1. His Wife, My Toy: Part 1


    Date: 10/18/2016, Categories: Cuckold, Author: PervyStoryteller, Source: LushStories

    Saturday, May 24, 14:00 “You do understand that if you go through with this, I will call all the shots?” The man across the table makes as if to pull his glass towards him, then releases his grip on it. “Yes,” he says at last. “I understand that.” “I won’t put up with any prevarication,” I continue. “Either you’re prepared to go along with everything I decide, or we call the whole thing off.” This time, when the man touches his glass, he hoists it and drains about a quarter of a pint in one. His hair is greying at the temples, and he seems to find it difficult to establish eye contact with me. I don’t know much about him, but meeting him has led me to put him down as an accountant or one of those low-ranking bank people – not the ones who gamble the world into recession – who are heartily sick of their jobs. “I suppose that means that if we reach a point where we don’t want to play anymore, we just stop, right?” I hold my arms out. “If you don’t want to play anymore, I vanish from your lives just like that. Mind you, if you’re going to play the game, I don’t expect you to get cold feet over trifles.” The man nods again, going silent, thinking. “We…” he begins, then pulls up short. ‘We’ are himself and his wife, who hasn’t joined us. I should perhaps mention at this point that to protect the innocent (or not so innocent), where necessary I shall henceforth refer to the man as ‘Cuck’, and his wife as ‘Pet’ – even in dialogue, but I’m sure you understand the necessity for ...
    discretion, dear reader; insert names of your choice if you like. Anyway, the man had contacted me on account of one or two of my stories, which he and his wife had enjoyed. A series of messages had flown back and forth; ideas had fermented. Now the man takes another gulp, and this time he really does look me in the eye. “It’s the wife,” he says. “When we were discussing it, theoretically like, she seemed pretty keen – but now she seems a bit apprehensive.” I smile, aiming for comforting. “That’s understandable,” I say. Then, draining my own glass, I ask, “Fancy another?” The man does. I go across to the bar and procure the desired beverages, feeling confident enough. Back at the table I raise the glass and pour liquid into my mouth, thinking that the man doesn’t seem too sure about this himself. Never mind. I fish in my pocket for a piece of paper, coming up with an old receipt. “Here,” I say, having scribbled on it. “This evening. Sit your wife down in front of the computer and I’ll have a word with her. Is that OK with you?” The man nods. “Will seven do?” Again the man nods, and that is that. Saturday, May 24, 19:00 What I see of the woman is a field of pale blue covering her upper body. It’s a bit like looking at a Mark Rothko. I smile to myself, thinking that it puts us on a level playing field, at least to begin with, since I too have tilted the screen to show only my upper body, clad in a standard white shirt. “Good evening, Pet,” I say. “Good evening,” she replies. The tone ...
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