Phoenix and Neil were a happy couple who had only just recently discovered how exciting the hotwife lifestyle could be. Neil wasn’t worried about any potential pitfalls. Phoenix in all her stunning beauty had always made Neil feel like he was the only man for her. That was until Anthony, his step-brother from another mother, came to visit. Neil is white, Anthony is Black. Neil is a big guy and good-looking, Anthony is bigger and better looking. Suddenly Neil wasn’t so sure about anything, let alone his choice in encouraging Phoenix to explore her sexual power not all that long ago.
Book 2 of the B.R. Saiph Obsidian Collection contains scenes of interracial cuckolding.
The squirting orgasm, much sought after by many men (and until last night, myself included) as the ultimate demonstration of a woman’s pleasure. What it is though? According to WebMD, What Is a Squirting Orgasm: Squirting refers to fluid expelled from the vagina during orgasm. Not all people with vaginas squirt during orgasm, and those who do may only squirt some of the time.
Now that I have the definition out of the way, lets talk about what it means for me. I’ve witnessed it on an adult themed booze cruise in front of a crowd, I’ve tasted it’s salty sweetness on my tongue at the Fuckfest swingers party we went to the other year, and it is spectacular and a natural wonder to be celebrated. What it is not, is something I have ever been able to elicit from Her, in the many years I’ve loved her and whose sun I circle, and the one who for me, makes every moment worth living with her like there was no tomorrow.
And so last night at ‘the club’ when that beautiful black man lay with my lady, and within 4 seconds (yes I said 4 seconds) of fingering her, elicited a sopping wet sound the like of which generally occurs after hot ‘n heavy fucking (which they did later), I was surprised, and I was then immediately impressed that she was so ready. After all we had literally just met the guy. Then mere moments later when he started to slap his palm against her sopping lips and droplets of Her splattered over my face where I sat up by her head I realized she wasn’t just ready for sex, she had squirted.
She had squirted, in seconds under the ministrations of another, where in all my years of trying to be the best lover I could be, had never even come remotely close. Like, it wasn’t on the table, we weren’t thinking about, it just wasn’t something she was inclined to do. It was something other women did, but surely after all this time with me and all I could do for her, it just wasn’t something for Her. But it then suddenly it was, but not with me.
So yeah, that was a bucket of cold water on my poor little fragile cuck ego. I knew I was being a fool, just wasn’t sure exactly how but I knew it, and so I compartmentalized it. Hey kudos to all the previous train wrecks, I’ve learned to keep my shit cool until I can reflect on it later. So I was able to bring myself back up to maybe 90% of where I was only moments earlier, but I felt it churning in my gut, eating at me. However, I was able to ignore it. I watched this skilful lover pound his cock into her and take her away on a journey that only a strange and new man can, and I loved it. I loved it because the first huge cuck hurdle for me was embracing that I could never take her where these men can and do. I don’t need to go about that, if you’re a cuck you know what I mean.
I watched him manoeuvre her and thought, nice move dude, or, Oh, she’s really liking that! She held my gaze as she moaned with pleasure, and gripped my hand tightly when she couldn’t moan any more. It was a spectacular fucking, and I loved it, and so did she. My gut however, wouldn’t stop telling me I had a big problem brewing and I was going to have to face it.
I had every intention of going back to the room and giving her butterfly kisses as she drifted off into a contented sleep, for she had already told me her body was tired and sore and she didn’t think she was going to unlock me. I loved that btw, and she knew it. She knew the cage was ruthlessly denying me already, and her decision would only heighten the angst and bring me a mental fucking equal to what she’d just enjoyed herself in the physical.
However, she innocently asked how my night had been. The dam broke and I told her how poorly I felt about myself as a lover. As I spoke, the repressed feelings burst forth and I said I felt like I couldn’t go on in this lifestyle, that my ego couldn’t take it. “I have a hand!” I proclaimed, twisting it and wriggling my fingers in the air in front of me for her to see. “His looked no different, why was he able to give you that which I never could?!”
I talked of how I had come to embrace that other men had different cocks than mine, and abilities I either didn’t have or were just different than mine. I embrace it because while she has experienced the prowess of a true sexual Olympian, a lot of her escapades have been amazing simply because they were different. I’m good with that. Hey, there’s always someone better. Writing, singing, fighting, fucking…it’s just how it is and I’m soooo OK with that.
