On her back on a bed of fallen leaves, under a canopy of trees, their boughs thick with younger leaves and bent with the swollen fruit of a long, hot summer, my wife's naked body arches. Her breasts thrust upward, as succulent as the green mangoes that hang perilously overhead. Above her, his naked body between her splayed legs, his thickly muscled arms stretched out, the bulging head of his thick, long, dark penis sunk into her flesh, the dark-skinned young man grunts and, flexing his buttocks, drives his hips forward. Beneath him, my wife gasps thickly, her mouth opening wide, her head arching back. Her hands dig into his tough, rounded biceps. Her legs spread wider. Her hips heave eagerly upward. Her feet climb up the backs of his thighs.
They are on the terrace of my neighbour's outhouse across the road. Half a century ago, my neighbour's grandfather built this single-storeyed structure as servants' quarters to his mansion. The outhouse stands tucked away to the northern edge of the large property, barely five feet from the low boundary wall. It's nothing much: a long rough-finished concrete bunker running east-west, set on a plinth raised three feet off the ground and consisting of a series of rooms, each of which opens out onto a small stoop and a flight of three or four steps leading down to the alley between the quarters and boundary wall. There is a common toilet and bath facility at the far end.
Today, the outhouse is rundown and decrepit, its walls stained black with the soot of the years. The area around the outhouse is untended and overgrown.
There are several people in the outhouse. Most of them are surprisingly young; the women in their mid-twenties, the men a little older, some teenaged guys and girls, a couple of infants. I'd guess the oldest guy there would be in his late thirties. Not one of them works for my neighbour. I believe he is fighting with the occupants, trying to evict them. But that's how things are here. Once you've let somebody in, it's impossible getting them out.
It's hardly surprising that he hasn't maintained it. I don't think he bothers much any more. It's cheaper to let them stay on, pay the utility bills and forget about them. I notice he's planted a hedge that divides the main house from the servants' quarters now and there are several large trees. It forms a natural barricade. My neighbour has effectively given up this piece of earth. The occupants of the outhouse are squatting on a fortune in real estate.
The structure has a large, rectangular terrace, approached up an iron ladder at the far, eastern, end. From my window, I can see it clearly, just across the narrow road that separates my house from the neighbour's. There aren't any tall buildings around, just our properties and the surrounding greenery. My house is set off a little to one side. Like the neighbour's main bungalow, ours is a two floor structure. We've given out the lower floor and use the upper floor ourselves. Being a single-storeyed structure, the neighbour's outhouse terrace is below the level of my window. I have an unimpeded view across its entirety. The terrace has low, one-foot high side walls on all four sides, making a perfect, shallow, flat space within.
I stand by my window now, my room in darkness, and stare across the road. There's a sodium-vapour streetlamp on the road. In its pale amber glow, through the barrel of the telescope, I can see their bodies clearly. The man is fucking my wife slowly and heavily and unhurriedly now. I can see them clearly. His white teeth flash in the dull light as he grins down at her. His powerful shoulders knot and bunch together. His taut hips rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Beneath him, her body arches and heaves, her hips rise and falling in unison with his in an erotic dance. Her hands stroke his strong body and deep chest, run down his flanks to his buttocks. Her legs are tighter under his buttocks now.
My pulse is hammering. There is a roaring in my ears. My eyes burn. There's a hollow pit in my stomach, as if I have been punched hard in the solar plexus.
I have a monstrous erection.
I take several deep breaths, exhaling hard each time, fighting my own reaction. No matter how often I see this, no matter how much I want to see this, it's always like the first time, it's always the same.
Yes, I'm a cuckold, and willingly. Yes, other men fuck my wife, regularly and often, and sometimes more than one at the same time. And yes, I watch. Each time, I watch. It is all I can do. It is all I want to do. It's been like this for years now, and there's no longer any doubt that she loves this, being fucked by other men, different men, hard, muscular, dark men. And yes, well-hung men. Size matters to her. Not so much for the actual sex, she often clarifies, as for the mental and visual stimulation of a big cock.
