A Cuckold’s Miscalculation – Part 1 (Julie)

Julie

Julie Adams struggled with the grocery cart in the narrow aisles of the neighborhood grocery store. No matter how many times she came here, she never seemed to master the art of pushing her grocery shopping around without bumping into shelves. Other women seemed to do it so effortlessly, yet she seemed to have to put more physical effort into it. Occasionally, a young man from the deli would make an appearance and offer to help, which she always politely refused. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights as they bathed her in their pale white glow was occasionally drowned out by the bump of her cart as she struggled at each turn into another aisle. Her face started to take on a gentle flush as blood rushed to color her beautiful, symmetrical features; she could feel it in the rising heat at her cheeks. If she concentrated, she could trace the heat to the source, somewhere at her A-cups, rippling gently across the piercing of her pink left nipple on the way up to her neck and face.

“Do you need help, ma’am?” The deli boy made his predictable appearance. He always seemed to appear when she felt her most fragile. She avoided his eyes, but in the peripheral at the upper part of her vision, saw his gaze linger at her chest. At five foot 8, she was his height — his shy gaze required no adjustment to look at her. She pushed her glasses up, her finger brushing the nose piercing she should have removed before coming here.

“What a scrawny manboy.” The thought shocked her; she gasped inaudibly. She couldn’t believe she could think this crudely. It was so uncharacteristically rude of her to even internalize such a thought! She tried to picture him pushing her cart as she followed, and stifled another inappropriate laugh at the thought of him struggling as she did.

“No, thank you. You’re so very kind, but I can manage,” she said firmly, not even a hint of a smile cracking her lips. What she really meant to say was that she didn’t need the help of some man — she was a capable enough person. Her small hand came up to clutch at her shirt, an involuntary action as it pulled the material away from her body — the hardened nipple suddenly lost — the bump of her piercing no longer visible in the bunched up t-shirt material. She cursed herself inwardly for not wearing a bra before leaving the house. She had been doing this a lot lately, her thought being that her ample enough A-cups would never sag and embarrass her in public. She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of the ice cream container, her blonde hair hanging loosely, piercing prominently displayed. It suddenly hit her, as it did so often at random moments, how far this version of her differed from the prim, proper child she had been under the watchful eye of religious parents.

She knew what she looked like in this moment; she had glimpsed it in the videos that Brendan liked to take of her in the bedroom. At first, she had asked him not to, objecting meekly, but he seemed to get so much pleasure from looking at her that way.