The Bull Read online

Her coat was entirely opened now, and someone at the end of the aisle noticed her. Getting up, he sat directly behind Kay and reached over her shoulder to play with one of her tits. I was reaming out her cunt while two strangers played with her tits.

  The guy next to her raised his butt off the chair and unbuttoned his pants, then unzipped them and pulled them down. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. His dick was stiff, and Kay grabbed it, squeezing it as the man groaned. He continued kneading her tit as Kay stroked him.

  “Unggghh,” the man grunted, as a thick wad of cum shot from his dick onto the pants around his ankles. Kay held it pointing away from her as another, then another wad shot out. Finally, as the last of his cum oozed out of his dick, she let it go. The man sat there for a while, recovering, then put his pants back on and got up.

  The man behind Kay quickly took his place, and pulled his pants down. While the man squeezed her tits and played with the nipples, Kay stroked his cock expertly. Within a minute, the man sprayed his cum, moaning and writhing on the chair.

  Several men looked around, as they heard the man moan, and we decided to leave. We ran to the car, giggling. At home, we had some of the wildest sex ever. My wife was becoming a slut, and enjoying it. And I was enjoying watching it.

  While we lay in bed afterward, I asked, “So what if it weren’t a fantasy? What if I really shared you with another man? Would you like that?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? It sure does excite you to role play it.”

  “Yeah, it does. But I don’t want to do it. I have several girlfriends whose husbands talked them into sex with another man, and none of them are still married. I don’t want to risk our marriage.”

  Despite her protests, I knew deep down that Kay could be convinced to have sex with another man. I enjoyed thinking about it, but I was pretty certain that I wouldn’t like it to happen in real life. Still, it was fun to fantasize.

  A couple of weeks later, after another epic night of naughty fun, I brought the subject up again.

  “Look, if you’re dead set on this, I’ll go along. I’ve told you I think it’s a bad idea, but it’s your call. If you want to explore sharing me, I’ll try it. Just be sure that’s what you want. Once you take that genie out of the bottle, there’s no getting it back in.”

  “I knew she could be convinced to go for it,” I thought. She was a wild girl in her single days, and she still could be. I didn’t want to pursue it, but it was sexy as hell, knowing that she would let me share her if I wanted to.

  I’d had the urge to share videos or pictures of her on the wife sharing websites I frequented, and now I began secretly taking videos and pictures of her, then posting them. I got video in the adult theaters of her jerking off strangers. I had videos of her displaying herself in public, and I got videos of me fucking her when she had on her restraints and blindfold on.

  I had a big following on those websites from all the jealous men who wished they had a wife as hot as mine. I became addicted to sharing her videos, just as she had become addicted in displaying herself to strangers. I was always extremely careful to shut down the websites before going to be, so that even if she got on my computer, she’d never know.

  Predictably, I fucked up. One night I accidentally went to bed without shutting down my incognito windows. There were four tabs open; three of them were wife sharing sites where I posted videos. The other was my secret Gmail account.

  The next day was a Saturday, and I slept in later than Kay. Kay rarely went in my office, and even more rarely looked at my computer. This morning, her tablet was in our bedroom where I was sleeping, so she got on my computer to look up something or other.

  By the time I woke up, she was furious. I’d never seen her so angry.

  “You fucking bastard.”

  “What?” I said, though I knew already what was wrong. She was looking at my computer, and I realized immediately that I must have forgotten to shut down the incognito windows.

  “Look, Kay,” I started, anxious to explain.

  “Just shut up,” she said. She was so angry, she was trembling. “You post videos of me naked on the internet, for anybody to see?”

  “Listen, Kay. I blacked out your face on all of them, except when you wore the blindfold. Nobody could recognize you.”

  Taking my computer, she strode into our bedroom, slamming the door. I decided to let her cool off before trying again. My heart raced, as I realized I’d fucked up worse than I’d ever fucked up before.

