Free cuckold community
Sign up now!
Last month I was stuck in a drab hotel for military training while my wife was back home. Cindy—my petite Vietnamese wife, pretty black hair, slim golden curves, those dark almond eyes that always knew exactly how to wreck me—had texted around 8 p.m.: “Heading to Hard Rock with Lisa and Jen for the concert. Might be late. Miss you. ?”
We’d been in open cuckold type relationship for moths. The military routine had worn thin—endless training days for her and her friends—and she’d started craving more. I’d given her the green light long before. The rules were simple: she played, I waited, and the details made me ache.
The first photo came just after 10: her in that slinky black dress I’d bought her, the fabric clinging to her tight body, cleavage teasing, hair loose and glossy. Caption: “Ready to play. Ran into a pilot here named Ryan. He’s very hot and flirty.” He’d been doing quals on the C-130s. My stomach flipped, dick throbbed.
I texted back: “Tell me everything. Have fun, baby.”
Her voice note followed, soft accent cutting through the concert noise: “Hey Tom… the girls are already losing it. Lisa pulled me aside—‘Cindy, Tom’s away, what are you doing?’ I laughed and said, ‘Tom knows. He loves it. He begs for the stories.’ Showed them your text. They think I’m insane. Ryan’s buying shots, hand on my waist. Feels so fucking good.”
I stroked slowly, picturing her tiny frame pressed against him in the pulsing crowd at Hard Rock Live, lights strobing, bass shaking the floor.
This was so taboo. I was in shock that now her friends knew I was a cuckold. My mind was racing.
Another photo landed: her grinding back into him during a guitar solo, his big hands low on her hips, her head tilted back, mouth open in a laugh that looked pure sin.
Texts poured in:
“He’s whispering how he’s gonna ruin your little Asian wife tonight. Said my pussy’s gonna be filled with his cock. I told him you’re a good boy.”
Silence stretched. Torture. Then the audio clip: her breathy moans, wet slapping sounds, his low grunts. “Oh god… Ryan… so big… stretching me… fuck, yes…”
Final barrage:
“Back seat of his truck now. He just came inside me. Bare. So much cum—hot, thick, dripping out. The girls texted asking if I’m okay. Told them, ‘Tom’s thrilled. He wants cleanup when he gets home.’ Driving back to base. Still smell like him.”
Last photo: her thighs parted in the passenger seat, dress bunched up, streaks glistening on her smooth skin. Her teasing the camera.
I typed with trembling hands: “Thank you, Cindy. Love you. Tell me every detail tomorrow. Maybe make me lick it off when I’m home?”
Her reply sealed it: “Good night sweetie. This is so much fun. Thank you. I’ll tell you so many stories. This guy can really fuck ?”
I came hard right then, alone in the dark, the memory of her words burning hotter than the Mississippi summer outside.
When I flew back to Keesler the following week, she greeted me at the door still wearing that dress, the faint scent of him clinging to her skin. She made me kneel on the living-room floor of our on-base housing while she straddled my face, recounting every thrust, every moan, every drop he left inside her—reminding me exactly why she was the one in control, and why I’d never stop begging for more.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.