P1AR

Sam and his gorgeous blonde wife, Mary, are hard up for cash.

The kind of hard up that means losing their home after they already pawned everything they have.

That's what is on Sam's mind when his intimidating neighbor makes him an offer that will change his life forever.

Gorgeous Mary's life too for that matter.

One MILF.

One intimidated hubby.

One alpha-neighbor.

Cuckold? You bet!

Bareback Cuckold For A Cheating Wife!

Part 1

Getting Even Was Never This Much Fun!

By

Elizabeth Thorn

© 2016 Elizabeth Thorn
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all products of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18. All characters represented as 18 or older.

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Bareback Cuckold For A Cheating Wife!

Part 1

Getting Even Was Never This Much Fun!

Sam

“I hear you aren’t doing too good, boy,” my neighbor, Carl, says with that smug look on his face, as always happy to make me feel like a total loser. I doubt he will ever forgive me for marrying a woman who I know he thinks is too hot for me.

“We’re doing just fine,” I lie self-consciously, and I feel weak and disgusted with myself for the way I look away and down. Too damn intimidated to even look the guy in the eyes. In truth, guys like him have always left me feeling incompetent and afraid, tall guys who are built like a tank, not like me.

I'm skinny and at 5' 9", Carl towers over me with his 6' 5".
      

“That’s not what I heard. Heard you got your ass fired again.” The contempt in his voice is palpable and blood rushes to my neck and face as a mixture of anger and shame explodes in my chest. He is right, of course, I did get fired and it wasn't for the first time. This time it was a pissed off manager who decided that I was to be made redundant to make room for a buddy of his and that was it.

Next I knew, I was telling Mary, but only after keeping silent about it for weeks.

Weeks that I spend leaving the house early morning as if there really was a paying job waiting for me, but instead there I was at the library searching for job openings and printing out my resume. All while dreading the approaching payday when I would have no choice but to explain to my dear wife why there wasn't any pay.

I'll never forget the look of disappointment on her face, one that she tried to hide well, and that made me feel even more of a loser than I already did.

And now there is Carl to take the opportunity with both hands to rub it in.

Happy to remind me what a loser I am.

Carl has always been like that. From the moment he laid his eyes on me, I knew he didn't like me, period. He is the opposite of everything I am, where I am considered and kind, he is arrogant and loud-mouthed and always there to rub in how damn successful he is and how I am not.

Carl the Archetypical Bully.

And it seems he has dedicated his life to humiliate me whenever he can.

“We are doing fine,” I say obstinately, forcing myself to pay attention to cutting the hedge that separates our gardens. What else does he expect me to say? That, yes, I got fired and money is tight. Not his business to bring it up, but not that he cares about how I feel. I cut violently into the green, anger boiling on the inside. Unlike Carl, I’ve been well conditioned and force myself to keep on a pleasant face.

“I might be able to help you get your hands on some cash,” Carl says and in an instant my anger is forgotten. God knows we need money and we need it fast. I look up to gauge his expression. For all I know, he is cruelly fucking with me. That would be typical of him.

“You know of a job opening?” I ask hesitantly, not certain if I can trust him to be sincere.

Carl snorts at that and shakes his head as if to tell how much of a fool I am.

“Not you, your wife.”

“Mary?” I say, surprised. I just can't for the life of me imagine how Mary has anything to do with me getting a job.

“I’ll pay a grant to fuck your wife. About time that girl got herself a good taste of a real man. Maybe then she'll finally get to her senses." He is referring to the divorce that he wants Mary to get, old news. Mary told me about how he told her behind my back that she should divorce me and move in with him.

That's the kind of guy Carl is.

And now this.

I never thought he could be this blunt.

This vulgar.

This cheap.

This low.

Low enough to suggest I participate in convincing my own wife to whore herself out to him.

My anger is back in an instant and my hands start to shake, my first impulse to swing my fist in his face, but I guess I really am too well-conditioned and force out a meager laugh instead.

“Fuck off, Carl,” I say weakly, and can't help but note that like an intimidated coward I fast look down. “You got a really shitty sense of humor, you know that?”

“Who says I’m joking?”

How do you deal with someone like that? He is insulting me right in my face and I just stand there taking it.

“Very funny, Carl."

For an answer, he reaches into his pocket. When his hand reappears there is a wad of bills that I can’t help but eye longingly.

Nothing but hundred dollar bills.

It's been a while since I laid my hands on one of those and I know it is more than the bank will give me.

We are three months behind on our mortgage. That and we already sold the car. The only things in our garage now is junk no one will buy and I'm at wits end.

“Go share the good news with the wife, boy,” Carl says as if we’ve already reached an agreement. To my shame, my first impulse isn’t to spit in his face and tell him to go fuck himself, but to look around for witnesses, as if by just seeing us talking they know what is being discussed.

There is the elderly Mr. Greystone from across the street sitting on the veranda with Alexis, his neighbor's teenage daughter, and there is the kid from the Nelsons, and I can see that newlywed couple who moved in a few months ago turn the corner in their flashy sedan.

Your average all American neighborhood. That's what this place looks like, only now it no longer feels like it to me. Now it feels like a place where things take place behind closed doors that can't stand the light of day.

