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Aug 1, 2020 10:40 PM
Joined: Aug 2020
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Like most young men, I would have never even considered the possibility that such a word existed, let alone the fact that I could grow up and become one. Not too long ago, the mere idea of it would have angered me greatly. I had a typical youth, surrounded by friends, family, sports, and adventure. I was a normal teenager, and leaned in to the young bravado and propped up masculinity that middle and high-school peer pressure promoted. If you had told me that one day I would step aside to allow for another man to seduce and have sex my wife, I probably would have thrown a punch in your direction. I suppose that life often has a way of humbling us, however, and sometimes the manner in which it does can prove to be quite transformative.

I had snuck up to the guestroom door once again, a habit that had grown in frequency in recent weeks. The heat of shame was coursing across my face, distinct and inescapable, as was my arousal. Our guest room bed rocked back and forth, squeaking and creaking amidst a sexual chorus of thwacking, naked skin. With a dry mouth I swallowed, listening through the crack in the door as the love of my life moaned loudly in intense pleasure.

"Ohh-h William! I love your big dick!" My wife called out in passion to our hung lodger. I listened to William's masculine grunt of satisfaction, and then to the sounds of their lips smacking together in desire.

Human sexuality is a complicated thing. I would never be able to fully explain the pained excitement that my cuckolding caused me. As I toiled with strong embarrassment, my small penis was rigid in profound excitement. I listened, perpetually awestruck, as my wife submitted herself, and by proxy our marriage, to our supremely endowed guest.

As impossible as it might be to navigate the layers of complexity involved in our new sexual dynamic, less complicated perhaps, was the age old notion that penis size mattered. While that might not ring true for all women, I believe without question that it does for most.

Samantha was moaning louder now, Williams thrusting becoming more urgent as their bodies collided together in sexual need. I heard her gasp, my minds eye visualizing the pleasure that another man was giving her, "I'm cum-minggg William! Oh god! It's- so big! I'm cu-mming all over it!!"

I had learned, quite undeniably, that it certainly did for my wife.
Samantha and I were high school sweethearts, a romanticized type of relationship that was indeed a growing rarity in today's climate. I like to think that we did justice to the idea of it, both proud of a strong marriage and a deep love for one another, persistent even now into our early thirties. She's the only woman I have ever been with, sexually. Up until William, I had been the only man that she had ever been with, as well. Sammie is gorgeous in her own understated way, her body thick, with light brown hair that often cascades across her delicate and feminine face. She behaves shyly and quietly most of the time, but carries herself with a sexy undercurrent of sultry confidence, visually amplified by her large breasts and plump rear end. Sometimes she will find a way to temporarily shed her introverted demeanor, usually when the corks starting flying off bottles of red wine.

We lived not thirty minutes from the same neighborhood that we both grew up in, Sammie now working as an administrator at the same middle school that we attended when we were kids. I attended a regional trade school and became a skilled mechanic, working at a local automotive repair shop. Neither of us were exceedingly ambitious, and mostly preferred lazy weekends and relaxing free time together.

We were far from wealthy, but we lived a comfortable life in a typical suburbian middle class home. Even though we hadn't had kids yet, we knew the biological clock was ticking, and intended on starting that journey in the near future. One thing we wanted to do beforehand, was take a long-desired European vacation. Neither of us had ever been overseas, and believed it would be infinitely harder to accommodate a trip like that, with our incomes, after having children.

In order to stash away some additional cash, I came up with the idea of renting out our spare bedroom over the summer. There was an industrial district, and several business complexes, not too far from where we lived. I knew the room would likely be desired by any number of traveling professionals. What I did not plan on, naturally, was for our sex lives to change in the process, and for me to be made a cuckolded husband along the way.

"I'm not so sure John." Samantha rather objected to the idea, after I had initially broached it. "I don't know how comfortable I feel with a stranger living in our home."

"I know Sammie, but think about an extra four or five-thousand dollars, and how far that'll go towards the vacation." I replied, while also understanding her concern. We were trustworthy people, but we knew there was a need for caution when inviting a lodger into our home. I added, "I think it goes without saying that we can, and will, be very thorough in selecting the person. We don't have to accept the first one who shows interest. At the end of the day if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out."

