Cuckolding for Beginners Ch. 25 – Fetish

Chapter XXV

Our New Neighbours

A lot had happened since we’d taken our first steps on the road of sexual liberation. Erin and I were closer than we had ever been and the adventures on our six month celebration were mind-blowing.

Nothing could top that evening; Joe became an occasional lover for my wife. He was the only other man she’d fuck bareback, and the sight of my brother taking Erin while I looked on was a deep, shaming humiliation that excited the very core of my submissive tendencies. However, Joe and his wife were more into wife-swapping, and as I never fucked other women, Erin’s playtime with him was on a monthly not a daily basis.

In the early months of our adventures my wife sought more and more lovers as the reins were unleashed and the shackles were off. She longed for sex with more and more people as she fed from Christina’s libido and they egged each other on.

But after that night at the sex club my beautiful wife settled a bit more. She had done the rampant promiscuity and I had watched, heard, fluffed and even videoed her sex with scores of men, and been told about hundreds more.

The novelty of her freedom was waning slightly, and although she still had plenty of nights out and trips away, she longed for some more stability. She sought fewer, and more engaged partnerships for her regular sex. That came from Greg, a bald-headed estate agent in an adjacent town, and Samuel, a regular gym bunny. I liked them both; Greg was older and he loved to have my lips around his cock before he fucked Erin. He loved emphasising his dominance over me, and enjoyed seeing me prostrate myself before him.

But outside the bedroom he was a nice, genuine guy. He was married, but in an open relationship, and after fucking he enjoying sitting and watching television, or discussing politics. We met him in pubs and restaurants and were good friends with him, and later his wife. It was like having Jason back, only with less hair and fewer muscles.

Her other partner was Samuel and he was more insular; he bounced from girlfriend to girlfriend but his Thursday dates with Erin at the local cinema were the only constant in his love life. It started every evening: he’d meet her from work, go to his apartment and have sex, then dinner. Then have sex again and get changed, go to the cinema, have sex again on his double bed and he would bring her home. Occasionally, she would stay the night.

He avoided my eye contact when he brought my wife home, and he never engaged with me at all. I cannot remember more than ten words said between us, and Erin laughed when I suggested he might be a little scared of me.

My sex life settled also: I had a regular lover in Bryn, an irregular lover in my wife and a once or twice monthly visit with a local naked men’s group I joined to the local “open minded male spa and sauna.”

It was a fucking shop; secluded corners and playrooms, beds and hot tubs: all full of copulating men performing unbiblical acts in public. I loved my visits; not a trip went past without my mouth sating several gentlemen and I normally got a couple back in return. It allowed me to release my sexual steam without breaking our dynamic.

Although, I still gave my wife plenty of oral; I adored the taste of her cunt on my tongue and the feeling of her orgasming pussy squeezing my fingers as I massaged her G-Spot. I loved the wetness coating my face and the gentle run of her hands through my short hair as she tried to withstand another climax.

And I was promised full intercourse on my birthday and our anniversary; a fair trade for a panty-wearing cuckold.

I had a full sex life: we all did.

It felt as though nothing would change. We didn’t want it too, but events beyond our control were about to cause problems

And it probably would have been far worse, if it wasn’t for Greg. The properties being constructed at the end of our drive were nearing completion. I returned home one day to discover that a number of the hedges and trees that marked the original boundary and shielded the newly-built end property from the filthy antics of my house and Bryn’s property had been removed. They had been replaced with short picket fences.

We complained to the site manager; it was a deviation from the plan, and his junior subcontractor had removed the wrong hedges. His manager returned my calls and I made a complaint to the Council. I wanted them replanted.

The building contractors eventually planted several new hedges but they were young saplings, and the end house was angled so it would have a spectacular vista over our driveway and Bryn’s gardens.

There was little more we could do, but wait and see who bought the house. Bryn explored erecting a large fence or wall, and we spoke to an uncompromising and unhelpful man from the council planning team.

Bryn and Christina valued their privacy more than anything and their lifestyle was under threat. The multi-millionaires viewed other properties in the local area and our friendly, bisexual, cuckold neighbours were seeking a house move.

Things were about to change and if it wasn’t for Greg, they would have. His estate agency sold the problematic property to a young professional couple: a delightful young lady who worked in public relations and a wiry fiancé who worked in IT.

