Accidental Cuckold

It had been planned to perfection.

As she stood in front of the line of mirrored wardrobes in her bedroom, admiring herself, Alice Carmichael knew that tonight would be magnificent. All that remained was to put on the finishing touches.

It had been almost two weeks since she'd been alone with the man who was due at her door any moment. She'd had the most intense sexual experience of her life that day, but it was all too brief. Tonight they would take their time, and nothing would get in their way.

Alice lifted the lip-gloss from the dresser and applied a generous amount to her full natural lips. Her bone structure was flawless, and her nearly jet-black hair framed her face and long slender neck, perfectly.

She bobbed her head along to the song that was playing on her phone. The lyrics affirming how wonderful it was indeed, to be a hot girl; a party girl; better than the other girls. She loved those kinds of songs because they didn't pander to lesser females. They were honest, and they were about women like her. She blew a kiss to her reflection, and she was ready.

She had spent the past week deliberating on what to wear for the occasion. Her mind had changed several times. She even considered answering the door naked except for a pair of heels. In the end, she had chosen her gold satin blouse because she loved the way it presented her large firm breasts, and her nipples stood out prominently against the material. She paired that with a grey mini-skirt she had bought as part of a sexy-secretary costume for Halloween night with the girls. The stockings that her husband had bought her for Valentines day were a last minute decision. Alice had never worn them for him, and she got a kick out of the idea that her new man would be the one who got to enjoy her in them.

Alice's husband Steven, would be gone overnight at some work-related thing. He had explained in detail exactly why he had to go, but after he'd said, "staying overnight," she hadn't heard another word.

They had been married just shy of a year, and Alice realised it was a mistake, almost from the get-go.

In truth, she was motivated more by the idea of being a bride than anything else. The attention that it brought, and the fuss everyone made about every little detail was nectar to her. It was what she felt she deserved and she'd become accustomed to the fact that people revelled in her. Coveted her. It was always that way.

From a young age, she found that the men in her life seemed to ask more questions of her than they did of the other girls, and they'd listen more intently to her answers too. The boys at school would go out of their way to help her with things. She'd notice them hanging around awkwardly, trying to think of way to start a conversation.

One of her abiding memories was of a particular young admirer, who had written her a love-letter, and had one his friends deliver it to her at lunch.

It read:

Hi Alice. It's Toby Kaminski.

I think ur really good looking and I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. We could go bowling or to the movies or whatever you want.

Thanks.

Underneath he had drawn two little boxes, marked YES and NO. The idea being that she would tick her preference and return it to him. Instead of doing that, Alice had approached the unfortunate boy. Ripped the note into pieces, and placed it deliberately in his clammy hand. She could still recall his crestfallen face, full of freckles and extinguished hope, and it made her smile to think of that.

Now in her twenties, Alice was in no doubt about how she was viewed by the world around her. Barely a day went by when she wasn't told, in some form or fashion, that she was special. People seemed to have some kind of innate need to tell the beautiful how beautiful they are, as if they'd have no idea otherwise.

She would often amuse herself by teasing those men, who had made obvious their desire for her. At work she would set herself little tasks to rile them up, and invent reasons to get up and stretch her legs. Like sending unneeded documents to the printer, and walking the full length of the office floor to collect them. As she passed by their workstations, their heads would pop-up above the table dividers like meerkats on patrol. Then she'd lean over the printer, and stick her ass out in an exaggerated fashion to really get them going.

Sometimes, while pretending to sift through paperwork, she liked to sit adjacent to one particular table of excitable young men, who'd pretend not to notice as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She'd mastered the art of sensual leg-crossing. Slightly tilted to one side. Legs together, always touching and then slide one over the other, slowly. Every now and then she'd lift her head sharply and watch their eyes dart away in embarrassment.

On an odd occasion one of the meerkats, feeling brave, would attempt a clumsy overture. They'd say things like, "hey, Alice what you up to tonight?" and she'd say something like, "wouldn't you like to know."

"you should come out with us," they'd say, and she'd flash them a smile, then point to her wedding ring.

