The Cuckold & The Cuckoldress

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

My timing is fortunate. The massive husband of Miss Marsha steps into his Mercedes then backs out of the driveway as I pull to the curb. I will not have to appear disrobed before him... at least not on this visit.

To the entryway, Miss Marsha is correct in advising me of potentially observing neighbors. It’s an atrium. The outer door is just about all glass and the walls of the small chamber have large windows providing sunlight for hanging plants. Still, it’s relatively early on Sunday morning. I am unlikely to be seen. Thus I strip, sensing myself begin to tremble in anticipation. And, as I peel off my socks and step from my underwear, I feel twinges below. With marital s****l relations limited, thoughts of showing myself once again before the imposing fully clothed Miss Marsha bring unexplained excitement. I convince myself that visions of Johnny’s naked presence have nothing to do with my priapic reaction.

Clothing shorn, I ring the doorbell, clothing and shoes piled in my arms to offer limited cover should a passerby note my naked presence. After an eternity, the door opens. It’s Johnny, only covered by his neck collar. He beckons entry and I quickly step within. My clothing is taken from me, tossed in a chest of drawers, and I know to follow, finding quirky attraction to plumped girlish buttocks, the dosages of the anti-androgen Androcur apparently bringing soft feminine allure to otherwise male anatomy.

I find myself once again in the large bathroom. A handsome smiling Miss Marsha stands in watch as the oversized tub fills, adding fragrant soap which gratefully bubbles to offer a degree of modesty.

“Good morning, Andy. Right on time. Very good.”

She reaches forth and gently pinches my right n****e, sending a symbolic message of her authority over my nude form. For some reason I smile, not a glimmer of thought concerning objection to her handling.

No one sees this... I tell myself... no one will know of my concessions.

“This morning you are going to bathe Johnny for me. It’s good training, begin breaking your homophobia. You’ll learn to do his hair and nails. Then you’ll be spending time with Mrs. Larson. She’s quite skilled... and accustomed to interacting with boys of your... temperament.”

Another woman! More exposure!

There will be someone else! Still, I dare not object, instead in response to her hand gesture meekly stepping into the filled tub, glad to have relative covering. Johnny needs no encouragement, stepping in after me with a splash as Miss Marsha again sits, no doubt finding amusement with the male on male bathing and grooming.

“How is Linda? Have you been taking care of her? Or perhaps I should inquire as to whether you’re taking care of those who take care of her.”

I divulge her dating. With Linda’s letter and their close college relationship, there’s no reason to elude the matter. Miss Marsha is more than aware of Linda’s s****l preferences and the agreement I foolishly entered.

“So she goes out when she dates. You have no interaction with her lovers? You don’t meet?”

“I prefer not. I am made well aware of the...ah.... well...”

“That she’s getting well laid and enjoying it,” Miss Marsha intercedes as I search for the words. “Why not go with her on one of her dates? Or better, why not cook dinner for them some evening? I understand you’ve been developing your home making skills.”

Ironically, with the restaurant charges mounting, the latter suggestion has appeal... appalling but financially more palatable.

“I’d rather... well... it’s just something I cannot fully accept,” taking the offered chamois and reaching for the soap.

I am relieved that the focus changes, Johnny placing his manicured hands atop his head as I lean forward and begin laving his nakedness. I cannot believe I am doing this! But with his neutering, effeminate looks, girlish smile, the homophobia dissipates. I again remind myself, no one will see this... no one will know of my obeisance. Plus, for some reason I want to please... Miss Marsha?.. Johnny? My mind becomes somewhat addled in finding myself so quaintly occupied.

“Be sure you do his scrotum. As you saw last week, he enjoys attention there. And all my boys have squeaky clean little rectums, Andy. My husband... well... after golf he may want some special relief.”

The allusion shocks. In stunned silence I go about my business, the hairless blemishless pinkish white skin so smooth... so soft. I receive a broad grin of contentment as I indeed swab the puffy empty scrotal sac. But then, in making that rectum squeaky clean as commanded, the allusion becomes real. Despite Johnny’s limited size and stature, the expected tightness of his sphincter is not. One finger, two, then three slip inward with astonishing ease.

Miss Marsha notes my surprise.

“Yes, he’s been opened. My husband has come to enjoy anal sodomy. And as you can imagine, since I’m not the type of woman to so yield, it becomes Johnny’s chore to offer himself. Perhaps you’d like to be opened there as well, Andy. It takes time. Slow and steady is both safe and for the best. But you’ll learn to enjoy... just as has Johnny.”

For sure, Johnny’s smile evidences his delight. And it’s my fingers accommodating! What is happening?