A Quiet, Simple Phrase



Last Saturday had been a long day for Elise. She was stressed and irritated, the culmination of a two and a half week period where she’d basically given herself over to caring for others and it had finally worn her down. Her shoulders and neck were pained, with tension so tight it left her having to turn her entire body to look in a direction other than she was facing, as if she’ been in a car wreck–figuratively she had been–and should be in a neck brace.

Shortly after we arrived in our hotel room, I offered to rub her neck. She undressed down to her panties, and grimaced as she lay down at the end of our oversized bed at the Marriott. My poor sweetie. There was no hint of eroticism in the air as I dug in with my fingertips, pressed deeply, and tried unsuccessfully to massage the tension out.

Afterwards, as she stood and sighed in pain, still weary, Burt Bacharach played softly in the background. I hugged her closely, wrapped her up in my arms and swayed just a little to the music. We were almost dancing, silent, holding on. She hugged me back tightly.

I felt a need to be silent; no attempt at reassurance or comforting words. I thought if comfort came, it would come physically, by holding and moving gently. We swayed together for a few songs, then kissed, loosened our grip to caress and then kissed more, moving from ease and steadiness into a spark of arousal, the beginning play of erotic touch.

Soon the heat burst through and there was nothing else, only her lips, her eyes which though tired, now sparkled, and her neck which I began to kiss and lick, tickling her at times, so she pushed me away.

“Get in the shower now,” she said, breathless. Her arms kept me at a distance. I was sweaty from a long walk earlier in the day and needed a shower, but it didn’t matter.

I kissed her harder, tickled her neck with my tongue, bit softly, grasped her hair, took off her panties, pushed her against the wall and fingered her, one then two, raised her up on her toes, so she moaned. I had her pinned. I kissed her again, my fingers moving in and out of her wetness.

I turned her around and told her to bend over the bed, then stepped into the bathroom and undressed quickly, returning hard.

She was offering me her naked bottom. I entered her, quickly, awkwardly at first then finally thrust deeply, holding her hips, hearing the delicious smack of my torso against her butt as I went deep.

Elise loves to be taken, loves to be taken from behind. I knew that. But it’s also a more distant way to fuck. It separates us and I didn’t want that. I rolled her over, kissed her and eventually came hard and deep inside her.

We were quiet for a long time. We kissed.

She said, “I love you.”

I smiled and said the same words back. I turned off the lights. We were still, quiet. I listened to her breathe. My mind went back over the scene. I could see her bottom thrust back, bare, her small private hole exposed.

I grinned more awake now, and asked, “You like it from behind don’t you?” I knew her answer.

There was a long pause.

“I do like it,” she said, then added without hesitation, “I can imagine you’re someone else.

Her words flipped on my cuckold-submissive switch. I smirked and got hard again and pressed against her as we lay together nearing sleep. I wanted her again but as stirred up as her brief words left me feeling, I was depleted and tired, and I knew she was, too.

I fell asleep with a grin.

I awoke in the morning desirous, wondering who it was she’d imagined as I was inside her, but I never asked. I was hard and Elise stroked me until I came, teasing me just a little.

Part of being a cuckold is not knowing. That is the romantic in me, a little torn by the possibility of not being chosen, feeling eluded, knowing I never really see her completely, knowing there’s a space between us I am always trying to rewin, a garden only she can water, can let me enter.

Elise doesn’t need another guy’s cock to let me know I’m her cuckold boy. One quiet, simple phrase whispered in my ear can remind me in an instant.

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Our Sexploration

wrong way


Sometimes the only way to discover the right path is to discover the wrong path. In the last few days, Nick and I found we’d gone “the wrong way” on our sexploration path to intimacy.

Our latest walk on the cuckold journey began a few weeks ago, when I was contacted by a prospective bull I’d met last year, shortly before Nick and I had decided cuckolding wasn’t quite right for us. Several months later, as my internal scale tipped more toward the side of desire/pleasure vs. worry/guilt/shame (usually so unbearably heavy!) I received the email from Mr. X–a perfect opening to give it a try again.

Needless to say, Nick heated up over the thought of me with another man, for his internal scale, we’ve decided, is weighted the exact opposite of mine:

nick scale (1)

Nick’s desire is full tilt–usually. But there have been times, as we approach the “event,” that his scale tips toward worry surrounding my interaction with another man, whether it is my safety or his concerns that the Bull and I will develop a relationship beyond sex, a relationship that will exclude him.

Elise scale (1)

My guilt/shame/worry is full tilt–usually. That is, until the “act” approaches and certainly during the “act” when my scale shifts to desire in heavy mode. Shortly after the “event,” my scale goes back to its “normal,” which is heavily weighted toward guilt/shame/worry.

Anyway, back to what happened in the last few days.

I went on a date with Mr. X, to get reacquainted after so many months, and, of course, to discuss the possibility of cuckolding Nick, who waited at home, hot and anxious to hear all about it.

When I arrived home, I sprinkled whisperings of what Mr. X and I had talked about into a night of very hot, pounding sex.

“He wants to be dominant,” I said, as Nick pinched my nipple. “And he likes short skirts and stockings. I think I’ll wear fishnets,” I whispered as Nick entered me. When Nick turned me over and took me from behind, I turned to look at him and said, “This is both Mr. X’s and my favorite position.”

Nick was hot, hot, hot. And when he gets that hot, it lasts for days. It’s what begins to tip the balance of my inner scale to desire/pleasure.

All the while, his scale is tipping the other way, as talk of the “event” gets closer, as communications with Mr. X heated up, as Mr. X asked for photos of me, until finally, Nick expressed that he wasn’t so sure he was comfortable with what appeared to be a relationship blossoming between Mr. X and me–even though I shared everything with Nick.

Nick admitted he’d hesitated to let me know his concerns, lest it interfere with the success of the cuckold.

I told him I thought there were times he needed to put his passion aside, and listen to his inner voice.

Somehow, I can’t say exactly how or why, we ended up arguing. Nick’s temper flared about his perception that a relationship was blossoming, and my temper flared because I felt I’d done nothing wrong.

Finally, I asked, “Why are we doing this? We rarely argue about anything, and now look at what we’re arguing about. We’re arguing because you’re not so sure you want me doing something that I’m pretty darned sure I don’t want to be doing except that it turns you on.”

The next day, I wrote an email to Mr. X, apologizing for drawing him into the situation. I told him of some of the complications that had arisen, and told him that for me, when complications arise, it takes all the fun out of it. I copied Nick on the email.

And so, on this sexploration, we took a bit of a wrong turn, and turned around to come back. But it doesn’t mean Nick and I won’t continue to sexplore.

For now, we’ve decided that perhaps our best method of cuckolding is to go to a swing club, where we have the experience of the “act” itself, but it’s wham-bam-thank-you-m’am, with none of the lead-up that can add complications.

After some hot, swinging sex, Nick and I will leave together, go home, light a few candles and revel in the hot, sultry light of the event for days to come.