Samantha thought on it for a moment, taking a sip of grocery bought wine.

I added, noting the average vintage and smiling across the table at her, "Think about a four star hotel, a real Italian dinner." I looked down at the pasta in my plate, pointing to it with my fork, "Not take out from Antonio's."

She smirked back at me, raising her glass, "Expensive wine."

I nodded, "A bottle a meal, even."

My wife chuckled, "We might not remember the trip at that rate."

We were in bed later that evening, after agreeing that we'd "safely" put out an ad for a renter. The glasses of red had lubricated my wife's inhibitions, and a more animated version of herself was encouraging my thrusts.

"Do me baby." Sammie whispered, as I pumped back and forth into her.

Our sex life had always been pretty good, though in recent years we seemed to lack a certain spark, a certain excitement, in the bedroom. I suppose that's normal for most long time married couples. Lately, though, we had begun to dip our toe's into some unfamiliar and naughty territory.

Admittedly I was never really a sexual dynamo, nor very well endowed, but lately I found myself finishing earlier than I was used to. A perverse thought had began to grow in my mind, fueled by a recent admission from Samantha.

It was a casual comment from my wife, and certainly not the first of its kind. She was an attractive woman, and was often stared at or hit on when out in public. Where once I was an extremely jealous teenager, I had slowly realized that male attention paid towards Sammie had become strangely captivating to me. It was hard to articulate why that was, in all honesty. The catalyst to those frightening thoughts had occurred a few months back, when Samantha mentioned one such case.

"A man at the hardware store asked for my number today." She had admitted, blushing and embarrassed.
I remained stoic, and replied, "That's never surprising, my love. You're gorgeous. Did you give him your cell or our home number?" I joked.

She chuckled, answering, "Funny John. I actually told him that I was flattered, but showed him my wedding ring." She replied, somewhat anxiously.

"Why do I get the sense that there's more to this story?" I added, sensing her discomfort.

"You'll never believe what he said to that." Samantha covered her face with her hands, seemingly mortified.

"What?" I replied, very much curious.

"He said. Good. Married women are my favorite kind!"

I felt a strange stirring from within me when Samantha spoke those words, and I can't explain why. I managed to keep my composure, replying, "The stones on that guy! What did you say?"

"Nothing! I walked away!" She replied, smiling in red faced embarrassment, adding, "I couldn't believe it!"

It was the following evening when I had a potent, harrowing dream.

Like all dreams, my recollection of it was hazy and amorphous, but also contradictorily vivid. I had arrived home to the sounds of passionate sex, a chill running down my spine, the hairs standing tall on the back of my neck as I realized that it was my wife engaged in the act. The atmosphere in our home was sleepy and seductive, somehow intoxicating.

I slowly strode down the hallway as Samantha's moans grew louder, it taking every ounce of courage to approach our faintly familiar bedroom door, my hand clammy and shaking as I spun the handle.

She was there, her legs spread wide, sexy body covered by a foreign and hulking masculine frame. The man was faceless, but taller and more muscular than me. Their sexual collision was cloudy, as if my own mind was afraid to present the details of what was occuring down between their legs. I trembled, listening as the woman I loved moaned with an unfamiliar ferocity. The strong male's muscles were rippling as he pumped into her, and even though I could not see below, I immediately knew that he was infinitely more sexually equipped than myself.

I woke, heart racing and skin sweaty, with a small tent in our bed sheets down near my groin. I scurried into our restroom, and frantically relieved myself to a frightening orgasm.

It was as if Sammie's admission became a seed that had been planted deep into my pysche, and as the horrifying thought grew, it slowly became inescapable. I had worked up the courage to mention the dream to her, which definitely surprised her, and caused her some blushing embarrassment. She was even more taken aback, wide eyed with an expression of intrigued surprise, when weeks later I also admitted that it had become something of a shameful fantasy for me.

