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About the author:
J.R. Williams is the author of more than six books about dominant bulls, insatiable wives and pathetic cuckolds.
What inspired you to write your book?
The allure of the cuckolding lifestyle.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Chris Bennington pulled out his phone and shot off a text to his wife: Hey babe, where are you?
Chris had just come back from the bathroom, and now could not find his wife anywhere in the crowded club they were at.
They had gone out to celebrate Chris’s promotion at work. He had spent the last two years in a junior sales position, and had finally secured a senior position with a significant raise. His wife, Brittany, had been floored when he'd told her, and insisted that they go out to celebrate. She had chosen the place: a trendy nightclub in downtown Portland.
“You know I don't like going to nightclubs,” he had whined. “They're crowded and noisy and I can't dance, which is the whole point of going to a nightclub.”
“Come on,” Brittany insisted. “Once you get a couple drinks in you, you know you will have a good time. A promotion is a cause for celebration, babe. Live a little!”
Chris still found himself not really wanting to go to the club, but he finally caved and agreed to go. Who knows, maybe he'd actually have fun, and if not, it was just one night. What's the worst that could happen?
But now here he was, only an hour into their nightclub excursion, and Brittany was nowhere to be found.
She must have gone to use the restroom, Chris decided. All he could do was wait for her to finish up. He walked up to the bar, and waited to order a drink. He was annoyed that it took him nearly ten minutes just to order, as he competed with a procession attractive young men and women for the bartender’s attention.
He ordered a light beer and after another 5 minutes, he received his drink and took a seat on one of the barstools. As he sipped his beer, he scanned the packed club, keeping an eye out for his wife. But he just could not find her, and he began to worry.
He glanced at his watch. It had been at least a half hour now since he'd gone to the bathroom, if not longer. Where could Brittany have gone? Had she gotten kidnapped? He imagined her being sold into slavery, a victim of human sex trafficking.
Brittany was a petite, 25-year-old blonde beauty. Despite her small frame, she had a large, juicy ass that drove men wild — Chris included. So the idea that she could be kidnapped to act as someone's sex slave was not beyond the realm of possibility — although, Chris had to admit it was an unlikely scenario. Still, where was she?
He pulled out his phone and this time, instead of texting her, he called her. The phone rang several times before going to her voicemail.
Hmmm, Chris thought. It didn't go straight to voicemail, so her phone is not turned off … can she not hear it ringing over the noise of the club? But what is she doing that would keep her from checking her phone for more than a half hour?
He decided he had better go ask someone to see if she was in the restroom. Maybe she had already had too much too drink and was in there puking up her guts.
He pulled up a photo of her on his phone and walked to the woman's bathroom, where a line had formed. He walked up to the first woman in line and held up the photo of Brittany.
“Hey!” he shouted, his voice still barely audible over the thumping music. “When you go in there, could you see if this woman is in there?”
The woman seemed a little reluctant to take on that responsibility, but she nodded. When she entered, Chris stood awkwardly beside the line as he waited for her.
It must have taken at least fifteen minutes before she finally emerged, but Chris’s hopes were dashed as soon as she walked out — she was already shaking her head.
“Sorry,” she said. “She is not in there.”
“Shoot,” he said. “Well, thanks for looking.” But she wasn't listening. She was already walking off.
“Damn,” he said. “Where could that woman have gone?”
He considered leaving to look for her — perhaps she had gone out to the car for some reason — but what if she came back and he was gone? He decided the best course of action was to wait for her at the bar … at least for awhile.
He ordered another beer and took a seat. He glanced at his watch. It had now been nearly an hour. He sighed and took a sip of his beer.
Another half hour went by. Chris was just beginning to seriously consider calling 911 when Brittany suddenly emerged from the crowd.
Her blond hair was all messy and tousled, a far cry from the meticulous hairdo she had slaved over before they had left. And her dress looked slightly crooked — almost as if she'd taken it off, then hurriedly put it back on. But her tousled look certainly did not detract from Brittany’s innate sexiness. Standing at 5’6, Brittany’s black dress clung to her pale, smooth skin, highlighting the enticing curves of her body … located in just the right places.
“Hey babe,” she said, almost as if nothing was wrong as she walked up to her husband.
“Uh … hey,” Chris said. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Sorry,” Brittany said with only the slightest hint of guilt, as if her hour-long absence was no big deal. “I was in the bathroom.”
Chris’s pulse quickened. Had he just caught his wife in a lie?
“You were in the bathroom … the entire time?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I am sorry it took so long, it's just … you know … woman issues.”
