Cuckolded- My Wife on the Oil Rig Page 2

  The only woman on the rig....

  But I trusted her completely. In fact, the idea of all those guys getting horny watching my wife, unable to do anything about it, sort of turned me on.

  “Anyone in particular?” I asked with forced casualness. “I mean, are you getting to know any names?”

  She considered. “Well, there’s Lance. He’s been really friendly. And Tony, he’s nice.” I saw her check her watch. “Anyway, I should go take a shower.” She glanced off camera, presumably towards the bathroom. She’d been given an en-suite room aboard the rig, as a concession to her being the only woman. She blew me a kiss and told me she loved me, and then her hand was descending towards the keyboard to cut the connection.

  “Wait,” I said suddenly, and she froze. “Could you...leave the camera on?”

  She blinked at me on the screen. “You mean...while I take a shower?”

  I nodded.

  “You want to watch me in the shower?”

  I nodded again.

  Heather flushed. “I don’t know...what if someone comes in?”

  “Your room has a lock, right? Just leave the shower door open and turn the laptop so I can see.”

  She bit her lip and I could see her cheeks flush. But I could see something else, too—her breathing had grown just a little quicker, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. We were apart for weeks—we had to do something, or we’d both go crazy.

  “Okay,” she said at last, and I punched the air. A few seconds later, the camera view twisted as she turned the laptop, and I was looking at the sliding door to the bathroom. They’d built it as a wet room so there was no shower curtain, just a nozzle to stand under. Perfect.

  I watched as Heather stripped off. Her hands were a little shaky as she peeled the crop top up over her breasts, resplendent in their black sports bra. She bit her lip again, gazing into the camera, and her innocence and nerves made my cock swell—if she’d dived in without hesitation it would have been hot enough, but the fact that she was doing it despite some reservations, because she loved me...that made it even hotter. I’d always been scared of suggesting things to spice up our sex life but, somehow, it was easier with her on the screen instead of in the same room. For once, it felt like I could...I don’t know. Almost corrupt her a little.

  I had no idea, then, how much that evil idea would come back to haunt me.

  “Go on,” I told her. “You look beautiful.”

  She smiled and then stripped the sports bra off. I caught my breath as her breasts spilled out, full and heavy and perfect, each globe topped by a soft pink bud. Her nipples were like pencil erasers, and when they were hard, they stood out a good way from her body. They were super-sensitive too—just a little rubbing and she’d be moaning, and even a gentle pinch was too much for her—both in terms of pain and pleasure, she said. Luckily, I knew to be gentle.

  Right now, they were soft...but I could already see them start to pucker as she stood there staring at the camera. She might have been hesitant, but a part of her clearly liked the feeling of being watched.

  She kicked off her running shoes and then lowered her hands to her shorts...except she didn’t just lower them. They kind of skimmed down her body, as if to draw attention to her trim waist. It wasn’t exactly like a stripper would do it on stage—this was Heather, after all: my sweet, innocent wife. But it had just a hint of stripper about it. She was getting into it.

  Her thumbs hooked into the shorts and she slid them down, taking her panties with them at the same time. She was shaven down to a neat triangle of hair there, the silky brown curls not quite hiding her delicate pink lips. I saw her flush again as she exposed herself completely to me, but there was a sort of pride, too.

  She stepped into the shower and pressed the button for the water. Fresh water was limited, so the showers were on a timer, she’d told me. Sixty seconds of water. Sixty seconds of watching her naked body glisten as she turned and stretched her arms overhead, getting every inch of her wet. Her breasts shone as they bounced and for a second I almost considered stroking myself...but that would be weird, right? I found myself wishing there wasn’t a camera on my end, so I could do it without her knowing.

  I caught myself and reddened. This was my wife I was watching! I shouldn’t be thinking of her like some slut on a website, and secretly jacking off to her!

  The water stopped and she grabbed the bottle of shower gel. The idea was that you got wet, soaped up and then used another sixty second blast of water to rinse off. Of course, while the water was off you were left shivering and, as she frantically rubbed the shining green goo into her skin, I could see her nipples harden. Then she slapped her hand against the button again and gasped in relief as hot water crashed down over her. This time I was unable to stop my hand straying down to the front of my pants as I watched her rub her breasts...and then, to my delight, one of her hands slipped down between her thighs.

  Her eyes fluttered closed and, private for a moment, I started to rub myself even as I watched her begin to do the same. I couldn’t believe she was playing with herself, right in front of me. Had she forgotten the camera was there, or was she doing it for my benefit? Either way, I ate it up, staring intently at the screen as her fingers played over her lips...and then slid between them.

  Too soon, the water switched off and she pulled her hand away, then grabbed for the towel. I was so focused on what she was doing, I forgot to snatch my own hand away from my cock until it was too late.

  She stared at the camera in amazement and then stepped closer. “Were you—”

  I flushed. “No!” I swallowed. “OK, a little. Sorry. You just looked so...hot!”

  Now she blushed. “Really?” she said shyly. She pulled the towel around herself. “OK. Um. I have to go.” And she ended the call, without a kiss or an I love you.

