Message-ID: <11559eli$9805271521@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11559.txt>
From: cwcobblest@aol.com (Cwcobblest)
Subject: Hubby Humiliation Bonanza: "Of Mud and Mist," part one
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <1998052402350800.WAA13130@ladder01.news.aol.com>

"Of Mud and Mist," part 1 (Mmf, wimp husband)
by c.w. cobblestone

The rain is slithering down the windshield like hundreds of tiny crystal
snakes, turning the parking lot outside into a spooky watercolor painting. The
fog is heavy tonight, and everything around me is surreal...a dreary world of
mud and mist.

They've been in the restaurant for more than two hours now. They could've at
least left me the car keys so I could turn on the heat out  here. It's only
September and it's freezing already. Damn. Why didn't I think to bring my
jacket?

Going on nine o'clock. It doesn't take more than two hours to eat...does it?

I can just see them now. While I'm sitting out here in the car freezing my ass
off, Melanie is nice and toasty inside, probably snuggled up to you-know-who,
polishing off a bottle of expensive wine. I'm a million miles from their
thoughts right now. To them, I'm just the chauffeur - a bit player in tonight's
romantic episode.

That's me: good old dependable Dave. Always the designated driver. Mr.
Reliable. Mr. Nice Guy.

Mr. Get-Dumped-On is more like it.

This is their third date this week. I can't stand Ron, and I can't imagine what
Mel sees in him. Other than his looks...and his money...and his
intelligence...and his 11-inch cock...and his Ferrari...

Okay, forget it.

To Melanie, I'm just a comfortable old shoe, someone who will always be there
for her. Like a faithful St. Bernard.

But that's boring, she says. She tells me she needs more excitement in her
life. 

And that's where Ron comes in. 

Melanie's relationship with Ron isn't real. It's all based on fantasy, and
she'd probably be the first to admit it. I think she knows the love I feel for
her is far more real than what Ron has to offer. He's just in it for the sex.

But come to think of it, so is my wife.

Melanie and Ron are both cut from the same mold: adventuresome and absolutely,
completely selfish. "If it feels good, do it" - that's their motto. And it
doesn't matter who they hurt in the process.

Does it tear me up inside? Of course it does. Melanie is all caught up in her
little fairy-tale romance with Ron, so where does that leave me?

Sitting out here in the rain, that's where. 

He's so poised...so sure of himself. Kind of makes it difficult to compete. So
why even bother?

Melanie met Ron during her senior year in college, about a year after we got
married. He was her Philosophy professor, and Melanie used to come home from
school gushing about what an incredible hunk he was. The perfect male specimen.


In addition to his tenure at the university, Ron has also written two
best-sellers. And he's an attorney. And he has his pilot's license. Oh, and he
was on "Good Morning, America" once to talk about his second book.

Should I go on? Well, Melanie certainly did - over, and over, and over again,
every night of the week, until the name "Ron" burned my ears and gave me a
stomachache. I'd never seen her act like this before. This wasn't just another
one of her flings - she was really smitten with this guy! 

Only problem is, he's married.

But that didn't stop Mel. In fact, she says it's the perfect arrangement. Ron's
wife is a rich-bitch alcoholic, and she doesn't care about his running around;
as long as he keeps the money and the booze flowing, she's happy. And of
course, I'm too pussywhipped to do anything about their little affaire d’amour.
So it all works out.

They've been dating for almost three years now. They usually go out once or
twice during the week, then he stays over on weekends.

Do you have any idea what it's like to be treated like a slave in your own home
by your wife and her boyfriend? To have to hop around like a monkey, fetching
drinks and changing CDs while they lounge around in bed all day? 

It's not exactly my idea of a fun weekend, let me tell you. 

I'm made to feel like an outsider as they laugh at little private jokes I'm not
privvy to, or call each other by their "pet" names. During the weekend this is
Ron's domain, and he knows it. Melanie has made it quite clear that she's
delighted to have him in our home, and she's extended an open invitation for
him to pop by whenever he feels like it.

As for me...well, I don't have much say about it, do I? 

My wife and I didn't know much about the "slave" thing until Ron came along.
Sure, we'd seen people on the Jenny Jones Show talking about S&M, and there
were a few stories in "Variations" magazine. But we didn't really have what
you'd call a "Mistress/slave" relationship until Ron introduced us to the dark
world of bondage and discipline.

Ron is heavily into S&M. He belongs to a club that caters to those kind of
fetishes. He's what they call a "top" - a dominant. He enjoys treating people
like slaves. He gets sexual excitment from it, and it doesn't really matter if
it's a man or a woman he's abusing. As long as he gets to be boss, he's happy.

Melanie isn't submissive at all - in fact, I always thought she had a dominant
personality. But Ron has brought out hidden feelings in Melanie that neither of
us knew existed. While she isn't exactly a slave to Ron - that's my job - she
has come to enjoy the submissive side of sex. She likes Ron to spank her and
call her a "little slut" while he's banging her.

