This is a faithful account of the moment I discovered I had been an oblivious cuckold. It was 30 years ago, in year two of our marriage, long before the advent of Internet porn and open discussions of hotwives and cuckolds. Enjoy

Sophie, my young 22 year old wife, attracts men. That is not surprising. She is tall (about 5'9"), blonde, curvy, with deliciously soft D cup tits. One of my favourite features is her legs, which are long, and her calf muscles are beautifully shaped. Sophie has a Scandinavian type complexion which complements her blonde hair and pretty face. When entering a room, she is one of those ladies who draws eyes: the women attracted by envy and the men by lust. There are lots of very sexy girls out there, but Sophie seems to exude the salacious promise that entices men of all ages, both married and single. Like a neon sign flashing “Come inside…”

The ‘promise’ was based in fact. She is a cheater.

When we were engaged, we lived in different cities. While we were apart, she had a fling with a guy from the tennis club. She confessed this to me when she came to visit (the pic was taken on this day). We worked things out – I was desperate to keep her – and she moved cities to be with me. We got married later that year, for what I hoped would be a blissful life together.

But there was always that lurking doubt…

Early in our marriage, Sophie was working at a local newspaper company and the department she worked in consisted mainly of men, a few of whom were unattached. Sophie is quite a social butterfly and enjoys going out, particularly on the weekend after work. By this stage in our marriage there was a little bit of tension; even though we didn't fight, it seemed to me that Sophie was restless. In particular, two guys, Pat and Tim seemed to be her favourites and she seemed to always enjoy socializing with them.

Needless to say, on our nights out at the pub when we were drinking with her ‘crew’, including the guys, I could sense sexual tension, which caused me to wonder. It was hard to define – perhaps it was the attention she paid to them. The way she laughed at their jokes and bawdy banter. The way she looked at them. The friendly touches… But yet there was nothing overt that I could say was definitive proof of anything. I told myself that they were just good work friends who enjoyed boozy nights on the town. I was usually the one wanting to call it a night and go home - mostly because I resented their presence, but also because of my inherent suspicions about my wife’s fidelity. Sophie always seemed as though she would like party on.

One weekend some of her workmates arranged to go camping at a nearby river. It was an "arrive Saturday, spend the day water-skiing, drinking, and then having a barbecue and a night of drinking" kind of weekend. The afternoon went well enough and we had pitched our tent and joined in the fun. Later that night the party was still going and quite a bit of beer, bourbon and rum had been drunk. Sophie was right in her element, partying hard and enjoying the very social atmosphere. She was wearing tight fitting, high cut shorts which highlighted her long, tanned legs and a semi-transparent white top that clearly showed the outline of her bikini top, which was bulging as it struggled to contain her big tits.

By 11.30pm I was ready to call it a night. I was hoping to fuck Sophie back at the tent. Sophie was in no mood to come, and said she wanted to stay drinking and chatting in the communal tent a bit longer. I reluctantly agreed and went back to the tent. I lay down and all the doubts and worries began to race through my mind. I took out my cock and began to slowly stroke. I held off climaxing – I knew that shot my wad, Murphy’s Law would kick in and she would bounce into the tent ready to fuck. Sleep was out of the question. I also knew that this could be a good opportunity to see if she was going to remain faithful. It was a vexing question that I thought about often. Deep down I knew the answer – she had form – but I was scared of what I might find, and what the ultimate outcome might be. But it is also true that sometimes the things you most fear are the things you most desire.

There is a type of primal arousal that infidelity creates. I had fantasised about her with the tennis guy. Imagining how she fell into the web of unfaithfulness and deceit. Visioning her willingly submitting her body to his lustful advances. Yearning to have been a fly on the wall, observing their lovemaking. Watching her spreading her legs so her gash could receive his swollen manhood. Hearing her moans of pleasure and his guttural groans as she welcomed his seed into her cheating pussy. Yes, he had been fucking her bareback, something which seemed liked an additional betrayal. Yet it also fuelled more intense masturbation sessions as I imagined her lying with him in the tender afterglow of their coupling, with his semen slowly leaking from her satisfied slit.

At least she was on the pill. She had been since she was 18.

