I (M32) am feeling hornier than I have in a long time. The deeper I head into my cuckokding journey with C (F38), the more extreme my fantasies become.
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I'm at a point where I want her to genuinely hurt me. I want to feel the emotional pain like a knife being slowly twisted in between my ribs.
Recently, she took charge of a scene in which she took the humiliation roleplay farther than she normally does. Her eyes widened and gave her a crazed horny look. I found it so incredibly overwhelming that holding back my orgasm proved miserable. She berated me, choked me, while comparing my stamina to her current bull.
I enjoy that tension between wanting to satisfy her pussy for longer but being egged on to cum prematurely. It's a win-win for me, really. Either I last longer, and enjoy the resulting pleasure, or I fail, and reinforce her effort to emasculate me.
Her desire to put an apron on me triggered reflection in me. A year ago, I had no interest in sissification, but seeing her perform in our cuckolding scenes has changed that. Her years as a teacher have, no doubt, honed her ability to add commanding inflections to her voice. I feel completely at her mercy when she stares into my eyes and deepens her voice. The threats feel real to me. I want them to be real. The thought of being her perpetual household slave gives my mind comfort, like I'm safe in her service. There's no need to exert my own agency or expend brainpower. I can simply let go and let the proverbial wind take me where it may.
Or at least, that's what I tell myself. I know that in reality, I can be very rebellious, and bratty even. Maybe that behaviour would be a good excuse for her to push me harder. She's a fiendishly excellent dominatrix, so good that I often dream about her dominating me. The pleasure I derive from her subjugation of me has my mind racing towards more cruel scenarios: the ones where she chokes me, stares me in the eyes with a crazed and unsympathetic look, spits in my face, cackles at my wimpy facial expression, and asks me in her stern tone why I'm such a fucking useless little cuck bitch while a bigger cock pounds her from behind.
To borrow from a certain queer fashion designer and New Romantics artist, I enjoy the tension in contradictions. I consider her a loving and virtuous human being. Few would ever think she could hurt a fly. That's why it gives me so much joy to imagine unlocking her darker side. It doesn't feel unrealistic either. The fact that she cheated on her previous long-term boyfriend (of 13 years) for no less than two years gives her an edginess and a rawness that makes her more real and genuine to me. I forgive her for what she did to him so she doesn't have to forgive herself. I cherish her so much that I want to shield her from any guilt. She doesn't deserve pain. That's why I wish to free her from consequence. In the life we build together, there will be no consequences, because I want her to live her life to the fullest.
I like her deviant nature because I suppose I've always been attracted to complexity. I wouldn't mind seeing her give into the darkness, to question my manhood and my utility as a sexual partner.
Her verbal insults are sparing but trigger a feral fight-or-flight reaction in me that pleases me. I hear her call me a "bitch" or a "pathetic loser" and suddenly I feel myself relieved of the burden to succeed. I think my professional life factors into this to some extent. The pressure to outperform my peers and competitors weighs heavily on me at all times. I know I'm good at what I do, but I want a reprieve from that persistent responsibility.
For a long time, I felt the same way about sex too. I feared being compared to other men in an unfavourable light. Years of experience – I guess you could call it my fuckboy phase – have taught me differently, that I am more than capable as a lover. I'm grateful for how wonderfully intimate our lovemaking is. But at the same time, I miss the fear. The more stressed I am by external factors, the more compelled I feel to let go and surrender completely – let the dice fall as they will. In a way, it's deliciously liberating.
I've already started feeling this shift manifest in some physical ways. My stamina has noticeably weakened compared to when we first met. The days of being able to relentlessly pound her in doggystyle seem fewer and farther in between than they used to. It feels like her enchantment taking hold of me, corrupting my brain. I'm reminded of barely being able to fuck her from behind when we recently played with her Italian boy toy.
For the first time in years, I was genuinely failing a partner sexually, except I loved the failure. I wanted her to violently call me out on that failure, to use every pejorative and derogatory term that might exist for a cuckold. I secretly looked forward to seeing her destroy my endurance, cementing my status as her cuck. I like the thought of every moment inside her being a struggle to return from the brink of orgasm.
The tension between wanting and failing to satisfy someone fascinates me. I love the frustration because it gives me the excuse of witnessing a spectacle that involves my favourite actress. She's the greatest source of porn, bar none, that a human being on this Earth could ask for.
I can't help but think back to my first week matching with her on Feeld. I remember being so excited at the catch I had made. She would hate me for using the term, but she looked like the MILF of my dreams. It wasn't that she looked old. She looked experienced, like a queen, but she also looked vulnerable, like she had been through pain. I couldn't explain it but I knew I needed to help her — my need to 'save people' kicked into high gear.