When I was a little boy, my grandfather used to look at my over-filled dinner plate and tell me, “Nicky, your eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

Now, as an adult, when it comes to cuckold play, my fantasies it turns out, are bigger than my readiness to live in their reality. This past weekend fantasy and reality collided. I’m sure it was confusing for Elise and the guy she was getting to know.

While I have reveled  in fantasies about being Elise’s cuckold boy, about her being out on a date, fucking a bull, coming home with her pussy filled with cum which I submissively, hungrily, lap up, like some cuckold in a story commonly found on cuckold blogs and forums, I am learning that there are limitations to what I want in reality.

Last week Elise went out on her first date in almost a year. I was incredibly excited.  We’d decided to stop cuckolding back in August, though Elise didn’t close the door all the way. We still talked about it. She teased me, put me in chastity, dommed me and hinted she might enjoy going back to a swing club. Now she’d reconnected with a bull and was headed out to meet him.

She looked beautiful when I walked into the house. She’d waited for me to get home from work. I kissed her goodbye on the lips a little too passionately, so she scrunched up her face, and said, “Now I have to redo my lipstick.”

Though I was heated way up as Elise left on her date and stayed heated up as she sent me naughty texts and even a picture of her kissing Mr. X on the cheek, I had a vague concern I hadn’t shared with her because I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.

Her date was with the bull she’d met last year who was married and looking for a lover. Last year he wanted to spend time meeting Elise at hotels alone, with just him, before I would be a part of the scene. I was sure that wouldn’t work for me and Elise seemed to agree. So after their first meeting, she wrote him an email saying we would both need to participate even if I was in a room next door, while they played.  He never wrote us back. Apparently that wouldn’t work for him.

She was out for several hours. I stayed home writing, pacing, listening to music and checking my phone for a text every minute. She teased me with texts every 20 minutes or so, keeping me on edge. There was always the possibility they might head to a hotel–we had talked about that being a possibility. Finally she texted she was on the way home.

She arrived hot. We kissed for a long time in the doorway and then again in the kitchen. It was like the first time again. She undressed quickly, shushed the cats out of the bedroom and got into bed, flushed and with that wide, thin smile she gets when she is feeling really naughty.

She shared little details. Teased me, wouldn’t let me inside her. Said she was keeping me in chastity. I’d cum enough the day before. But I begged.

“Tough shit,” she huffed, her eyes steady. She talked about their conversation. He liked anal and oral and a specific kind of lingerie. He was Dom, liked a woman in a dress, not dressed like she was, liked to take a woman doggie style, just the way she liked it, too. I was rock hard for her, all hers.

“Are you going to cuckold me, Mistress?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, with a strength that made me shudder and slip deep into my submissive space. She’d never been so clear and direct with me. She was hot. I was fucking her but it seemed clear there was someone else in the room.

She eventually let me cum. We settled down a bit to talk. It was then the first sting hit me, when he texted her saying she had a nice kiss.  I’d thought she was keeping her phone private.

“I can’t respond,” she told me. “He’s married and he doesn’t want his wife to know.” So his marriage was no longer open.

Mr. X and Elise had planned that he and I would meet to discuss future meetings, perhaps just Elise and him, perhaps then the three of us, Elise said that would be up to Mr. X and me to work out.

This seemed reasonable but by morning I was not comfortable. It was clear Mr. X was going to be in the background of our relationship for some time.

Elise assured me that no, he didn’t want romance this time. Yes he was open to me participating and wanted to meet me. Maybe,  she said, we could all be friends and eventually go to the swinger party together. I thought the plan sounded reasonable. I wasn’t comfortable but didn’t come right out and tell Elise that. I was still under the spell of my cuckold fantasy, needing it. These old boundaries I had, maybe I could let go of them.

Elise seemed to have gone quiet though. She didn’t want to blog about it.  I asked her to write what had changed about her interest in cuckolding and she said, “Nothing except that my fear and guilt have waned. My desire to turn you on has grown.”

“What do you want to have happen with Mr. X?” I asked.

“Maybe we play a few times and then become friends. ” She added that she really thought going to a swing club would be much less complicated, though she still seemed to want to see this through with Mr X.

I was uneasy. We had not ventured into the realm of having an ongoing relationship with a bull. Still I thought maybe I could meet him and we could work out a way of getting together that worked for both of us.

As I prepared and thought about what was most important to me, I realized that my main desire and concern was that nothing be hidden, no hidden emails, no undisclosed texts, everything out in the open.  What I really wanted was no ongoing exclusive relationship between Mr. X and Elise. I didn’t want another guy in the background of our relationship.

No love triangles, no polyamorous relationships, just a cuckolding threesome. If Elise wanted me out of the room for a while while she and a bull got warmed up that would fine, I’d done that. But at the end of the night, I wanted it to be just us. No more bull with us the following day.

I sent Mr. X a response to his email about our meeting and let him know that Elise had tried on some fishnet stockings she thought he might like. I copied Elise, of course. Mr. X however didn’t respond to me, instead sent a request to Elise, asking for pictures of her in lingerie.

Elise sent me a copy right away and asked if I thought she should reply. I wrote back that I thought it was okay and that I could understand why he hadn’t copied me. I could understand but I didn’t like it. A big, big understatement. It raised again, all my red flags that had been raised last year.

That night when I got into bed with Elise, she showed me the pictures she emailed him. I told her that I was struggling with some real ambivalence about going forward. I felt uncomfortable, like he had another agenda, though I couldn’t be sure.

Elise grew irritated. She’d been doing the best she could to bring something off she really didn’t want and here I was suggesting she wasn’t doing it right. We fought loudly. In the end we agreed it wasn’t going to work this way. We needed to stop the engagement.

We made love. Elise and I have incredible chemistry. After we did I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t let go. I got up and wrote an email to both her and Mr. X, stating that we needed to get it over with and do it soon. No meeting. No hidden communication. We’d just go to a hotel, do it this week and then say goodbye.

Elise read the email the next morning and was pissed. “I thought we agreed it was over?”

I realized that we had agreed to that, but for some reason I felt a need to write what I did.

Elise wrote an email that morning to Mr. X, apologizing for pulling him into the situation. I felt a little dumb, but relieved and also relieved that I’d communicated what kind of boundaries I wanted.

I learned two things from the experience:

  1. That the intensity of my fantasy can cause me to disregard boundaries and limits that are important for my well being. Some time down the road I may feel more secure with Elise having an ongoing relationship with a bull but not now.
  2. The joy of cuckolding is being in an erotic space with Elise where I’m her submissive and she’s enjoying her sexuality with another man. That space for me needs to be limited and clearly defined, likely a one time event,  such as a one time encounter at a swing club or possibly a night with a bull we’ve recently met together.

I’m sure Elise and I will have hot adventures down the road and most likely, we’ll make some wrong turns. But as always, we’ll learn from our mistakes.