And she likes sleaze, and she likes it rough, the sleazier and the rougher the better. Being fucked by the servants has a special thrill, a cachet and fillip all its own.
But this! I can hardly believe it. Out there, out in the open, and the guy's not even one of our regular servants and it's not even in the privacy of our home. It's out there, right out there in the open. God, she's such a slut!
The guy's moving faster now, thrusting deeper and harder into her. Her body rocks and jerks under his. I can see her swollen breasts jiggling with his thrusts.
It's not a surprise to me that it's happening, though, till now, I didn't believe she would actually go through with it. She's been setting it up for several weeks. I've seen her at it: stealing out of bed late at night, sauntering past the window, opening out her robe to let him have a good look at her breasts; lifting them in offering to him across the road; masturbating openly, flinging her head back and running her tongue sexily over her upper lip; pressing her breasts and writhing against the grillwork of the window; watching him take out his big cock and masturbate right before her eyes. I've seen it all, and I've done nothing.
Nothing except get ready. I waited till she slipped out of bed and out of the bedroom, heard her let herself out softly and immediately knelt on the bed at the window. They came up to the terrace as I suspected they would -- I'd only feared that they would go do it inside, in one of the rooms in the outhouse. I'm solidly in luck.
They're moving faster and I see her pull his head down to hers and I see them kiss, a long, lover's kiss with lots of tongue. He straightens again and now his torso is upright. He holds her ankles and pulls her legs up and wide. He is on his knees, his thighs spread wide, his buttocks on his heels.
He swings his hips viciously back and forth. Through the lens, I can see his huge dark cock pistoning in and out of her cunt. Her body jerks on the terrace floor, her breasts jiggling and bouncing heavily with his thrusts. She lifts and squeezes them, arches steeply. Her mouth is torn open.
A while ago, I saw them come up, her and this young man. I guessed he was probably in his late twenties. They emerged from the shadows at the far end of the terrace, hand-in-hand. She was leading him, and she drew him to the front edge of the terrace, almost as if she wanted me to see her with him. She wore a loose cotton skirt, swirling down around her calves and a thin white cotton shirt. The shirt was almost completely transparent. It was unbuttoned, and its ends were knotted on her belly high under her breasts which strained at the cloth. The guy was bare-chested, clad only in a pair of baggy slacks. His body was superb: dark and muscular, the chest deeply cleaved, the belly hard and flat and nicely cobbled. I saw the power in his shoulders and arms.
When they were in the front half of the terrace -- where I could see them clearly -- she turned and he drew her closer and I watched them kiss, his hands on her hips, then her buttocks, her hands sliding sexily up his hard chest, fondling his head and face. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He slid his hands up her naked midriff and opened out the knot of her shirt, pulled it down her slender shoulders. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were already heavy and swollen. Through the 'scope, I saw the hardness of her nipples. He squeezed her breasts. I saw the flash of his white teeth as he grinned at her. She tilted her face back languorously. Her lips moved in a soft murmur. His grin widened. Her hand slid down to his crotch. He moved his hands to her buttocks, drew her skirt up her thighs, right up to her hips. She didn't have any panties on either. His big, dark hands roamed the curves of her buttocks. I saw him strike them, sharply, saw her mouth open in a gasp, saw her body quiver at his blow. He struck her again.
She sank downwards, kissing his torso, licking his dark nipples, slowly descending to her knees before the man. I watched her open the clasp, pull down the zipper fly and peel the trousers open. He wasn't wearing undershorts either. His cock sprang out. I groaned at sight of it. It was a huge dark hose. Still limp, its six-inch plus length curved over his heavy balls. Not yet erect, it was bigger than mine in full tumescence.
There was no doubt that she loved it, was intensely turned on by it. I could see them clearly, in profile to me. She ran her fingers lovingly down the thick shaft, caressing it, kissing the shaft and cock-head, pumping it deftly. The light glinted off her gold wedding band. She slipped back the foreskin and the huge bulging cock-head was at her lips. His cock began to lengthen and thicken. Her lips parted and her tongue swept out and around the cock-head. The man gasped, his head slowly arching in pleasure, his mouth open, raising his face to the dark sky above.