  She was in there for over an hour and a half. I hadn’t showered yet, but I didn’t want to go into our bedroom. I figured when she’d cooled off, she would come out and we could talk. It might take her a long time to get over this, but she would, eventually. I could just explain that it was part of our fantasy about sharing her, nothing serious.

  I was in the back yard, sitting in the shade when I heard the loud noise of an engine. I went into the house, just as Kay was walking toward the front door. She was showered, dressed and made up, and carried a back pack.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. She didn’t answer. She walked out the door as I heard the engine revving up several times. I ran toward the door and into the front yard, just as the bull was backing his bike out of the driveway, with Kay sitting behind him. He was wearing the same black leather sleeveless vest, unbuttoned, and his muscles looked even larger in real life.

  “Hold on,” he said. Kay wrapped her arms around his mid-section, and they sped off down the street, before I could say a word. My heart sank as I watched them go, and I stood there, trembling.

  “Surely she won’t have sex with him the first time she sees him,” I thought, though I was certain that was exactly what would happen. I was despondent. Going into my bedroom, I picked up the computer. I had a sudden urge to smash it on the floor, but resisted that temptation. I opened it up, to see exactly what she’d been looking at.

  In each tab, hitting the back key multiple times allowed me to see exactly she’d been looking at. She had searched on my user ID on all the sites, and looked at every post, every private message, every chat session that I’d ever had. Going to my Gmail account, I saw that she had opened the last mail I had received from the bull. It said, “Are you afraid to give me your address, sissy cuck? Afraid that your wife will enjoy The Bull more than your limp little wienie?”

  I clicked on the SENT box, to see if Kay had sent any emails from my account. She had; just one. “9012 Redwood Trail,” was the message. Just the address. Nothing else. My heart sank again, as I knew what was happening to my wife. I dared to hope I was wrong, but knew I wasn’t.

  He would think the address was sent by me. I was sure that he imagined that it was a wild goose chase. Of course, he’d think I was fucking with him, giving him the address for an old lady or something. I could only imagine his surprise when Kay came out, all made up and dressed up for him, wearing a halter top with no bra, her big tits jiggling as she moved. I thought I was going to be sick.

  I was in a daze, all afternoon and into the evening, at my wits’ end to come up with an idea of what to do. All I could think about was that monstrous cock, sawing in and out of my sweet wife. My sweet slut wife, I thought, angrily. What right does she have to just fuck that asshole? Don’t I have a say?

  Then I realized, I did have a say. I was getting exactly what I had asked for. Not what I wanted, but what I’d asked for. And I wasn’t enjoying it. Finally, around nine-thirty, she walked into the house, without a word. She looked mussed, but that could be from the motorcycle ride, couldn’t it?

  She walked to our bedroom, without a word. I started to say something, but she glared at me, then kept walking. I heard the shower running. She never showered at night, always in the morning. Though it was early, she stayed in the bedroom with the TV on. I tried the door, but it was locked. It was pointless to knock, I knew she wouldn’t open it. I slept in the guest room that night, hoping against hope that she had held onto her marriage vows and that we would st
ill be able to work this out.

  The next day was Sunday, and she was up before me and dressed. She still refused to talk to me, and wouldn’t answer any questions about the previous day. I let her have time to cool off. We would talk this through, eventually. By the next day I was angry. She came home late, and since she appeared to be going to her room for the night, I guessed she had already eaten on the way home. I grabbed some leftovers out of the fridge and ate alone, my insides boiling. Finally, when it became obvious that she was going to stay in the room all night, I went to the door and knocked.

  “Come on, Kay. We can’t live like this forever. Open the door, so we can talk.”

  “Go away,” she said. I went into the other room, dejected. But the more I stewed over it, the angrier I became. Going back to her room, I banged on it. “OPEN UP!” I shouted. When she refused, I put my shoulder into the door and pushed. I heard a cracking sound as the door partially broke, but it didn’t open. This time I pushed harder, and it made another cracking noise. The door was breaking in the middle, rather than the jamb where the latch was. This time I kicked the door, where it was cracking, and my foot went through. Another kick, and I could see her in the room, frantically dialing her phone. 911? I wondered. Would she get the cops involved, just to keep from talking to me?