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She Broke into a Laugh

We got to her bedroom and began to make love. The room was dark. I quickly wanted inside. I was hungry for her, greedy. Nothing languid and slow in my thrusts. 
She began whispering to me and told me a story about a bell boy at the hotel she’d visited that morning.
I leaned into her. “What about Ed?” Her ex, she’d fucked on her trip home.
“You want to hear the whole story?” she whispered quietly to me as I thrust into her. 
“God, yes,” I huffed. I swelled.  
She began going through the details. She sat on his face, something she’d only done once with me. “I liked the feeling.” She’d sucked him. He’d fingered her while she orgasmed. I burned and thrust and weighed into her deeper and deeper as I listened.  
She was hypnotizing me. I wanted to wrap her into me, merge and man I tried. I thickened and soared. 
He got behind her to fuck her. She’d played with herself while he did. She heard, felt him building, going in harder, and then he came in her. 
I was breathless, the wave rising hard and fast in me. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so solid with desire, so completely wanting. I pinned her, thrust and drove in, my cock, I swear, nudging the back of her womb as my groan turned to a cry. 
I poured myself out and into her and came. I finished breathless, gasping, burying my head in her neck. I could hear her half giggle and hug me against her nakedness tightly, clinging. Could smell her breath. 
I pulled back to look at her. She was grinning, Cheshire Cat-like. I shook my head.  She looked young, awoken, more feminine. She had taken all I had to offer.  
“Baby,” I huffed worn out,  “you liked that didn’t you?”
She interrupted, broke into a laugh, brightening as though she lit a new light in her soul, surprised at herself, her words rang out, “I did! I did!” 
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A Poem by Nick: Late Morning

Late morning, back a week ago
Saturday, laying naked from the waist down
wearing just your thin Sugar Babies t-shirt
that outlines your nipples
I’m sitting on my knees
ready to enter
but looking, seeing and relishing
the sight and the anticipation
amazed at my luck
your legs partly opened
lips slightly separated
still concealing
as if to tease
I smile
and you are grinning
amused it seems with my investigation
reveling in my boyish obsession
my small spasm response to your pussy

I lean down and kiss your thigh
run a fingertip along your lip
inhale your musk
and with my tongue
find that you’re salty
which pulls at me for obvious reasons
but also because your vagina
is like a drink I cannot get enough of
because you tease and deny
because you pull your panties up
and pull your pajama bottoms
on as if you were a regular woman

And though you disappear behind
the bathroom door and our morning ends
the scent, the taste, the sight
the symmetry
melts into a warm yearning
a romantic hope
that seizes me gently
throughout the day

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Our Night at Swingers

Elise says:

“I want you to go with me Saturday night.” Nick had never sounded so insistent about going to the swing club. On one hand, it made me nervous, and on the other hand, his firm request turned me on.

So, I decided it was time. Funny thing was, in the following days, he wavered and changed his mind back and forth, not so sure he wanted to submit me, or maybe our relationship, to the swinging lifestyle.

I wasn’t really sure we’d be going until late Saturday afternoon. I still wonder if Nick had a secret hope that I might tell him I wasn’t ready. It was a big step for us.

What does one wear to her inaugural swing party debut? At first, I’d planned to wear a black party dress with tassels, kind of a Great Gatsby look, with platform fuck-me shoes. But, afraid of standing out too much, I decided to play it down and wear a black t-shirt dress and flat sandals.

As it turned out, I stood out anyway, because almost everyone else was dressed in hot party clothing with platform fuck-me shoes. I was later told I looked like a prude, proper.

We walked in and I clutched Nick’s hand, completely unsure of what to expect. The people behind the counter were friendly, and looked pretty “normal.” They took our names, copied our licenses and said someone would be there to do an orientation and we’d get a tour. If we still wanted to “party,” we’d go back to the desk, pay $75 and have some fun.

I was relieved after the tour. I’d been worried about cleanliness and how to have safe sex. We were first shown the semi-private boudoir, a dim, red-light room with half a dozen queen-sized beds with sheer curtains separating each.

Our guide was a heavy-set younger woman dressed in a silver sequined top and a short, black mini-skirt that barely covered her dimpled ass. She pulled back a sheer drape and said, “This is where you come if you want a little privacy. People can come in to watch, but you have the curtains to maintain a little separation.” She pointed to a shelf. “There are the clean sheets. We ask that you remove your sheets after you use the bed. And here are condoms.”

Oh, good, I thought. Condoms. Clean sheets. Safe.

I thought there might be a possibility that Nick and I might use one of the beds in the semi-private room that night. Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to “swing” that night, in fact, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to, the thought of making love with Nick while people watched turned me on.

She then took us to rooms with gradually less and less privacy, until we arrived in the last room, a mirrored room, with a long row of beds with no separation for privacy–really one big bed. And there was a bench across from it for people to come watch.

I have to admit, in every room we entered, I felt watched, and though I wanted to look, I kept my eyes cast down, afraid of catching the eye of someone and making him believe I was interested. I wasn’t.

Nick and I walked onto the dance floor. He asked if I wanted a drink, and though I said “Yes, please,” inside I was saying, “Hell yes, I need a drink.” I wanted to slug it down, feel it warm me, relax me, so I’d loosen up some.

Nick was much more comfortable on the dance floor than I was. I sat down and watched him in a line dance for a little while, enjoying the satisfied, even dreamy smile on his face. After awhile, he invited me to join him and I did.

His body felt like home, and as he held me close, I began to relax. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend we were alone. One or two songs later, I was much more relaxed, swaying my hips, pressing against his cock, even grabbing his balls a few times.

I was a bit taken by surprise by the exhibitionist in me. I found myself secretly wishing he’d pull up my skirt and expose my bare bottom.

I loved dancing with Nick, as I always do, but thought we should move on and experience something else. I asked him if he wanted to go watch a porn movie in the sitting area off the kitchen. He said “yes,” and we left the dance floor. I don’t think we were sitting on the leather couch for more than five minutes when a couple plopped down right next to us. He was tall, gray-haired, with a 5 o’clock shadow and in good shape. She was fragile looking, blonde, petite, with haunted brown eyes.

“You don’t mind if we sit here next to you, do you?” he asked.

She sat on his lap, almost like a child might sit on her dad’s lap.

I did feel a little uncomfortable. He’d invaded my personal space. But I told myself to deal with it–there was no personal space in a swingers’ club. And though I’d never been to one before, I was pretty sure this was how a “swing” began.

“We’ve been scoping you two out,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah,” he continued. “We thought you looked kind of prudish and proper.”

Feeling slightly offended (after all, I going for a sexy look) I turned to Nick and said, “Tell them I’m not prudish and proper.”

Nick grinned and shook his head. “No, she can be quite improper at times.”

