Well, that certainly counts as a pick-me-up!

I’d had an awful weekend. Sunday night I was in the middle of doing the ironing and was trying to ignore the mild headache building up behind my eyes. I had taken an anti-migraine pill earlier and it hadn’t kicked in yet. While ironing, I started to feel a bit funny and I barely had time to ask Greg to pause what we were watching before I had to run to the bathroom to get sick. I was sick all freaking night. Migraine plus nausea, oh yay so much fucking fun.

Monday morning I woke up feeling a bit better. I had a bit of what I call a ‘migraine hangover’ but the worst was over. Greg had to go to work fairly early and he persuaded me to wear the sports jersey he’d gotten for me the week before as he feels that I’m very sexy in it. I’d felt so awful the night before that I figured, what the hell, if it makes me feel sexy at least that’s better than feeling sick. So I put it on to try to pull myself out of my sickly mood.

I had just finished the ironing and was cleaning the house a bit when I heard the doorbell ring. Who the fucking fuck? Seriously, I don’t want to answer any fucking door today, I just wanna be miserable goddammit. I ran upstairs to at least put on some pants under the jersey and came back down to answer the door.

‘Hi,’ the man said, ‘I’m Michael, Terry’s friend.’

‘Fuck,’ I thought to myself, ‘who the fuck is Terry anyway? Who IS this guy?’ (Post-Migraine I might not even recognize my own father’s name and this guy was making me speak French which was even worse.)

I was trying to be polite to this total fucking stranger when he handed me an envelope to explain his presence.

I gave him a very confused and nearly exasperated look and then glanced at the envelope.

To Rachel  From Greg

Oh shit. (read Greg’s account for the full text of the letter)

As I read this letter I realized that here was a stranger who Greg had sent for me to fuck so that he could finally be a real cuckold.

Today? You’ve gotta be kidding me! I’m fucking sick! But… well… this guy IS pretty fucking cute and I suppose that sex always DOES make me feel better.
This thought was quickly followed by the realization that Terry is one of the men who I’ve fucked somewhat frequently and Michael was the name of his friend that he wanted me to do a threesome with. OH YEAH! THAT MICHAEL!
Suddenly I laughed at the absurdity of it all and poor Michael’s look of confusion finally faded away. I invited him in and explained that I wasn’t entirely at my best this morning so please forgive me.
I invited Michael to join me in the kitchen for something to drink while I continued to apologize. After all, even if I didn’t end up fucking this guy, there was no need to be rude. It wasn’t his fault that I’d been sick last night.
Then he kissed me.

Well, I guess people don’t call me a slut for nothing, lol. Cute men who actually know how to kiss… yeah, they can bend me to their will pretty fucking easily, that’s for sure.

We headed up to the bedroom where I did a quick job of hiding all of my sicky paraphernalia (bowl that I put next to the bed ‘just in case’ I’m looking at you, you unsexy piece of shit.)
Michael slowly peeled my clothes off of me and started kissing me all over and very soon I was trembling again but not from the headache this time, that’s for DAMNED sure.

Let me gossip a little bit here. Michael’s cock…phew, seriously. Shit a brick and fuck me with it, it’s beautiful! He’d brought some condoms along and I shit you not, I couldn’t even get the fucking condom on his monster while using both hands. When he pushed my hands away to put the condom on by himself I just about winced in sympathy at how mean he had to be to that lovely cock to get the rubber on.

He fucked me five ways to Tuesday and it was fantastic! Missionary, spooning, doggy, cowgirl… he’d hold one position long enough for me to have at least one really big orgasm and then he’d practically throw me into the next position and start all over.  He grabbed my waist, pulled my hair, spanked my ass and yes, he even raked his fingernails ever so softly down my spine while fucking me doggy style.

Now this, my friends is why I prefer well-aged lovers. They know what the fuck they’re doing and they actually understand that careful reading of each woman’s reactions to various things works even better than reading an instruction manual. (As if they’d read them even if we came with them, right? Lazy bastards.)

Of course, if I’d written this sooner after the fact I’d have a lot more details for you but I didn’t, so deal with it or whine to your mom ’cause I’m not listening.

By the time Michael was done with me, I had completely forgotten that I’d ever been sick to begin with. I lay cuddled up to him in the bed and just spaced out for a few minutes in the afterglow.

Michael wasn’t too relaxed, unfortunately. The poor guy kept staring at the clock. Finally he told me that Greg had made him promise to be gone by the time he got home.

I tried begging my lover to stay. I was very comfortable in his arms, goddammit and after all, I’m the domme, right? If I want my lover to stay then he can stay, no matter what my little cucky had said, right? Michael is apparently too good at following instructions for my liking. He’d promised to be gone so he was going to be gone. Dammit.

So I, poor, sick, horny girl that I was had to climb out of bed, put my clothes back on so the neighbors wouldn’t get suspicious, and escort my bull out the door.

I ran to the window like a lovestruck puppy and waved goodbye to him as he drove away.  I think Greg must have been waiting down the block for his car to pull away because it wasn’t more than a few minutes before my favorite lover got home.

I met Greg at the door with a big smile. What a generous fiancé I have. He can’t take care of me on a morning when I’m feeling miserable so he sends another man to do it for him.

Ok, granted, I bet they had this date planned out for some time and it had nothing to do with the fact that I was feeling rotten but you know what, I don’t fricking care.

While Greg and I were upstairs he asked what I’d thought of the second letter. Huh-what? Apparently Michael was concentrating so hard on getting out of the house in time that he forgot one of his assignments for the morning. Oops!

Greg pulled the second letter out of his nightstand and we read it together before falling into one another. One more wonderful fuck later and I was cuddled up to my fiancé who I’d finally managed to successfully cuckold.

MMmyeah. Life is good. The life of a cuckoldress is better. And when my cucky sends me surprise lovers on days when I really need something to lift my sprits I realize that I’m one of the luckiest sluts alive.

I’m officially a cuckold!


I’m officially a cuckold!

A couple months ago, Rachel and I wrote for each other a list of challenges (I’ll write a post for that later).
One of the challenges she had given to me was the following:

On a day when I am home alone, you will surprise me by contacting some of my regular lovers and finding (at least) one who is free to pay me a visit.

A lover paying her a visit at home had never happened in the past, and since the lover who took her in a hotel to fuck her while I was at work didn’t cum, I wasn’t considering myself as a true cuckold yet.
But completing this challenge would make my role official once and for all. I knew it and I was ready to accept it. Continue reading

Graduation to “Cuckold”

Rachel had left her key in the lock so mine couldn’t get in. And she was taking forever to answer the door. What was she doing in there?

I was mildly irritated by the time she finally opened up, but before my lips could even form the words to some smart-assed remark about how long I’d been standing there, my senses were overloaded with the sight before me.

I gave her a once over — I swear, my wife could make a pimple look sexy. She was like walking, talking, Viagra to me. And that was when she wasn’t even trying.

But this look was off the charts, even for her. Her tight fitting top hugged her torso like a second layer of skin – I could practically make out the texture of her bra. Her cleavage was propped up and looking like it might be begging for mercy, as if at any moment those two perfect tits were gonna make an escape. Her skirt was obscenely short, the slightest movement of her hips would give me a glimpse of the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings. And the heels practically had their own voice, and they were screaming — fuck me.

“Wow, you look…”

“Like a slut?” She returned a playful smile that always let me know that she knew exactly what kind of effect she had on me. “Thanks, that’s what I was going for.”

“Your words, not mine. But I love it, whatever you want to call it.”

“I just felt like looking the part, since I’ve been playing the part.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take your clothes off, and you’ll find out.” Continue reading