Róisín - Ch. 5

Chapter Five - Róisín's First Date

I made it back to the fashion house before Paul, who went back to his office to pick up his briefcase and coat. Róisín was waiting for me in the entrance hall and was ready to leave for home. She knew that I had been meeting Megan's cuckold hubby and the look on her face reflected her desire to know how it went, and what we discussed.

We can't talk on the train,” I said, as we walked towards the Tottenham Court Road tube station, “but we do need a little self appraisal.”

“So you've made a decision?”

“No! Not yet!” I lied.

My pretty red-haired Wife tried to hide her smile – unsuccessfully. “So who's being appraised. You or me?”

She was having a little fun with me. I knew it, but I didn't resent it. “Both of us Dear. It's assessment time!” I exclaimed loudly in my terrible version of an American accent.

“For you maybe,” was her scornful response, “but nobody is going to check me out.”

“I thought he had already done that.”

Róisín was quiet for the rest of the journey, although she had now made it a habit of standing, or if we were lucky – sitting, in close contact with me on the train back to Colindale. It was a nice gesture from her to remind me of her affection, and I responded by holding her hand.

I could sense a tension in my pretty young Wife that evening. She clearly wanted to know if I had made a decision and was dying to ask me what it was. She couldn't bring herself to enquire whether I was going to release her from the one vow in the marriage contract that is broken so often and by so many.

We had dinner, watched some television, and went to bed. But just before extinguishing the bedside light, I said, “I thought I would give Samuel a call tomorrow and arrange for us both to have dinner together at the Savoy. Would tomorrow evening suit you?”

Her silence was deafening, and I struggled to stop shaking with emotion and to hide one of the hardest erections I had ever had in my life.  Róisín rolled over on to her back and stared up at the ceiling with her eyes wide open. “You've decided haven't you.”

“Dinner! ... A talk! ........... Nothing else,” I stuttered, before closing my eyes to sleep, to open them again seconds later as her cold little hand crept into my pyjamas and wrapped itself around my iron hard willy.

“Thought so!” she said, before removing her hand to roll over on her side and drift off to sleep. I on the other hand, saw the dawn come through the curtains.

“We can't afford dinner at the Savoy, Michael,” Róisín said while we were on the train.” So don't bother with a phone call. I'll speak to him at work, and ring you instead.”

It was a relief to hear that I wasn't going to foot the bill for dinner at that beautiful hotel in the Strand, but I still wanted to maintain a form of control over the meeting between the three of us.  I agreed with her thoroughly sensible suggestion nevertheless.

Róisín rang me at work later that morning to tell me that Samuel was looking forward to having dinner with us and would accompany her from the fashion house to the hotel. “He suggested seven tonight at the Savoy Grill,” she said, trying to keep her tone level; but I could feel the excitement in her voice. “Samuel and I will come from work and meet you there.”

Lunch was a sandwich at my desk – what was in that sandwich I neither knew or cared – and the rest of the day I spent alone in my office. Colleagues phoned me internally, spoke to me, and I responded in non-committal grunts. I was in a world of my own. My world was changing and I was deeply immersed in the process.

I worked until six, and then walked through Victoria Gardens to take the short cut to the Hotel. I wanted to be there to see Róisín and Samuel arrive at the restaurant together and witness the so-called ‘aura' that Paul had informed me of. So I ordered a non alcoholic drink and stood at the bar waiting for the prospective Lovers to arrive.

They didn't see me at the bar immediately on arrival and I said nothing or move in order to give myself a few moments to view them together, and make a judgement on my course of action. My heart leapt at the first sight of them together; they were holding hands like teenagers on their first date and were smiling tenderly at each other, clearly enjoying each other's company. 

Staying silent, I took a little more time to look at Róisín's face. Although she was smiling, I knew my Wife well enough to know that there was some strain behind that happy expression; she was nervous. Samuel on the other hand was confident and, on looking around the bar, saw me, waived to me, and beckoned me over. He had booked a small curved booth seat with a single chair directly opposite as a place for our meal; it was plain that he had planned our seating arrangements.

“Michael!” he exclaimed happily, “It's so great to see you. Shall we sit?”

Róisín let go of Samuel’s hand (she hadn't released it when she had seen me) and came around the table to kiss me on the cheek. “Hi Dear,” she said quietly, as she stared into my eyes to find a clue to my feelings or mood. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I replied coolly, with my heart thumping and my guts roiling with emotional anxiety.