At about 12.30 the music was turned off and I expected Sophie at any moment. After ten minutes I got out of the tent and went to see where she was. The main camp was deserted. People had drifted off to their respective tents, except for Tim who was asleep in his bean bag, with his can of bourbon and cola still in his hand. My mind was racing. Where was she? Who was she with? What were they doing?

I walked to the edge of the camp, where I could see down the riverbank to the water. I could see a couple of figures swimming, one of whom I guessed was Sophie. The main bank of the river, where the camp was situated, was a long way from the water. About twenty feet below the main bank was a second bank, which was quite wide and flat. About five feet below it was the water. There was a track going down to the water and the boat and trailer were parked on the second bank near to where they were swimming. Luckily, it was a full moon and its pearly lustre illuminated the water. It was a strange, almost dream-like scene. I could see clearly, and the sounds of splashing water and laughter carried easily through the night air.

I decided to observe what was happening. I backtracked past our tent to beyond the camp and then went down the main riverbank to the second bank, which luckily was in places quite grassy. Most of the grass was very short, almost like a lawn, but there were several areas where the grass was about two feet tall. I was worried about snakes but I pushed on. I had to get closer.

Reaching the second bank, I crouched low and sneaked along the bank closer to where they were. I found a good position in tallish grass, 20 yards from where they were swimming and where they would have to get out of the water. From this close I could clearly see them. It was Sophie and Pat. The moonlight was such that it made the water phosphorescent, and I could see in clear detail. Sophie had stripped down to her bikini and Pat just had his shorts on. They were in thigh deep water and were just splashing around and playfully grabbing each other.

It was only about two minutes later that they started to get out. My heart was racing at maximum pace and my breathing was deafening. I was sure they would hear me or see me. I pressed flatter to the ground. Pat sat on the boat trailer and Sophie dried herself with her shirt. I was expecting her to put it on, but instead she dropped it and went to Pat at the trailer. He sat back more and motioned for her to come and lean against him. She did. It was a half lean, half sit-on-his-knee kind of pose. It would have been just a touch chilly out of the water, as there was a slight breeze, which fortuitously carried the sounds towards me.

They were talking quietly, and I couldn't make out what they were saying. Only snatches of conversation drifted over. By this stage my senses and emotions were in overdrive. I could see where this could be heading. My emotions were divided. I was facing the ‘cuckold dilemma’. I wanted to race over and grab Sophie and take her back to the tent. On the other hand, I wanted to witness her being unfaithful…watch her having sex with another man. To be cuckolded or not to be cuckolded, that was the question.

My blood was pumping and my hands trembled at the exquisite horror that seemed to be unfolding before me. I slowly released my throbbing cock and began a slow irregular stroke. I was feeling something that transcended normal sexual arousal. It was that high-point of carnal excitement – that moment when the powerful, repressed desire to be cuckolded is given its freedom. That moment when you realise that everything is on the line – and you elect to roll the dice.

Their discussion seemed to be getting more earnest and Sophie snuggled closer. A few words wafted my way. I heard Pat say “that special night…" and then he looped an arm around her. My cock tingled and I stopped my stroking for a moment to avoid cumming. Then Pat leaned down, and Sophie turned her head upwards. They kissed! It was not a peck on the cheek, but a full kiss. A hungry, lustful kiss - the sort where their tongues would be entwining and probing each other's mouth. They broke apart and I heard Sophie giggle. Pat was now cupping her right breast.

I had no doubt what was going to happen. It was decision time. But I couldn't move. In retrospect, the ‘decision time’ time was when I had first looked down the bank and seen them swimming. By now, I had already seen and heard too much. I had made my decision. My stiff, pulsing cock was in my hand. The die was cast.

Then I head Sophie say, "I can't." Then they kissed again, and more words were softly exchanged. They stood and bent and picked up their clothes. I gave a silent sigh of relief. It was over.

I was wrong!

Pat took Sophie by the hand and they began to walk straight towards me. I froze! I was sure to be discovered! I prepared to jump up and act the angry husband and go on the attack. Then they stopped at a section of two-inch grass and dropped the clothes. I was no more than 15 yards away!

Pat and Sophie turned and faced each other and kissed again. It was not a delicate and tender kiss, but one full of lust, passion and arousal. I could imagine their wet tongues feverishly entwining - swapping bodily fluid that was surely an entree for the main course. Pat's hands dropped and squeezed her arse, pulling her towards him, so that she pressed up against him.