However, I’m not sure they heard him. We carried on a long discussion about various things: match.com, The Burning Man, his make-shift shower that he trades for smiles, how “swinging” works and their experience with it. All the while, he was giving me signals that he was interested–scooting closer, touching my leg–while his girlfriend continued to sit on his lap. I was trying to absorb the experience, almost study it, even analyze it, as if I was in the middle of my own lab experiment.

After awhile, I left the covey of potential swingers to go to the bathroom. When I came back, Nick was sitting next to Jill, and I didn’t feel right about sitting between them, so I sat on the arm of the couch next to Nick. Nick’s hand was close to hers, and for some strange reason, I felt this urge to take Nick’s hand and place it on hers–maybe as a message that I was interested. But again, it was almost like I was a part of my own experiment–and under a microscope.

Just as I decided to resist, I felt someone touch my shoulders. It was Jordan. He began to massage my shoulders and it felt good. He said I didn’t have knots, I WAS a knot.

He began to run his hands through my hair. I looked at Nick and he had that dreamy smile on his face again. I knew he was getting turned on at the thought of me being with Jordan, even at Jordan’s assertiveness with me.

It was strange, trying to balance feeling turned on with not wanting to seem too turned on, both because I didn’t want to hurt Nick’s feelings, but also because I wasn’t absolutely sure I wanted to take a fast ride down my slippery slope.

But Jordan was assertive — the alpha of the four of us. He whispered in my ear, “So, do you want to do this?” It was time for me to answer. Yes, I did want to do it.

“Yes, but I need to talk to Nick first,” I replied. So, I leaned over to ask what he thought, making it clear that it would involve Jill, too, not just Jordan, as I thought he’d prefer.

He said it was up to me, but his body language — a wild excitement in his eyes, his smile, his broad chest — he was ready, too.

“Okay,” I said to Jordan. The voice inside that said, “What are you getting yourself into?” was only a tiny one.

In a split second, he took my hand and we headed for the semi-private boudoir. There was something in his sureness, his assertiveness, that eased my concerns and let me float along the pleasure current.

When we entered the red-light boudoir, Jordan picked me up and threw me onto one of the beds–completely unexpected, but again, I hardly had time to be nervous. Still, my concerns about safe sex thankfully barged through the pleasure party and I said, “We’re going to practice safe sex, right?” I felt just a tad bit awkward, not really know what the “right” way to bring that topic up might be, but things were moving fast and I was determined not to make the mistake I made with Roland — letting him get too far before I made it very clear that there would be no intercourse without a condom.

Fortunately, though Swingers provides condoms, Jordan also carried two condoms with him. He pulled them out of his jeans pocket and said, “Of course.”

Nick hovered protectively over me. I’m sure he was dealing with his own ambivalent feelings — very turned on, but also uncertain. I suppose that’s part of the thrill.

As soon as we’d agreed on the safe sex, Jordan picked me up again and tossed me onto another bed. I’m not sure what was wrong with the first bed. Maybe it was that there was  no room for Nick and Jill in the next bed. You know, it felt very strange then, and feels just as strange now. Nick and Jill. I remember feeling a kind of sadness as Jordan kissed me, touched me, undressed me, as I heard Jill moaning next to me, heard Nick speak softly to her.

At that point, though I was turned on by Jordan’s desire, even Nick’s desire, I felt sad that I’d lost a piece of Nick, if even momentarily. On the other hand, I was surprised that I did not feel terrible pangs of jealousy. It was deeper than that. I wanted Nick to have a good time, too. I have no doubt of his love and desire for me. It was more a feeling of sadness that I lost him for awhile.

But I enjoyed Jordan physically. He was aggressive with me–held me firmly, penetrated me deeply. His kisses were insistent, but not slobbery. He placed me in positions that he desired and held me down as he licked my cunt.

I reached to open the curtains between our two beds, not because I wanted to see Nick and Jill, but because I knew Nick wanted to see Jordan fucking me. When Nick’s and my eyes met, I was focused only on him. I didn’t see Jill, and barely felt Jordan. I missed Nick.

My second favorite part of the evening came when Jordan “allowed” me to crossover to the other bed, to where Nick and I could touch. Nick leaned over to kiss me, and I felt like I’d come home to his kisses. A surge of heat flashed through me as I thought about Nick kissing me as Jordan fucked me.

I worried that Jill might feel left out, and I reached up to touch her breast. I was surprised at how soft it was. So there I was, kissing my darling, Nick, being fucked by Jordan and touching Jill’s breast–all at once. That’s been a fantasy of mine for a long time, and it had come true.

Jill did not touch me, however,  and I wondered what she was thinking. Was she jealous? Did she feel left out? Did she not want to share Nick? Nick later told me she was submissive.

Jordan came, soon after whispering to me that he was going to fill me up. I have to admit, that though I’d enjoyed the act, I was ready for it to be over. I wanted to be with Nick.

Unfortunately, Jordan held me close and wanted to talk. We talked about all kinds of things, from his history with swinging, that he’d been single for three years because it had taken him a long time to find the right woman, to complaining about her kids, to giving me advice on the swinging world. I told him I was glad he and Jill had been Nick’s and my first.

Why was I glad? Because they were a nice couple and Jordan took charge. I didn’t have to worry about what I was supposed to do next, he just did it. Kind of like dancing with a strong lead.

But I was tired of talking. My mind drifted in and out of his conversation as I listened to Nick and Jill. I wondered what they were talking about, and began to feel a little pang of jealousy, because it’s the talking and cuddling afterwards that is intimate and loving. The rest is just playing–no feelings involved. But, I also somehow knew that Nick was just as anxious to get back to me. That was a neat feeling, knowing that.

Finally, about the time I’d begun to question that it was a little strange that we were all laying in the boudoir room talking, Jill and Nick peeked their heads in and Jill said, “He wants you back.”

And then, came my most favorite part of the whole night — when I returned to Nick. The minute I touched his skin, tasted his kiss, felt his arms around me, his desire heating up–that was the moment I’d waited for.

We laid there and kissed for several minutes, told each other we were happy to be back in each other’s arms, and then, he made love to me. Yes, in the middle of that red-light boudoir, with couples moaning all around us, even with people watching, he made love to me.

And that was the best part of the whole night.

Nick says:

We arrived at Swingers around 9:30 at night.  It was difficult to find, we turned around once, then finally found it.

We went through a brief orientation, and then got a tour of the place, paid $75.00 and were in.  I was nervous and unsure but seemed to relax once the orientation began. Elise seemed relaxed but later told me she was very nervous.

Elise wore a tee shirt short dress, a soft fabric, no panties or bra beneath it, flat sandals, her hair looked shorter with a soft curl. We had purchased a bottle of white wine which we gave to the bartender. Number 24. I would go back several times to refill her glass. She would tell me later that the wine helped her relax. I’d only seen her have more than a glass of wine on New Years.

The most natural place to start was the bar/dance area. So we danced together for awhile. Elise sat, later telling me she was self-conscious about dancing even though she moves well with me.  I danced alone, trying to mimic the line dance that was going on. Eventually, she got up and I held her close, we swayed to the music, I felt her bottom, its softness detectable through the fabric of her dress. I was elated, proud to be with her and full of anticipation even if we didn’t do anything. We were there and we’d share an experience together.