She was tickled by those little moments, but Alice had no sexual interest in men like them. She found them insecure and desperate.

Her husband engendered similar feelings in her now. When they first met, he had a sort of Golden retriever-like enthusiasm, and desire to please that she found endearing. Now she found it cloying. He would sometimes say things that made her think, and she'd laugh at his jokes occasionally too. The sex was never good and his cock was on the smaller side, but he had a good job which afforded her a nice lifestyle. So she threw herself into it and they were married in a matter of months.

When all the hoopla of the wedding and the honeymoon was over, and they were no longer centre of attention, the rot had started to set in for Alice. She soon discovered, all the interesting things he had said to her, and the funny jokes he had told, did not belong to him. They were things he'd heard other people say. Quotes from movies and sitcom one-liners, and they were all he had in lieu of a personality. He was an imaginary construct. A man who had pushed his acting capabilities to the limit, in an attempt to be enough for a woman like her, and he had failed.

She had contemplated leaving him, but there was the money to consider. So she allowed things to drift along in that fashion. Treating him with thinly veiled contempt and pretending not to be repulsed by his constant attempts to win her approval. Until the night that fate intervened on her behalf, and changed the dynamic of their relationship forever.

It was two weeks prior. Alice had gone to bed early, nursing a headache, and Steven was watching TV downstairs. He increasingly enjoyed those little moments of alone time, it offered some respite from his wife's frequent mood swings. Despite that, he loved being married to Alice. It made him feel important in the eyes of others, and gave his life meaning. When he had introduced her to his family and friends she had been a delight. She knew how to put on a show. His teenaged sister Poppy was captivated by her. She looked up to Alice as a mentor, and longed to be like her. She had begun moulding herself in Alice's image. Copying her style, buying the same make-up, and trying to affect the same mannerisms.

Alice loved the attention. She felt like she had her very own disciple, and the pair had grown close because of that. Steven was happy that they got along so well, but whenever they were in each other's company he had noticed certain behaviours. They would invariably gang up on him. Making little jokes at his expense, and giggling like schoolgirls. They would have private conversations, and clam up when entered the room. It made him fell insecure, but it was better that they got along, he thought.

With Alice in bed, it was becoming obvious that something was happening cross the street, in front of the new neighbour's house. Groups of people were greeting each other loudly, and then disappearing inside. Then more of them turned up, and then another group, and then a bigger group until there must have been twenty people or more. Steven's hopes of a quiet night in front of the TV were dissipating.

Shortly after that came the THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! of the music, and he heard Alice's bedroom door opening. Then the sound of the creaking floorboard at the top of the stairs, and suddenly she was standing in front of him, glaring angrily. "What the fuck is that?" she said, in an accusatory tone. Steven was accustomed to that tone. It was how she communicated with him now.

"I think it's that new guy across the street," he replied, "sounds like he's having a party."

"you know I'm trying to sleep?"

"yeah I know, they've got no respect for people," he said, trying to match his wife's mood.

"Well, aren't you gonna do something about it?" said Alice.

Steven hesitated. Already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. "What am I supposed to do?" he said, finally.

"You're supposed to be a fucking man, and go over there," she sneered, "but instead of that, you're sitting here. Doing nothing as usual." She was in the mood to test him.

Steven shied away from confrontation, and Alice was acutely aware of it. She was always urging him into uncomfortable situations whenever the opportunity arose.

"Fine," he said, feeling the pressure of his wife's glowering gaze, "if it's such a big deal."

Alice watched eagerly, from the doorway, as her husband crossed the street. He knocked on the neighbours door, but it barely registered against the raucous music. He knocked louder and finally a man answered.

He was tall; athletic looking. Not overly muscular, but Steven judged him a handy fighter on appearance. He wanted to be anywhere else at that moment but he could feel his wife's eyes boring into his back.

"What can I do for you?" the man asked.

Steven stumbled to find the words. "Do you know how loud that music is?" he managed. His intonation more forceful than he intended.

"Listen it's a party," said the man, who regarded Steven in the same way that a lion would a coyote. "We'll try and keep it down."

"Right, well my wife's trying to sleep."