  For long minutes afterwards, I was terrified. Had I angered her, or disappointed her? She’d known I was watching...surely she must have guessed what I’d be tempted to do? On the other hand, it was the first time I’d ever watched her play with herself—had I freaked her out?

  She sent me an instant message later that evening. I sort of liked U watching. I think. Want to watch me again sometime?

  I sent back YES!!!

  ***

  When I got up on the morning of the third day, I took a look at the living room, where the remains of last night’s takeout still stood, and made a decision.

  Left alone, we guys revert to cavemen pretty quickly—if I just let things slide, Heather would return to find me thirty pounds heavier, lying sprawled on the couch surrounded by beer cans and pizza boxes, eyes red from Netflix binges and video games. That wasn’t right—she was out there working her ass off on the rig for us.

  So I cleaned up, hit the gym and then worked my ass off all day. By evening, I was exhauste, proud…and horny.

  The laptop chimed, I accepted the call...and I was looking at some guy I didn’t know. Black hair cut short and a dark shadow of stubble around his chin. He wore jeans, but with a white shirt...not a roughneck, then—some sort of administrator? He had a deep tan and dark brown eyes, a hint of Latino about his looks. He grinned into the camera as he saw me. “It’s on!” he called.

  Heather appeared from off camera. “Oh! Thanks! Hi, honey. Tony was just leaving, but he was curious to see you. Say ‘hi’!”

  I waved, awkwardly. I was caught completely off guard—Tony looked to be bigger than me, his wide shoulders stretching his shirt. “Hi.”

  “We’ve all been helping Heather settle in,” Tony said. “Don’t worry—we’ll take good care of her.” He grinned again and I felt stupid for my awkwardness—he seemed friendly enough.

  Heather herded him out of her room and pushed the door closed behind him. She was turning back to me as it finished closing, so she didn’t see what I saw over her shoulder: Tony standing in the corridor, giving one last, longing look at her.

  Wait...what exactly had he been doing in her room?r />
  Don’t be paranoid! It was ridiculous—Heather wouldn’t be interested in him, except as eye candy, and she was completely faithful. The poor guy was just horny—hell, I’d only been without my wife for a few days and I was already feeling it. How long was it since the crew of the rig had had a woman—months? I should let him ogle her, just to throw him a bone.

  I felt that familiar dark ripple pass through me, except this time with a twist. I’d always secretly liked the fantasy of seeing my wife with another man, even if I’d never allow it in reality. And I liked the idea of corrupting her, just a little—being the one to suggest something. What if....

  No. That was crazy.

  “Are you okay?” Heather asked, and I realized I hadn’t spoken yet.

  “Sorry. How are you? How’s work?”

  We chatted about her day and I told her proudly how I’d cranked out lots of pages. And then the conversation turned to the crew.

  “It’s okay,” she told me. “I eat breakfast with them—the food’s better than you’d think. Some of them make a few off-color jokes, but most of them are okay. They look at me a lot, but they don’t do anything.”

  “And Tony?” I asked casually.

  “He’s sort of the quartermaster—provisions and things. He’s stopped by a few times. He’s responsible for getting the mail to us, and getting anything from shore that people want. The guys always want...you know—” she flushed. “Porn.”

  All those guys, without a woman for months... Heather walking amongst them must be like a gift from the gods. I wondered how many guys’ fantasies she was appearing in, and the idea made my cock twitch.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I was asking him if I could get a few things for my room, since I’m going to be cooped up here so long. Just something to go on the walls.”

  I nodded. But I was thinking of the look Tony had given her, as the door closed.

  “About last night,” she said, and I snapped back to the present.

  “Was it okay?” I asked. I could feel myself tensing up. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”

  Heather shook her head. “It was fine.” She lowered her eyes. “Better than fine.”

  She let that hang there for a few seconds.

  “Would you like to do it again?” I asked carefully.

  She bit her lip. God, she was even more beautiful when she was a little unsure, a little nervous. She seemed so innocent on the surface, but I was starting to realize that there were dark fantasies swirling beneath. “Another shower?” she asked at last.

  I considered. She was back in her jeans and sweatshirt tonight, her breasts visible as enticing swells beneath the soft fabric.

  “What if you started by taking off your clothes—right here in front of the camera?” I asked.

  She stared into my eyes for a moment and then got up. I caught my breath, worried that I’d offended her—

  And then she locked the door and sat back down. A second later, she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, and then the tank top she wore beneath. I gazed at her sitting there in her bra, the black lace cupping and squeezing her ripe breasts, almost offering them up to the camera. I could feel my cock begin to swell and harden.

  “Take it off,” I told her, and I could hear the lust in my own voice. Our sex life hadn’t been great before she went away but now, separated by thousands of miles, I was almost drunk just from a glimpse of her flesh.

  She kept her eyes locked on the camera as she reached behind her and undid the clasp. I saw the bra loosen, and then she was stripping it down her arms and off. Her breasts bobbed free, the skin so smooth I longed to touch it, those perfect pink nipples just beginning to pucker.