We’d talked about what we might do and agreed that maybe it’d be better if we didn’t do anything, but watch or observe and maybe make love to each other on one of those queen- sized, veiled beds in the back, in front of others, or no one. We had put ourselves there, a place we’d identified as a possible destination in one of our first long phone conversations. So just hanging out alone together would have been just fine, being there was enough.

While dancing, we kissed several times. Elise had her naughty, tight-lipped, about-to-laugh, can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this grin on. It added to my giddiness. She kissed me back.  She squeezed my balls. My Mistress. My playful Mistress who never leaves me feeling diminished but teases submission out of me with her firm fingers, playful words, and naughty smile.

I would get another lessen that night.

We held each other on the dance floor, swaying gently, and she asked if I wanted to go sit in the pornography room and watch.

We moved to an adjoining room together, sat on a leather sofa, with big screen TV showing porno to our left.

Soon an attractive couple, younger–she, blonde and petite, he, gray-haired and older, but in good shape–plopped down on the sofa. “Hello.” They introduced themselves. Jill sat on Jordan’s lap who sat in the middle of the sofa–in Elise’s personal space, up close. Elise would later tell me he caressed her leg throughout the conversation.

They asked about our experience.  We asked about theirs. They were pleasant. They’d been together for three years and swinging the whole time though this was just their second time to Swingers. They talked about their history, particularly with Burning Man Flipside, a hippie retreat they had gone to for years.  I had difficulty hearing them and had to lean in. I kissed Elise on the head and stroked her hair at times. She seemed engaged and at one point mentioned personal information which surprised me a little though the conversation was so pleasant it just seemed natural to reveal more.  I thought they mentioned that they like to soft swing, which was a relief, though I later learned I had misheard them. They enjoyed full swing, which meant swapping partners.

We talked for a while and I didn’t really think that it was going to go anywhere. At one point Jordan left for a while. Elise left too to go to the bathroom. Jill moved closer and we talked. I wasn’t particularly comfortable, and though Jill was cute, I found myself wondering if Elise had been able to get in the bathroom okay and what she was thinking.

I was slightly self conscious of how Elise might respond to me sitting so close to Jill. I had no desire to. I worried that she might feel jealous or betrayed.  I like to think of our relationship as open, but only one way–Elise plays with others, I don’t.  It was odd to realize that here I was with a pretty attractive woman, maybe even 20 years younger than me and I had almost no sexual interest.

Elise came back and sat next to me on the arm of the sofa, letting Jill and me stay close. Jordan returned and started rubbing Elise’s  back. Her face reddened and she grinned. I heard her talk about her knots. She looked like she was enjoying it, but I was having trouble reading her at that point. It was my first clue that Jordan wanted Elise. I was excited but also unnerved, a little surprised, realizing we might swing after all.  Elise was going to be with Jordan.

I don’t recall them speaking but they stopped, and Elise asked me if I wanted to “do this,” and I asked her if she wanted to. My question was as much about whether she wanted me to go with Jill as it was about her being with Jordan. (Of course I wanted to see her with Jordan) I really wasn’t sure what “do it” meant, I had not heard that Jordan and Jill wanted to hard swap. It was an awkward moment for me with Elise.

It would have turned me on at that moment if Elise would have taken control and whispered in my ear, “Yes I want to fuck him, my boy.” That’d be my fantasy, but I’m guessing she wasn’t certain she did want to fuck him, and we had, after all, more or less agreed to just watch. If I would have been honest, I would have said, “Yes, sweetie, I want to watch you get it on with Jordan, but I don’t want to have sex with Jill.”

Whatever hesitancy we had, Jordan resolved them.  It wasn’t long before he was quickly leading Elise by the hand, Jill and me trailing to keep up, to the back room where there were isolated beds behind a transparent cloth.

He quickly pulled Elise down underneath him onto one of the beds and began to kiss her. It was abrupt and almost out of place. I leaned down quickly, knelt actually, to get close to Elise’s face as she laid on her back. I kissed her and wanted to whisper, “Is this okay? but I’m not sure I did. I stood back up.

There was brief talk, Elise asked about safe sex, “I don’t want to dampen the mood but are we going to practice safe sex?” and they said, almost in unison and reassuringly, “Oh yes.”

I realized we were going to swap. I suggested the two beds near us that shared a wall and were adjoined, separated by a transparent curtain. I could be close to Elise and watch them, this was my best effort in that moment, in the face of Jordan’s aggressiveness (I really am a submissive), to get close to Elise.

Jordan led the way. He was aggressive with Elise, though she later told me she was sure he would have backed off had she asked. He wanted her. I liked that and thought Elise would like it too. She likes to be taken, the submissive in her does. I knew she was on her way down her slippery slope, she was going to fuck him right there in the bed next to me.  My cuckold joy was rising up in me. It had been absent for most of the evening. Now it was with me.

I was hot, but not for Jill and she and I, it was clear would be paired off together. My lack of desire for her would be awkward.

I would have preferred she and I to sit on the edge of our bed and watch Elise and Jordan. Instead the two of us climbed up on the mattress we’d been assigned and hugged awkwardly and then kissed. I pulled away and looked at her face and smiled perfunctorily, then kissed her again. I was not hard. Could I get into this?

My attention was divided. I couldn’t help but watch Elise with Jordan. And when I couldn’t watch I listened to their movements. Every creak of the bed and rustle of the sheets I imagined signaled a growing passion between them. Was he already hard for her? Did she have her hand on his cock? He was kissing her. I had seen that and I could hear their lips smack softly at times.

Jill and I were quieter.

I tried to focus on Jill. She was small, and cute enough, thin, with a pretty smile and face. She kissed stiffly, unresponsively, rigidly poking her tongue up between her lips which she shaped into an O. I lifted her dress, put my hand over her cunt and she felt wet through her panties. Was she turned on?  I massaged her cunt through them, then slipped them aside and stroked her slit and clit up and down slowly gauging her responsiveness.  She twisted stiffly. I was going through the motions, no butterflies rising in me. I didn’t want to be where I was. I wasn’t connecting. I kissed her some more, trying to relax into it. I wasn’t hard. The stress and lack of interest told me I probably wouldn’t be.

Jill took all her clothes off, it seemed, almost in response to seeing Jordan naked now with Elise. Jill laid close to me on her side and we kissed again, me running my hands over her body, returning to her cunt and stroking it, running my fingers through her wet lips. I kept watching across the bed. That’s where my heart was.

It had been several minutes since Jill had taken her clothes off when it dawned on me that I should take off my pants and get naked too. I slipped off the edge of the bed and undressed, got back on the bed, and set a condom on the edge where I could find it.

