Being Cuckolded #66 The best it can be
Cucking has always been a war of frustration with me, crushing humiliation which brings arousal.Then the desire to do what my wife's bulls do so well, knowing that I never will. It's hard to explain why it works, it shouldn't, every so often somebody will try to "fix" me, cure me of my situation or attempt to advise me on what medical procedure I need. I get it, to some people it's just broken, to others though....
I watch my wife's body, every detail, every jiggle, wiggle, ripple, bounce and grind. The sounds are music, the facial expressions are stories, absent minded gestures are signs. Dirty talk is just for fun, the real beauty is in the details. The details that communicate what isn't said, the truest expressions of lust, happiness and desire. What I call the "a****l" inside. Something primeval, instinctive, the part of us we let go of during real need, real satisfaction.
It's something rarely seen in professional porn, behavior constructed for the viewer is cold. It lacks emotion, it paints by numbers, ticks the boxes. If you are truly intimate, you don't need direction, concern over where the camera is, what sound you should make or even If you're getting enough face time. I see those visual triggers in pro work now, it leaves me empty, the act is taking place but that's all it is.
I sat there in the darkness, listening to the dull bass of the clubs music. Watching a particularly talented young girl dancing, the sparkle of her tight dress glittering in the flashing coloured lights. My phone vibrated in my leg pocket, for the briefest of moments my crotch tingled. The hard surgical steel catheter holding me in place within the cage as I twitch.
I looked down at the message, my wife sent me a photo. Just an empty bed with the duvet rolled down, she was teasing me. The denial produces a strange ache in my stomach. Somewhere above the dance floor, my wife was with Magnus. I took a sip of my drink, quietly sitting and waiting while she was taken care of.
My eyes refocused onto the dance floor, searching for the sexy young dancer again. My head swimming with mental pictures of what was happening upstairs. There she is.... arms raised high, hips swinging, damn she looks good. The song changes and the sexy dancer disappears, eye candy gone I pull my phone back out and check again.... maybe I missed a message.
No....my wife is busy now. Opening the photo again I try to picture the angle it was taken from, I've been fortunate to watch Magnus and my wife there once. Far corner of the bed, near to the window and bathroom. I wonder what he's doing to her now, well... I know what but I mean how. The hardwood floor is cold, my wife's heels sound very sexy clacking along it when she walks. Not the most comfortable place to sit or kneel while you're down there, I speak from experience.
Time passes, dancing girl doesn't come back sadly. My leg vibrates again, another photo, no words, same bed, duvet crumpled, sheets creased and damp. On the floor next to the bed is my wife's underwear, discarded, she's a good tease, it makes me smile. I know they aren't finished, I know I'm not allowed to watch. These are the crumbs, little things my wife does to keep me a part of something but not a participant. My wife gets it, triggering the nerves, fanning the flames, making the spider web vibrate. When you're not part of the event, you're still part of the experience.
The more frustrated you are, the more the details matter. The stronger the need, the more impactful they become. It makes the opportunity to watch even sweeter, it makes every word mean more. There is an art to being a cuckoldress, a balance to find. It's taken years to perfect and no doubt there is still more to understand, but the cruelty is a part of the excitement and my wife is very exciting!
I watch my wife's body, every detail, every jiggle, wiggle, ripple, bounce and grind. The sounds are music, the facial expressions are stories, absent minded gestures are signs. Dirty talk is just for fun, the real beauty is in the details. The details that communicate what isn't said, the truest expressions of lust, happiness and desire. What I call the "a****l" inside. Something primeval, instinctive, the part of us we let go of during real need, real satisfaction.
It's something rarely seen in professional porn, behavior constructed for the viewer is cold. It lacks emotion, it paints by numbers, ticks the boxes. If you are truly intimate, you don't need direction, concern over where the camera is, what sound you should make or even If you're getting enough face time. I see those visual triggers in pro work now, it leaves me empty, the act is taking place but that's all it is.
I sat there in the darkness, listening to the dull bass of the clubs music. Watching a particularly talented young girl dancing, the sparkle of her tight dress glittering in the flashing coloured lights. My phone vibrated in my leg pocket, for the briefest of moments my crotch tingled. The hard surgical steel catheter holding me in place within the cage as I twitch.
I looked down at the message, my wife sent me a photo. Just an empty bed with the duvet rolled down, she was teasing me. The denial produces a strange ache in my stomach. Somewhere above the dance floor, my wife was with Magnus. I took a sip of my drink, quietly sitting and waiting while she was taken care of.
My eyes refocused onto the dance floor, searching for the sexy young dancer again. My head swimming with mental pictures of what was happening upstairs. There she is.... arms raised high, hips swinging, damn she looks good. The song changes and the sexy dancer disappears, eye candy gone I pull my phone back out and check again.... maybe I missed a message.
No....my wife is busy now. Opening the photo again I try to picture the angle it was taken from, I've been fortunate to watch Magnus and my wife there once. Far corner of the bed, near to the window and bathroom. I wonder what he's doing to her now, well... I know what but I mean how. The hardwood floor is cold, my wife's heels sound very sexy clacking along it when she walks. Not the most comfortable place to sit or kneel while you're down there, I speak from experience.
Time passes, dancing girl doesn't come back sadly. My leg vibrates again, another photo, no words, same bed, duvet crumpled, sheets creased and damp. On the floor next to the bed is my wife's underwear, discarded, she's a good tease, it makes me smile. I know they aren't finished, I know I'm not allowed to watch. These are the crumbs, little things my wife does to keep me a part of something but not a participant. My wife gets it, triggering the nerves, fanning the flames, making the spider web vibrate. When you're not part of the event, you're still part of the experience.
The more frustrated you are, the more the details matter. The stronger the need, the more impactful they become. It makes the opportunity to watch even sweeter, it makes every word mean more. There is an art to being a cuckoldress, a balance to find. It's taken years to perfect and no doubt there is still more to understand, but the cruelty is a part of the excitement and my wife is very exciting!
7 years ago
The pretending isn't that she enjoys having sex, that's real, the pretending is the cruelty. Psychologically there is always the doubt that maybe she enjoys the cruelty but then thinking about it, I would want her to enjoy some aspect of it. The power, the naughtiness, wrongness of it etc. Maybe there really is some resentment within the play, I'm not afraid of that if it helps to fuel her enjoyment.