Ron has also taught Melanie to cultivate her dominant side. Whereas before Ron,
I was just your basic, cuckolded, pussywhipped, browbeaten husband, I'm now a
full-fledged slave...a combination houseboy/whipping boy. With Ron's guidance,
Melanie has opened up a Pandora's Box of evil, rancid emotions, and I'm the
unfortunate recipient of her newfound sadistic debauchery. 

I don't like what my wife has become. She never was exactly nice to me before,
but now it's downright unbearable.

Of course, I was never asked if I wanted to participate in all this. It just
sort of happened. 

I know what you're thinking: why do I put up with it? It's a question I hear
all the time. I guess it is a logical question.

For the answer, I turn to a simple, four-letter word:

L-O-V-E.

That's right, love. Don't laugh. I know it sounds foolish, but I don't care
what people think. They can call me a wimp. They can call me a pussywhipped
loser. I won't argue with them. 

But I'll always have one thing they don't have: my beautiful wife, Melanie. 

You see, I'm not about to let her get away from me. I've worked too hard on
this relationship over the years to let anything like that happen. I would
simply be crushed if she ever left me. 
So, if she wants to continue seeing Ron - if that's what it'll take to keep
this marriage together - then I'll bite my lip and take the pain. 

I'm not going to lie to you and tell you it's easy. It's not. Most of the time,
it's like living in hell. 

Take last Friday, for instance...





I WAS SITTING ALONE in the living room watching TV when the phone rang.

"Davy? It's me. I'm with Ron. He's taking me to the art museum, then we want to
spend a nice, quiet evening at home. Have dinner ready by 9, and lay out
something nice for me to wear."

Before I got a chance to respond, she hung up.

I hate those "nice, quiet evenings at home." They're anything but quiet for me
- and they're certainly not nice!

With a sigh of resignation, I rushed out to the store to pick up the groceries
for their meal. Melanie hadn't specified what she wanted, so I took a chance
and prepared a nice chicken casserole.

They got home around 9:30. Ron was dressed to the nines, and Mel was wearing an
elegant evening gown I'd never seen before. Another shopping spree, I surmised,
courtesy of Sugar-Daddy Ron. 

I rushed to the foyer to greet them. Ron sauntered through the doorway and held
the door open for my wife.

After Ron closed the door, he looked at me with an amused twinkle in his eye.
"Hi, honey, I'm home!" he sang in my ear as he reached out and pinched my
cheek. Melanie giggled. 

Ron took off his coat and draped it over my head. "Hang up my coat, Davy, then
run and fetch me a drink."

I pulled the coat off my head just in time to see Melanie toss her wrap in my
direction, sending me scrambling to catch it. By the time I hung everything up,
they were already in the living room.

I quickly fixed Ron's cognac and put it onto a serving tray. I minced into the
living room where they were both relaxing on the couch. Melanie was lying on
the sofa with her feet on Ron's lap, and he had his hand on her thigh, lightly
stroking the silky material of her dress.

I struggled to my knees in front of the couch and offered the tray to Ron. He
appeared to be lost in thought, and he didn't notice me as he absent-mindedly
reached for his drink and took a long, slow, noisy sip.

As I knelt there holding the empty tray, Melanie languidly stretched one of her
silk-encased legs and rotated her elegant ankle right in front of my face. She
tapped my forehead lightly with the toe of her shoe. 

"Get these off," she said, pointing to her expensive new pumps. "And take off
my stockings."

I undid the straps and slipped her shoes off. I set them carefully and neatly
by the end table. Melanie shifted her body to allow me to reach under her dress
and undo her garter belt. I caught a glimpse of her shiny panties as I slid one
of the stockings down her leg. There was a slight wet spot on her crotch; they
must've made out sometime after they left the museum.

The sight of Melanie's sexy leg must've snapped Ron out of his daydream. He
smiled and began rubbing his hand up and down her bare thigh as I struggled to
remove Mel's stocking from her foot.

Ron started playing with Mel's pussy through her panties. "Mmmmmm," she moaned
as she spread her legs wider to allow her lover easier access. When I saw her
panty-covered pussy spread open like that, I audibly gasped. Ron stopped
playing with Mel and stared down at me with a smirk. 

"You're hyperventilating, Davy," he said. "Does the sight of Mel's panties
excite you, boy?"

"Y-yes, sir...very much so, sir."

"Well, then, if you like that, you'll just love this," he said as he reached
under the waistband of Mel's panties and started massaging her pussy. Through
the material, I could see the outline of his fingers disappearing into my
wife's cunt. As his fingers hit home, Melanie gasped and clutched Ron by the
arm. She was still wearing her other stocking; it was bunched up halfway down
her leg, which made her look kind of slutty.

After a few minutes, Ron removed his hand from Mel's panties. His fingers were
glazed with my wife's wet excitement.

Ron extended his fingers toward me. "Come here, fag, and take a whiff."

