Hey all – thanks for checking out my story. As due warning, there’s a lot of cuckolding in this story. I want to be upfront, so people don’t feel like they wasted their time if cuckolding isn’t their thing.
I stepped through the threshold of our new home and was met by an unfamiliar smell wafting from the kitchen. It wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t exactly put the tastebuds to watering mode either. Stepping into the kitchen, I found my wife standing in front of the stove, her back towards me. She was wearing her ear buds and bobbing her head to a beat I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t help but pause at the kitchen door and admire the view. My wife, Nichole, Is short at only an inch over five-feet tall. She has dark, chestnut colored hair that hangs just past her shoulders, it’s thick, lustrous, and I can’t help but feel a deep urge to run my fingers through it. Nichole’s ass is pert and firm, a result of significant time spent running in the early morning hours.
Setting my computer bag on the floor, I stepped up behind her and wrapped her into my arms. The smell of her shampoo filled my nose. I felt her tense under my arms until she realized it was me.
“Ky,” she said with a start, “You scared the shite out of me!” her English accent sharper than usual from the surprise.
“Sorry,” I said, looking over her shoulder to see what was cooking on the stove. “Beans? We’re having beans for dinner?”
Nichole nodded, “Beans and toast,” she said, twisting away from my grip to go to the refrigerator. “It’s been ages and I guess I’ve been feeling nostalgic.”
“Missing home?” I asked, leaning against the counter next to the stove.
Nichole shook her head as she removed a stock of broccoli from the refrigerator, “This is my home now, Ky,” she said matter-of-factly. “But missing mum and dad a bit, yeah.”
“I know, I’m sorry. As soon as this whole COVID thing blows over, we’ll go,” I said, eyeing the beans in the pot. I knew beans and toast was something the in-laws ate with some frequency, but I never could understand why anyone would eat it if there was literally anything else available.
I watched my wife prepare the vegetables, carefully chopping the green stocks and placing them into a glass bowl. Damn she’s beautiful, I thought to myself. I need to make sure I tell her that more often. We’ve been married for two years now, and things were good. My wife, originally from the UK, had come to the States to study at the University of San Diego, and somehow I’d been lucky enough to convince her to marry me. Although, if I’m honest, I’ve always felt that one day she would wake up and realize she could have done so much better.
I looked around the kitchen and out into the family room of our new home. To say it was spartan would be generous. The house was basically empty except for a bed, a kitchen table, and a few chairs. We’d been living on the cheap and saving every cent for the down payment on our home, and we only had the stuff we’d brought from our apartment, which was to say, not much.
Nichole placed two plates onto our second-hand table, and I took my seat. The old wooden chair purchased from Goodwill groaned as it took my weight. I looked glumly at the meager meal.
“Oh, don’t look like that, it’s good,” said Nichole, taking her own seat.
I sighed and picked up my fork, my vision wandering from my plate to my wife’s chest. She didn’t have massive breasts, but they fit well-enough in my hands, and they were perfectly shaped. But it wasn’t the size of her breasts that had drawn my attention as much as it was her nipples. They were poking up from inside her shirt, and I couldn’t help but smirk. She had amazingly large nipples, and when they were erect, there was no bra in the world that could keep them concealed.
Noticing my gaze, Nichole looked down at her chest, “Oh bother,” she said, noticing what had drawn my attention. She pressed her fingers against one of her nipples in an attempt to flatten it down, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.
“Yes, please keep doing that,” I said wryly.
Nichole rolled her eyes and dropped her hand from her breast, “You’re an incorrigible prat, you know that, right?”
I shrugged and laughed but pulled my attention back to the meal and began to eat. Beans and toast really wasn’t that bad, but I wasn’t going to say so for fear of encouraging more beans and toast dinners.
A red envelope on the table caught my attention and I reached over to pick it up, “What’s this?” I asked opening the letter.
“An invite to the neighbor’s this weekend,” Nichole answered, looking slightly in the direction of the neighbors to our south. “It’s a pool party in their garden.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Marcus and Rachel Scott cordially invite Mr. and Mrs. Ky and Nichole Ryan to an outdoor barbeque and swim party this Saturday…” I laughed as I looked at the cartoonish picture of people swimming and frolicking about. “Our neighbors have an interesting sense of humor.” I said as I looked up from the invitation, “Are we going?”