  Another kick and the hole enlarged. Two more kicks, and the door gave way, enough for me to get in.

  “Listen, Kay…” I started, but she unlocked the door and opened it, preparing to leave. The door crumbled, leaving her holding the knob and a small piece of the door.

  “Forget it,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

  She walked past me, but I grabbed her wrist and held her. Her back was against the wall and my face was in hers. “Just talk to me, for God’s sake.”

  “No. Go away,” she said, pulling away from me.

  “Where? We’re married. This is our home.”

  “You should have thought about that before.”

  “Come on, Kay. Just talk to me.”

  Suddenly, I heard the loud noise of an engine. Kay ran past me to the front door and unlocked it. Before she could open it, I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back from the door. “Not this time,” I said, angrily. “We need to talk.”

  The front door opened, and the bull rushed into the room. As soon as he saw me restraining Kay, he barked, “Get on the bike. Now!”

  I released her waist, and she stood rooted to the spot.

  “I said, get on the fucking bike. NOW!”

  Coming to her senses, Kay sped out the door, leaving me alone with the large man.

  “We need to talk,” the man said, approaching me. I took a swing at him, but he caught my right fist in his large, powerful left palm and squeezed it. I couldn’t pull it away from him, and he crushed it. I was certain he was about to break my fingers, and tears welled up in my eyes from the extreme pain. He kept squeezing, even harder, and I fell to my knees in agony.

  “Have you ever wondered why ranchers only have one bull in any given field?”

  I barely registered his words in my pain, and it was beyond me to form a coherent answer.

  “If there’s more than one, they fight to the death, until only one is left. There’s lots of males in the field, but they’re all steers, except for The Bull. A steer is a male that’s been castrated, and poses no risk to The Bull’s herd. Is that what you want? Do I need to castrate you?” He squeezed my hand even harder as he said this. “Now you opened your gate, and your prize heifer got into my field. That’s on you, not me. I didn’t open the gate, you did. Now she’s in my field, and there’s no room for another bull. At some point, I’ll be too busy with new recruits, and I’ll have to put her back in your field. That could be a week, it could be a month, it could be six months. It depends on how quickly my herd expands. Even The Bull can only service so many women, and the number of sissy cucks is so huge, it’s hard to keep up. Once she falls out of my rotation, she’ll be back in your field. Whether or not you want to wait is up to you. Whether or not she’ll stay in your field is up to her, though I would guess not. But I want you to get one thing clear. As long as she’s in my field, you aren’t to touch her. If I find out you do, I’ll come back for you and fuck you up good. Do you understand?”

  When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my fist harder, threatening to damage it permanently. “Understood?” he repeated.

  I could barely talk through the pain, but I managed to nod my head and get out, “Yes, yes, just let go.”

  He gave one more sharp squeeze before dropping my hand, then strode out of the house. I rubbed my sore hand as I heard the engine fire up, then they sped off down the road. Kay had nothing but the clothes on her back. No change of clothes, no phone, no purse, not even a toothbrush. Yet I didn’t see her for two days. On the third day, when I returned from work, the guest bedroom door handle had been replaced with a keyed lock. All of my stuff that had been in the guest room was in my room, piled on the bed. Most of her stuff was gone, probably in the guest room.

  The guest room had a bathroom, so she didn’t have to come out that night, and she didn’t. I spent another night in my house with her in the room next door, yet unable to see her or talk to her.

  I had to begin to form a plan. I had been in denial for the first few days, but now I experienced the grief that comes with loss. Should I file for divorce? Should I move out? We weren’t in a financial position to split up and pay for two houses, without a major decline in our standard of living. Should I wait for her, and hope that when the bull tired of her, she’d come back to me? Could my ego bear that humiliation?

  I went to the wife sharing websites and pulled down all the videos and pictures I’d posted. They disgusted me, now. A little later, I got an email from the bull.

