Comfortably Numb

Amateur

The humiliation was now complete, and Sean was loving it.

He was down on his knees on the kitchen tiles wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties, and his wife’s lover’s cock was in his mouth. It was a beautiful thing to behold (and taste). Long and proportionately thick, from behind its bulbous pink head until it disappeared, at a slight curve, into Gary’s dark-brown bush. Sean was pleased to discover it was not all that much larger than his own, especially in length; it just possessed—its owner did—far better stamina.

As Sean’s tight, wet lips rode the shaft his right hand cupped, and fondled, Gary’s balls, which most definitely were bigger, plumper, fuller than his. Likewise his left hand had reached behind and was squeezing and caressing the firm, if somewhat flattish, flesh of Gary’s right butt-cheek. Not unlike his own. It was an expert, all-encompassing, tour de force effort, one egged on by Gary’s mantra, now being repeated in a somewhat dreamy state:

“Suck it…that’s it. Love it, faggot…Worship it…”

If Gary’s genitals served as a surrogate god at that moment, Sean, all mouth and hands and painful knees, worshiped as a submissive and worthy acolyte. A supplicant and True Believer. A virtual sacrificial lamb in scant blue microfiber.

Sean, as was his wont, had been fluttering around the house doing housework in said panties when the doorbell rang. It was a Saturday morning, about ten-thirty and Sean wasn’t expecting anyone. Far from it. His wife Carol was out of town visiting her sick mother and Sean, ever since he arrived home from work late Friday afternoon, had been enjoying having the house all to himself. Their daughter Gloria was also away, though on a more permanent basis. She was in her second year—a precocious junior—at a liberal arts college upstate. She wanted to be a poet.

Because of his state of effeminate dress, or undress, just for such an occasion as this Sean kept a pair of slacks and a pullover top draped over the back of one of their barstools—one out of view of the front doors’ curve of paned lights, just in case someone tall enough got adventurous and peeked in. Panties now hidden from view, Sean walked to the vestibule and looked through the spyhole, expecting Jehova’s Witnesses.

Instead Gary was standing there, looking like he’d just gotten out of bed and had slept in his clothes from the day before. Before Sean turned the brass deadbolt he prepared a little speech, a mildly reproving one:

“Did you forget, dude? Carol’s out of town. She won’t be back till Wednesday.”

Despite his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance, it was Gary who was standing there looking Sean up and down. As if there were something wrong with HIS attire. Despite the prepared speech, it was Gary who fired the first round.

“Can I come in? We need to talk.”

We do? Sean asked himself. What about? “Carol’s out of town.”

“I know. I know,” Gary said impatiently, inviting himself past Sean into the vestibule. “I need your help today.”

With what? Sean wondered. Gary was a craftsman, good with his hands. He owned guns; could hitch a trailer up to his pickup (now parked in Sean’s driveway) and back it up, first try. He liked to fish and sometimes hunt. There were several pounds of ground venison in their freezer, thanks to him and his rifle. Gary made good money fashioning fancy pieces of custom-made furniture for rich people. He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted in life; what his goals were. He was disciplined; practical; a precisionist. He had aforementioned stamina. He read Ayn Rand.

Carol wasn’t the first. He had a reputation for horning in on the wives of his friends: lesser men in his dark eyes who were married to women who wanted, needed more than their limp-dick husbands could provide. Carol probably wouldn’t be the last notch in his proverbial leather gunbelt.

Gary needed Carol’s wimpy cuckold husband’s help? Really? What possibly for?

They landed in the kitchen, Gary, per usual, leading the way. He looked not only disheveled, but a little panicked. Sean wondered if he should offer him something. A cold beer? It was ten-thirty in the morning!

Gary’s back was to the four-burner Viking stove. He said, “I have to know something. Don’t sugarcoat it for me…”

His affair with Carol had been secret at first—the first few times. Then Carol announced one day, almost with a tone of contempt, what had by then become obvious: she was screwing Gary. There was no point keeping it secret any longer; no need to feel guilty because she was running around behind Sean’s back. Then she went into a version of her oft-repeated spiel: about how if things didn’t improve in the bedroom—she’d been warning Sean for a couple of years now—she was going to have to go outside their marriage for fulfillment. Now it had happened. So there!

Several months earlier Gary had broken up with his latest, greatest girlfriend. And as usually happened in those cases Gary started showing up on their doorstep like a habitually Casibom stray dog. If Sean and Carol were having a cookout, they’d invite Gary over. If the married couple decided to go to a movie on Saturday night, Carol began to insist: “Let’s invite Gary to come along.” Their normal twosome dates became threesomes, albeit platonic ones.