This was different. My hand was similar to his, what I could see him doing looked no different than anything I’d ever done or seen done, yet he’d brought her to a place I nor any other ever had, and thus foolishly thought I was safe from facing the truth of life in regards to this one thing. A thing that had meant nothing to me before, that wasn’t even on my radar, until it was in my face (literally). In the end, I had to accept that there really is always someone better, in ALL things.
I never once spoke loudly last night, I’ve long ago learned to keep my emotions in check when talking about lifestyle feelings, but I spoke honestly and she listened and comforted me like the amazing person she always is. We ordered late night pizza (it was so damn good), drank some beer and went to bed holding each other.
In the morning the angst had passed. I regretted saying anything at all now that I could see clearly, but I had. She was glad I shared my feelings because she was then able to help me work through them. We talked about it on the way home, and how this was just one of many more hurdles to come. There will be always be more. We are too inexperienced and naive to predict what they will be, but this lifestyle has taught us that they will come. The trick is to navigate them together, and always remember how much that amazing person loves you that has joined you on this journey unlike any other.
And to acknowledge just how much, regardless of my struggle, I really enjoyed watching that beautiful black man work his magic on my girl.
When I’m away without her for instance? Yes, of course. That hasn’t changed in all the years we’ve been together. What did change for me is how much I miss her in my daily life, after choosing chastity.
Choosing chastity, what, wait? How can that be a choice? Isn’t it supposed to be ‘forced’ on you by a dominant and cruel lover intent on enslaving you, and in some cases foregoing your locked dick in pursuit of new exciting ones? Yeah, well if you believe that, you can go back to wanking to chastity/cuckold porn and read no further.
The reality is, that chastity is a choice. It is a choice by you to fully and completely commit to the one you love in ways you cannot imagine before you close that lock. It is a choice by her to accept your commitment to her and all it entails, for you each must find your way in this for it to be both healthy and beneficial to your relationship.
The years-long journey to where we are today is a story unto itself and not for this short post, but I will say that choosing chastity forever changed my life and my relationship with the most important person in it, for the better.
That’s all fine and good, and you’ll read all of the above a thousand different ways from a thousand guys like me. However, if there is one aspect that I found to be most serendipitous, it would be the unrelenting desire to be with her, from the moment I leave her, every single time I do.
It’s not that I ever lost the excitement of seeing her at the end of every workday, or the desire to spend my free time with her. After all, loving and cherishing her has absolutely zero to do with chastity. What did change over time was those early days ‘firsts’. You know them, and they are intoxicating, and in all long-term relationships, they become elusive. That electric first touch as you hold hands, that quickening of your pulse as your eyes meet across a crowded room, the heat that sears your soul as she does nothing more than kiss your cheek.
It has no reflection on the love that is shared, it is simply human nature. It is why couples buy sex toys, and costumes for the bedroom, why they watch porn together (or alone), and why they often don’t feel ‘in the mood’. It just is. Chastity though, changed all of that for me.
At first, and for selfish reasons, I could think of little beyond when the cage would next come off, and when I could have sexual release and think straight once again. Though we were having more sex than ever before, as time went on we reached a point where I was no longer allowed ‘free play’. I experienced a profound acceptance that I no longer had control over my most basic of manly functions, and my thinking changed. Once I could see past my immediate selfish desires, I instead found greater pleasure in appreciating what was there all along. Her.
The ache in my loins never ceased, but being denied sexual release has forced my entire being to seek pleasure elsewhere. In the little things, in all that I once took for granted, and they all feel like ‘firsts’ every time. The once assumed touch of her hand, now sears my flesh in wanton response. Catching her eye across the room, both of us knowing I am thinking only of her, brings me joy and excites me because she accepts it and me. Where my response though heartfelt was automatic, my spine now melts as her warm moist breath whispers those three magic words ‘I love you’ in my ear.