"We'll try and keep it down," the man said again, and went to close the door.

"You better," said Steven.

Later, when he had time to reflect on everything, it occurred to Steven that those two words had turned his world upside down. That moment of faux bravado had pulled him into a situation, he wasn't equipped to handle.

When Alice had seen the man come out of his house, her eyes widened a little. He was impressive; tall with broad shoulders. She couldn't hear the words they had exchanged from across the street, but she watched as the man started to head inside, then stopped, turned and faced up to her husband. They were head to head, or more accurately, chest to head. A nervous tingle built inside her. Then, in a flash, the man swung at Steven with his left hand, and before he had time to process that, the man swung again with his right. It caught Steven flush on the jaw.

Alice watched as her husband fell limp to the ground, then tried to stand up too quickly and tumbled over again, like a dazed boxer trying to beat the count.

"Get in here!" shouted Alice, keenly aware that some of the neighbours were peering through the curtains. It was one thing for her to know that her husband was pathetic, but quite another for the whole street to know.

"Steven, get in here now!" she yelled again, as their elderly neighbour Harry, rushed across and offered himself as ballast for Steven to steady against. He flung Steven's arm over his shoulder and helped him stagger back to the house, and plopped Steven down on the couch as gently as his old frame could manage.

Harry looked to Alice. "have you got anything to drink. Something strong?"

Alice pointed to the sideboard, and said, "I'm sorry about this Harry. The trouble he causes."

Harry made a gesture to signify it was no trouble. He poured Steven a drink and handed it to him. Steven reached out a trembling hand and took it, but when he tried to take a sip he winced in pain.

"I don't like the look of that," harry said, as he inspected Steven's jaw. "Should we call the police?"

"Noooo!" Steven objected. Feeling enough shame for one day.

Harry had a fondness for Steven. They had gotten to know each other quite well in the months since they'd moved in. Harry was a collector of old war memorabilia, and Steven had recalled his late father's old collection, so the two bonded over that. Harry had even invited him over and given him the grand tour of the war-room. There were racks of guns on every wall, and lots of display cases filled with things like bayonets, shell casings, old grenades, and gas masks.

Steven felt happiest in the company of older folk. They were easier to talk to and he didn't feel that oppressive need to pretend with them, as he did with his peers.

Alice found it odd that he wanted to spend his time with an old man, and she'd told him as much. Steven didn't go over there as often after that.

"It could be broken," said Harry. "I could drive you to the hospital."

"I jusssht want to shhhhit here for a while," said Steven, slurring his words. His mind was a torrent of terrible thoughts. He had let his wife down. What must she think of him? Who else had seen the sorry episode. What must they think?

"you've done enough Harry, honestly," said Alice. Trying her best to mask her zeal.

"okay then," said the old man. "let me know how it goes."

"will do. Thanks Harry" Alice replied, as she escorted him out and closed the door behind him. She didn't say another word or look at Steven, before heading upstairs to the quiet of the bedroom. The sound of the music was gone. She sat on the bed open-mouthed processing what had just happened. It was wrong to feel giddy, but she couldn't deny the truth of it. Seeing her husband handled like that, had thrilled her to her core. She lay her head on the pillow, but it would be a while before she fell asleep. She was too excited.

When he woke the next day, Steven's pain had worsened, and his face appeared crooked when he examined it in the mirror. He decided he'd better go to the hospital after all.

Alice watched him leave and then quickly started to get dressed. She had made up her mind, as she lay awake, that she would introduce herself to the man across the street. On the pretext that she was an angry wife, defending her husbands honour.

Wearing a frilly white sun-skirt patterned with cherries, Alice applied some moisturizing oil to her sun-kissed legs, and clipped on an ankle bracelet bearing her initials. She had learned that men loved all the little feminine accoutrements that she had in her arsenal.

She corrected her lipstick with her pinky finger, and dashed across the street as quickly as she could move in heels. She knocked on the door and waited.

The man answered to see a vision of loveliness stood before him. She had everything a man could want. He judged her among the most beautiful women he'd ever seen in the flesh, perhaps the most beautiful.