“Of course, we are,” Nichole said, seemingly sivas seks hikayeleri surprised that it was even a question. “Rachel popped in this morning to give me that,” she pointed at the letter, “and I already committed us–no more living like hermits. I need to get out of this house.”
“Their backyard is like little Disneyland,” I admitted, resigned to the loss of my Saturday. I’d have to cancel my tee time, but the neighbor’s pool would be nice to relax in, and Rachel was easy on the eyes even if she was twenty years older than us.
Nichole’s brow rose but then immediately fell, “I need a new swim costume, but we didn’t budget for it this month.”
I rolled my eyes at her panic at spending unbudgeted money, but I’ve always been grateful for her frugality. “We’re fine, as long as I’m the one that gets to pick it out. And it’s called a swimsuit, not a swim costume.”
“It’s not a suit, a suit is something you wear to the office.”
“Well, it’s not a costume, that’s something you wear for Halloween.”
Nichole ignored my last comment and picked her phone up from the table, “And I’ll pick it out, thank you. You’ll pick out something expensive and immodest, and I don’t need the neighbors thinking I’m some sort of slagging tart.”
“Nope,” I said, snatching the phone from his wife’s small hand. “If we’re buying you an unbudgeted luxury item, then I at least get to pick it out.”
Nichole tried in vain to get her phone back, but to no avail, “Fine,” she sighed in defeat. “But it bloody better be modest”
“Oh, I love it when you threaten me,” I teased and began to scroll through the Amazon app. “I probably should buy you something that looks like a potato sack to keep Marcus from staring, but damn I want to see you in something sexy.”
“Ky,” Nichole whined with a pout.
“You agreed to the party without asking me if I wanted to go, and we’re buying you a new suit, so I get to pick out what you’ll wear.”
“Fine,” Nichole said, unconsciously covering her protruding nipples with her forearm. “I suddenly have a bad feeling about this.”
“I am not bloody wearing this!”
I winced as I heard my wife shout from behind the bathroom door. I had purposefully made her wait until a few minutes before the party started before I gave her the new swimsuit, wanting to make sure she didn’t have time to find another option.
“It’ll be fine,” I said for the fifth time. “I promise it’s not as risqué as you think it is.”
Nichole had been in the bathroom for nearly half an hour, and we were going to be more than fashionably late if we didn’t get going. I was about to speak when the bathroom door suddenly swung open.
My eyes immediately landed on his wife, “Fuck me,” I said in a gasp. The bikini barely covered her at all, but it instantly had an effect on me. “Holy fucking shit–you look amazing.”
Nichole’s fiery look softened, seemingly nullified by the lustful look she saw in my eyes. “You really like it?” she said hesitantly.
“God yes,” I said in a hoarse whisper. “Please wear it. I’ll do the dishes for a month.”
Nichole shook her head and laughed, her thick hair running over her shoulders as she did, “I like how it makes you look at me,” she admitted, moving towards our shared dresser drawers. Pulling out one of my tee shirts, she pulled it over her form, the hem of the shirt falling well past her waist. “I’ll wear it once, but I’m covering up with this until we get in the pool,” she said, pulling at the tee shirt that now covered her slight frame.
I nodded and reached down to adjust myself through my shorts. I couldn’t wait to see my wife in the pool, and the thought of Marcus seeing my nearly naked wife filled me with a wave of lust. I inhaled deeply and let my breath out slowly as my wife walked towards the front door. I’ve felt lustful for my wife before, but this was something new, something unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was like an intense fire had suddenly come to life deep in my core.
Shaking myself, I picked up our shared backpack and followed my wife to the neighbors.
Rachel opened the door and energetically invited us inside. I always pegged the woman to be in her mid-forties, she was average height and had a lot of stereotypical southern California traits such as blond hair, deeply tanned skin, and large breasts. And while she may have carried a couple of extra pounds on her hips, she was still quite beautiful. Rachal looked as if she wanted to embrace Nichole but then suddenly stopped, “I’m sorry,” the older woman said, “I’m a hugger by nature, but I’m trying to remember that we’re still in the middle of a pandemic and some people are uncomfortable with that.”
“Nichole’s not uncomfortable because of the pandemic, it’s because she’s British,” I said jokingly, but my attempt at humor went over like a lead balloon. I barely got an eyeroll from my wife. Nichole ended the awkwardness and gave Rachel a quick embrace.