Things like a husband actually putting up with listening to a neighbor suggest he should pimp out the wife.

Sweat breaks through my skin and my heart rate picks up as I watch Carl peel off the bills until he has reached an even thousand. That's money we so desperately need. That's money that I should be providing, only I don't. Instead I hang around the house feeling like a bum, self-conscious about facing my own wife.

But that's not the worst of it.

The worst part is that I feel emasculated by the first thought that enters my mind: will she be up for it? A thought that shames as much as it hurts.

Thing is, we really need that cash. We needed it months ago and now, eyeing the money longingly, I am too weak to do the decent thing and object.

Like a trained dog, I look up and into Carl's face, already hard trying to forget how much I hate the guy.

“Well?” Carl says in that demanding tone of his, a thick eyebrow raised as if asking me why I’m idling.

“Be right back,” I say, my voice as hollow as I feel. I turn around and start dragging my feet to the house. The same house that will be foreclosed soon enough unless I swallow my pride and my beautiful wife spreads her legs for cash.

Not that Carl is that old, mid-fifties and still strong as an ox. Still healthy. Healthy enough to bang the shit out of my wife's pussy if he wants to, and judging from the cash he is offering, I can only miserably conclude that he really wants to.

“Put some speed in it, boy,” Carl hollows and like a fool I do.

Mary

By the time he is done explaining what Carl is proposing, I’m in shock and not certain if I should laugh over his nerve and the absurdity of it all, or if I should feel disappointed in Sam for actually sharing in a way that makes it sound he isn’t going to object if I take the offer.

Accept to turning to
whoring
with that guy as my first paying customer.

Studying the way he looks uneasily at me, his eyes avoiding mine, I do neither. I feel anger rise in me instead. He is not joking, I can tell from his unease, it is a conclusion that echoes in my mind, feeding the red hot anger that burns in my chest.

Anger that I can only aim at Sam, not Carl, because Sam should be the one standing up for me.

Only he didn't.

Instead he told me what Carl wants from me while looking feeble and pathetic, sweating and his eyes darting all over the kitchen, avoiding mine.

That's what shocks me, not that that lowlife of a neighbor is once again trying to get into my damn panties. That's old news. Ever since moving here a year ago, the sick fuck has regularly made it clear to me that he wants our neighborly relationship to have an extra dimension that is thoroughly unacceptable.

Well, unacceptable for any decent woman, that is. That is not even mentioning that I am a
married
woman, a fateful wife.

And we all know that a decent wife just does not engage in any sort of sexual activity with others. That is just not something a decent and self-respecting wife engages in. And that is what I am, I tell myself as my eyes flash daggers at Sam for disappointing me
again
.

“Well, tell him to keep dreaming and that from now on, he can look the other way when he sees me,” I say through clenched teeth. Sam grimaces as if my words burn him and all I can do is wish he could at least be man enough to stand in front of me as a man, not like this, ill at ease and filled with shame.

He wants his own wife to spread her legs for money and he cannot even be dignified enough to say it straight to my face and take my rejection without being hurt. What did he expect? Did he really think that I could do a thing like that?

Play the whore.

Then what? Wait at home until he brings me another customer to serve with my body? Or maybe he was already counting on Carl being a
repeat
customer
.

Then what? Was he thinking our life could possibly be the same after that? Did he even think that far ahead? Did he think that even if I were to do such a degrading thing our marriage would be the unaffected? Or is the promise of money enough to blind him to the harsh reality that he already created by just daring to present the lewd proposal?

In a flash I realize that he actually did and my anger is instantly framed by a contempt that hurts my heart.

"Tell the sick fuck he can go fuck himself instead of me," I hiss, my hands balled into tight fists and my legs trembling from raw anger and hurt.

“Yeah, of course, baby,” Sam says, scurrying hesitantly to the backdoor like a little weasel.

Sometimes I feel the moment he lost his job, he lost his balls too. I want to feel the affection that I know is there in my heart for him, but right now it is overshadowed by pure contempt. Whore myself out to Carl. I just can’t believe he even shared that with me.

He hesitates for a moment before he opens the door, but I guess he knows what is good for him and out he goes. Good. Cause right now I can't stand the sight of him.

I count to ten, breathing in and breathing out, trying to regain my equilibrium. God, I’m angry enough to want to punch something, anything, anyone. Instead I just stand there in my own kitchen boiling in my own anger.

I know things are bad financial wise, but Sam just made it bad in every other way too. My respect for him blown to pieces. Closing my eyes, I try to center myself and keep them closed when I hear Sam reenter after a minute. If he is smart then he’ll apologize or just stay silent.

He does neither.

“He is doubling his offer, he says, his voice as weak as his spine is today.

I open my eyes with the intent to give him a piece of uncensored truth, but the sight of the money in his hands shuts me up instantaneously. Fanned out are hundred dollar bills and Sam is holding it out to me with a pathetic look on his face that I imagine is his idea of looking sorry. Tick tock the kitchen clock goes and seconds pass by in total silence.

“Fine, tell him I’ll do it,” I finally snap right in his face, anger flowing through my veins like hot lava. He doesn’t even flinch and I guess that tells me how he thinks of me, his own wife.