He had definitely caught her in a lie. But what was he supposed to do with that information? He didn't know why she had lied. And he didn't want to confront her now, in a crowded club, surrounded by hundreds of people. So he decided to file away the information; he could confront her about it later.
“Okay,” he said tentatively. “Well, sit down. I'll buy you a drink–”
As he was speaking, a man came up behind Brittany and placed a hand on either side of her waist. Chris was left speechless by the man’s ballsiness. Clearly, he did not realize that this woman was married.
Chris studied him for a moment. He was a black man, at least 6 feet tall, who had clearly taken his time getting ready to go out clubbing for the night. He was groomed and dressed impeccably … in fact, looking him over, Chris felt like he was dressed a bit like a slob in comparison. Though he was a good looking guy, that was all the more reason for the man to take his hands off his wife, Chris thought — surely he didn't have trouble picking up women, so he shouldn't have to go after married ones.
“Uh, excuse me,” Chris said annoyedly. “That is my wife that you are–”
“Oh, no, Chris, it's okay,” Brittany said, and she giggled as she pulled the man in front of her, giving him a playful, almost flirtatious, swat on the arm. “This is Turrell. We actually know each other.”
“You … you do?” Chris asked, confused. As Chris stood there in confusion, Turrell placed one of his large arms around Brittany’s shoulders … his hand just so happened to come down directly onto her breast. Chris felt his pulse quicken.
“Yeah,” she said. “We went to school together. We ran into each other earlier in the night.”
When? Chris wanted to ask. You have supposedly been in the bathroom for the past hour-plus, and before that you were with me the whole time! But for some reason — maybe to avoid the embarrassment of a public argument — he kept his mouth shut and simply looked on as a tall, handsome black man towered over his wife.
“We were great friends,” Turrell said. “What great luck that we have a chance to catch up.” He turned to look at Chris. “You don't mind if I join you two for a bit, do you?”
Chris stammered. In truth, the last thing he wanted was to spend any more time with this guy. But on the other hand, he could not think of a good reason to refuse that wouldn’t make him look jealous or petty.
“Um, uh … sure, I guess that would be fine,” he said.
“Great. Hey, I actually have a hookup with the owner of this place … I can get us into the VIP lounge. You guys game?”
Brittany’s eyes lit up. “Awesome!” she said. “Look at you, Mr. VIP!”
Turrell chuckled. “I will take that as a yes. Follow me.” He led them to the VIP section of the club, which was roped off and guarded by a bouncer. Turrell leaned over and spoke into the bouncer’s ear, and with barely a word, he was pulling the rope back and ushering them into the exclusive area.
Turrell sat down on a small, leather loveseat and pulled Brittany down to sit beside him. She did not object, and Chris was stuck taking a seat facing them. He had an unsettling feeling, like he was the third wheel rather than Turrell. But that was crazy. Brittany was merely excited to reconnect with an old friend.
As they sat down, Brittany placed a hand on Turrell’s shoulder. “It's amazing that you were able to get us in here,” she said. “You are such a … stud.”
The word hung in the air and sent a shock wave through Chris’s system. He had never heard Brittany call him a stud … maybe when they had first started dating, but even then he could not recall a single time. Suddenly, all of Chris’s fears and anxieties came to the surface. The flirting between his wife and this handsome black man did not seem so innocent anymore.
As a flurry of thoughts shot through his brain, he watched as Turrell chuckled and placed a large, dark hand flat on Brittany’s thigh. “Well, it's no big deal,” he said. “I just have the right connections.”
Chris, desperate to change the subject, blurted out the first piece of small talk that entered his head: “So, Turrell,” he shouted over the thumping music, “what do you do?”
It was not Turrell, but Brittany that answered.
“Oh, Turrell is a rapper!” she exclaimed excitedly, her eyes lighting up in excitement and … what was that look, Chris wondered … admiration?
“Oh wow,” Chris said, deflated.
“I prefer the term ‘recording artist,’” Turrell said with a cocky smirk. “But it is definitely not as big of a deal as it sounds.”
“He's being modest,” Brittany insisted. She placed a hand on Turrell’s chest; Chris stared at it, dumbfounded, as she spoke. “No, he is not blowing up top 40 radio or anything — yet — but he's huge locally. It's just a matter of time before he blows up!”
Turrell turned and gave Chris a sly wink. “She is sweet, isn't she?” he said, nodding his head toward Brittany. He turned to her. “Aren't you sweet?” he said, and he bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
It was subtle, but Chris saw Brittany’s eyes close as Turrell’s lips brushed against her skin — it was as if she were holding her breath, savoring the moment. It was too much for Chris. He stood up.
“Hey, listen, I really appreciate you getting us into the VIP and everything, but we should really get going,” he said.