Just then Marcus appeared from the back of the house, “Please, come in. Thank you so much for coming. We’re excited to get to know you better,” Marcus said warmly, shaking my hand and gesturing towards the large glass sliding door to their backyard.
Like his wife, Marcus’ skin was well-tanned. His hair was black, heavily streaked with gray and looked several months overdue for a trim. His beard was similarly colored with a solid mix of black and gray, but his face still held a youthful look. I had only spoken to the man a couple times, each time a brief but cordial social formality. He was about the same height as me at just shy of six feet, but he looked to be a lot more fit than I was. That’s what you get when you can spend the day exercising and sitting around your pool and don’t have to spend the day sitting in front of a desk, I thought, sucking in my gut a little and standing up straighter.
I’d spied over the fence on a number of occasions to get a better look at their back yard, but stepping through the sliding door, I was more impressed than I’d thought I would be. Fuck it was nice. It had a massive custom-built pool, complete with a waterfall and slide around the edge, impressive lighting, and an enormous hot tub. A new Rec Tec grill sat off to the side, smoke and heat venting into the air from the vent stack.
“Whoa,” I exclaimed as I looked around. “Very nice Marcus.”
“Thanks,” Marcus smiled as he handed me a beer. “Believe it or not, we actually started with a backyard that looked something like yours about twenty years ago. It’s been a lot of work, but we enjoy it.”
I felt my wife gently poke my side, “So is this what our garden will look like someday?”
I guffawed, “Not likely, I can barely keep the lawnmower going to cut the grass”
Rachel reached out and touched my forearm, “You can borrow Marcus’ anytime. That’s what the previous owners did.”
“You knew them well?” I asked. I didn’t really care to know, but it was an easy topic of conversation.
“Oh yes,” Rachel exclaimed, “Don and Lisa are our oldest friends. We both bought in this tract when it was first established, and their kids were over here so often that we had that gate installed between our yards for easier access. We miss them terribly.”
I looked at the wooden fence that separated our yards. The hinges were on this side and so it was easy to spot. From our yard I’d never even noticed it was there. One of the features that had grabbed our attention when we bought our home was that our back yard felt very secluded. In fact, as I looked around, I realized that our two yards together formed a miniature compound. We could see into our neighbor’s yard, and they could see into ours, but no one else was able to look in.
We sat at a round, stone table on the patio. The day was warming quickly but the shade structure overhead effectively blocked out the heat of the sun. The sound of the pool’s waterfall was soothing background noise.
“And now you have us living next door, how disappointing,” I said after a moment, trying to make sure I laced enough sarcasm in the words to not come off as an ass. Marcus chuckled which I appreciated, even if it was a pity laugh.
“Nah, change is good, isn’t it, Rach,” Marcus prodded his wife.
“Certainly–of course. I didn’t mean to imply–,”
“You didn’t,” Nichole interjected, quick to avoid someone’s feelings from being hurt. “My husband has a tendency to make daft comments at times… most of the time.”
Rachel and Marcus both laughed heartily at that.
“Well, we’re both happy you’re here,” Rachel beamed. Her attention moved towards me, “Nichole told me this was your first home purchase, so congratulations. I’m sure you’ll love the neighborhood.”
I nodded, “It is, and we already love it here,” I said. “I grew up in Long Beach in a very similar neighborhood, so it already feels like home to me, but it’s a big change for Nichole.”
“The house is enormous,” my wife quickly added, “but it’s nice not having a common wall like you do in terraced houses.”
“Okay, help a guy out here,” Marcus spoke up. “First, I’m curious, what part of England are you from, and what’s a terraced house?”
Nichole took a sip of her beer, which surprised me, she wasn’t a fan of American beer, so I took it as a good sign that she was feeling comfortable. However, I was feeling impatient because I desperately wanted her to lose the tee shirt.
“I was born in Bristol, which is on the western side of England, but I was schooled in Cheltenham, so I spent most of my time there,” Nichole answered, “and a terraced house is like a condominium–all the houses stuck together side-by-side like. My parents live in a house like that.”
“We don’t mean to pepper you with questions, dear,” Rachel said, “but we’re excited to get to know you. Do you mind if I ask how you came here to the US, and how you two met?”
Nichole smiled, seemingly unbothered by the questions, which I found unusual. Part of her British nature was not divulging much personal information with people you didn’t know well. But Marcus and Rachel were so inviting and unassuming that they instantly made me feel welcome. I imagined Nichole was feeling the same way.
