Captainstrangecollector - Strange Collections

…the way she’s clutching that skirt…how she has her hand hidden inside her sweater…providing an excuse for something that has yet to transpire…it might not be today, but it will be…soon…<3 emmie @ le cocu quotidien.

It was cold in the bedroom as she slipped out of her scrubs.  The show was about an hour’s drive into the city and she only had a little while to get ready.

A final decision: the black, cheeky panties her husband adored.  They were sensible, while the rest of her outfit—a plunging neckline, new stockings, the first night out in a long-coveted pair of shoes—might give one idea, she would know that she had chosen against the most daring options in her drawer.  Her husband grew quiet as he saw her dress, but this should have reassured him.

She was thrilled that Clay had asked her to join him at opening night.  Her husband enjoyed this sort of thing, but could hardly be expected to make the herculean effort to find such exclusive tickets, so she had resigned herself to catching it later, maybe on a family vacation for an off-Broadway run.  Then Clay called, remembering something she had mentioned at the Christmas party, and she jumped at the chance.

Her husband took the news in stride—happy that she was happy—even offering to take her shopping for something special for the occasion.  When she settled on the shoes, she kissed him on the cheek and slipped the blue credit card from his wallet.

—

Clay arrived, and, as she finished getting ready, her husband made him a bourbon and soda.  It was the first time the two men had met outside of her office’s functions, and her husband had thoughtfully asked her what Clay liked to drink so that he could offer a small token.  They stood as she entered the room, clearly taken with her.  

Clay offered his arm to her as they said goodnight to her husband.  Clay watched as she blew her husband a kiss.

—

She always got nervous at black tie events, and sure enough she nearly fell on the first stair.  She caught Clay’s hand just in time to avoid embarrassment; if she had been wearing her rings, she would have cut his palm.  He smiled and, to set her at ease, kept her hand the rest of the way up the stairs to the box and leading her to their seats.

The view was breathtaking, and she took a moment to simply appreciate the person who was showing her such kindness.  He wore his finely tailored suit the way another man might a t-shirt and jeans; it was clear that he was, somehow, most comfortable in settings like these.  She thought how lucky a girl would be to be shown the town by someone like him.  He could have asked anyone to be where she was.

As the first song began, she slipped her hands around his arm and beamed a smile of gratitude toward him.  For some reason, it felt more natural to leave her arm hooked in his for the duration, squeezing more tightly as the music swelled and released.

When he returned with drinks after the intermission, he whispered to her about their neighbors in the row ahead, holding her knee as he leaned over.  She laughed and buried her grin into his shoulder as the neighbors glanced back in their direction.  

“Excuse my friend, here,” Clay laughed, “she’s just had her first taste of bourbon.”  She giggled and gave him a playful shove before laying her head back against his shoulder as the lights drew down.

—

“The show was amazing, but now I have a splitting headache,” she texted her husband as Clay walked her to the car.  Her husband responded quickly, asking if she needed him to come pick her up.

“Don’t worry about it.  I don’t think I have the drive back in me tonight.  Clay is going to drop me off at a hotel around the corner, and I can take the train in the morning.  See you tomorrow, love.”

While Clay drove, she mapped out her next morning.  She had an extra set of scrubs and underwear at the office, along with a cosmetic bag.  She could text Michelle to bring another pair of shoes.

She slipped out of her dress as she entered the bedroom.  She walked to the bed, and, bending at the waist, she realized how cold it was in Clay’s apartment.

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She knows. She can tell. She knows that you love the idea that she might have cheated on you. She’s known for years. Now, though, she might have done it. She might have fucked someone else. She might have let him cum in her pussy. You want to find out, don’t you?

You crawl into the bed. She spread her legs. You crawl closer. You run your fingers over the delicate lace of her panties. They’re wet and warm. It could just be her juices, though. She could just be soaked with desire.

“Pull them aside,” she says. “See if I let another man cum in my married pussy.”

You pull aside her panties. Her pussy is a mess. It’s a sticky, wet mess. It’s not thick and creamy like cum, though. You’re not sure if she cheated, if she fucked someone else. You look up and see a smile on her face.

“Taste it,” she says. “Use your tongue to see if I fucked someone else, if I cuckolded you.”

You move just a little closer. The smell of sex fills your nose. She fucked someone else. She must have. There’s only one way to know for sure, though. You have to taste her.

“Go ahead,” she says. “See if I made your fantasy come true.”

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You extend your tongue. You run it over her pussy lips. You take the fluid onto your tongue. It’s salty. It’s bitter. It’s gross. It’s cum. It’s another man’s cum. It’s absolutely another man’s cum.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she asks.

You look up at her and nod.

“I’ve tasted it before too,” she says. “In fact, I swallowed his cum just a few days ago. I went to his house while you were at work. I got on my knees for him. I sucked his cock. I swallowed his thick load. I did it all while you were working hard to pay our bills.”

You’re hard as a rock.

“Can I fuck you?” you ask.

She smiles and runs her fingers through your hair. “Of course you can. You work so hard for me, you deserve to fuck me. I need you to clean my pussy first, though. Clean up every drop.”

You can’t imagine anything hotter. You push your tongue deep into her pussy. Your cock throbs as you close your eyes and let the pleasure of being a cuckold wash over you.

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…inevitable conversation…<3 emmie @ le cocu quotidien.