Realising I was safe, I began masturbating again. My arousal level matched theirs. My cock throbbed, as if desperately begging release. It was two quick strokes, then hand away. That was enough to stay on the delightful, excruciating edge of orgasm.

Sophie stepped back reached up and undid the front clip of her bikini bra. Her beautiful, bountiful tits sprang free. Pat lent down and took on nipple in his mouth. I was so close that I could hear Sophie moan with pleasure. I knew Sophie's pussy would be wet with arousal and be delightfully slippery. Reaching down she untied the drawstring of Pat's shorts and tugged open the Velcro fly. Pat slipped down his underpants and his cock sprang free. It looked decent. I was thankful for the bright moonlight.

Sophie reached down, circled his cock which she began to slowly stroke. The she bent and removed her bikini bottom.

"Lie down,” said Pat.

Sophie went back to the trailer and grabbed a towel and spread it on the grass. Then she sat down and then lay back, with her legs apart. Pat knelt down between her legs and I could clearly see his hand move forward to her pussy. My view was partly blocked by her raised leg, but I could tell his fingers had entered her pussy. I could imagine the heat and the slippery wetness that greeted him.

I was doing my best not to cum. It was now one light stroke with my thumb and forefinger. All pretense was gone. I wanted to see my young wife betray her wedding vows and be willingly fucked by another man. I wanted to see her become the sexy adulteress I knew she had always been. I was now the accepting, voyeuristic partner in events that would surely forever change our marriage.

Pat lent forward and sucked one of her nipples. I could hear Sophie moan again. She reached forward, behind Pat's head and drew his mouth to hers. Her legs moved further apart. Pat was now kneeling right between her legs, with his arms either side of her. He moved down to enter her, but must have missed the mark. She giggled. Breaking their kiss, and she reached down and guided his cock into her pussy. She moaned as he entered her and her legs moved wider and higher. Then he moved up and down a couple of times to become fully inserted. I had no doubt that Sophie was wet and slippery with anticipation and that entry for Pat's cock had not been difficult. I also knew from the past experience of many fucking sessions, that Sophie's cunt was wonderfully tight and that her exquisite muscle control would soon milk Pat's cock of its seed.

"That feels so good," I heard him say and then he began moving as he began fucking my wife.

Pat began pumping with a steady rhythm and I could hear the low grunts and moans of pleasure their fucking was producing. It was a quick primal coupling. The sounds of their lovemaking carried easily to me: Sophie’s moans of pleasure and Pat’s deeper grunts of exertion that matched the rhythmic slap of their bodies.

After about 30 strokes, Pat began to quicken slightly, and I could tell he was getting close to orgasm. My mind began to race again. Would Sophie ask him to pull out? Would he do it of his own accord or would she allow him to cum inside her?

My question was quickly answered. Pat groaned loudly, arched his back and slammed into her. I could tell he was ejaculating. His body was rigid like a cast statue, and he was fully impaled. I could imagine the thick jets of semen he was spurting into my young wife's slippery, promiscuous pussy. As if to prove how much she wanted his seed, she moved her legs around his arse and locked him in position, still impaled, as the last of his sperm leaked from his softening phallus.

I had been cuckolded!

My excitement level was off the scale by now and it only took a few quick strokes, and I began my own climax. It was a cuckold orgasm. The sensation was more intense than I'd ever experienced, driven by the knowledge that I had willingly allowed another man, a more dominant man to take my beautiful, young wife while I had impotently watched from the sidelines. I gripped my cock hard as it twitched and spurted several thick streams of cum onto the ground in front of me. It was all I could do to stop from groaning. The irony of the situation was not lost on me. I was the husband, but my voyeuristic, cuckold seed was soaking into the ground while Pat’s sperm swam freely inside my wife’s adulterous pussy!


"That was good," I heard Pat murmur after a few seconds and I quickly snapped back to attention. "Uh huh," Sophie replied. Pat then bent down and whispered something in her ear, and I heard her giggle.

They stood up and Sophie grabbed the towel and gave her pussy a quick dab, presumably Pat's semen was leaking out, and began to slip on her shorts. I thought it wise to move and I began a slow retreat, crawling on my stomach and slithering like a snake.

I made it back to the tent, but then circled back through the camp to the track that led down to the river. I could see them sitting again on the boat trailer. Pretending I was still half-asleep, I wandered down.