“I don’t mind,” Nichole said pleasantly, “The company my father works for needed him for a time in Los Angeles, and since I’d just finished sixth form–that is basically high school–I came with them. I started university here and met Ky in an astronomy class–he was the one always sleeping in the back.”
“Hey!” I protested, “It wasn’t my fault. The class was early Saturday morning, and they kept the class dark so they could show the constellations on the ceiling. I had no chance of staying awake.”
“That’s true,” Nichole admitted, sharing a look with me, “but you have to agree you wouldn’t have passed the class if I hadn’t shared my notes.”
I sighed and thew up my hands, “Fine, I’ll do the dishes again tonight.”
Marcus chuckled and retrieved a couple of more beers from the cooler. “So, your folks live here in California, too?”
Nichole shook her head, “No, they moved back to Bristol about three years ago. My nan was taken ill and needed more care, and my older brothers are all married and having kids, so mum and dad returned. They were missing their grandchildren.”
“They must miss you terribly, too,” said Rachel, and it struck me how sincere the woman was. She wasn’t asking just to ask–just to carry on with a conversation. She truly cared. The realization made me like her a little more.
Nichole shrugged, “I have a complicated relationship with my mum… we do miss each other, but we’re all doing well.”
Rachel smiled, “I can relate to a difficult mother-daughter relationship. Believe me. But it gets better.”
“You mentioned kids earlier,” I asked, curious to know them a little more.
Marcus nodded, “Boy and a girl,” he started, turning the beer bottle in his hands as he held it there between his legs. “Our son, Dwayne, just graduated college. He’s 22, so probably only a year or two younger than you two I’m guessing. And our daughter, Julie, she’s 20, living in Seattle, and well, basically just trying to figure out what she wants in life.”
“You guys must have had your kids early then,” I said without thinking, earning me a warning glare from my wife. But If Marcus or Rachel were bothered by the question, they didn’t show it.
“I grew up a surf bum,” Marcus said, looking lovingly at his wife. “but then I met this hottie one day on the beach and it didn’t take long before she ended up pregnant. It made me grow up quick, but I got lucky and got into brokering commercial real estate. Did that for about ten years and made enough money to basically not have to work that hard anymore.”
“Nice,” I said, an envious pang in my gut at the thought of not having to work anymore, “maybe I need to change career paths.”
Marcus turned to me, “If you’re serious, I could point you in the right direction. But let me warn you that it’s a hard business to get started in. We went for almost three years before I made any money at all. And it’s not like I made a billion dollars. If I’d kept working, we could’ve bought that nice house on the beach–eventually. But we decided we wanted to pursue other things in life, so we moved out here where we could afford more, made some investments, and have had a good life so far.”
Rachel lifted her beer, and with her husband, they clinked the bottle necks together, both seemingly in agreement that life was good. They struck me as a couple that were happy with the choices they’d made.
“Do you still surf?” My wife asked.
“As often as she lets me get away with,” Marcus said, shooting a look to his wife.
Rachael gave an exasperated sigh, “He gets away with it often, I’ll tell you that,” she said, but she didn’t seem truly bothered.
“I’ve always wanted to learn,” Nichole said. She leaned forward and rested her arms on the table.
“Great,” Marcus said, his brow rising, “I’ve got extra boards in the garage, let’s go right now–,”
“–We’re not going surfing right now,” Rachel spoke over her husband. “For one, I’m not fighting the traffic to get down there, and two–“
“–I’m just kidding,” Marcus interrupted his wife. “The swell is way down and the shape’s terrible anyway. But seriously,” Marcus looked at my wife. “I’ll have you surfing like a pro in no time if you want. I love to teach.”
I could tell my wife was extremely interested. We loved going to the beach, but we mostly just played in the waves and sat in the sand. Nichole had always looked out at the surfers and commented how much fun she thought it would be. The thought of Marcus showing her gave me an odd feeling I didn’t understand.
Nichole looked at me briefly before saying, “We’ll talk it over, but I think I’d like that.” She then looked to Rachel and asked. “Do you work?”
“I still run a small beauty salon to keep myself busy,” Rachel said, picking up the conversation. “It more-or-less runs itself, but I still enjoy working there a couple of days a week — or at least I did until the pandemic shut everything down.” Rachel turned towards my wife, “If you need any waxing done, or a manicure, or even laser hair removal for that matter you let me know–I could just bring the equipment home, it’s just sitting there idle now.”