I knew which seat I should take, so I took the chair while Samuel and Róisín slid along the booth to sit opposite and face me. And that moment was the first time I witnessed the strong aura of personal attraction and desire between them. Even the most short sited would have seen that the strong handsome Black Man and the slim beautiful redheaded Woman with him were communicating with each other on another level. All would assume that they were mates in the sexual sense, or if not, would be so very, very soon. It was time for me to speak.

... would be so very, very soon.

“Before you order our meal Samuel,” I said, “I have a few questions that must be answered truthfully, by both of you.”

Samuel smiled and said, “Go on!” Róisín said nothing, but stared back at me.

“Are you Lovers?”

“No!” Samuel replied, while in the same moment my Wife said the same.

“I told you this, Michael,” she said, expecting an answer from me. But I had more to say.

“Do you want to be?”

They both looked startled at the bluntness of my question, and then as one replied, “Yes!” firmly and in unison, which resulted in a loving smile between the pair them, their eyes locked together in promises of pleasure to come. I on the other hand had the answer I needed. But I had further questions to ask.

“So from that answer Samuel, can I assume that you wish to date my Wife, Róisín?”

“I most certainly do want to date your lovely Wife Michael.”

Turning to Róisín, I asked the question that we all knew the answer to. She had said so, but had made it plain that it was my decision. “So Róisín, we talked about this, didn't we.” She nodded. “If I say it’s okay to step outside of our marriage. And we all know the implications of that don't we. Then do you want to start dating Samuel?”

There were no tears or wringing of hands. Neither could there be any misinterpretation of her response to my question. My lovely red-haired Wife looked me straight in the eyes and answered, “Yes. I do want to date Samuel. Implications and all!”

Implications and all!

I am proud that the sinking feeling in my stomach and the rising vomit in my throat did not register on my face, although Róisín was to tell later that the colour of my face turned from pink to white in a fraction of a second as she gave me her answer. It wasn't a surprise, but for all of the talking and discussions with her, Samuel, and Paul, the reality of my Wife being with another man was still a shock.

Samuel looked at me for a second Before asking, “You okay Michael? We can talk some more if you wish. Or should we order our dinner.”

If I had tried to eat I knew that I would have embarrassed myself by throwing up, so I held up my hand and said - honestly, “I don't think I could eat right now. I need to leave you two together, and go home.”

“Understood!”

I stood up to leave. It had taken just five minutes and even fewer questions to settle the matter of my cuckolding. Róisín was going to be this large and powerful Black Man's Mistress. Tonight she would join him in his bed and I had stepped aside to let it happen. In all truth, I had explored the theory of all of the aspects of the Natural Order, Black Ownership of Wives, and cuckolded husbands with interest and, I have to admit to myself, enthusiasm. Now it was time for the practical.

Róisín was silent. She was looking at me as I pushed the chair under the table with a concerned look on her face.

“Don't worry Luv,” I'll be alright,” I said with a voice that crackled with emotion, “and I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I will send her home in a taxi, Michael,” said Samuel.

I turned, walked away, but just before leaving I turned to look back. My lovely young Wife had moved closer to her new Lover and her head was resting on his shoulder as they both watched me go through the door. ‘I can't see them wanting to have dinner now,’ I thought as I left the hotel. And I was right; as soon as I had left they had stood up, apologized to the Maître ď and took the lift straight to Samuel’s suite.

I was in little doubt, as I walked through the night-time London that the Woman I love was now in bed with her Lover for the first time. It had all been so banal and courteous; no histrionics, pleading, or recriminations. I had done no more than ask some questions and then had left them to ‘get on with It’. ‘It’ being my beautiful red-haired Wife now lying happily naked with Samuel's Big dark rod rampaging inside her. It had been all so fucking civilized.

The tube was packed with sweaty night time workers, so by the time I opened the door to our house in Colindale, my suit was crumpled and damp, and I stank of sweat. I needed a shower. As the water cascaded down my body I instinctively turned to see if Róisín had joined me as usual, only to feel a sudden crushing sense of loss. She was not there with me, she was with him. I wept like a child.