After her initial shock wore off, she playfully smacked me, giggling and shy. She was seemingly appreciative of my honesty, as she spoke, "You know you're all I'll ever need, for as long as I live." We loved each other, in a manner that most couples would greatly envy, but I think that my strange admission had fueled an unfamiliar fire in our bed that evening. My wife sensed my excitement, my newfound vigor, and gently found ways to spur me with it.

Even now, back in the moment, she sensed it, looking up at me as I thrust into her. She spoke, her voice a teasing whisper, "Are you thinking about me and my hung lover?"

It was like sexual napalm, never failing to consume me as the mental images of Samantha in the throes of pleasure flooded my thoughts. I came early and immediately. "Fuck!" I grumbled, shuddering atop my wife. Samantha kindly and lovingly rubbed my back as I came, smiling.

"Sorry." I offered, breathing heavily, knowing that she had not cum. I smirked, knowing full well that she knew her teasing would make me explode. I added, "It's your own fault, this time."

"I can't help myself. I love knowing how to set you off." She replied giggling, caressing me gently, and then kissing me.

"You always have." I chuckled, though I couldn't help but continue to wonder why this horrible fantasy had become so powerful in my mind.

As I had predicted, it was not long until we started seeing some traction on our posting for the spare bedroom. Within the description I was up front about who we were, as a couple, and what our expecations were in terms of the general respect and behavior we expected from the house guest. It was a surprising amount of interest received in a short amount of time, but one in particular stood out to me.

'Greetings John,

My name is William Franklin and I will be in the area on business through August. I am a one man consultancy company and as such prefer renting private rooms over extended hotel visits, as I don't expense my lodging (I am also long since weary of hotels, going back to the early years in my career).

Your home is within ten minutes of my project site, and I vastly prefer a quiet residential surround over a City stay. I'd be very interested in renting the room throughout the summer, assuming you can confirm the following:

1) High speed internet is available in my room

2) Cable television is available in my room

3) The guest room shower is not a low pressure nozzle (a pet peeve of mine!)

If you can confirm the above I'd have interest in locking in the room quickly, and I'd be willing to pay above the asking price and offer an extra $250/month to do so. I need to be down in the area as soon as I can.

In the interest of familiarity and getting to no one another, I am also including a picture of myself attached to this email. I am forty-five years old, and a career minded man at this stage in my life. I am amicably divorced, and have two sons. I will have little time for leisure while in town, but do appreciate a friendly home to make my stay. I hope you consider my offer, and please let me know if you have any questions or concerns.

Look forward to hearing from you.


As I read his reply, I felt a tad daft for not including a note about our internet availability, realizing that any business person would obviously care about the status of the connectivity. His message was somewhat abrupt, but also clear and concise, which I appreciated. I scrolled down, and took note of his picture, something that no one else had thought to include.

He was dressed professionally, and seemed well built for a middle aged man, certainly in better shape than myself.

"I thought that was you for a second." I heard my wife's voice from over my shoulder.

"Huh?" I replied, not getting her meaning.

"Whoever that is on the monitor. He looks like an older version of you, maybe a little bigger. He's attractive."

Samantha blushed as she said it, not usually in the habit of admitting attraction to other men. I think she felt like she had a free pass, because she had led with the idea that he looked like myself. It was a comparison that I certainly didn't notice, or necessarily even agree with. I did however, notice the wine glass in her hand, and chuckled, despite the strange embarrassment that ran through my body. "You're a lush, baby." I teased.

I could see that she felt guilty about the remark, and tried to massage the comment by adding, "Who is that anyway?"

"Well up until you said that he was hot, he was probably going to be the lodger." I chided, jokingly.

She blushed, covering her mouth with her hand, "I'm sorry."

"I'm just kidding. He's actually willing to pay us additional if we confirm quickly. He needs to get down to start a project." I replied.

"I thought you said we'd take our time with this decision. Just because I said he was cute doesn't mean he's not a serial killer." My wife replied, ever worried.

"I'll send him a response, and ask that we talk on the phone tomorrow." I acknowledged.