“Hey. I was wondering where you were,” I said. They looked quickly around, and Pat dropped his arm from around her.

"Hi Hun,” she said nonchalantly. “A few of us went for a swim."
“The water’s great,” said Pat and as if to prove his point he jogged over and jumped into the water, splashing enthusiastically.

“It might be time to call it a night,” she said casually as she stood up, shirt in hand. She was a good actress, brazenly standing there, her full breasts jutting provocatively in her bikini bra and her semen-sodden cunt hidden by her shorts.

Leaving Pat, we walked back to the tent hand in hand.

(End of Part One)

Part Two

"Let’s have some fun," I said reaching for her and pulling her down onto the sleeping bag.

"We can tomorrow honey," she said. "I'm a bit too tired now."

I leaned over her and cupped her breast through her bikini bra. Then I said it.

"Or is it that you only like one cock a night?"

I felt her tense-up. "What are you talking about?”

My hand moved and deftly unclipped her bra, before Sophie had time to protest. The bra fell away, and I cupped one of her big soft, freshly sucked tits and began to rub the nipple. Sophie twisted violently to break the hold, but I held tight and positioned myself on top of her, with my legs either side, effectively pinning her to the floor.

"Stop," she hissed. She was getting angry.

I knew it was time to play my trump card.

"No, I won't stop," I said. "I haven't been sleeping here in the tent. I've been down by the river watching you." She froze.

"I saw you and Pat by the boat trailer."

"Oh," was all she could say and then there was silence.

"We were only talking," Sophie said, but the defiance had gone out of her voice.

“I watched you fuck," I said as I could feel my anger rising …. and my level of arousal. My cock was now achingly stiff and uncomfortably trapped by my shorts. I was certain Sophie could feel it pressing against her.

She was passive now

"I watched the whole thing fucking thing. You were fucking him. I watched you kissing him, and I watched you fucking him. I watched you wrap your arms and legs around him…I watched you being a total slut," I said, strengthening my grip on her arms.

That broke all resistance, and the sobs began to flow. "I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't mean to do it, Sophie sobbed. “It just happened."

I leant forward and kissed her deeply. She met my tongue with hers and we kissed feverishly. I broke the kiss. "You have to be honest with me. That's not the first time is it?"

"No."

"How many times?" I asked.

"Just two," she blurted out and the sobs began again. "I understand if you hate me."

I moved my hand down to her shorts again and began to undo the button and the zipper. Despite feeling exalted at her confession, I still needed to know more.

“When did you had sex with him?"

“During the lunch break,” she said as her hand began to lightly stroke my cock. It was as if she had finally realized my heightened sense of arousal and that I was probably more aroused than angry.

My mouth went to her nipple. They felt puffy from Pat's sucking. Sophie moaned.

"I want to see your pussy," I said, and I moved and knelt between her legs. I grabbed hold of her shorts and moved them down her legs and off completely. Bringing the crotch of her shorts to my lips, I could feel the slimy wetness of Pat’s seed and smell the musky aroma of my wife’s infidelity.

I reached over, picked up the torch and flicked it on. "No, turn it off,' said Sophie. "People will see."

That was true; anyone watching would have had a clear detailed silhouette of what was happening inside the tent. "They’re all asleep," I said, "and I’m going to see your pussy."

I spread Sophie's legs further and aimed the light at her pussy. My other hand stroked the lips and then I gently parted them and my fingers were greeted by an ocean of wetness. It was hot and slippery, and I could see by the torch light the glistening remnants of Pat's sperm. It had gone clear by this stage, but there was in abundance, coating Sophie's pussy and matting the wisps of her pubic hair. My own cock was rigid, throbbing in anticipation as I explored the hidden cavern where their adultery had been consummated. I sucked my finger, savoring the tangy taste of her unfaithfulness. Sophie moaned again as I worked her clit, well lubricated from Pat's ejaculation.

I was overtaken by a primal need. Somewhere in the deep recesses of our DNA lies a primitive switch that flicks our desire to a singular purpose. "I want to lick you," I said hoarsely, and I lowered my head to Sophie's pussy. She made no effort to stop me and placed both hands lightly on the back of my head as if to sanction the move.