Elise and I were doing a full swap. Though I could see her, she was gone, taken, caressing, being caressed by another man, kissing him deeply and being kissed. I missed her, felt alienated with Jill, and a bit empty, but my cuckold fire was burning hot. I adored Elise and her passion and desire to play. I could hear her moans, and the mattress crunch beneath the two of them.

It never occurred to me that I should just stop with Jill altogether and say, “Let’s watch them.” It would have felt like I was rejecting her. So I resigned myself to just do my best. It eased some of my tension, but not all.

Jordan was going down on Elise. I heard Elise’s familiar soft cries, saw her laying back, her face up concentrating like she does when she’s working herself up to cumming. (She told me she did cum while he licked her.)

I got between Jill’s legs and licked her, fingering her as I did. She moaned and squirmed, twisted slightly, moaned some more making me wonder if she’d cum.

I crawled back up over her, still not hard. Not hard at all. I knew she’d want me in her. I told her to grab my balls. She did but not very hard.  Nothing. “Like this?” she said softly, squeezing very lightly. “Harder,” I whispered, but she tightened up very little.

I had on the cock ring and had taken some Viagra but it wasn’t doing any good. I wasn’t going to get hard, so I laid over top of her and she asked me to tell her a story.

I paused and tried to conjure something up, but heard Elise cry out. How could I tell a story and listen for Elise’s moan which is what I wanted. Eventually I told a shallow story about dominating her, having her kneel, being forced to suck my cock, forced to lick Elise.

At one time Elise was flipped over onto our bed. I leaned over and kissed her deeply while Jordan was inside her. Her face was flushed, she kissed me breathlessly, a rawness I knew well when Elise is lost in her sexual intoxication. Jordan was in her as I kissed her. I loved that. I got hot. I got erect. It was the hardest I’d be all night with Jill. I kissed Elise again before Jordan pulled her back up.  I saw Elise’s arm come away from Jill and realized Elise had been touching her.

Jordan pulled Elise up and was inside her while she sat on his lap. He was strong with her body, moving her about. I remember looking down and seeing Elise’s ass crack and bottom setting down tightly over Jordan’s groin. They were kissing.  Still hard I rushed to put on a condom and tried to fuck Jill. I got halfway in and thrust in and out but it wasn’t happening. I lost it.

(An aside: There was something very girlish, childish and submissive about Jill that didn’t turn me on at all. She also seemed nervous and abrupt, uncomfortable touching me, which may well have been triggered by my unease. She kept wanting to call me Mr. Packard (or some name) a distinguished man in the neighborhood where she grew up.)

My focus was on Jordan and Elise, I had an image of them together, Jordan had slipped down between her legs. I saw her open her legs to accommodate him, his thigh resting on her thigh, pinning her, pressing his cock into her no doubt, kissing her too.

It was a huge turn on. Memorable. Eventually Jordan would come inside of Elise in a condom. Elise would tell me she caressed his balls which were smooth and shaved. She really liked that. She also told me that he put a finger in her ass, something she doesn’t allow me to do anymore (or at least pushes my fingers away most all the time now) I would tease her the next day that only bulls get to play with that little hole. She’d smirk at me and teased, in a serious tone saying, “That’s right.”

Jill made one last attempt to gather my interest by rolling onto her belly, opening her legs  and sticking her butt up in the air, “Come on, fuck me,” she whispered in a delicate voice. I felt awkward, smacked her butt softly a few times (which she didn’t seem to like) and quickly laid down alongside her and whispered “No,” a little more emphatically this time.

I could sense Jordan and Elise had finished and were snuggling close and talking.  It was a queue I could relax, and for Jill and I to do the same.

As a foursome we had talked for a while out on the sofa, before the sex, so it made sense we would afterwards. Jill snuggled up close along my left side and whispered in my ear. I laid on my back and looked up and tried to take deep breaths. I was faking whatever we were doing. I wanted to be in Elise’s arms.

Jill told me about her past, her divorce, her struggle with health issues, mental health issues, and her family history. Her words and the story spilled out oddly and awkwardly, but mostly uncomfortably, like a massage therapist telling you the history of her estrangement from her parents. I felt some empathy and tried to offer solace, but I didn’t want to talk like that, I just stayed put to be polite.

I wanted Elise back. I wanted to look into her eyes and face and see her smile and kiss her, but I also didn’t want to interrupt her.  I would occasionally hear her laugh, her delicate enthused giggle that splendidly erupts from her when she’s humored. It made me jealous but maybe she was enjoying the conversation and I wanted that too for her. I never want her to feel used by the men we play with and so there was something assuring about their connection.

Finally I said something to Jill about switching back and she leaned over and spoke to Elise and Jordan.

Eventually we all got up and dressed. I watched Jordan hug Elise from behind while she stood in front of him naked. It was a sweet moment. Elise said, “It was nice to meet you,” a bit of irony in her voice and Jordan laughed. Jill came by the end of the bed having gathered her things and gave a little wave and said something like, “I’d like to get more of his words,” referring to the story I tried to share.

They left and Elise rolled into my arms and we kissed. We were stuck on the far side of the bed, almost against the wall. Almost hidden, though it didn’t matter, she was the only woman I wanted to see and I could care less who was seeing us.

“Hi sweetie,” she said.

“Hi, darling.” I was buoyant. This was homecoming. I warmed immediately, felt the spell of alienation slip away, and the comfort and heat I feel in Elise’s kiss, the flush aura that rises over her face when we make love enveloped me. We kissed, and kissed, and with a few strokes of her hand I was erect and slipped into her. I went into her and she into me.

If those around us were fucking we were doing something different, something that hadn’t been diminished at all by what had just occurred but in fact had been heightened. We made love. Maybe one of the benefits of swinging is that you get to feel the contrast, get to experience the difference between sex that occurs with someone outside of real intimacy, that is, at best, the culmination of a fantasy, and sex deepened by an ongoing bond. I had never really been aware of that difference until that night.

I adore Elise. She fits me and I fit her. We fit together. It wasn’t long before I came inside her, holding her tight, grateful she has chosen me.

It was a delicious and memorable night. We both dressed and went to look for Jill and Jordan but we didn’t find them. On the way through the dance floor there was a woman giving a guy a blow job. I pointed them out to Elise. She glanced over and then away like it was no big deal. Her reaction made me laugh.


This was the first time I was able to see Elise with another man and I loved it.

If I had to do it differently I would’ve asked that we start with a soft swing to see if it evolved into a separate, hard swing or given what happened with Jordan being aggressive with Elise, which I liked, I would have told Jill that I really just wanted to watch Elise and Jordan, and that we could touch each other but I would really get off watching Elise.

It was a cuckolding event. Even though I had another woman to play with, I came away with that same delicious energy, though this time I got to see and hear Elise in the process. Elise didn’t seem possessive about me playing with Jill but she told me later that it was something beyond jealousy like she had lost me though not lost me to Jill.