I nearly fell over as I scrambled over to Ron and began smelling his fingers.
The fishy scent of my wife's juices was enough to make my head swim.

"That's enough, queer," Melanie announced after just a few seconds. "We can't
give him too many privileges," she explained to Ron. "The little creep is
liable to get spoiled!"

"You're absolutely right, honey," Ron said, wiping his wet fingers on my nose.
"A spoiled slave is like tits on a bull: useless!"

My wife looked down and shot me a condescending little smile. 

"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Davy, and take off my other stocking!" she
sneered.

As I determinedly worked the silk down her leg, Ron nudged Melanie in the ribs.
"Look at him down there," he chuckled, gestering to me derisively. "What a
nerd! He looks like the poster boy for birth control!"

Melanie busted up. "You're terrible, Ron!" she said through her giggles.
"You're gonna hurt his feelings! Don't you dare treat my little Davy that way!"

Ron stopped laughing and looked at Melanie with a straight face. "Listen, you
prissy little bitch, don't you dare try to tell me how to treat a slave!" he
shot back in jest. "You better watch out: I just might make you my slave,
next!"

With that, Ron grabbed my wife by the shoulders and started roughhousing with
her. He gently wrestled her to the sofa as Mel tried in vain to escape. For a
quick second, she was able to wiggle out of Ron's grasp, but he quickly grabbed
her again. Melanie shrieked with delight as Ron forcefully pinned her shoulders
to the cushions.

"Stay still, you little slut," Ron teased as he tried to hold her down with one
hand and grab her pussy with the other. Mel was laughing and squeezing her legs
shut so Ron couldn't get his hand in there. Not to be outdone, Ron began
tickling her until she finally surrendered, opening her legs and laughing
hysterically.

I tried not to intrude on their little "moment." I simply knelt there and
quietly folded my wife's stockings. With a heavy heart, I leaned over and put
them next to her shoes by the end table.

SLAAAP!!! My head snapped back as I felt the sting of my wife's palm across my
ear. "Don't put those stockings on the floor, asshole; they're silk!" she
yelled. "Take them upstairs and put them away!"

"Y-yes, Mistress! I'm sorry, Mistress!" I said desperately.

As I scurried up the stairs, shoes and stockings in hand, Ron called out, "Hey,
limp-dick! When's that food gonna be ready? I'm starving to death over here!"

"C-coming right up, sir," I answered politely.

Melanie leafed through her mail and Ron surfed the cable channels while I
finished setting the table. We always use the good china when Ron comes over. I
put a pair of scented candles into the crystal candleholders and arranged them
neatly on the table. Then I brought in the casserole, hot out of the oven. 

I checked everything one last time, then went back into the living room to
inform Mel and Ron that dinner was served.

After they took their places at the table, Ron leaned back in his chair and
began unzipping his pants. "I've got a job for you, Davy," he said. "Crawl up
under the table." 

My heart sank. I knew what was coming. But I didn't dare say hesitate, so I
obediently dropped to my knees and maneuvered my body between his legs. When I
got close enough, Ron grabbed the back of my head.

"Just put it in your mouth; don't suck," he said as he guided my face toward
his cock. "Don't move your head. I just want to feel your mouth on me while I
eat."

With that, Ron turned back to his dinner. They soon forgot all about me and
began a normal dinner conversation while I struggled to stay still. Out of
sight, out of mind, I guess. After a few minutes my neck began to hurt as I had
to strain to keep my head steady. I could taste the bitter pre-cum starting to
form on the tip of my tongue as his penis began to get hot and slowly swell up
in my mouth.

Dinner lasted about 45 minutes. It was the longest 45 minutes I've ever spent
in my life!

When they finally finished eating, Ron put his now-hard cock back into his
pants and zipped up his fly. "Thanks, Davy - that was special," he said. "We're
going to adjourn to the bedroom now. Be a good boy and make sure my car is
washed and waxed by the time I get up in the morning." He leaned down and
looked at me with a serious expression. "And if it isn't done on time, I'll
tear you a new asshole - I shit you not!" 

Then they both shifted out of their chairs and stood up. From my spot under the
table I watched their legs as they walked slowly toward the bedroom. After the
door closed, I climbed out from my hiding place and began clearing away the
dishes.


*     *     *


YEAH, THAT'S a typical "quiet" Friday evening in our household. I told you it
wasn't much fun for me. Usually, they top off the festivities with a few hours
of long, noisy lovemaking. While Ron fucks the shit out of my wife, I'm usually
kneeling at the foot of the bed, too ashamed to watch.

The car windows are all fogged up now and I can't see the clock on top of the
First National Building. It must be close to ten o'clock. Damn, they've been in
that restaurant for three hours now! I wonder if they even remember that I'm
sitting out here? 

I doubt it. 





WHO KNOWS WHAT EVIL LURKS IN THE HEARTS OF MEN (AND WOMEN)??? FIND OUT IN PART
II...SAME TIME...SAME CHANNEL!


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>