I chatted to them briefly as they moved in; helped them carry some boxes into their stylish new residence and they seemed friendly and “normal.” While I had nothing against them, I worried for the carefree nature of our existence, where the only people we had to shield from our sexual adventures was our children.

Middle-class leafy areas were stuffed with interfering curtain-twitchers and I could imagine the gossip: “they are always having men over” and “the party the other night was full of naked people in her garden.” It was something that shouldn’t have happened.

My wife wangled an invite from Laura and James to visit them after work the following Friday, and after our children were collected by my mother for a weekend with “nanna and granddad,” Erin and I crossed our drive to the new house.

James welcomed us into his home; Erin kissed him on the cheek, brushing his untidy mop of black hair as she did. We made idle chatter with the engaged couple; James showed me around his new three-bedroom house with some pride. It was smaller and more expensive than our house, but said nothing as I attempted to deduce his personality.

If I said I came up with bland that would be unfair, but achromatic and colourless would be a better description. His house lacked soul, was a square box and it fitted in with his functional, objective descriptions of his new home.

Lastly, we came to the smallest bedroom that housed a desk and two bookcases stuffed with books; it was Laura’s sanctuary. My eyes scanned the books on the shelves: some classics, some factual guides and some books on innovative writing. And then some erotica. Good, well-written smut loaded with hot sex and good characterisation: Janine Ashbless, Anne Rice and Pauline Reage.

He said nothing as I clocked his fiancée’s taste in erotic fiction. “She writes too.” The philistine dismissed the books with a casual wave of his hand. I scanned further, filtering the few books in her second bookcase that weren’t erotic: there wasn’t many.

“James says you’re an author,” I blurted out the moment I was furnished with a cup of tea by our host in their new lounge. She blushed a little, hesitating as she shot her boyfriend an angry glance.

“Yes.” She coughed as she sat on her couch. “I … err … I write to save up some money. PR is good, but it doesn’t pay that well.”

Erin’s attention was piqued. “Been published?”

“A few dozen times.” Laura gulped.

“Oh, what genre?” I raised an eyebrow as my mind recalled the erotic literature that she owned.

“Look, please don’t share this around but I write some … adult … material under a pseudonym. I don’t want everyone to know.”

“Sure,” my wife and I replied in unison. “What’s your pseudonym? I may have bought and read some of your work.”

“Ummm …” She took a deep breath. “Lara Lovelace. It’s really … niche.”

My wife squealed in excitement. “Female domination. Male submission. You wrote the Mistress Angel series, didn’t you?”

Laura’s uncertain demeanour changed into a beaming smile almost instantly; my wife was stroking her author’s ego. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“I loved those books. So hot. And the things Angel did to her partner.” Her eyes flitted to me. “We play … like that. So it was cool to read it too. Such creative imagination.”

“You play …”

“Yes.” Erin snapped her fingers at me, her face beaming. “Love, take down your trousers.”

I stared at the wall, pausing for a moment as I blushed. But I knew better than to disobey my wife: she rarely made commands and my fingers unfastened my belt and slid my trousers to my knees and exposing some lacy pink underwear.

My cheeks burnt, my eyes averted as Laura cooed appreciatively. “I so want to go further with him. We both do, but it’s finding the right people to experiment with and play with.”

And that was the first night of Laura and James moving into our neighbourhood; we introduced them to Bryn and Christina, and slowly the two wives took the young author under their wing.

They strengthened the communication between James and Laura. They introduced her to the art of domming and sadism. They took her out clubbing and found a regular partner for her to enjoy cuckolding her partner with and they helped her discover a stronger, more authentic author’s voice for her stories.

Bryn and I introduced James to bisexuality; he was uncertain at first, but a couple of trips to the sauna loosened his doubts and once he left his shell became good business. He learnt to embrace his place in his relationship while masochistically enjoying the nastiness Laura so willingly adopted.

Her writing was originally a release of her desires and fantasies, and moving into the area gave her and her partner the opportunity and impetus to explore these unusual desires. Suddenly, her writing became her experiences and her sales rocketed.

Their house move changed everything for them, just like it did for us. Because, as they found out, when talking to estate agents there are many methods of filtering houses, but “welcoming and rampantly kinky neighbours residing next door” is not one of them; they come by extremely good fortune and Laura and James were very lucky.

The End

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