Before long I found myself masturbating alone to relieve the tension. Even I
couldn’t believe this. I was on my honeymoon with the most gorgeous woman on
earth, yet I was being forced to wank off like some teenager to stop myself
going insane with lust. Unable to possess Moira I found myself reduced to
stealing her sexy, silky panties. I spunked huge amounts of creamy white cum
into her shiny knickers, imagining myself pushing my prick up her like the
one and only time I’d been permitted that luxury. Then I’d hide the used
panties in the laundry basket, hoping no-one would look too closely!
When Moira made it plain that in the evenings she fully intended dancing
with other men after dinner, as well as me, I took it in my stride. Moira
could do no wrong, and I was determined to take a broad-minded, liberal
attitude to this. At first it was just disco dancing. She never actually
touched her other partners. But then as the two weeks of the honeymoon wore
on, and it was plain I wasn’t going to insist on either my conjugal “rights”
or possessing her as an exclusive dancing partner, Moira began staying on
the dance-floor for the slower numbers too. This really did churn me up
inside. I was forced to watch as my new wife allowed herself to be held
tightly by handsome men who all seemed more confident and experienced than
me. I sat at a side table guarding Moira’s drink, whilst she smooched with
some hunk. I watched in agony as the man’s hands would reach around her back
and press her soft body to him.
One evening towards the end of the honeymoon I sat at my side table as a new
latin-looking stranger (and yes, he was – quite literally – tall, dark and
handsome) caressed my wife’s bare back, pressing her sacred breasts to his
broad chest. Then I noticed that he was maneuvering Moira gradually towards
the darkest part of the disco. I strained my eyes to follow their movements.
I could hardly see them through the throng of bodies, but to my absolute
horror I thought I saw him kissing Moira full on the lips. I was in agony. I
couldn’t be sure of what I’d seen, and tried to tell myself that either I’d
imagined it, or Moira was very drunk. I thought about fighting the man…..
and decided I couldn’t do it. He had looked big and muscular, and for all I
knew if I tried to come between him and “his girl” he might produce a knife
or worse. I was terrified for my new marriage, and scared of confronting the
situation. In the end I sidled alone on to the dance-floor, and danced
pathetically, with strange, agonised, nervous jerks, over in their direction.
My worst fears were confirmed. Up fairly close, even in the semi-darkness, I
could see the man’s right hand snaking up Moira’s mini-skirt and caressing
the wonderful, round globes of her arse. As he stroked Moira’s bum he pulled
her hips onto his, and with mounting horror I suddenly saw the vague shape
of what could only be the massive bulge of an erect cock in his trousers.
Soon he had Moira’s crotch rubbing against his clearly excited phallus as
they swayed to the slow music. She must be able to feel his cock rubbing
against her? What on earth was she thinking? Why didn’t she break off? What
was I to do?
Originally posted 2013-10-31 18:59:08.