“I cried last night,” I said to Paul on the phone. He had rung me at nine o'clock in the morning to enquire how I was; clearly the fashion house knew that my Wife and Samuel were now, in their words, ‘a couple’. 

“You are in good company Michael,” he had said to comfort me, “the first night is always the worst. Believe me mate, it gets easier each time. You will learn to enjoy your new life.”

I had not slept that night and was in no mood to continue with any ‘in depth’ conversations about being a cuckold. Nevertheless , Paul had suggested another tête à tête a couple of days later, and I had agreed. But the one person I wanted to talk to wasn't there.

My ‘crushing sense of loss’, however did not affect my imagination; or the flow of blood into my penis. From the moment I had ceased to weep in the shower my little penis had stuck out from my groin like a three-inch, pink, 2B pencil. I tried to relax in bed by carrying out some deep breathing exercises and muscle relaxation, but my stiff little willy stood up, mocking my efforts. If it could speak, it would have told me that I was enjoying the mental  images of Róisín in bed with Samuel, and no matter what I did the little bugger would not stop poking back up after each session of spurting.

... after each session ...

I might have had breakfast that Saturday morning, but I do not remember. My eyes hung heavy with lack of sleep, my body ached from tension and turning all night in desperation to rest, or at least doze. All in all, I was weary from emotional strain and sleeplessness. I decided to text Róisín: ‘How are you?’

I shivered with anticipation at her reply. I quivered for five minutes before her reply pinged onto my phone: ‘Fine. You?’

It was short and non-committal, but what else would it be texting her husband after spending a night with her Lover. It was my turn. ‘Tired. Didn't sleep much.’

‘Me neither.’ 

Was she mocking me? Was she telling me that she had been ‘at it’ with Samuel all night. I needed to know the answer to the big question. My trembling finger made contact with the screen of my phone as I typed: ‘Am I a cuckold now?’

Her answer lit up my phone within seconds. ‘Yes!’

What could I say after that. My penis had filled out to an almost iron hardness at the reply I knew I was going to receive. It was settled, I was a cuckold, a lesser man, a beta male, a husband whose Wife wanted another man in her body; someone who must now accept that a better man's manhood will fill the delicate private parts of the Woman he loves. Was it time for a profound statement, or tender words of affection from me? I was in a quandary of what to say to her, so in the end I settled for: ‘Are you okay?’

‘Perfect thanks!’

‘Happy?’

‘Very! Talk later!’

‘Is Samuel with you now?’

‘Yes! We just woke up and Master and I need to shower. See you this afternoon and we'll talk.’

Master? Just woke up? It was ten thirty for Christ’s sake. What had they been doing? Silly question. It was obvious – and my little willy spurted again. 

‘You need to come home Róisín,’ I thought, ‘there  won't be much of me left soon.’

The taxi pulled up outside of our house at five fifteen, and the lovely well dressed redhead who stepped out and said thanks to the driver was a different Wife to the one I had left in the tender care of Black Master Samuel Jerome. Her hair was now perfectly cut and fashioned, the dress she wore was green to compliment the red tresses that hung to her waist – shoes, handbag, and light cream jacket were of Bond Street quality. Looking on at the vision of loveliness, even the most casual observer would conclude that she was somebody's beautiful Mistress.

It was clear to me, as I looked through our window and watched her walk up to our door that she had pleased Samuel in his bed last night. Her happy countenance and air of confidence spoke of a complete Woman; a Woman who had enjoyed, whilst at the same time given pleasure to, a real man with strength,  power, and technique. And I knew that Samuel had asked her to be his Mistress, and she had said yes.

I opened the door for her and managed a welcoming smile; she wasn't fooled. “Come here Michael. Come and hold me.”

It wasn't a request, it was more of an order, but I understood why she was telling me what to do. I looked older; white faced from weariness and moist eyed from emotion. “Christ, you look terrible,” she said as her arms went around my neck and she stared into my face.

“Can't think why.”

“I still love you, you know,” she said as she ruffled my uncombed hair, “especially now; in the circumstances.”

“I want to know everything please Róisín. What did you do, how often, and an answer to the obvious question please,” I asked.

She looked startled at my use of her name, and not calling her ‘Dear, or ‘Luv' as I would normally. But there was no dampening her happy mood. “Everything? Really? Your Wife has just spent the night in bed with her Black Lover, Master even, and you want to know what we did together, in bed, all night, and blissfully naked?”

