CW's Teasers

Written by c.w. cobblestone / Oct 10, 1999

 

Dear readers:

I must confess I'm stealing a page out of Vickie Tern's book here. Awhile back, Vickie posted "Teasers," which was a collection of short femdom/TG snippets.

This is my version of "teasers." But this hodgepodge of scenerios deals with only one couple - Lisa and Harold (and, of course, Lisa's lover, Larry!), whereas Vickie's story had a lot of different people in it.

So, without further ado - and with apologies to Vickie Tern - enjoy!

* * *

"CW's Teasers" (MmF, wimp husband, humor) by c.w. cobblestone

The smell hit me in the face as soon as I opened the front door. I recognized the musty odor immediately - this wasn't the first time I'd come home to the fishy remnants of hot sex.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the living room and the first thing I noticed was Lisa's clothing, blazing a tell-tale trail across the carpet. Her jacket was on the couch, her skirt had somehow made its way into the kitchen, and I spotted her blouse hanging from the dining room chair. Her black lace bra was lying on the floor nearby.

When I entered the bedroom I found the final piece of the puzzle: her panties, balled up and tossed casually onto the dresser.

And our bed! It looked like someone had just played a football game on it! The sheets were a crumpled disgrace, and I found three "wet spots" on the satin bedcovers as I gathered them up for washing.

Cum-stains on my pillow...

* * *

"Harold, what do you expect? You can't even get it up!"

"I'm sorry, Lisa. I'm trying...I really am."

"Well, apparently your best just isn't good enough, is it? Go warm up the car - I'm going over to Larry's."

"Oh, no, please, honey, don't go out tonight! I had a special dinner planned for us and everything. Please?"

"Well, now, let's see: I can either go over to Larry's and get my brains fucked out...or I can stay home and watch television with you. I think I'll take Door Number One, Harold! And besides, I don't even like that nasty casserole you're cooking. It tastes like dogshit!"

* * *

Saturday night may be alright for some folks, but for me it means washing and ironing all Larry's clothes while he's out on a date with my wife.

I'm probably the only guy in Chicago who doesn't look forward to the weekend!

The shirts are the worst! Larry wears a lot of cotton dress shirts, and they're a pain to iron. But it doesn't matter. By the time Larry brings my wife home tonight, all his clothes will be neatly pressed, with nary a wrinkle, hanging in the foyer for him to take home.

And he won't even thank me for all my hard work.

Like the song goes: some guys have all the luck; and some guys...well...

* * *

My eyes popped out of my head when I got my credit card bill this month:

Ritz-Carlton Hotel.........$189.76 Room Service.................46.58 Spectra-Vision Movie..........8.99 Mini-Bar.....................17.34

And here was the kicker:

The Men's Store........$679.83

I couldn't believe it! After she fucked him in the hotel, Lisa took the son-of-a-bitch clothes-shopping - with my credit card! I hung my head as the realization hit me: I just bought the man who's fucking my wife $700 worth of clothes!

* * *

They can be so cruel sometimes! Last night before they left for their movie, my wife tied me up, threw me into the closet, then shoved a dildo up my ass! For good measure, Lisa crammed one of Larry's sweatsocks into my mouth before she slammed the door shut.

I thought they were going to leave me sitting there crying in the darkness, but after a moment the closet door swung back open. It was Larry; he was holding a bottle of my wife's perfume.

Without warning, he sprayed about 10 shots of the stuff right in my face, causing me to choke on his sock. A couple squirts hit me in the eyes, and it burned like crazy. The perfume tears mixed with my real ones.

"That'll give you something to think about while we're gone," Larry cackled as he shut the door.

Then everything was dark again. But I could still hear my wife's sweet voice:

"Dammit, Larry, that was my good perfume!"

* * *

When Larry brought Lisa home tonight, I noticed he was wearing her wedding ring on a chain around his neck. I'd scrimped and saved for six months to get her that ring! How could she?

* * *

"Harold, do you like this dress? Larry says it makes me look fat."

"Oh, God, no! It doesn't make you look fat at all, Lisa. In fact, I think it looks beautiful on you."

