Csc - Blog Posts

"I knew you'd understand," she smiled, clearly relieved.  "As long as we all get what we need, there's no reason to get hung up on labels."

She reached for me and gave me a long, slow kiss.

"I'm not dating Ryan, I'm just his date to the wedding.  I'll only be gone for the weekend and then things will back to normal—or however we want them to be."

As I got closer, she slowed down.  "Now, why don't I try on a few things and you can help me decide what I'll bring on the trip."

"Perfect," I said.

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.

A hall pass

I can’t remember now when I admitted to my then-girlfriend that I was interested in her cuckolding me.  The desire preceded the relationship, and it has stayed with me in the years since that relationship ended.

She knew, though, before she left for a college reunion the last fall we were together.  As I remember it now, I feel like she must have noticed a spark when she mentioned looking forward to seeing all of her old friends.  The college was a plane trip away from where we lived, and this reunion was her five-year, so most of her friends were still unattached and living interesting lives in the big city she had left.  She missed them; she would find a way to go up for the weekend and see everyone she could, staying in her friend’s empty apartment.

One of those friends, Luke (for our story, but his real name will never leave my mind), had not attended the school, but came to know that my girlfriend would be traveling to the city for the weekend.  I’m sure I had heard about Luke beforehand, but always in the context of some other guy friends of hers.  Maybe they were buddies from her post-college job or the bar they all went to.

One night, a couple of weeks before the trip, my girlfriend called over from the other room and told me to “make an angry face” while she pointed her phone in my direction.  The picture was for Luke, she said, who had teasingly suggested she bring along some lingerie for the reunion weekend.  As I recall, I didn’t have the faintest idea that their text conversation might have taken that turn, and I’m sure the blood ran from my face and just as sure where it went.

My girlfriend thought it was funny, and I convinced myself that it was just an improbable joke, almost certainly not having to do with my fantasy.  But I didn’t want to let the opportunity pass to explore it either.

That night I asked her in bed whether she might break away from the college group and get to see Luke and her buddies.  She touched me while she asked if that was something I wanted.  I touched her as I asked her to describe Luke to me.  He is extremely well-built, funny, just never single at the right time, one of the ones who got away.

Before I came, I was desperate to outline the breadth of my fantasy again, reminding her that she had every right to see whomever—and do whatever—she liked, at home or while on a trip, far away from everyone we knew.

---

She left for the reunion.  Luke had been called away on business for the weekend she was going, so our bedroom talk had softened.  The realization, though, that she would consider an affair, engaging me in the fantasy with a particular name—a particular person—had electrified our relationship and dominated my thoughts.

She went to the cocktail parties and the football game, sending back social media pictures of her group of friends in their team’s colors at each of the different events.  Sunday morning, she went out with her girlfriends to brunch.  Between pitchers of mimosas, she called me and put me on the phone with her old friends, who interviewed me.  Even after a couple of years of dating, I had never met them, so I got questions about my intentions with my girlfriend and plans for when we might fly to see this friend or that friend.

Eventually my girlfriend took the phone back and walked away from their table.  She asked me almost immediately, “Were you serious about the hall pass?  Luke is coming back a day early.”

I was stunned.  I managed to say yes and offer her encouragement without, I think, making myself sound desperate that she go through with it.  I also don’t remember ever using the phrase “hall pass.”  She had spent time with the thought, rationalizing it.

She called later that afternoon to say that she had made plans to see Luke and her other buddies, and that she had made Luke aware of the fact that she was staying at her friend’s empty apartment, all alone.

The next time I heard from her was the following morning.  She texted to let me know she made it to the airport, that she had had fun the night before and that she had a story for me when she got home.

---

I still don’t know if Luke was aware of my fantasy or not.  My girlfriend always found ways of skirting the point, keeping private some element of her interactions with him.

I do know that by the time he arrived at the apartment, after he had been out with her and their buddies to the bar, meeting her at the door where she greeted him in a sweatshirt and sheer panties, he had explained that he had a girlfriend.  As they kissed and she began to remove his clothes, pulling him to the couch, he explained that he would have to draw a line—somewhere—short of sex.

When my girlfriend told me my story, that Monday night, I am convinced that she told it in episodes.  Each one slightly more damning than the previous, in case I lost my permissive resolve.  I held up, so the details continued to grow more vivid.

She always denied having sex with him, but what began as making out on the couch eventually moved to the bedroom.  First with clothes, and then without them.  She touched me as she asked, “Are you happy that I touched him like this?  He was very happy.”  My girlfriend described Luke’s toned body, naked beside her, and the sweetness of his kisses.

They played with each other all night, not falling asleep until five in the morning.  Before he went to work, they shared a lingering kiss at the door.  He left his wallet and had to come back a half hour later.  She told me, “the last kiss was my favorite part of the whole trip.”

---

She seemed to feel different to my touch that night, although I’m sure in my mind I wanted her to.  I am guilty of looking at her email once to search for Luke’s name, finding a conversation they had about a “shower party” (her quotes) a few days after she came home.  She did love to make love in the shower.

My girlfriend would ask me occasionally what I wanted to do about the experience.  I imagined with her, for her, a weekend where my apartment would be empty so that Luke might come to our town, perhaps on business.  I could be gone whenever she liked, I said.

She wondered if I might want to participate, suspecting that I would want to enjoy Luke alongside her.  She never articulated that specifically, but I could tell she always wondered what else could possibly motivate such a fantasy.

Really, though, her night with Luke helped me to see it more clearly than ever.  I wanted only for her to feel in control, untethered from me and not especially concerned either.  I wanted her to have sex or not have it, with a man or with a woman, to tell her friends or Luke or not to tell them.  It didn’t matter to me what came of her decisions, only that she was making them.

I was happy to wait at home to find out my fate; to learn from the person in control just what had happened to her and to us and to me.  I begged to know.

Wifey here! Today we’ll start cuckshame challenges. But we’ll try to keep it in the realm of what’s actually doable. In other words no challenges to gangbang everyone at work. 😂Okay at least not at first maybe if people start doing the easy ones first. 😈. Challenge to be posted later today and last until next week.