Kneeling at his feet, one hand on his strong thigh, the other curled around the thick enormity of his cock, jerking it back and forth, my wife opened her mouth wider and drew his cock into it.
They are on the terrace of my neighbour's outhouse across the road. Half a century ago, my neighbour's grandfather built this single-storeyed structure as servants' quarters to his mansion. The outhouse stands tucked away to the northern edge of the large property, barely five feet from the low boundary wall. It's nothing much: a long rough-finished concrete bunker running east-west, set on a plinth raised three feet off the ground and consisting of a series of rooms, each of which opens out onto a small stoop and a flight of three or four steps leading down to the alley between the quarters and boundary wall. There is a common toilet and bath facility at the far end.
Today, the outhouse is rundown and decrepit, its walls stained black with the soot of the years. The area around the outhouse is untended and overgrown.
There are several people in the outhouse. Most of them are surprisingly young; the women in their mid-twenties, the men a little older, some teenaged guys and girls, a couple of infants. I'd guess the oldest guy there would be in his late thirties. Not one of them works for my neighbour. I believe he is fighting with the occupants, trying to evict them. But that's how things are here. Once you've let somebody in, it's impossible getting them out.
It's hardly surprising that he hasn't maintained it. I don't think he bothers much any more. It's cheaper to let them stay on, pay the utility bills and forget about them. I notice he's planted a hedge that divides the main house from the servants' quarters now and there are several large trees. It forms a natural barricade. My neighbour has effectively given up this piece of earth. The occupants of the outhouse are squatting on a fortune in real estate.
The structure has a large, rectangular terrace, approached up an iron ladder at the far, eastern, end. From my window, I can see it clearly, just across the narrow road that separates my house from the neighbour's. There aren't any tall buildings around, just our properties and the surrounding greenery. My house is set off a little to one side. Like the neighbour's main bungalow, ours is a two floor structure. We've given out the lower floor and use the upper floor ourselves. Being a single-storeyed structure, the neighbour's outhouse terrace is below the level of my window. I have an unimpeded view across its entirety. The terrace has low, one-foot high side walls on all four sides, making a perfect, shallow, flat space within.
I stand by my window now, my room in darkness, and stare across the road. There's a sodium-vapour streetlamp on the road. In its pale amber glow, through the barrel of the telescope, I can see their bodies clearly. The man is fucking my wife slowly and heavily and unhurriedly now. I can see them clearly. His white teeth flash in the dull light as he grins down at her. His powerful shoulders knot and bunch together. His taut hips rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Beneath him, her body arches and heaves, her hips rise and falling in unison with his in an erotic dance. Her hands stroke his strong body and deep chest, run down his flanks to his buttocks. Her legs are tighter under his buttocks now.
My pulse is hammering. There is a roaring in my ears. My eyes burn. There's a hollow pit in my stomach, as if I have been punched hard in the solar plexus.
I have a monstrous erection.
I take several deep breaths, exhaling hard each time, fighting my own reaction. No matter how often I see this, no matter how much I want to see this, it's always like the first time, it's always the same.
Yes, I'm a cuckold, and willingly. Yes, other men fuck my wife, regularly and often, and sometimes more than one at the same time. And yes, I watch. Each time, I watch. It is all I can do. It is all I want to do. It's been like this for years now, and there's no longer any doubt that she loves this, being fucked by other men, different men, hard, muscular, dark men. And yes, well-hung men. Size matters to her. Not so much for the actual sex, she often clarifies, as for the mental and visual stimulation of a big cock.
And she likes sleaze, and she likes it rough, the sleazier and the rougher the better. Being fucked by the servants has a special thrill, a cachet and fillip all its own.
But this! I can hardly believe it. Out there, out in the open, and the guy's not even one of our regular servants and it's not even in the privacy of our home. It's out there, right out there in the open. God, she's such a slut!
