The Cuckold & The Cuckoldress

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

It happens again!

Bathing completed, I step from the tub. Is it the presence of Miss Marsha? The girlish prepubescence of Johnny? As my p***s hardens, I convince myself instead that it’s the weeks of denial, wife offering nothing in relief.

No matter, as Miss Marsha hands me an oversized towel, practically the size of Johnny, the process of tumescence continues until I fully stand, p***s tip empurpled and pointing skyward.

“See, you’ve enjoyed yourself, naughty boy. Relieved of your phobia, knowing it’s just me and Johnny observing, you revel in being of service... in pleasing.”

The words come as I tenderly pat Johnny dry. Yes tenderly! Why?

“Bring it here, Andy. I want to inspect you. You just can’t show off for me like that without letting a woman have a full look.”

Johnny dry, I sheepishly step to Miss Marsha, cursing myself... cursing my erection. It does not waver... will not waver.

Miss Marsha takes the towel, uttering the command to ‘turn’ as she lays it on her lap. I then feel large firm hands slip under my arms, shocked to feel myself lifted. Yes, like a child I am propped on the lap of this powerful woman, strength inordinate.

Left hand steadies, right pushes and prods my legs. I sit, my thighs straddling hers.

“Johnny would like to thank you. And you’re still a little wet.”

With a nod, a smiling Johnny, seeming to radiate in the opportunity, approaches, kneeling between the parted thighs. Legs forced apart, Miss Marsha’s arms entwine about mine, her strength amazing in placing me in a wrestling hold to immobilize.

“I’m sure you realize how much he idolizes testicles... big and small... his being tucked away. So just let him thank you, like a good boy.”

I shudder, my cast aside homophobia returning. I struggle within her arms, attempts to avoid Johnny’s attention futile. Those small manicured hands move to my upper thighs. Fingers of the left knead my perineum. Fingers of the right find my anus and, wet from the bath, easily slip inward.

“Yes, you’re still a little tight there, Andy. But just relax, Johnny is so gentle, so caring. Just sit and enjoy. And Johnny, no ejaculation, just keep him on the edge for me. He’s a tiny little guy, but he stands so nicely for me.”

Lips part, the tongue extends, my scrotum is laved, the slick appendage long, warm and surprisingly nimble. I am amusing this woman of governance, my p***s performing for her like a trained pet. I hate the fact that it feels so good. Hate the fact that my erection defies me, waggling in response to announce my joy. Hate the fact that Miss Marsha so closely monitors.

Or do I?

I close my eyes in shame, once again convincing myself that the emasculated Johnny is more girl than boy... that I am not enduring a homosexual encounter. Many moments, much licking, my balls are engulfed. But then there comes a voice. A woman’s voice. Not that of Miss Marsha.

“Oh Marsha, you do so much enjoy the nymphs.”