I wait all day to come home and inhale her scent as I press my lips to the back of her neck as I say hello, and her presence completes me. I lightly touch her waist, her arm, kiss her cheek as I go by, for no reason other than showing her how much I love her, and her enjoying that completes me. I wait all evening for the moment we go to bed and I can press myself against her hot naked ass and feel the heat of her flesh burning into my caged need as we spoon, and though most nights it will not lead to anything more, she nonetheless completes me. I long for the weekend and lazy mornings with my face between her legs and rubbing lotion on her feet as she relaxes, and holding her trembling body as the Hitachi works its ‘magic’. I long for the still of the night, listening to her quiet breathing and feeling the gentle beating of her heart as I hold her tight and swear to all that is right and just in the world that I will never, ever, let her go or take one moment with her for granted again. In all things Her, she completes me.
Trevor has only been dating Sophia for a short while and hasn’t yet made it much past first base. Though both are recently divorced and him more than ready to move on, she hasn’t wanted to rush things. With a big weekend planned of showing off his outdoor skills, Trevor is confident he will finally hit a home run.
He thought he had the best of gear, and the best of plans, until everything went horribly wrong. A wind-swept landscape can be cold and unforgiving, but it’s nothing compared to the chill of a pissed off city girl lost in the woods.
Desperate and defeated, they had given up all hope, until they meet Nelson. Tall, very dark, and handsome, and offering them refuge from the storm.
Is it angst when I am actually looking forward to the cuckolding experience? This is unique to the individual for sure, but I myself would have to say yes. However, for me (now) it doesn’t hold any negative connotation. For me, there are many aspects of the experience that reverberate the very strings of my soul as it unfolds each time. In the beginning it was a brutal cacophony of discordant emotions as harsh reality slammed mercilessly into the foggy haze of something long anticipated but in my naivety not yet understood. The resulting and unexpected awakening of the ugly beast that lurks within us all, known as jealous insecurity, almost derailed our foray into the lifestyle before it had barely begun. I wanted him to kiss her, I was angry that she kissed him back. I wanted him to fuck her, I was hurt that she enjoyed it so much when he did. I wanted him to take her away to somewhere she’d never been, I was crushed when I was left behind (if only for moments at a time)
Luckily for me, I have been blessed with an amazing woman to share this journey with. With her patient love and understanding the music changed. The harsh sounds were muted. The chaos was tamed. The thuggish paws of jealousy twanging like a simpleton on those strings morphed into dexterous digits delicately plucking each note in glorious syncopation with the rhythm of lust we both yearned to dance to. The angst remains but now it is a beautiful thing. When he kisses her, I want her to kiss him back like he’s never been kissed before. When he fucks her, I yearn for her to let herself go and make primal noises that I could never elicit from her. When he takes her away, I smile with joy, wishing her bon voyage on her trip around the world.
I crave the angst but now savor it like a fine wine, whereas I once gulped it down like a drunkard does cheap ale, oblivious to all the delightful undertones that are there waiting to be explored. For me the angst is like Her finger nails lightly brushing over my naked skin, sending delicious shivers down my back. Those finger nails could draw blood, could exact pain but instead they deliver pleasure. I have learned to trust, to close my eyes and let go, and know that She will never hurt me and in doing so, let the music carry me away.
Angst can mean many things, but in the hands of a skillful cuckoldress, it is an elixir of love.
“Why do you kneel and rub her feet?” The man’s muscles rippled beneath his skin tight shirt and casual diner jacket, the disapproval evident on his not unattractive chiseled face. The dance music pounded a relentless beat as the lights of ‘The Club’ flickered around and over us.
I could see the movement of others fucking all around me, but didn’t focus on that. I focused on Her. It was all about Her.
“Because it brings Her pleasure.” I took a brief moment to look at him, to make my point clear. I was nobodies slave, yet I was, in truth, Hers, albeit willingly. He shrugged and walked away.
She looked at me. “Yep.” Returning her gaze, but with even more apathy, “Yep.”
I once again gazed lovingly upon her soles and nibbled on her toes in a moment of joyful weakness. Giggling, she gently slapped her hand over the top of my head, pillowing her fingers into my hair and then gripped my head tight, pulling my face upwards between her legs. “Fuck talking about it, show me you know what I need…”
Chances are if you are a chastity enthusiast that you are well aware of the fact that Locktober draws nigh. In celebration of this momentous occasion I thought I’d dust off and revamp a fun little scene I wrote some time ago.
