I like to process my cuckold journey through writing about it. It’s always been a form of journaling, reflecting, capturing, processing the adventures my wife and I are experiencing. As such, my posts tend to be a bit more reflective. I’m not trying to capture the sex in words – I was there for that. I’m trying to capture that pang of intensity. The lightning strike before, during, after an encounter. The new, the different, the progress for us. I don’t write to get myself, or you off (don’t get me wrong, it’s a wonderful byproduct, but not the intention). “MORE DETAIL!!!” is sometimes the feedback I receive. So, here’s one for you – with “details.”
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On Monday, Chloe and I had a date with our guy friend. I’ll skip the boring part, but suffice it to say you enter the picture with us getting off the elevator on his floor of his hotel. Chloe was two (reportedly weak) drinks in, and guy and me were stone cold sober. Guess that’s what happens when we both opt into dry January. We enter the room, and I make my way over to the sofa against the window – with a prime view of the bed. As I do, Chloe pops into the bathroom, and he and I make idle small talk while he takes his pants off. Chloe comes out of the bathroom with only jeans and a lacey bralet on. And he steps into the bathroom – in obvious preparation for using his urination instrument for non-urination activities.
With him in the bathroom, chloe comes over to me and bends at the waist, her blond hair falling around our faces like sacred chapel created under the awning of a weeping willow.
“Is it still ok with you that I suck his cock for a while?” she whispers, seductively but genuinely.
(one point of context – chloe had her period the days leading up to this meet-up, so she was quite self conscious and aware penetrative sex was very unlikely given it was an unknown what might still come out, if he goes in.)
I nod and kiss her. I tell her to enjoy herself. And then I kiss her, cupping her face in my hands, as if to say, “I fucking love you so so so much. I’m so excited for you.”
At this moment, the sobriety or something kicked in. Here I am, on a sofa in a hotel room, passionately kissing the love of my life, the mother of my children. “Is this all I need? Is this all I want?” I think to myself. My inner monologue turned to, “wait, is this really what I want? What if I just grab her by the hand and run out the door of his hotel room. What if I just utter the words, “…I am not sure I want this anymore…”
If I did, everything would stop. In the context of our marriage and relationship, if I said those words, even with her shirt off, with his pants off, mere moments before contact, everything would stop. And, in that moment, as my thoughts shifted from “Do I still want this?” to “If I say that, this will stop.” And then, for some reason, it felt like I missed my chance. The bathroom door opened, she kissed me once more, and stood up; our private hair-chapel no more.
She starts kissing him, red in the face, standing on her tippy toes. He is taller than me, and seeing her look so small in his arms, so hot in her physique was enough to snap me out of my questioning, and back into – mmmfuck that’s hot. He bends at the knees, cups her ass, and lifts her off the ground, wraps her legs around his waist, and sits her on the dresser in front of the TV in the room. And I, open my phone and select the appropriate spotify playlist: “2025 songs to get fucked to” of course.
(Sidenote: I share this detail because iphones cant play music and record video at the same time. And, I didn’t want to be the awkward weirdo in the room who was essentially carrying the speaker over to the bed to take a picture or two, so the evening, for the very first time, would ultimately end with no pictures or video. I think it’s a real sign of progress for me that I was ok not capturing the moment with my camera. The first few times we played with another man, I think the urgency to film was connected to the shock and doubt that what was happening was actually happening and not 100% confidence it would ever happen again. That we have gotten to a place where there will be a next cock in her, and I’m secure in that enough to not feel urgency to get while the getting is good, is progress. Ok back to the story.)
After a bit more kissing on the dresser, he lifts her up, turns around and places her onto the bed. The clothes come off, and she starts caressing his hanging cock. I know those fingertips well. I know exactly what that feels like with her. I’m just not the one feeling it. Now, one thing to know about Chloe is that she is competitive. She really likes how good she is at sucking cocks, and relishes the praise and feedback she gets when she does it. She also happens to not have a gag reflex at all, so deep throating is squarely in her toolkit. After kneeling between his outstretched hands, sucking, touching, rubbing, stroking licking, sucking sucking sucking some more, she decided to turn around into the 69 position.