As time went on Gary became ever more adventurous with Carol. “Fresh,” is how Sean’s wife began to describe their old friend. “Freshie,” in the noun form. She also began playfully referring to Gary as “my boyfriend.”

“Let’s invite my boyfriend Gary along.”

Because Sean never pushed back—he was enjoying himself; the spectacle of another man moving in on his wife—Gary got bolder. And ever bolder—with his hands. At the movie theater Gary always insisted on going down the row after Carol but ahead of Sean. Later, when the lights came down, Sean would side-glance at Gary’s right hand sliding over onto his wife’s partially bare thigh. His behavior in the privacy of their home grew more blatant. In the past he would let it go at standing behind Carol—close behind her—massaging her shoulders as she worked in the kitchen, or sat on a barstool sipping her margarita. But now, whenever Sean left the room, the put-upon husband noted, either spying through a window or around a corner, Gary’s hands would circle around to Carol’s breasts. Sean also noted that Carol didn’t protest; didn’t push him away. Gary would also nibble her neck, whisper in her ear…

“The very least you could do is tell him to knock it off,” Carol, hands on hips, said to Sean one Sunday morning. “Stand up to him. Be the man of the house for once.”

Carol shifted her weight, cocked her head. “You know what he asked me last night? He asked me who wears the pants in the family. You know what I told him? I told him it was like you’d become my househusband.”

Carol passed a smirk. “You know what else? He said that you like it when we flirt. He says you probably get off on it. Do you?”

Sean didn’t answer.

“I shouldn’t have referred to you as my househusband. I should’ve called you what you really are: a Dickless Wonder, Sean.”

A one-note laugh of derision escaped Carol’s painted lips. She shook her head. “You just stand there watching. Why? What happened to you? Just because you’ve reached a certain age…,” perhaps referring to the unfilled prescription of Viagra on Sean’s dresser, “it doesn’t mean you have to stop being a man. I don’t get it. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Sean remained silent. He had a hard on in his pants and wondered if it showed. It was as if his wife’s tongue were a whip and it was lashing his erection. He loved it, the abuse. Carol walked away, shaking her head.

If this moment was the bridge that lifted to let in the pirate’s ship, the day the pirate (to continue the metaphor) set foot on shore and began his ravaging was probably a Saturday evening just two weeks later. Gary was over, of course, and Carol brought up the subject of a new release rom-com she wanted to see. Sean protested that there was an NFL playoff game in progress. Into this pouty breach stepped Gary, who offered, pirate outfit traded in for something chivalrous, to take Carol to see dubious movie. “I love rom-coms!” he declared.

Carol and Gary returned home from their first twosome date rather late, around eleven, even though the movie supposedly ended at 9:35. A date indeed! The next day Sean, his balls depleted from the night before, asked his wife how the movie was. She shrugged evasively, almost guiltily it seemed to Sean, and informed him he’d been right. The movie sucked. They’d walked out.

“What did you do the rest of the night?”

Another evasive shrug. “Drinks. Something to eat.” She looked up at her husband, tellingly: “Gary’s a lot of fun to be with. It was fun.”

Translation: As opposed to being out with you after 21 years of marriage.

Post-confession, about the till-then secret affair, Sean theorized that a) either they’d never gone to the theater and instead went straight to Gary’s house, and his bed; or b) they indeed walked out of the movie, after which: see above.

Sean even considered that the whole thing had been set up in advance. Carol floated the idea of the movie knowing that Sean wouldn’t want to go. At which point Gary would volunteer his services as surrogate husband, and the two of them would be free to go out on their first date. Etc, etc.

Since another couple of weeks passed before Carol made her unapologetic confession, this scenario fit in just about right. They fucked at Gary’s that night; then they fucked here or there several more times, as opportunities arose.

“How long has this been going on?” Sean had asked.

“I don’t know. A couple of weeks? We’ve fucked four or five times, I can’t keep track.”

Bullshit! Sean remembered thinking. A woman remembers these things. It’s the men who forget…

Now Gary stood in Sean’s kitchen insisting he had to know. Know what? The Casibom Giriş adulterer seemed to be perspiring.

“Did Carol really go up north to visit her mother?” his tone accusatory.

“She’s sick, yeah,” Sean confirmed. “She’s been in the hospital.”

“I don’t know, man,” Gary said, wagging his head. “Your wife’s been acting weird lately. Like maybe she’s lost interest.” He looked up: “Has she said anything to you?”