  “I noticed you pulled down all the videos and pics you posted on your cuck loving websites, pussy. Thought you might enjoy watching some new ones. If you want to see more, let me know.”

  I opened the attachment to his email, and it contained a dozen pictures. They were all pictures of Kay. After seeing the first one, I was almost ill, but I couldn’t keep from opening them all. Kind of like seeing a train wreck about to happen, but unable to keep from watching the horrible event.

  The first one showed Kay, bending over as the bull took her from behind. His huge cock was halfway in and halfway out, and it looked like it was impossible for her to take the entire length. In the second photo, she was fully impaled on the thick cock, so it was possible for her to take it. In one, she had her huge tits wrapped around the bull’s cock. The tip of his cock peeked out from her cleavage. In another, she was on her hands and knees, kneeling over the bull as he lay on his back, and taking as much of that huge dick as she could in her mouth.

  Despite everything that had occurred, I had held onto a glimmer of a hope that they had not had sex, that things would eventually be as they had been. Those hopes were dashed, now. The only woman I loved was being used by another man, a man who refused her to cheat on him, even with her own husband. All the months and years of fantasizing about sharing my wife, I had pictured it as erotic. Now it seemed grotesque.

  Still, I continued cycling through those images, one after another, working myself into a frenzy of arousal. My emotions had been running higher than ever these last few days, and I hadn’t had an orgasm in that time. Now I became excited as I watched my wife worshipping the bull’s cock. Taking off my clothes, I got a wash cloth from the bathroom and lay in bed with my computer. I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed by Kay, sadly. Saving the photos to a folder I created, I clicked on SLIDESHOW, so they would scroll one after the other, without having to touch a button. That left my hands free for more important duties.

  I held my scrotum in the palm of one hand while lightly teasing my dick with the other. The images flashed in front of my eyes, firing my imagination as I watched my wife with the bull. When the floodgates opened, I groaned as I filled the wash cloth with my sperm. My balls tingled for
thirty seconds as pleasure coursed through my body.

  When I was finished, I responded to the bull’s message. “I’d like to see more.”

  “Who is this?” was the response. “Is this a man, or is this a sissy cuck?”

  I knew what answer the bull expected, if I was to be able to see more of my wife. I was being toyed with, humiliated, but I wanted to see more. Despite making me ill to watch the videos, I knew deep down that I was a cuck, and watching them made me excited.

  “Yes, I’m a sissy cuck. Please, sir, I’d like to see more.”

  “Maybe later,” was the response.

  Every two to four days, she would leave on his bike, sometimes for a couple of hours, often longer, occasionally overnight. She never talked to me, so I don’t know why I stayed. The pain was more intense than it likely would have been if I moved out.

  True to his word, the bull continued sending images and videos. I could refuse to open the attachments. I could delete them. But I didn’t. As much as it hurt, I watched them all. And every time I did, I masturbated. Even though I’d lived with Kay for all these years, and had sex with her innumerable times, I was more excited with these videos than anything I’d ever seen.

  One email I got had a picture attached. It showed Kay, bent over at the waist, taking the bull from behind while another man had his dick in her mouth. The caption said, “A little favor for a buddy that just got out of prison today.” There was a video attached as well, and I opened it, after getting a wash cloth and taking off my clothes.

  It showed the entire sex scene with Kay and the two men. The bull fucked the shit out of her, hard, as she gave the other man a blow job. The men took turns pulling and kneading her tits. When the men were spent, there was a close up of Kay’s ass with the bull’s sperm running out of her cunt, down her leg, and another close-up of her face, covered with the other man’s cum. I shuddered as a powerful orgasm swept over me.

  The bull wouldn’t send me a video or pictures unless I groveled for him. “Do you want to see a man take your wife?” he would ask. If I told him I did, he made me confess to being a pussy, a cuck, a sissy, and any other demeaning thing he could think of. If I didn’t admit to it, he wouldn’t let me see the images or videos. What could I do? I lived for those videos, reveling in watching my slut wife perform in any way, and with anyone that the bull told her to.