Of Mud And Mist

"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. 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. In case you're wondering, I do not enjoy this lifestyle; I'm not into being treated like a slave, and I'm not one of those guys who gets off watching his wife with another man. 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. I don't care what people think. They can call me a wimp. They can laugh at me and say I'm pussywhipped. 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. In fact, it can be out-and-out excruciating sometimes. 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 art 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. "Does that excite you, boy?" he asked. "Y-yes, sir...very much so, sir." "Well, then, watch this," he said. "You just might learn something." 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 down as I scrambled over and began smelling his fingers. The fishy scent of my wife's juices was making me crazy. "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. "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. "Don't you tell me how to treat a slave, you little prissy little bitch!" 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. She shrieked with delight as he 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 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! Note: I welcome any and all comments, suggestions, or story ideas. You can reach me via the Dark Wanderer at: cwcobblestone@darkwanderer.demon.co.uk 3134 1.10/512345