Sean, for the first time in recent memory, sensed he had the upper hand. He almost wished—perversely—he’d gone to the front door wearing nothing but pale-blue panties. That would’ve knocked the asshole back a step. He shook his head.

“No, Gary. We don’t talk about you much, frankly.”

“Is she seeing somebody else? Does she have an old boyfriend up there or anything?”

Sean could not help laughing. “No, Gary,” he repeated. “Her mother’s sick. She went up there to be with her.”

Gary’s dark eyes bulged. He really did need a beer; really did need to settle down. “Doesn’t she have a bunch of sisters up there though who could take care of her?”

Sean nodded. “Yeah but Carol’s the oldest. And she hasn’t been up there in over a year. What is it exactly you’re worried about? Carol’s still your girlfriend, your lover. She’ll be back in a few days.”

Gary exhaled, shortly. Bull-like. It was, Sean was about to learn, all about him. Gary. His needs. “I haven’t had sex, dude, in like six days. We fucked a couple of days before she left, y’know?”

Sean was laughing. “Gary, thanks to you I haven’t had sex in six months! Not with anybody else, anyway.”

Gary raised a hollow fist and shook it up and down, midair. “You mean…?”

“That’s about it in my case.”

“Is that what you do when I fuck your wife?”

“It depends. You and her usually work from home. I have a job.”

“I have a job!” Gary protested, the Ayn Rand in him rising.

“You know what I mean. I can’t sit there at my desk jacking off knowing you’re probably with Carol at the moment.”

“Carol says you wear panties. You dress in panties while you’re…when nobody’s around.”

Talk about a non sequitur! “Well if no one’s around how would anyone—”

“You told her!” Gary supplied. “She’s caught you!”

“No she hasn’t. She told me once a while back that if I wasn’t going to wear the pants in the family anymore, then…”

“What?” Gary was good with tools; great. But upstairs, as the saying goes, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the toolbox.

“That I should wear the panties. That’s all. That was the end of it.”

Gary looked Sean down to his midbody, his crotch. “You wearin’ now?”

Sean, despite his urges, hesitated. This was another bridge to pass under. And once on the other side, well…there was no going back in this case. “I am,” he finally said.

“Well let’s see.”

“Why, Gary?”

“Cause I want to see what kind of man my lover is married to. And I use the term loosely.” Man, it must be presumed.

“Fine. I don’t care…,” Sean claimed, his bravado, as he first lowered his trousers and then pulled off his top, of the uncertain kind. Gary, facing him, was also undressing. Quickly. And when he lowered his manly white Jockey briefs, his erection sprang up.

“Damn, dude, I haven’t had any in a week,” he exaggerated. “And I don’t go around jacking off like you do.”

“Never?” Sean, his outer clothing kicked aside, was down to a pair of pale-blue, lace-fringed bikini panties. Gary was naked below the waist, but had left his sleep-wrinkled button-down shirt on. He had big balls, a really nice pair.

“Not if I can ever help it. I save it—for whoever I’m seeing at the moment. My woman. A big load, and I don’t wear condoms by the way, just in case you were wondering. Worst case?”

“Yeah?” Gary’s cock, the one that had penetrated Sean’s wife so many, many times now, beckoned beautifully. He could already taste it—the flesh, its warmth. The sweet seed to come…

“Worst case I go to one of those bookstore places and stick my dick through a gloryhole. But that’s worst case. When I’m totally, like, desperate.”

Sean’s mouth had now closed around Gary’s cock, just behind the head. He would’ve kissed it—the swollen head—but he wasn’t sure Gary would like that. All he probably wanted was raw relief; satisfaction. To be drained in an efficient manner.

And now the two men—lovers it must be said—had exchanged potentially dangerous—telling anyway—secrets. Sean was a closet crossdresser while Gary liked to get his cock sucked by other men, even anonymous ones, complete strangers, in a gloryholed video booth. If this knowledge were a pair of swords, they had just clashed. It was currently a draw.

“Did you know…?”

Sean’s mouth had given out, finally. His jaw was sore; his knees ached. No wonder Carol sometimes liked to soak in a hot tub afterwards. Gary could go on forever, it seemed.

Ironically enough he ended up taking control and jerking off—into Sean’s waiting Casibom Güncel Giriş mouth. His cum plentiful, and sweet. Delicious. How many times Sean had lain in bed in the guest bedroom fantasizing about licking Gary’s fresh deposit of cum from Carol’s vagina! But it wouldn’t be this sweet, this pure. His deposited load this morning was nothing but pure sperm—faintly salty on the tongue but sweet down the throat. As complex as a fine wine, with an oh-so fruity bouquet to match. Heavenly!