  “Can you play with them for me?” I whispered, and she nodded. Her hands came up to clutch her breasts, squeezing them gently...and then harder. Her thumbs went to work on her nipples and I watched them stiffen. She was no more than two feet from the camera and the view was magnificent, her long, soft hair cascading down over her shoulders, her soft breasts in her hands. She looked like some pre-Raphaelite goddess of ecstasy.

  “Now the jeans,” I said quickly. I’d positioned the laptop on a table this time, and I had my legs tucked underneath. That meant I could stroke myself through my jeans, under the table, without it being too obvious...and I started to do exactly that.

  Heather stood up and pulled off her shoes and jeans, then stood there for a second in her panties. They were red, I saw, bright red briefs. A surprisingly sexy choice, to wear under jeans for a day at work....had she known she’d been stripping for me—guessed at what I’d want, after last night?

  Or was she dressing, unbeknownst to them, for the guys on the rig? Reacting to all that male attention by secretly dressing like a slut, under her demure work clothes?

  She pushed the panties down her thighs and off. I saw her prepare to sit back down in the chair, looking like some internet porn model.

  She sat and I asked her to move back a little, so that I could see her lower body. “Open your legs,” I said without thinking.

  She blinked at me.

  I suddenly reddened. “Sorry!” I told her. “I didn’t mean to order you around! I just—I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

  She looked flustered. “It’s okay,” she said. I was normally good at reading her, but this time I couldn’t tell—was she angry? Aroused? She slowly parted her thighs and her pussy was revealed, soft brown hair and the silky softness of her pink lips. And then she opened her legs wider and the outer lips parted. The camera was so good that I could see tantalizing pink inside...and even a hint of gleaming reflection. She was wet.

  “Would you play with yourself again?” I asked. I was almost panting.

  “You’re going to jack off, aren’t you?” she asked in return. “You’re doing it right now, aren’t you?”

  I considered lying, but nodded.

  “Show me.”

  I pushed back my chair from the table and unbuttoned my jeans, releasing my stiff cock. Stroking the flesh was so much better than stroking it through the rough fabric and I gasped at how good it felt.

  On screen, Heather was stroking two fingers up and down the lips of her pussy, staring straight at the camera. In the corner of the screen, in a much smaller window, I could see what she saw—me, sitting with my cock out, one hand stroking it in a gradually escalating rhythm.

  “God,” Heather was saying through the speakers. “God, I can feel you watching me.” Her fingers moved faster, and I thought I could see the shine of moisture on her lips, now. My own hand moved faster.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking about you fucking me,” Heather said, the words exploding out of her in a rush of air. My cock grew even harder—this was turning her on as much as me! She never normally talked like that! I could feel myself ready to shoot.

  “I’m thinking about—God—” Her voice was desperate, now, her fingers coming up to circle her clit. “I’m thinking about your hard cock inside me!”

  That was all it took. I exploded, hot ropes of cum erupting straight up out of my cock. It was too late to grab a tissue or do anything else, so I had to just let it spray down onto my lap and the floor. My eyes were locked on the screen, where Heather suddenly leaned forward and went rigid, her gasping face close to the camera, lips parted in ecstasy....

  God. She was coming, right in front of me.

  I watched her. I watched every shudder and moan as the climax flowed through her, her breasts swaying, her thighs locking tight around the hand between them. She finally flopped back in her chair, sated. With an exhausted smile and a blown kiss, she ended the call.

  I cleaned up and went to bed happy. In a weird way, this time apart was actually reinvigorating our sex lives. Maybe we could use this time to open up about a few fantasies and—ironically—get closer. And then, when she came back, things would be better than ever.

  ***

  A week went by.

  My new
routine went well. I got ahead in my work, hit the gym every day and tried not to eat complete crap. The house was eerily quiet, though.

  The highlight of each day was my call with Heather. We had a few nights when we just talked normally and for a while I was worried I’d upset her, and that she wouldn’t want to show herself on camera for me again. But on the third night, she called wearing a bathrobe and slowly opened the front to show that she was naked underneath. She teased me for an hour, giving me glimpses of breast and thigh, before she finally rubbed herself to a climax in front of me.

  A few days later, she sent me some photos she’d taken of life around the rig. For the first time, I got a feel for the vast size of the place, and the isolation. One picture showed the view they woke up to every morning: nothing but flat, featureless ocean in every direction.

  As if to compensate, the crew were clearly a tight-knit bunch. I look at body language a lot, because it helps me get the poses right in the panels I draw. So I noticed the way the guys all stood close together, without any of the artificial distance lawyers or doctors would have put between themselves. These were guys who relied on each other every day—drilling was dangerous work and, just like in the army, you need to know someone’s got your back. All of the guys were in good shape—I could see the difference between the “t-shirt muscles” I saw at the gym and the bodies these guys had, with thick biceps and broad backs built from hauling equipment around all day. They were in better shape than Rick, the pool cleaner—the one I’d caught Heather eying up.

  Three weeks. She’s there for three weeks!

  There was one photo in particular—sort of a classic pose. I could imagine one of the guys suggesting it, maybe goading Heather into doing it. Six guys stood in a line, complete with hard hats and wrenches, and Heather lay supported in their arms with everyone beaming at the camera.