"I live across the street," Alice began, "and that was my husband you beat up last night. He's had to go to the hospital. What have you got to say about that?"

Alice had noticed his stature the night before, but now she could see, for the first time, his rugged handsomeness and piercing green eyes. Her enthusiasm for this meeting was growing by the second.

"Look," said the man, "I shouldn't have over-reacted, but in fairness, he deserved it the way he spoke to me."

"well, do you know how it feels to see another man treat your husband like that?"

"No," he said, "how does it feel."

Alice wanted to answer his impertinent question earnestly. Tell him how thrilling it was, watching her husband be emasculated like that. But she kept her counsel.

"embarrassing." she said, finally. Her lips curling into a faint but discernable smile in a moment of duper's delight.

"I can only imagine," he replied.

"well, lucky for you I convinced him not to call the cops," she lied.

"Listen, my name's Lucas, do you want to come in?" he said. Knowing that if she were simply here to admonish him, the conversation would likely have begun differently.

Alice stepped inside without saying a word. She scanned the living room for clues about the man who had piqued her interest. The place was neat and tidy, with simple modern décor. There was one pair of men's shoes by the door. She saw no evidence of a woman's presence in the house.

"Can I get you a drink?" Lucas asked. "Just a water," she replied, as she followed him into the kitchen. She ran her eyes over his back, and his ass. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt which showed off his strong physique.

Lucas placed two bottles of sparkling water on the kitchen table, pulled out a chair for his guest and sat himself in front of her. "I never got your name." he said.

"Alice." she replied.

"I won't make any wonderland jokes. I'm sure you've heard them all." said Lucas. Alice smirked and rolled her eyes. "That was one of the first things my husband ever said to me."

"And it worked?" Lucas replied.

"Not really, he showed me his bank statement. That worked."

Lucas laughed, and took a large gulp from his bottle. He eyed her tits under the tight black vest she was wearing. He could already tell they were impeccable.

"Anyway, you shouldn't have hit him like that, you're much bigger" Alice continued.

"You might be right," Lucas replied, "but if I didn't, you wouldn't be sitting in front of me right now."

"That's true," said Alice, trying to suppress a grin.

"Things happen how they're supposed to happen, I think," Lucas went on.

Alice crossed her legs in the way that had become natural. She watched his eyes dart back and forth from her breasts, to her legs, to her face. Ordinarily she would expect the man to make the first move, but she didn't have time for that. She was emboldened.

"What's your favourite part?" she asked.

"My favourite part of what?"

"Me," she said.

A devilish grin spread across Alice's face and she bit her bottom lip. That was enough for Lucas. He grabbed the sides of Alice's chair and pulled her towards him. She leaned in and playfully flicked her tongue against his top lip, then sat back and rolled her black vest-top up and over her bare chest. "Is this what you want?" she asked, as he gazed in appreciation at the things men dream about.

Lucas placed his hands under her arms and lifted her onto the kitchen table. Alice peeled off her white satin panties and freed one leg, leaving them to dangle on the other. She spread her legs out, presenting herself to him. Lucas saw her hairless pussy and let out a grunt of approval. He placed his mouth over it and began massaging her clit with his tongue. He was good, almost too good. She tried to wriggle away from the intensity of it, but his strong arms kept her there. He lessened the pressure with his tongue, and the sound she made told him that was her sweet spot. Alice lay back, using the wall as a headrest, and watched him work.

The hands that had caused her husband's injuries were on her thighs now, and they were big hands; manly hands. She reached down and caressed them as she rolled her hips in rhythm with his movements. The wickedness of it all, electrified her. "I want you to fuck me," she said.

Lucas stood up, threw his T-shirt to the floor, and started to unbutton his jeans. Alice slid off the table, kicked off her underwear fully, and stood back against the refrigerator. Creating some distance to take in the view. She swept her hair back from her face and tried to catch her breath, fixing her gaze on his noticeable bulge. Then she lifted the hem of her sun-skirt and tucked it into the waistband, so that Lucas could see all of her. He tugged at his jeans, and freed his hard cock.