Sean got off his well-worn knees. He staggered—nearly into Gary—but backed away. Wiped his mouth. Gary, though standing, looked like he’d just been stun-gunned. He blinked.

“Carol can never, ever…”

“Don’t worry,” Sean said. He hadn’t cum; lost interest; been flooded with confusion and guilt. He was still slanting hard in his panties. He went to the fridge and took out two cans of beer. Like a good submissive he opened Gary’s can for him. The latter drank, greedily.

“Goddamn, man!” he said, after a hefty swallow. “You do that so well. Hundred times better’n Carol. She doesn’t mind sucking cock…,” pausing for breath, “but it’s only ever just to get you hard, ready to fuck her, y’know?”

Sean nodded. “Believe me, I know. But if I’d really been good I’d have finished you. In my mouth.”

Gary seemed confused. “You just did, dude.”

“No I mean…WITH my mouth.”

Gary drank. It was eleven a.m. He almost smiled. “I’m a slow-cummer, what can I say? You got another beer? I’m, like, parched.”

Sean, heading back to the fridge, was pleased with himself. He’d stepped into the middle of this miasma in a manner of speaking. Now it was not just his wife Gary was cumming in. It was as if Sean was in the mafia and he’d just been declared a “made man.” Afterall, when a cuckold declares he’d like to eat his wife right after her lover finishes in her, what is he really saying? His wife is the surrogate. What he really desires is to suck the man directly, at least according to Sean’s sometimes lady therapist. And how many times, Sean wondered, if ever, had the cock being offered him through the glory hole been his rival’s? Not likely, not probable, but…

“Thanks for letting me suck you,” Sean declared, meekly. Gary ignored him. His words anyway. Instead, the fingers of his right hand were fingering Sean’s panty, just below the lace waistband.

“Carol’s?”

Sean took a big swallow of light beer. He nearly choked. “No! Um…Gloria’s.”

Gary’s eyes came back to life for the first time since he finished orgasming in Sean’s mouth. They positively glowed. With disbelief. “You’re wearing your daughter’s panties?”

Sean nodded. He bowed his head, as if trying to hide his sly smile. “It’s pretty weird but we’re all the same size 7. Carol, me, Gloria…But it’s easier just to borrow, you know, a pair of Gloria’s. She’s not home. Nobody’ll miss ’em. Whereas if I steal Carol’s…”

Gary drew his curious hand back, as if from a hot stove. “Just because I touched you just now…It doesn’t mean I’m gay, OK?”

Sean was still smiling, sort of. Gary’s cock had been in Sean’s mouth for twenty minutes…but I guess that doesn’t make you gay either, Sean thought. “I know, Gary. I get it.”

“The blowjob either. That was just…fun and games?”

“It WAS fun,” Sean happily declared. “I hope we get to do it again sometime. Soon.”

“Well…don’t count on it. This was like a unique situation, a dire need, y’know? I was desperate. Once Carol gets back…”

“She won’t be back till Wednesday. I could blow you again tomorrow, Monday night. Whenever…”

“Don’t count on it,” Gary repeated. His eyes had glazed over, his mind seemingly having traveled elsewhere. It was odd but he was still standing in the middle of the kitchen nude from the shirttail down, pants and briefs around his ankles, cock dangling. It was as if he were shackled there.

“When will lovely Gloria be back home?” he asked robotically.

“Why?”

Shrug. “Just wondered.” He looked down at Sean’s hard on in his daughter’s panties. Gary’s voice became a whisper: “I wouldn’t mind getting in those…”

“What? Wearing Gloria’s panties?”

Gary shook his head—back to reality. “No! IN them! I wouldn’t mind banging your daughter Gloria either. If she wanted it.”

As odd and unexpected as today had been so far—the past half hour—nothing that had transpired, no matter how unlikely, matched THIS revelation. Sean hardly knew what to say.

“Well that would…you’d have to work that out with her,” he replied meekly.

“No shit. You think she likes me?”

“Gloria? You’re kind of her uncle, I think.”

“Does she know about me and her mother?”

“No!” Sean insisted, heading to the fridge for two more beers. At this rate they’d be dead drunk by noon. Maybe in bed. If he got his friend drunk enough…would he maybe fuck him? Lube up and take Sean from behind, bent over, like some guys did at the “bookstore,” in the paired booths with the extra-large, ass-wide glory holes, on Friday nights during Gary and Carol’s “date night” together? “And it’s got to remain that way.”

“Maybe,” Gary grinned.

“No really, dude. Plus you’d have to answer to Carol for that. She’d freak out! Fucking her daughter?”

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