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Guest blog: What’s so hot about getting cucked?


Image by the fabuloua Stuart F Taylor

Regular readers will know that I’m a big fan of cuckolding as a kink. Something about the combination of tortured emotions and intense fucks, the fact that emotional connection can be twisted into something much darker and more taboo… unngh, yeah. So inevitably I was delighted to find a cuck who was not only willing to chat about his kink, but explain in delicious and excruciating detail exactly what’s so hot about getting cucked. Take it away…

What’s so hot about getting cucked?

I could really do it, you know.

I tried not to betray just how hard those words hit me. I knew she could, I just didn’t think she’d ever want to. But after years of marriage and a declining sex life, we had had some difficult conversations about what we wanted and needed. She’d always known I fantasised about her taking another lover, but we’d never taken it seriously, till now.

My husband might like that.

He was a friend of a friend of a friend; I’d never met him, but she had flirted with him a few times. Or had he flirted with her? I don’t really know. I wasn’t there. I can’t even remember when she first mentioned him. He started off as just a name, not even a possibility, while we lay in bed and whispered to each other in that delicate space between fantasy and reality. She had told him she had a husband. He said – not out loud, not so clearly – that he didn’t care. She told him I was willing. She gave him her number and left, as it was late.

How does it feel knowing you’ll never see me wear them?

It was his idea. She would choose some lingerie for their first date, and I would pay. It was her idea that they would be only for him. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was high-end, small, painfully expensive, and every item glowed as if the fabric itself was excited. And the assistant, behind the till, she was grinning from ear to ear.

So….tell me what’s hot about getting cucked.

It’s years later. She left me, eventually, when one of her lovers offered her something I never could. We’re not going to dwell on it here; nothing in life is certain. Especially this. But I don’t regret it and it still excites me to think of her. We’ve talked a few times, and sometimes she’s teased me, about us, about new lovers: we have great sex; you’d love to watch me suck his dick; I know you think about me.

Yes, I do.

So what’s hot about it? Unnngh. What isn’t? A woman, at the height of her sexual power? Completely certain of her right to sexual pleasure? One who can attract another man, not just into her bedroom, but our bedroom? Whose body I know so well? Seeing another man excited by her, excited for her, ready to claim her and leave me watching, helplessly?

I have a lot of kinks. They’re nothing very unusual – the usual submissive man stuff, from bondage to forced bi to findom. And at the root of all of them, for me, is women’s sexual pleasure. Not just being touched, stroked, teased, licked; I adore women with desire, horniness, yearning, the kind of woman who goes out wearing lingerie with the intent of finding someone to show it off to. And this is why I love cuckolding: I get to see that tiger roar. I get to see her face as another man’s cock slips inside her. I get to feel my stomach curl up in a knot as she groans oh fuck. it’s so big. Umm, yeah. I saw.

To begin with I wasn’t allowed to be with them. I stayed at home, nervously watching my phone, until I got a message. I’m staying over. My favourite messages were when she texted to say she was returning; she’d climb into bed with me and we’d lie there, as she told me exactly what happened and how it felt. She’d genty tease my dick and tell me how he was a better lover than me, how his hands would touch her, how he moved, how he would hold her down. Sometimes she would just drift off to sleep still teasing me, and I would lie there wide awake, throbbing, helpless. And sometimes she’d come home wanting more.

Once, she told me that I could fuck her, but I had to finish on her body. And when I did, she laced her fingers in my hair and pushed me down on it. Lick it. I licked. Do you like that? I did. Would you like it if it was his? There was a little dab of cum on the lower curve of her breast. I leant forward, licked it up slowly, and showed her it sitting on my tongue. I closed my mouth, swallowed, and smiled.

We talked a lot in those days. How would you feel if I… conversations late at night, but also over text, over email, on a phone call. She wanted me to be closer, in the room. She wanted me to kneel by the bed. She wanted to be able to look at me, reach out, touch me, if she wanted. Sometimes she ignored me completely. Sometimes she would fix eye contact with me, especially if he was rough with her in a way I could never be. And sometimes she would hold my hand and squeeze it tightly as she orgasmed on his tongue.

How does it feel when you…

Watch? It’s agony. I want to be there, alongside you, inside you, feeling what he feels, kissing your mouth gently, holding your wrists back as I slip inside you…but instead, I’m not even allowed to touch myself. My dick burns to be touched, as I sit and wriggle awkwardly. Sometimes he looks at me and – what is it? Triumph? Pity? Most men, it turns out, prefer to ignore me. Some, though, some of them figure out that there’s a very short distance between ‘bull’ and ‘bully’. Go and get me a beer. Thank me for fucking your wife. Kneel in the corner while I bed her. I bet you’d love to clean this up. I look at her. Do it, she says.

I bet you loved that.

It tasted of you, I say, my arms round her. Sounds like you want more. She giggles. My hands on her body squeeze. I’m not quite sure if it’s assent, but it’s not denial. She reaches between my legs, cups my balls, squeezes until I moan. When did I last let you come?

I can’t even remember.



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