The Armchair Cuckold: 5 previously published short stories about first time cuckolding and hotwifing by Marissa Reed

Author:Marissa Reed [Reed, Marissa]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: PMI
Published: 2022-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

The Other Woman Hidden Deep Inside My Wife

“You just seem . . . “ the guy from the gym, Jon, said, pausing, grinning, tapping his finger against his mouth. “ . . . different,” he nodded, having found the right word.

My wife and Jon were facing each other over our kitchen counter. “Different, how, exactly?” my wife said, pushing herself down flatter into the counter with her arms stretching out over the surface toward him. She grinned up at him through escaped strands of her dark coffee-brown hair still pulled back in a ponytail. She normally hated talking about herself.

She had earlier been in her white hoody and black tights. But the hoody now was opened and hanging around her waist.

She had texted him on the pretence of some new yoga stretch he said he could show her in the gym some day. But it was 9 at night. “Husband not home, fyi,” she added, with my encouragement.

“This is crazy!” she had said to me in a hushed voice as though someone would overhear her. She checked her phone to make sure it wasn’t on.

“I think crazy is the idea,” I smiled at her. “You’re supposed to feel like a different person, doing different things from what you normally would. Of course it’s going to feel crazy.”

I was hiding up in the dark loft in our bedroom, spying down on the happy, laughing couple flirting in the kitchen. My wife knew I was up there, but he didn’t.

“What if he starts getting carried away?” she had said.

“Text me if he crosses your line, and I’ll pretend I’m coming home earlier than expected,” I said.

“What if things get too carried away for you, though?” she said, more meekly. Her eyes grew big and round.

“Same thing, then,” I said, after a bit of thought. “I’ll text you that I’m coming home — that’ll be me saying he’s crossing a line.”

“What if I’m the one crossing a line for you?” she said even softer.

We held each other’s gaze for several beats as I thought it through. “We’re supposed to see if you can feel different with a different person. I won’t draw a line you’re not supposed to cross — that’s for you to find, when you’re feeling like this different person.”

She bulged her eyes and inflated her cheeks and exhaled harshly. “I say we call it off,” she concluded.

I needed to prod her and push her, kicking and biting, to go through with our little innocent experiment. The guy from the gym, Jon, was as different from me as anyone could be. He was loud, brash, rude, and way too physical.

“I don’t even know if I like that about him,” Clara said, and she shook her head and widened her eyes as though she was an utter mystery even to herself.

“Maybe you don’t,” I shrugged and grinned. “But that different person you might become might feel differently.”

I’d pretend to be at work, she would pretend that she’s “bored” and take him up

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