I did want to know.  My stiff little willy bore witness to my wish to understand and be engaged in my Wife's affair with Samuel. I wanted to know exactly what she had done with the powerful Black Master, both in his bed and out of it. “All of it. No holds barred. Every kiss, lick, thrust, and orgasm. I need to know for my own peace of mind,” I stuttered, aware that I was sounding a little creepy.

“For your dirty mind, more like,” Róisín responded, with a smile on her pretty face. She was teasing me, but I was okay with it. Surely it was better for a hubby to be teased than to be humiliated; I thought so anyway. My cuckold’s complete and utter humiliation could wait for another time.

“You really want to know?”

I nodded my head without reply. I couldn't trust myself to speak, such was strength of my emotional turbulence.

“He's very big.”

“How big?”

“His manhood is just slightly shorter than Ruben's lovely long dark pole, and not quite as thick as Deven's tunnel stretcher. But he definitely has a very nice ‘thigh slapper’ to please the Lady of his choice.”

... to please the Lady
of his choice.

She seemed to understand my need to be informed. It was not as if my lovely young Wife was a stranger to cuckolded husbands and their way of life. Clearly, the Ladies in that fashion house discussed their relationships and the lengths their husbands would go to be good cuckolds. Accordingly, I felt encouraged to ask even more intimate questions of their night and following day together.

“What did you do, after I left the Savoy?” I asked, changing direction from the attributes of the man who had enjoyed her company.

She smiled in recollection. “We sat there stunned,” she replied. “On the way over from the fashion house, we had discussed just how to try and justify our wish to be Lovers. We were bracing ourselves for an argument. A scene in the restaurant. Tears, anger, or even threats, but what we heard was just a couple of questions, followed by a very civilised, ‘see you tomorrow.’ It was fucking disconcerting.”

“Sorry,” I exclaimed, “but you didn't look that disconcerted as I left. You both looked very happy to me.”

“We were. We watched you leave and then went to his suite.”

“Whereupon you ....?”

“Do you really want to know?”

I did want to know. She knew that, but I had a feeling that the ensuing conversation was going to be far more explicit. So I decided to up the stakes. “Did you go down on him?” I asked.

She answered my question without pause or prevarication. “Of course. Last night and this morning. He's a Black Master. It's my duty to pleasure such a man.”

That word again – ‘Master'. “Is that how you see him?” I asked.

“Yes! And so shall you in time. Sooner or later you will recognize his superiority over us both.”

It was a moment that we would both remember for the rest of our lives together. I had made a decision to accept my Wife being a Black Master's Mistress, but now it was my time to make a statement as to my state of mind. “Can I kiss you?”

The underlying message would be that I was happy to taste the lips that had just recently been in contact with another man's sexual organ. Róisín knew it and leaned towards me. Her kiss was tender and her pink tongue pushed into my mouth in gentle insistence; silently telling me that she understood my need to cautiously engage with  my new life. And to initiate me into my cuckold’s subservience, I was to realise later.

We broke the kiss and looked into each other's eyes. Hers were soft and tender, as if looking at a  much loved dog. Nevertheless she was going to help me on my journey. 

“Warts and all?” She asked, using that old English phrase that meant ‘everything – good and bad’.

“Forget the warts,” I replied, thus receiving a wide grin from her, “but don't hold back on the ‘all’.”

Róisín's face took on a smug expression as she gathered her thoughts. It was a ‘cat that got the cream' look that should have annoyed me, but it didn't because I didn't blame her; and as an idiom it seemed to be highly prophetic.

“Well, you wanted to know,” was her response. “The ‘all’, as you have asked for, was one of the best nights of my life. On arrival at his suite we didn't waste any time on seduction. We already knew each other well from working together, so there was no reason to go into the tedious process of seduction. We had been doing that over the last few days without getting too personal, or taking our clothes off.”

My little penis tweaked at the very thought of my Wife and her Lover getting naked. I was becoming used to such visions that I had previously thought unthinkable. What is it they say about the cuckold’s reaction to his Wife's infidelity – ‘the penis never lies’; and my own had been telling the truth for almost twenty four hours. And Róisín's glance at my little ‘trouser tent’ informed her of the truth of that particular saying.