Sammie seemed to consider it for a moment, looking up at his picture once again, before replying, "Okay. I'm going to get ready for bed." She rubbed my shoulder as she left the room.


Thanks for your interest, and I appreciate the thorough response. I can confirm all three as correct (I too, loathe a low pressure shower). I'd like to speak on the phone tomorrow, whenever you might be available. Included is my phone number, and a picture of my wife and I (to echo your desire for familiarity). Look forward to speaking soon.


As i closed my eyes for slumber that evening, I couldn't help but feel a strange hope that William's offer would work out. Even stranger, deep down I knew that hope was being fueled by my wife's admission of his attractiveness. I tossed and turned, bizarrely thinking once again of that unspeakable fantasy.

He called early the following morning, politely apologetic about the time.

"I'm a mechanic, so I'm usually up with the sunrise." I replied, assuaging his concerns. William's voice was deep, and his conversational ability charismatic. We discussed his work, his potential comings and goings, and I spoke a little about Samantha and I. Surprisingly, towards the end of the conversation, he openly complemented her.

"I hope this isn't too forward John, but that tends to be my nature. Your wife, she's very striking."

His comment caught me off guard, but the casual and confident manner in which he spoke it, left my defenses down. Stupidly, I replied with an admission of my own, "Sammie happened to think the same of you, seeing your picture last night." I fumbled, awkwardly, "She believes that we look somewhat alike." A strange embarrassment surged through me as I wondered why the hell I had offered such a weird reply.

Luckily, William handled it with grace, chuckling, "Well how about that. I think I can see the resemblance a little bit!" He then joked, "She doesn't happen to have a sister that lives nearby, does she?"

I laughed, admitting that she did not. We then changed the subject to payment, wherein we agreed cash or check was fine. We closed the call finalizing the date of his arrival.

"Well John. I appreciate the professionalism in getting this done, especially knowing that this isn't your actual profession."

"My pleasure, William."

I couldn't help but sense that his last comment was levied with a sort of inherent calm and subtle dominance. He said, "Tell Sammie I look forward to meeting her."

Very few people call my wife by the name 'Sammie'. It was really only myself, and her mother, who did. A certain level of intimacy was normally a prerequisite, but William certainly couldn't have known that, as I also had called her that name during my conversation with him. I heard myself reply, casually, "I will. See you soon."

When Samantha arrived home from work that evening, I was able to greet her with a smile and an excited remark, "Looks like we're going to have a nice bit of cash for our trip!"

Her eyes lit up for a moment, but then a look of concern washed across her face, "You spoke with him? What's he like?"

I could already sense her worry, and worked to alleviate it, "Relax. He seems level headed, respectful. I got a good vibe from him. He's not even going to be here all that often."

"What's his name again?" She asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

"William. He's a few years older than us, divorced, has two kids, and is a self admitted workaholic. I think you'll like him."

Samantha chuckled, "Why's that?"

I replied, "I don't know. Like I said, I got a good feeling." I paused, admitting, "He said that he thinks you're striking. He joked around, asking if you had a sister."

My wife cocked her head at me, "Huh? Why would he say that?"

"I sent him a picture of us, to be polite and to lessen the weirdness of meeting him for the first time."

Samantha bristled a bit, looking slightly uncomfortable, "Still, that's a bit forward from a man who will be living in our home, isn't it? That didn't upset you?" She asked it with a certain hint of curiosity, as if she was surprised that it hadn't.

I replied casually, while internally acknowledging that his compliment was a bit forward, "Again, it was said politely. If I thought he was some creep I would have rejected his offer. The conversation flowed very naturally. I even told him what you said about him and I looking similarly, and that you thought he was attractive."

"John!" She exclaimed, now sitting down on the couch near me. "Why would you say that? Now it's going to be awkward when I meet him."

I grabbed her thigh, gently massaging her leg through her jeans. "Will you relax? It's not going to be awkward. We were just joking around, breaking the ice."

She brushed her hair behind her ear, relenting somewhat, "Still, you shouldn't have told him that I thought he was hot."
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