The next day she would role play punishing me, punishing me for not telling Jill what I really wanted, which was to watch Elise and to be with Elise while she was with another guy. It’s really our agreement, our relationship is playfully opened one way, her way. I either watch or wait. It turns me on just writing that, remembering that. We’ll have to figure out how to swing with that in mind.

One post swing note: On Monday I arrived at her house in the middle of a thunderstorm. We found our way into bed and were playing. I got quite aroused but Elise was stopping me, “no we need to go downstairs and eat.” Eventually I crawled over her and was rubbing against her.

She looked lost in thought and I asked, “What are you fantasizing about?”

She chuckled and said, “I was imagining you were Jordan and you were standing on the side of the bed watching.” After a pause, I said something, and then, as if still fantasizing, she said, “He wouldn’t have asked to go inside me, he just would have.” Her voice was matter of fact but I know she knew the effect it would have.

A few minutes later, me reeling in my submissive/cuckold/ boy space, she said, “Let’s go downstairs and eat.”

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Going Silent

Nick and I aren’t too different from each other in what we enjoy sexually. We both love sex, love it even more with each other. We vary some in the degrees of BDSM we’re comfortable with–kind of like hardness settings on a Tempurpedic mattress. Nick likes his hard, I like mine a little softer. But, we’ve managed to compromise well.

Nick loves to be cuckolded. Like he told me last night, it’s like a potent drug for him. Just a little bit goes a long way. And though I don’t completely understand it, I’ve stepped outside of my comfort zone to give it a try. The “walk” along this new path has been a balancing act for me, and I’ve teetered between feeling immensely turned on by sex with another man, and knowing how much it turns Nick on. There’s a lot of satisfaction in feeling that I’ve given him a kind of gift.

So, what’s on the other side of that tightwire? Feeling like a slut. Wondering how, if Nick truly loved me and cherished me, he could not only want to see me with another man, but get turned on by the thought of it.

Still, I’ve wobbled along, basically okay with it, because I felt it brought us so intimately close in our vulnerability. It was something the two of us shared–almost like an adventure to a foreign land, where at least I was slightly fearful, but excited for what I might learn about myself along the way.

It’s why I started this blog–to share what Nick and I have both learned through our sexual intimacy. And, I felt safe here, because it’s anonymous.

You see, one of my greatest fears (and it’s a fear that’s always, always in the back of my mind) is that one day my children will find out about this secret life I’ve been living. Worst of all, that they’ll find out after I’m gone and can no longer defend myself. I hear so many news stories of people’s computers being analyzed, for whatever reason, after their deaths, with the discovery that the person was living a whole different life from what most believed.

Sometimes I chastise myself, not for leading two different lives, but for not being able to be authentic about the life that I live “under the covers.” And, I fear that it irritates Nick, either because he finds nothing to be ashamed of, or because society (of which I’m a part) can’t accept all sexual persuasions.

But, the bottom line is, society can’t accept what’s “out of the norm.”

The thing is, I could keep the fear of discovery at bay, when I thought it was “our little secret.”

Last night, he told me he’d mentioned the fact that I’d cuckolded him to two former sexual partners. True, they were primarily virtual sexual partners, but that didn’t really matter to me. As he knew, I hadn’t even mentioned the cuckolding to my closest friends.

The panic and hurt I felt inside was a paradigm shift. I hope it’s not a shift that will last beyond the discomfort of our conversation last night. But for now, I feel the urge to shut everything down, including this blog. And so, I’ve made it private for now. Only Nick and I can see it.

I truly believe that anything goes sexually, as long as it’s between two consenting adults. That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable telling the world about it, nor do I believe it’s a necessity. I felt some safety and a lot of intimacy, sharing the bounds beyond my comfort zone with Nick. I felt safe and very close to him. It was all okay, as long as it was kept between the two of us.

Last night, my eyes were opened, the veil or rose-colored glasses were removed. However you want to say it, somehow, the fear that I’d kept pushed back rose up like a monster. I was afraid, hurt and therefore angry. But, I didn’t want to be. Though I thought Nick knew my need for privacy, my feelings that I wanted our sex to be OUR sex and shared only between us, he thought it would be okay to share his happiness about our compatibility with friends. I can understand that, and so, I fought my anger toward him.

I’ve asked myself if it’s jealousy. Maybe a little, but I think I would have been just as hurt if he’d shared that information with male friends. It’s more that I wanted it to be kept between us.

As I do so often, I tried to minimize my feelings, tell myself I’m being over-sensitive. But, it is what it is. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable to want what we have to be ours and ours alone.

Still we had a serendipitous moment and learned something about each other and ourselves last night. And that’s a good thing.

When I cuckolded Nick, just before “the act,” I sent him a text that said, “Going silent.” It meant that whatever was going to happen between the Bull and me, was going to be between the Bull and me, at least until Nick and I were together again.

It’s the same with this blog. I’m going silent. Whatever happens between Nick and me stays between Nick and me. At least until we’re all together again.

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Nick Has Been Cuckolded–Part III: Post-cuckold

NOTE: I don’t like to read long blog posts, so as I began to write the story of Nick’s and my first cuckold experience, I decided to split it into three separate posts:

  1. Part I: Pre-cuckold
  2. Part II: The Act
  3. Part III: Post-cuckold



When I arrived home, I pulled into the garage, turned the car engine off, shut the garage door and sat for a few seconds, trying to decide how to react to Nick when I walked in the door. Should I be honest? Break into tears because I felt so bad? Or suck it up, be a big girl, draw on my Elise blood to enjoy the experience?

All I knew to do was play it by ear. So, I walked inside.

He headed down the stairway as soon as he heard the door open, and met me, hugged me, held me close. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I felt him trembling.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He pulled me closer. “I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you. Are you okay?”

“I’m good. But glad to be home with you.”

He took my hand and led me into the bedroom. “Come tell me about it.”

I started to undress, and he followed my lead, as if he’d been waiting to see what I’d be comfortable with. We climbed under the sheets together, and it was heaven to feel his arms around me, feel the warmth of his body pressed against me, take a breath of his familiar scent.

“How was it, sweetie?” he asked again.

“It was okay.” But there was one thing I needed to tell him before we proceeded. “He didn’t use a condom.”

“I thought you said–”

I interrupted him and explained what had happened, that I made the mistake of letting him enter me without a condom, and that I didn’t know until it was too late that he’d cum.

He admitted that he was pissed, but not at me–at Robert for not putting one on, though he’d told me he would.

“Do you think he was safe?” he asked.

I told him I thought so, all the while thinking, “How can I really know?”

“How was it other than that?” he asked, the warmth of his cock pressing against my thigh.

I decided to wait to tell him the details of how I felt–decided to take advantage of the eroticism of the night. So, I smiled and said, “Well, other than that, it was pretty hot.”

As if my words gave him permission for his passion, he sighed, kissed me. “Oh, darling. Can I taste you?”

