I began to melt and tremble, my worry, hurt, jealousy and anger slipped away. I wanted her to feel me hold her and open to her. She’d just put herself in a vulnerable place, physically and emotionally, in large part to fulfill a fantasy of mine. I felt a deep gratitude, a sense of humbleness, but a rising desire. Intense desire.

We moved to the bedroom. I waited for her to take the lead. She started to undress, we did so quickly, like long-lost lovers, and she began to tell me what had happened. It wasn’t long before I could sense that it hadn’t gone that well for her. He hadn’t used a condom as she’d asked. He’d been rather cold, letting her find her own way out to her car. I winced but felt a bit reassured. I didn’t want him to have gentlemanly manners.

I didn’t realize the depth of emptiness that she brought home with her. She hid it well. I wouldn’t really learn about it until days later as she told me the story again, after her feelings about that night became more clear to her.

What I did learn, just as we got naked to lay down together, that would raise my ardor through the roof, was that she was filled with three loads of another man’s cum.

It’s difficult to describe the fire of nerves and desire that broke through me as she told me he’d cum in her three times. It was overwhelming. I quickly asked her if I could lick her. She brought her vagina over my face as I laid on my back on the bed. I could taste him. It wasn’t a strong taste but I knew the taste. I could feel the familiar warm full wetness in her cunt that happens after I come in her. He was in her. I got hard and thrust involuntarily as if I was inside her. I kept seeing her with him, watching her open for him, see her delicateness as she did, his maleness over her, then in her. I felt primitive.

I wanted to know the details, every single one. She said his cock was long and thin, so long it hurt. She said that he had come inside her just about an hour earlier, said he came a lot the first two times, so much she could feel his cum dribble down between her ass cheeks and onto his sheets, so much he’d offered to put a towel beneath her so she wouldn’t have to lay in it. She later described him as dominating her, telling me how he took her, hurt her, used her as an object, looked right through her, fucked her. She said “yes,” she liked it.

I was mesmerized by her voice. She whispered “yes,” when I asked her if she wanted to see him again. Said, “yes,” she wanted to feel him inside her again, and “yes,” she wanted him to cum in her again.

I was on fire. The details brought the scene into sharp focus, brought it alive and put me there, taking me deeply into my humiliated, submissive cuckold space.

I whispered, “So I’m your cuckold boy now?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice affirming something in me that I’d craved and she’d touched. I’ve never wanted a woman more, or felt a woman so close and present and in love with me, and yet also distant in a very real way.

After licking her, I asked permission to go inside her. She whispered, “yes.” Normally I am slow to cum, not that night, I was on the edge almost right away and probably would have been unable to stop, even if she’d said “no” when I asked if I could cum. Again she whispered “yes” and I thrust as far as I could, filling her as I would many more times throughout the night and into the morning.

When Elise and I first met–after many weeks of written communication–we fell into bed in early evening and made love all night long. This night was just like that first night. I couldn’t get enough of the taste of her kisses, her whispers, and her body’s warmth. I wanted closeness, to be inside her again and again and I was, over and over. I was joyous and possessive and relieved. She was in my arms. I held her close.

@@@@@

Cuckolding me in real life had an incredibly deep and potent effect on my desire for Elise. But it also raised questions and at some level, really hurt and raised fears and insecurities. I needed to tell her what it had been like for me.

Elise likes my poems, so I wrote this cuck haiku:

She was filled with him
Sat on my face, let me lick
I licked him away

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About Nick and Elise

It may turn away some readers to know that Nick and Elise are, shall we say, right smack dab in mid-life. But, it’s part of their story. Blessed with healthy sexual appetites that have not waned as they've aged, they also feel blessed to have found each other, after leaving sexless marriages. And now, having discovered in each other a playmate as well as a soul mate, they play. And they write about it. Some of what they write is real. Some of it is fantasy. Only Nick and Elise know the difference between the two.
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4 Responses to Nick Has Been Cuckolded–Part III: Post-cuckold

  1. Pingback: Steve Has Been Cuckolded–Part II: The Act | The Serendipity of Sex

  2. Pingback: Steve Has Been Cuckolded–Part I: Pre-cuckold | The Serendipity of Sex

  3. Pingback: Nick Has Been Cuckolded–Part I: Pre-cuckold | sexendipity

  4. Pingback: Nick Has Been Cuckolded–Part II: The Act | sexendipity

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