Disciplining Thomas 3.9/5 (19)

Had my cuckolding been of the sleeping around kind, then the issue of disciplining might never have arisen. But to be honest, I never fancied simply being a slut. I wanted a relationship with a different kind of man, one more assertive, even aggressive with me if necessary.

There had been a conversation when I was seventeen. A new friend of mine, a working class girl described how men on that side of the railway tracks knocked their women about if they didn’t do as they were told and open their legs. Of course these days that would be sexual assault and I would encourage such women to report matters to the police. But it wasn’t then and the women simply accepted it.

To my surprise, the idea turned me on. Being with such a powerful no nonsense man that I had to open my legs to order. I had led such a privileged and genteel life. There were rarely harsh words let alone a clenched fist, so the close proximity of sex and violence seemed exotic, other, arousing, despite all my upbringing.

Thomas my husband rather ineptly signaled that he was ready to be cuckolded. I reported to him something that was happening to Ruth my girlfriend. She had been picked up by a dishy guy and he’s refused to treat it as a one night stand. Her husband had been easily cowed just by threats from the interloper and the conquest had continued.

Thomas just looked down and said that sex wasn’t nice. It was sometimes more powerful than love though no one really admitted that. I asked Thomas whether he would be respectful towards Ruth when she dropped by and he said of course. I think the thought of her and what she did, awed him.

I met Jean-Paul through Ruth. He was one of her lover’s friends. Jean-Paul spoke French beautifully, and watching him speak, as we drank a cold beer at the bar beside the river, entranced me. His skin. was ebony black, ultra black. It was as if the sun wasn’t allow to intervene in his sphere. Jean-Paul kissed me in a casual and confident way and I pictured Thomas submitting to him.

I suppose I was back with that teenage story of someone getting knocked about, only this time the disciplining of my husband rather than me was linked to the sex that fizzed in my head. I told Thomas that I was ‘seeing someone’ and Thomas kind of imploded silently. It was as if he shrunk in an instant. Women despise men for things that they think the guy should have charge of. I couldn’t despise Thomas that moment because he seemed chromosome disabled. He couldn’t bring himself to be territorial. Because of that, there was no guilt in going with Jean-Paul. He was being what Thomas couldn’t be.

Matters became a little rocky after I confided that sometimes Thomas fucked me in a sort of seconds way, afterJean-Paul and I had dated. In truth I didn’t like Thomas doing that. I wasn’t his by then and his efforts were in any case half hearted.

I barely felt his presence down there. If I’m honest, if I’m brutally honest, I wanted Jean-Paul to beat my husband. I’m not talking an assault that leaves marks forever or worse, I mean a stern cuffing I suppose.

Jean-Paul was incensed by Thomas’s transgression so the Friday night instead of dropping me off at the house after our date, he came in. I remember that there was a damp patch on the crotch of my jeans from where Jean-Paul had been fucking me and Thomas stared at that and then the big framed man who seemed to eclipse the lamp light behind him. Thomas was terrified.

For a minute or two there was the stupidest conversation about whether the meal out had been good. It was as if Thomas tried to pretend to himself that Jean-Paul was simply my friend. Then Jean-Paul said in a perfect base voice, ‘you never ever take your dick out to my girl’. He drew me into his embrace and kissed me as if to cement the point. Thomas glared at him. I was astonished. I thought that he would simply fold again, but seeing Jean-Paul kiss me must have triggered something inside him.

‘You come to her cunt the proper way’ Jean-Paul burred and he just hit him. He hit my husband briskly in the stomach and there was an explosion of breath from Thomas’s mouth as he doubled up and dropped to his knees. Jean-Paul grabbed Thomas’s hair whilst he was winded and pulled his face upwards. ‘You lick cunt for the lady, you don’t ever get your dick out man’ Jean-Paul snarled.

Jean-Paul glanced my way and gestured with his eyes that I was to drop my jeans. I remember shaking, it was such a powerful moment. I remember my heart racing, beating ineffectively. It was if I couldn’t draw breath myself. Still, I slid why jeans down revealing the semen stuck in sticky globules on my pubes and Jean-Paul instructed me to turn around.

Thomas was always to lick ‘cunt’ from this direction, licking my crease and afterwards cleaning my botty hole. I leaned forward against the back of the sofa and thrust my dripping sex towards Thomas’s face. I remember my breath catching at last, anticipating the wetness of his tongue there.

‘You going to lick when the lady drops her jeans like that?’ Jean Paul interrogated. I waited for the touch of tongue, grimacing, anticipating my pleasure and Thomas’s shame.

Thomas must have resisted. Stupidly he must have resisted. So the second punch came to his jaw. I just caught the sight of his head jerking to the left. After the crack of the blow there was the sound of whimpering. I heard Thomas snivel ‘OK’ and then felt his tongue curling and licking against my sex. ‘This’ was how Thomas had to address me now, reverently, coming to cunt when ordered, giving toilet when required.

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