I’ll admit, this is something I just don’t get about the cuckolding–that Nick wants to taste the cum of a man who has fucked me. I know it’s part of the scene, especially part of the “routine” of a dominatrix, part of his submission. So, whether I “get” it or not, I decided to go with it . . . give Nick what he wanted.

I crawled on top of him and slid up to sit on is face. He licked me, and I watched the ecstasy written all over his face as he filled with submissive desire.

“I can taste him. He came inside you. Thank you, sweetie. Thank you.”

It was so hot for me to see Nick so turned on, almost helpless with desire. His cock was swollen, hot and rock hard as he asked, “May I come inside you now?”

Don’t ask, I thought. Just take me!

But, in role, the Dom answered. “Yes, you may.”

He pressed his body on top of mine, prepared to enter me. My cunt was hungry for him. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel his cock plunge in and out of me to erase the memory of Robert.

And then he slid inside. I was wet with desire for Nick, still wet with Robert’s cum. Deep, so deep inside, he was swollen and full. I can hardly find the words to describe how I always, always feel when Nick first enters me. It’s a union of our bodies, our minds, our hearts, our souls.

I know, I know. It’s almost cliche. I sound like a lovesick teenager. And isn’t it great, that I’m more years beyond a lovesick teenager than I care to admit, and I can still feel this way?

But, back to the hot, desire-filled joining of our bodies. Nick was ravenous. He whsipered breathless questions about my play with Robert.

“What did he do first?”

“He licked my clit. He flicked his tongue over it lightly.”

“Oh, lightly? And did you like that?”

“Oh, I did.”

“Did you cum?”

“No, cumming is only for you.”

He moaned as if that sent a surge of pleasure through his body.

“What did he do next?”

“He climbed on top of me and thrust deep inside me.”

“Was he big?”

“He was long, but not as thick as you. But he went deep inside. So deep, it almost hurt.”

Nick plunged deeper, the way he always does. A deep plunge with another push on top of it. Ecstasy.

“Oh, baby. I’m about to cum. Can I cum?”

This is a highlight moment for me. A moment of pure power. Should I let him cum, enjoy the feel of his exploding inside me, listen to his cries of ecstacy? Or should I make him wait, either hover for a few seconds, right on the edge, or perhaps even throw him off of me and tell him he must wait.

That night, that first encounter after the cuckolding, I wanted to feel Nick cum and I told him, “Yes, baby. I want to feel you cum.”

I’d barely finished saying “cum” before Nick did. He moaned and cried out my name–my real name, not “Elise.” He rose up then plunged hard several times before falling limp onto me for a few seconds. Then, he gazed at me with the warmest, most loving smile.

“Thank you for cuckolding me, Sweetie. I love you.”

Our bodies wrapped together, we talked about what had happened–about what each of us felt–in the hours preceding as the cuckold took place.

But again, to keep this post short and focused, I’ll discuss what we thought, what we learned, in another post titled “Afterglow.”

For now, I’ll close by reminding you of the power of this cuckold. That night, our physical and sensual explorations–our shared fantasies and desires–continued until sunrise. Nick and I made love and he came another four times, until at last, we collapsed into sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.


I heard the garage door open and felt relief and nervousness. Like a first date, almost. I wondered how we’d do together. Wondered how I’d tell her what I had been feeling and even if I should. What would happen between us? I had no idea how she felt but I knew she’d have some reaction, some real feelings. This was the first time she’d cuckolded me. Her first time ever, as far as I knew, of having sex with a stranger.

We met in the dark on the middle stair and hugged. I held her as tight as I ever had. She felt warm. Though there was so much to say, we kissed wordlessly for a long time. While kissing, the spell returned. I began to melt and tremble, my worry, hurt, jealousy and anger slipped away. I wanted her to feel me hold her and open to her. She’d just put herself in a vulnerable place, physically and emotionally, in large part to fulfill a fantasy of mine. I felt a deep gratitude, a sense of humbleness, but a rising desire. Intense desire.

We moved to the bedroom. I waited for her to take the lead. She started to undress, we did so quickly, like long-lost lovers, and she began to tell me what had happened. It wasn’t long before I could sense that it hadn’t gone that well for her. He hadn’t used a condom as she’d asked. He’d been rather cold, letting her find her own way out to her car. I winced but felt a bit reassured. I didn’t want him to have gentlemanly manners.

I didn’t realize the depth of emptiness that she brought home with her. She hid it well. I wouldn’t really learn about it until days later as she told me the story again, after her feelings about that night became more clear to her.

What I did learn, just as we got naked to lay down together, that would raise my ardor through the roof, was that she was filled with three loads of another man’s cum.

It’s difficult to describe the fire of nerves and desire that broke through me as she told me he’d cum in her three times. It was overwhelming. I quickly asked her if I could lick her. She brought her vagina over my face as I laid on my back on the bed. I could taste him. It wasn’t a strong taste but I knew the taste. I could feel the familiar warm full wetness in her cunt that happens after I come in her. He was in her. I got hard and thrust involuntarily as if I was inside her. I kept seeing her with him, watching her open for him, see her delicateness as she did, his maleness over her, then in her. I felt primitive.

I wanted to know the details, every single one. She said his cock was long and thin, so long it hurt. She said that he had come inside her just about an hour earlier, said he came a lot the first two times, so much she could feel his cum dribble down between her ass cheeks and onto his sheets, so much he’d offered to put a towel beneath her so she wouldn’t have to lay in it. She later described him as dominating her, telling me how he took her, hurt her, used her as an object, looked right through her, fucked her. She said “yes,” she liked it.

I was mesmerized by her voice. She whispered “yes,” when I asked her if she wanted to see him again. Said, “yes,” she wanted to feel him inside her again, and “yes,” she wanted him to cum in her again.

I was on fire. The details brought the scene into sharp focus, brought it alive and put me there, taking me deeply into my humiliated, submissive cuckold space.

I whispered, “So I’m your cuckold boy now?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice affirming something in me that I’d craved and she’d touched. I’ve never wanted a woman more, or felt a woman so close and present and in love with me, and yet also distant in a very real way.

After licking her, I asked permission to go inside her. She whispered, “yes.” Normally I am slow to cum, not that night, I was on the edge almost right away and probably would have been unable to stop, even if she’d said “no” when I asked if I could cum. Again she whispered “yes” and I thrust as far as I could, filling her as I would many more times throughout the night and into the morning.

When Elise and I first met–after many weeks of written communication–we fell into bed in early evening and made love all night long. This night was just like that first night. I couldn’t get enough of the taste of her kisses, her whispers, and her body’s warmth. I wanted closeness, to be inside her again and again and I was, over and over. I was joyous and possessive and relieved. She was in my arms. I held her close.


Cuckolding me in real life had an incredibly deep and potent effect on my desire for Elise. But it also raised questions and at some level, really hurt and raised fears and insecurities. I needed to tell her what it had been like for me.

Elise likes my poems, so I wrote this cuck haiku:

She was filled with him
Sat on my face, let me lick
I licked him away

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