To those embarking on this months challenge I offer my heartfelt encouragement and empathy, as I will be right there in the trenches with you!
Are You Ready?
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, her finger swirling circles through the pre-cum dripping out of and pooling on the head of his rigid cock.
Balls distended, engorged shaft swelling against the limits of it’s own dimensions, it sensed imminent peril and reached for the heavens in a desperate attempt at escape.
It was too late. The steel ring already encircling it was a trap in and of itself. The blood pumped in with relentless surety, as was his desire to experience chastity. The ring however was a one way street, and that which went freely in, would not so freely be allowed out.
Of course In his naivety, he was blind to all but that which was Her.
He closed his eyes and thrust his hips into the air frantically chasing further pressure from her touch. A primal moan rose from within him, borne upon eons of evolution. It cried out an ancient plea for what every fiber of his being wanted more of as her finger danced away from him. A solitary strand of need glistened as it strove to maintain the connection between his cock and her magical touch. It grew thinner, the light cascading down it’s slippery surface like tears of frustration, until at last the connection broke. No amount of wistful yearning was strong enough to overcome that which was no longer meant to be.
“Yes…yes!” He hissed, beside himself. He just wanted relief, his addled brain confusing her question with what her teasing finger promised.
“OK, just remember, you asked for this.” She smiled and leaned in, her hair falling around his face and tickling his skin in a million places at once. Her lips brushed over his, soft and warm, in direct contrast to the cold steel cage now pressed over his manhood.
His body tensed and he breathed rapidly, becoming unsure as to how he was going to be able to go through with this. His fantasy, so long a secret, then shared, then mutually agreed upon, was in direct contrast to what his body was demanding.
“Shh, just lay with me, just relax.” She murmured to him, quieting him as she lay her head down onto his chest.
The sounds of the street below drifted into the small apartment, muted yet loud when contrasted with the silence of the bedroom within. He hadn’t thought it was possible to love someone any more than he already did, until he had dared express his desire to submit to Her control, and she’d told him that she had always felt like she should be in control. They were just starting out and didn’t have much, but they had love, they had honesty, and they had trust.
The smell of her hair wafted into his nostrils, and the heat from her embrace seeped into his soul, soothing him. His lustful heart beat in tumultuous discordance to hers, a steady drum of reassurance, until at last they beat as one. His breathing gradually slowed and along with it he softened. He finally relaxed, loosing himself in her presence and was startled at the sudden oppressive pressure upon his shaft.
His eyes flew open as he realized she’d adjusted her position and maneuvered the cage into place. A thousand panicked thoughts raced through his mind at once, all of them fighting to escape his lips and none of them succeeding.
No, I’ve changed my mind!
I want to fuck you senseless!
This was all crazy talk, I didn’t mean it!
For him though, like it or not, the time for talking was over. He felt her jostling things around down there and then she pushed up off him, turning to show him the key in her hand.
She smiled wickedly, her smoldering eyes aglow with mischievous fire. “I’m glad you were ready. I am too.”
I crashed hard overnight.
“What could this guy possibly be going on about?” you say with incredulous exasperation.
“He’s locked down hard, he’s cuckolded, he gets fucking corner time for cryin’ out loud. What’s the problem?!”
You know, it doesn’t really matter, what matters is how my amazing ‘S’ handled it, and me.
And this is what separates the wannabes from the masters of the art of the human dynamic.
She gave me space, then she knew, she knew when to move in. The physical touch, the mental caress of her voice, the surety of her love for me and all that is US.
When we were done, the things said and the tears shed, the intimacy rejoiced and the spent satisfaction afterwards, I was left breathless.
Not in exhaustion, though it had been physically demanding, no it was in wonder, pure friggin’ wonder at this woman who knows me more than I know myself, and who time and again shows me what true love is.
The lifestyle has much to offer, and I’ve never felt more alive, but it can never be ‘Set It And Forget It’.
You’re living on the edge is some ways, and it’s exhilarating beyond belief, and I’ve no regrets, but it’s intense at times. Only a skillful woman can successfully help her man be all that he can be for Her.