Her story about her IVFs confirmed as much. The feat sounded impressive, taxing, replete with a tinge of desperation. This was a beautiful, driven woman who badly wanted to start a family. She did not deserve to be alone. For a brief minute, my mind turned dark and predatory. The toxic male instinct in me told me to pounce on that vulnerability. The voice in my head told me I should take her home to my bed immediately and pump her full of as much cum as I could muster. Time was of the essence. I had to breed her. I had to breed her. She was far too fucking majestic and exquisite a creature to leave alone in this world. When I think about natural selection, she's exhibit A for the genes that must be passed onto the human race.
I obviously dispensed with that thought, after realising I had lost myself staring into her beautiful eyes. Anyway, I did not, at the time, want to take responsibility for raising a child. I had never had interest in kids, ever. Yet, the more I heard her talk, the more sure I felt like she was the one. She was fucking weird in all the ways that tingled my mind. Sarcasm did not land with her much; she had a cold, rigid demeanour and took things seriously. Her face was mysterious to read. She was a huge nerd. She was an exhibitionist who dressed conservatively. She fawned over Greece (for some reason). She had troves of history in the kink scene. She was a lefty feminist (for whatever reason, this trait was the one that turned me on the most….I really don't know why). She overshared massively just like me. All of those things turned me on so much. She compelled me to be her everything: her husband, companion, and lover.
It's difficult to explain why, in light of the above, I would want to share her with another man. I think my brain rationalises that I'm outmatched for such a perfect specimen. Shackling her would run counterintuitive to my love for her. She must have access to whatever earthly pleasures she desires, and I must not stand in the way of that. It would make me a bad husband when I need to be her cheerleader.
I don't want the men she meets to make love to her, though. I want them to savagely fuck her like an animal. Or maybe I do want them to make love to her. What could be a more ultimate insult than to see my emotional monogamy with the love of my life challenged? That would really send me into a confused frenzy.
The thought has crossed my mind. Ten years from now, making our dynamic a one-way open relationship, at my expense. I love the thought of how unfair that sounds, like it would constantly keep me on my toes, force me to be the best husband and father. In a way, it's the same competition I feel at work, trying to constantly outdo my peers, to impress everyone. The hustle keeps me going, distracts me from my demons. It's the main reason why I'm not ever planning to become a bad lover. I have a duty to her there, and to myself. But I'd like her permission every now and then to surrender as her forever-loyal and obedient slave. I want her permission to fail sometimes, and to let other men possess her body and mind. I wish for her to become an uninhibited free spirit who can commit herself to whoever and however many she deems fit.
For obvious reasons, a lot of the above is just fantasy. Do I actually want her to replace me with someone else? Probably not, though I'd be lying if I said I don't fantasise about it at least once a week. I love the thought of a slow, gradual decline in my virility, watching her become increasingly immune to my touch, unbothered by my sexual presence as she spends more time with someone new and exciting.
New Relationship Energy, they call it. I fantasise about installing secret cameras in her bedroom so I can study her like the obsessed fanatic I am, to know what she's doing in every single moment she thinks she's alone. She'd probably just be playing her dynasty game. But that's ok, because I'd know she's ok and happy. Or maybe I would witness those moments of erotic ecstasy with her boyfriend, unimpeded by my presence. I can see her moments of genuine expression towards her lover.
Maybe she finds out I watched her in secret. Maybe she punishes me by going on holiday with him to somewhere remote and private for a weekend, leaving me to take good care of the baby while he repeatedly shoots his cum inside my beloved. I kinda love the sound of having a good excuse to bond with the baby alone, taking the burden off my wife as a responsible partner. It would test me in new ways while she's enjoying herself.
At their most extreme, my fantasies have her neglecting the pill. Maybe she loves both her husband and boyfriend and just can't make up her mind about whose seed she takes. So she leaves it to chance, though she always gives him the advantage. He gets more sessions with her, more shots inside her pussy. She specifically chooses to let him enter her pussy on the days when she's ovulating, and on certain days, even handicaps me by only allowing my cock inside her ass or her mouth.
Fantasy aside, it's not even a far-fetched concept. When she first told me about her IVF, I was prepared to raise another guy's offspring with her. I would have never admitted that to her until the very end. That was never my ideal outcome. I wanted my baby inside her, but I would have done it. For her. It was never a dealbreaker. My priority, however desperate it sounds, was to stay with her at all costs. People like her don't just get restocked like a popular milkshake brand at the grocery store. She is that one in a million, and I was old enough to know that it was either marry her, or probably spend the rest of my life alone. There would never be anyone like her again. There might have been other women I loved, for sure. But they wouldn't be her. So the thought of raising a kid from someone else doesn't even seem that radical to me.
Ok, I think that's enough for now.
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