The guy's moving faster now, thrusting deeper and harder into her. Her body rocks and jerks under his. I can see her swollen breasts jiggling with his thrusts.
It's not a surprise to me that it's happening, though, till now, I didn't believe she would actually go through with it. She's been setting it up for several weeks. I've seen her at it: stealing out of bed late at night, sauntering past the window, opening out her robe to let him have a good look at her breasts; lifting them in offering to him across the road; masturbating openly, flinging her head back and running her tongue sexily over her upper lip; pressing her breasts and writhing against the grillwork of the window; watching him take out his big cock and masturbate right before her eyes. I've seen it all, and I've done nothing.
Nothing except get ready. I waited till she slipped out of bed and out of the bedroom, heard her let herself out softly and immediately knelt on the bed at the window. They came up to the terrace as I suspected they would -- I'd only feared that they would go do it inside, in one of the rooms in the outhouse. I'm solidly in luck.
They're moving faster and I see her pull his head down to hers and I see them kiss, a long, lover's kiss with lots of tongue. He straightens again and now his torso is upright. He holds her ankles and pulls her legs up and wide. He is on his knees, his thighs spread wide, his buttocks on his heels.
He swings his hips viciously back and forth. Through the lens, I can see his huge dark cock pistoning in and out of her cunt. Her body jerks on the terrace floor, her breasts jiggling and bouncing heavily with his thrusts. She lifts and squeezes them, arches steeply. Her mouth is torn open.
A while ago, I saw them come up, her and this young man. I guessed he was probably in his late twenties. They emerged from the shadows at the far end of the terrace, hand-in-hand. She was leading him, and she drew him to the front edge of the terrace, almost as if she wanted me to see her with him. She wore a loose cotton skirt, swirling down around her calves and a thin white cotton shirt. The shirt was almost completely transparent. It was unbuttoned, and its ends were knotted on her belly high under her breasts which strained at the cloth. The guy was bare-chested, clad only in a pair of baggy slacks. His body was superb: dark and muscular, the chest deeply cleaved, the belly hard and flat and nicely cobbled. I saw the power in his shoulders and arms.
When they were in the front half of the terrace -- where I could see them clearly -- she turned and he drew her closer and I watched them kiss, his hands on her hips, then her buttocks, her hands sliding sexily up his hard chest, fondling his head and face. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He slid his hands up her naked midriff and opened out the knot of her shirt, pulled it down her slender shoulders. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were already heavy and swollen. Through the 'scope, I saw the hardness of her nipples. He squeezed her breasts. I saw the flash of his white teeth as he grinned at her. She tilted her face back languorously. Her lips moved in a soft murmur. His grin widened. Her hand slid down to his crotch. He moved his hands to her buttocks, drew her skirt up her thighs, right up to her hips. She didn't have any panties on either. His big, dark hands roamed the curves of her buttocks. I saw him strike them, sharply, saw her mouth open in a gasp, saw her body quiver at his blow. He struck her again.
She sank downwards, kissing his torso, licking his dark nipples, slowly descending to her knees before the man. I watched her open the clasp, pull down the zipper fly and peel the trousers open. He wasn't wearing undershorts either. His cock sprang out. I groaned at sight of it. It was a huge dark hose. Still limp, its six-inch plus length curved over his heavy balls. Not yet erect, it was bigger than mine in full tumescence.
There was no doubt that she loved it, was intensely turned on by it. I could see them clearly, in profile to me. She ran her fingers lovingly down the thick shaft, caressing it, kissing the shaft and cock-head, pumping it deftly. The light glinted off her gold wedding band. She slipped back the foreskin and the huge bulging cock-head was at her lips. His cock began to lengthen and thicken. Her lips parted and her tongue swept out and around the cock-head. The man gasped, his head slowly arching in pleasure, his mouth open, raising his face to the dark sky above.
Kneeling at his feet, one hand on his strong thigh, the other curled around the thick enormity of his cock, jerking it back and forth, my wife opened her mouth wider and drew his cock into it.