“We undressed and took a few moments to gaze at each other's body,” she continued, “before he pulled me into his arms and we kissed. He has a very strong and muscled body that shines with good health and exercise. He looked at me and clearly liked what he saw standing naked in his bedroom as his ‘thigh slapper' was already showing signs of appreciation. We kissed and held each other, before I slid down and knelt before him to take his big manhood into my mouth.”

“And then what?” I muttered, aware that her eyes kept drifting to my ‘tent', and it's tiny movements underneath my trousers.

“He was hard! So I lay on his bed and opened my legs for him,” she replied in a casual way.

“Did he enter you?”

She blinked and looked surprised at this interruption. “What do you think Michael?”

I felt foolish at her response to the obviousness of my own question, and said nothing.

She continued. “He pushed slowly into me. At first I thought that, because I had become used to your small penis, I would feel some discomfort at taking such a large member, but he was a gentle and considerate Lover. He is an intelligent man and understood that I should be taken slowly at first, but even so it was a worrying moment to feel a Black Master's manhood stretch my vagina entrance. But once his bulbous head had popped through into my tunnel I was in heaven. And from that moment on I was his Mistress and you, my dear Michael, was a cuckold.”

In spite of my already knowing this obvious fact, I felt my face grow warmer as the rush of blood to my cheeks evidenced my embarrassment. Róisín, on the other hand, was as cool as cucumber while keeping a very amused eye on the tiny evidence of my arousal.

“And then he fucked you?”

She blinked again, and looked slightly offended. “He made love to me, if that's what you mean?”

It was, and she knew it. “And then he made love to you?” I asked, to calm the moment of slight discomfort between us.

“He did! Slowly! Surely! All night and into the early morning. We were connected physically, and by two o'clock this morning, emotionally too.”

If Róisín had possessed any doubts about my cuckold ambitions, they were certainly dispelled by my next question. It was the question all cuckolded husbands rarely ask, but want answered when their Wife spends the night with her Lover. “How many times did he ejaculate into you?”

Her smile was one of triumph. She knew that she had her cuckold husband where she wants him; she also knew that I was wanting to be in that submissive position as well. 

“Three maybe four times last night. And once in the shower this morning before breakfast.”

“Did he ejaculate a lot of seed?”

“Wow Cucky! You're really getting into this aren't you.”

“A hubby likes to know these things.”

“Of course you do Michael,” she said, as she ruffled my hair with her hand. “So I think it’s time for a little hubby love don't you?”

I didn't know what she meant by ‘hubby love’ and said so.

Róisín held out her hand and took my own. Tugging me towards the stairs she said, “Upstairs for some face time, I think.”

The sunlight coming through the bedroom window cast a green glow in the warm tent covering my face. Looking up from my supine position, I could see that Róisín's long fingers had pulled her expensive panties to one side to reveal her bare labia lips. Looking a deeper coral pink now from the attentions of Samuel’s large member.

I had followed her meekly, holding her hand as she had dragged me up the stairs and into our bedroom. “On the bed Michael,” she had said. 

Silently I had complied, and with happy anticipation I had watched as she had straddled my body to lower her wet pussy down onto my face. All without removing her pretty dress. I was now in a private green tent with Róisín’s delightful groin pressing down onto my lips, and nose. I was happier than I had been over the last twenty four hours.

I was happier than I had been
over the last twenty four hours.

My first lick of her pussy caused a happy sigh from my Wife. The second a noise of relief, and the third a shiver of discomfort.

“Am I doing the right thing?” I asked through the voluminous silk tent.

“Just a little sore,” she replied, “I'm a bit out of practice. Just keep going cuckold.”

“I'll be gentle Dear.” And I was gentle, for the next hour, I kissed, licked, muzzled, and loved that tiny patch of fleshy happiness until the shivers stopped and all that I heard were happy sighs. And all the time my own ‘little tent’ remained pitched upright.

After some delightful shivering orgasms and my ‘pencil' spurting moment into my underpants, we freshened up and she changed into jeans and tee-shirt. We ate a meal, drank some wine, and then went to bed after what would be, for us, a normal Saturday evening. 

We were both in a quiet, and introspective mood and were wary of opening up the question of making love, as we would have normally. So in my very English way, I talked about the weather instead. Róisín, being Irish, listened impatiently and then finally decided that she wasn't having any of it.

“Fuck the weather,” she snapped. “We bought you a present.”