"Oh, what the hell am I askin' you for? Go get me my blue dress!"

* * *

FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF SICK IMAGINATIONS:

Some nights, when my wife and her lover are feeling particularly evil, they'll play a game with me called "cum-bubble."

The game goes like this: First, I have to jack off in front of them and catch the sperm in my hand. Next, I slurp it all up - but I don't swallow it.

They make me stand at the foot of the bed and blow cum-bubbles for them while they lie under the covers and die laughing at me!

Part of the game is, if I blow a good cum-bubble they'll let me sleep on the floor next to the bed. But if I don't blow a bubble to their satisfaction, I have to sleep in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

I hate playing "cum-bubble." But it never fails to amuse them. And it's a subjective thing; if they're in a bad mood, they'll still make me sleep in the cupboard, even if I do blow a good one!

* * *

Lisa sat on the side of the bed, eating a bowl of butter pecan ice cream and talking to Larry on the telephone. I was on my knees, carefully painting her toenails.

I could only hear half of the conversation:

"Hi, there, sexy. Guess who?"

Pause.

"No, dummy, it's your Scandinavian Love Goddess!"

Pause. Giggle.

"Oh, now I don't know about that!"

Pause. Sly smile.

"Sounds good to me, stud - if you can get it up, that is!"

Pause. Sudden laughter.

"Oh, God, you don't have to tell me! You're not anything like him, believe me! Harold hasn't had a hard-on in five years!"

Pause. Another bite of ice cream.

"Ain't that the truth!" (Don't talk with your mouth full, Lisa!)

Pause.

"Tonight? No, I ain't doin' nothin' tonight. I don't know...I really don't feel like going dancing. Why don't we go see a movie or something?"

Pause. Glances at watch.

"Seven would be great! Yeah! I'll see ya then."

Pause. Bemused smile.

"Well, unfortunately, I'll just have to wait, won't I?"

Pause. Happy smile.

"Okay, honey. Bye-bye!"

Click.

"Do the other foot, Harold."

* * *

After dinner, my wife sat back from the table and sighed.

"We're going to bed, Harold. Make sure you clean up the kitchen," she said.

"Yes, mistress."

Larry pushed his plate away and belched softly. "And don't forget," he added as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, "I have an important meeting tomorrow. You'll need to put a shine on my shoes. Is my blue suit pressed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

"Uh...sir?"

"Yeah, what is it, Harold?"

"Uh...could I please give Lisa a good-night kiss?"

"What are you askin' me for? Ask her!"

I looked over at my wife beseechingly.

"Please, mistress, can I give you a good-night kiss?"

Lisa smiled. "Oh, all right, you've been a good little slut today." She stood up and lifted her skirt just a smidgeon. I was flooded with gratitude as I softly put my lips to my wife's ass.

Larry watched me with an amused look on his face. "Lisa, I'd say your husband is tryin' to score a few brownie points!"

* * *

Everybody sing along now:

Here's the story/of a man named Harold Who just wasn't man enough to fuck his wife She had pubic hair of gold But no lover Lisa was bored with life

Till the one day when Miss Lisa met her Larry Harold knew that it was much more than a hunch: That this pair/would end up doin' the nasty And that's why the poor ol' cuckold lost his lunch!

* * *

Lisa's favorite CD is Led Zeppelin 4. She loves to have "Stairway to Heaven" blasting on the hi-fi while Larry fucks her. She says it reminds her of her wild days back in college.

I hate that goddamn song!

* * *

This item was clipped from the newspaper just yesterday:

MAN FOUND IN GARBAGE CAN REFUSES HELP

Chicago police pulled a man out of a dumpster on the city's west side Monday night - but the man didn't want to be rescued.

Harold Timkins, 47, claimed he was ordered to get inside the dumpster by his wife and her lover. Timkins claimed that, if he didn't stay in the dumpster all night, his wife wouldn't let him come home.

The police were called when a woman discovered Timkins inside the dumpster while taking out her trash.

Timkins was taken into custody for psychiatric evaluation.

THE END - THANK GOODNESS!
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