Those of us in the deep throat circle know it’s a bit easier to deep throat in the 69 position because of the alignment of the natural curvature of the penis, and the throat. He knows she is navigating the very tail end of her period, and while its certainly not heavy, there may still be some spotting. I’m on the sofa, seeing them from the side, hearing the moans, the suckles, the snap of his hand against her ass was hot. Watching his cock disappear in her mouth and hand, and then throat, was hot. Watching his fingers grab and squeeze her ass was super hot, but from the side, I couldn’t really see where his fingers were. Suddenly, I see his head lift off the bed, and up to taste her sweetness.
“Bold,” I think to myself, considering the period. But upon closer inspection, the angles didn’t make sense. It wasn’t her pussy he was licking. It was her little rosebud asshole he was tonguing. And she didn’t stop him. She didn’t even flinch. I had tried this one time about 13 years ago, and was properly scolded for it. He pulled her g-string aside and decided to taste a part of her that I, as of this moment, could not. Naturally, I move to the chair next to the bedside table (there were an unusual amount of cuck-furniture in this room). Yup, confirmed. He is licking her ass, and she is sucking his cock, moaning. Then, with the palm of his left hand, he pulled her left cheek aside, and with his right thumb, he slowly entered her ass. Again, not something I have ever been allowed to do. Not a flinch from her. Not pushback. Just a ruthless focus on the cock in her throat, and how good she hoped to make it feel.
After a few more minutes – she probably sucked on him for a good 15-20 minutes – I moved back to the sofa, but felt a bit uneasy. I was hyper-aware that she might be hyper-aware of my presence, which can take her out of her head in these moments. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be the reason she didn’t have as much fun as possible. I was also feeling a bit of something else. Regret? Anxiety? I’m not sure, but I found myself with the compelling instinct to get out of that room. At this point she had turned back around and was kissing him and straddling him, touching him, grinding on his cock with her g-string still in place. Kissing with their eyes closed, they did not see me walk by the foot of the bed.
“Shit” I think to myself. He didn’t leave the hotel key on the dresser. I’m not going to be digging through is pant pockets just so I can get back up the elevator. I was trying to be less disruptive, not a lot more disruptive. So there I was, standing next to the door of the hotel room, right outside the bathroom door, listening to the whispers, the giggles, the sexy sounds coming from the bed. From my vantage point, I could only see his legs from the thigh down, and the back of her ass when she would grind back onto him.
Then, standing in the bathroom door threshold, I notice the mirror next to the dresser. From where I was standing, I had the perfect reflected view of her from behind. I could see her, with her g-string still on, grinding on his waste, his cock laying flat on his stomach between them.
At this moment, I start to hear whispers. And then I see it. His hands wrap around her ass and grab her g-string and pull it to the side. Then I see her own hand appear from between her legs, grabbing his cock and aiming it right at her pussy. Don’t get me wrong, they have had unprotected sex before – it wasn’t like she was actually stepping outside our contracted boundaries. But, in that moment, all I could think about was how they likely could see I was no longer in the room with them, and decided that was the moment to take the next step. It wasn’t, but it felt enough “behind my back” that the pleasant sting of that humiliation caused my chest to burn and buzz inside.
Remember, she had been sucking on him for about 20 minutes before this, assuming sex wasn’t going to happen, and rather he was going to get some amazing head. So, to nobody’s surprise, after a few minutes of gentle rocking, I hear him utter, “You’re gonna make me cum. Do you want to make me cum?” Didn’t have to tell her twice. She entered another gear and started bouncing on his cock in a way that I had not seen her do before. With me, there isn’t enough cock-length for her to move up and down as much as she was moving. Smack, smack, smack was the sound of her pussy and ass clapping his balls and groin.
And, then, he verbally, and vocally, came. She didn’t stop. She kept bouncing until it was very clear he had finished cumming entirely, and then some. And then she just rested her pussy on the base of his cock, still pulsing inside her.
I had the most incredible front row view, through that mirror, I could have ever imagined.
And then, regaining their senses, lying in bed, he starts to look around. I’ll leave you with his next sentence, which stung so good, and still rings in my ears. To her – not to me, he says quietly, “I wonder where our little friend went…” The “little” wasn’t for my benefit. He wasn’t trying to humiliate me to lean into my kink. It’s just what he called me. He had just claimed my wife’s pussy, flooded it with his cum. And I, her husband, was their little friend.
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