This was long before Internet porn and wife-sharing sites made it fashionable for cuckolded husbands to clean the pussies of their adulterous wives. This was an instinctive reaction. It was reclamation.

My nostrils were assaulted by the pungent, musky aroma of pussy secretions, sperm, …and betrayal. I began to explore her velvety wetness, probing deeply, my tongue eagerly seeking out the cocktail of her unfaithfulness. It was oily in texture, bland in taste, with a slight tang. Yet at that moment it was a treat from the gods. My own cock was twitching and begging for release. I moved up and kissed her, and we shared the taste of her illicit sex with Pat.

It was time to take her back. My throbbing phallus ached and I was trembling in anticipation. I positioned myself over her and slowly entered her unfaithful slit. The heat and velvety smoothness that greeted me were almost overwhelming and I had to pause to prevent climaxing. This was my first sloppy seconds, but Sophie's cunt was snug and welcoming, with Pat’s potent sperm providing excellent lube. I knew she would soon milk my cock like she had milked Pat's only minutes earlier.

"That feels incredible," I moaned.

"I'm sorry honey,' Sophie said, as we began to move.

"That's ok. I'm not really mad," I said. "The other times you fucked, did you ever use condoms?" It’s funny how the details become important. But I needed to know everything.

"No. I told him I was on the pill," said Sophie, her voice husky.

"That's so hot," I whispered. "Did you enjoy the sex?"

"Yes, it was exciting.”

“What part of it was exciting?”

“I enjoyed the seduction and because it was wrong,” she whispered. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Yes," I said, "I wanked while I watched you with Pat.”

“Did you cum?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “It was arousing watching you fucking. You know how much I enjoy hearing about all the guys you fucked before me. Well, it’s like that but better.”

It was at that moment that the power changed hands again. Sophie, who had only a few minutes ago been sobbing uncontrollably, was now acutely aware of my arousal at her infidelity.

"Fuck me baby," Sophie said and began to move more forcefully, "like Pat did."

I could hold back no longer, and I felt the waves of exquisite pleasure engulf me as I jetted, flooding her pussy with semen to add to Pat's. It was another cuckold climax, with the pleasure amplified beyond a normal orgasm by the knowledge that I was, at that moment, sanctioning her promiscuity.

I had reclaimed her. My sperm was now locked with Pat’s in a mortal battle for ownership of my wife’s traitorous cunt. He had taken her but I was fighting back.

I flopped down on her, and we caressed each other tenderly. I held her hand and my fingers twirled her wedding rings that now seemed to taunt me with their false vows of fidelity. We both seemed locked in a moment of deep contemplation. This was the post-ejaculation lull. What had moments earlier been the zenith of sexual gratification was now the sombre low of an ignoble reality. Where to from here? What was the end game? As it stood, my wife had willingly submitted to another man. Yes, I had reclaimed her. My sperm was going toe to toe with Pat’s – a gladiatorial battle within the velvety arena of my wife’s vagina. But I had unheroically reclaimed her in the tent, not on the battleground by the river. I was no Henry V walloping the Froggies on the damp fields at Agincourt. I was a cuckold whose wife had just given him sloppy seconds. And yet it seemed like the high point… Finally, I looked up.

"I always knew, right from before we got married, that you wouldn't be faithful to me. It excited me, so I'm not really mad… I've just had the most erotic sexual experience of my life. I just don't like not knowing what's happening.”

“Keep me in the loop," I said after a few moments silence.

There it was. Done! I had just given my wife permission to have sex with other guys.

"I'm so lucky to have you. I really don't deserve you," she said.

"I'm the lucky one," I replied. "All I want is for you to be you."

We then snuggled together and drifted off to sleep, and I was well aware that Sophie had not promised to stop fucking other men. I wasn’t sure what I had unleashed. But what I did know is that I had been aroused beyond all comprehension. I had willingly given my wife away to another man. The rigid societal taboos had tumbled faster than an Indian skyscraper. I would be judged harshly if anyone found out. To be cuckolded is one thing, but to be a willing cuckold is to invite derision. Even worse, it can kill careers and destroy friendships. In short, it is a ticket to the social leper colony.

However, the cuckold kink is all consuming. It is the lotus flower that can break even the strongest moral convictions. I knew my first creampie was, in all likelihood, not going to be the last…and I couldn’t wait for the next.