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From: Bawdy Bloke <nospam@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cucked (Cuckold, Creampie, Chastity, Humil, MF)
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Date: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 06:10:01 -0400
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Taken from my blog at http://bawdybloke.com/story-cucked/

I knew what I was getting into when I entered this lifestyle. I knew 
every implication and consequence of the decisions I was making. And of 
the decisions I made with my wife. I understood my life would never be 
the same again and that it was the biggest change my marriage had ever 
seen. I knew this and understood this.

Or at least, I thought I did.

The shock was huge but I wanted it; I embraced every change and longed 
for every last piece of humiliation and submission. Sure, I never 
expected the wild roller-coaster ride I was given a front seat on for a 
moment; it took some while to adjust to deal with the feelings of 
humiliation and jealousy over the months. To cope with the loss of a 
lover in one sense, but the gain of two more in another. I needed help 
and support to address my feelings and to be comfortable with my new 
status and role. But I got that, I got that from my wife's lover.

I'd long been enchanted with the cuckold lifestyle: the sexual 
liberation of my wife would only be complete if she felt able to embrace 
new partners and new experiences with or without me. To fulfil her 
decadent desires irrespective of what I thought. I wanted my wife to 
cheat and play away, to use her feminine wiles to seduce and ensnare a 
dominant man or even dominant men to enjoy her. I longed for her to 
liberate herself from me. Some drunken fondling at a Christmas function 
set her imagination flowing, a nervous grope and blowjob at a swingers' 
party stoked the thoughts much more.

She thought I'd leave her if she cheated. I signed my first submissive 
slave contract that day to renounce any claims of adultery. She met an 
acquaintance later that week, tied me to the chair to listen from 
another room as her anonymous lover fucked her wildly and noisily for 
what felt like hours. Her screams and cries, punctured by loud orgasms 
and desperate wails drove my imagination wild as my ears strained, 
anxious to hear every last detail from their tryst.

I needed to hear it. I wanted to see it. My erect cock was spewing 
pre-cum as she climaxed for the first time, and pumped cum into my 
underwear as she screamed his name in orgasmic ecstasy. I'd had a 
handsfree orgasm: my wife calling another man's name at the height of 
her pleasure, while I was restrained in an adjacent room and forced to 
listen, was too much excitement for my cock to bear.

There would be many nights like that over the coming months, but in 
those early days she was scared of losing me. The globules of cum on my 
underpants and the giant wet spot was proof that her satisfaction was 
far more important to me than her upholding the vows of our marriage I 
never cared for in the first place.

I wanted her to be free, and she was suddenly glad of the freedom. That 
first man showed her what fun the hotwife could have, and barely a week 
went past when she was not being fucked by men other than me. In fact, I 
was barely getting any sex, as my wife lost weight, gained confidence 
and started dressing in risque outfits.

I adored her more and more, especially as some of her regular men  -" the 
bulls  -" wanted me to be present. They loved to see me tied to the chair 
to watch as they impaled their uncovered cocks into my wife, and then 
feel the satisfaction of my love as she groaned with every parting 
thrust. They filled her, and they moved their hips to a rhythmic sensual 
beat. It was sex but suave and powerful, not the frantic and frenetic 
intercourse I gave her.

The two intertwined lovers were at one with each other; rhythmically in 
tune, as his glistening prick glided in and out of my wife and my bride 
swooning with lust as the orgasmic rush of relief repeatedly swept 
through her. And then I'd watch as his cum leaked from her pussy, 
flowing onto the bedclothes as my exhausted lady cuddled her powerful bull.

Of course, the bull would want to hurt me; vicious words, slaps around 
the face. I'd be called weak and pathetic, small-cocked and all. Some 
even wanted to see me in womens' panties or push their cum-covered prick 
in my mouth. It was part of the game, I had to accept it.

But the real change was when she met the experienced Aaron. He was a 
sales director, a few years our senior with slightly graying hair, but a 
muscular body with tonal definition. Unlike most of the men she had, I 
met him before they got down to business; he bought us a meal in the pub 
on his expenses and talked to us both. What did I want out of the games?

In truth, I had no idea; he made us think and we talked. I loved the 
submission from allowing my wife to play away while I finished housework 
or did my work. I adored her coming home from her trysts sated and 
exhausted, laughing as she collapsed into the bedroom and recounted 
tales of never ending debauchery.

It wasn't enough; when Aaron played, he wanted both partners actively 
involved or else he wasn't interested. The aggressive bulls was 
something I was never fond of: I liked my wife to be sexually satisfied, 
I didn't mind submitting to her or him, but the slaps, the 
cross-dressing and the trash talk was too much for me.

He picked my wife up in his sports car and gave me a list of 
instructions as he left. My heart thumped as I opened the envelope, 
feelings I'd never experienced ran through me as my sexy wife wiggled 
into his convertible.

His instructions: enjoy your evening, don't masturbate, we'll be home at 
ten.

It felt anti-climatic because it was. I'd expected demands to have the 
bedroom dowsed in red rose petals or me to be waiting with iced 
champagne; just "enjoy myself" didn't cut it as "normal" for a cuckold 
relationship.

Only when he returned, my wife was frantically kissing him, his hands 
running underneath her dress as they scandalously flirted in full view 
of our neighbours. I saw curtains twitching, foresaw gossiping for days, 
months or years. I saw the public branding of my wife as a trollop or 
our house as a place of disrepute. I saw  -- my wife smiling, and 
laughing. Pulling Aaron into our hallway with an enjoyment not born out 
of uncontrolled lust but excited anticipation. "Let's go upstairs," he 
said, as much as a demand as a suggestion.

I was powerless not to follow as he seduced my wife into our master 
bedroom, pulling at her clothes as they energetically undressed each 
other. It was hot; she was insatiable as their tongues twisted and their 
clothes were tossed aside. "Tell him," he whispered into her ear.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked at me, licking her lips as my 
lingerie-clad wife beckoned me into the room. "Get undressed, little 
boy!" Her voice hovered over the word "little," emphasising my lack of 
size: in fact I wasn't that "small" but we had always played the role 
that I was tragically poorly endowed and she needed to go outside the 
relationship for bigger partners. It was part of our game. Aaron rolled 
his eyes and looked away as I mumbled a response, before I frantically 
scattered my clothing to the side of the room. Was I getting sex too?

No.

She commanded me underneath her, her voice barely breaking as I lay on 
the bed, with my lady positioned on top of me. She groaned 
appreciatively as my tongue swirled against her clit, my hands exploring 
her body as I waited for her lips to clamp around my cock; was this a 69?

It wasn't. She put a pillow over my crotch and lay her head on it, 
twisting her body with every flick on her button.

I wanted to feel her lips sliding down my cock, the suck on my tip and 
the brush of her hands against my balls. I wanted to feel her do 
anything but just rest her head on a pillow, pushing against my prick. 
Rejecting me.

A pinch of my nipples had me squealing, digging her nails into the skin 
had my legs thrashing. "Do it property," she demanded; I wasn't used to 
the dominant wife. My tongue kissed and caressed her pearl with firmer 
movements, sliding over her slickness as Aaron towered over us, pushing 
his cock along her crack and against my lips.

"Kiss it," he barked as I shied away from his manhood; a further dig of 
her nails flooded my nerves with pain and I gave his erect cock the 
merest of pecks. I saw the veins throb angrily as he lined himself 
against my wife and pushed gently forward, coating his erection in her 
slick wetness.

She was wet; grunting with every thrust of his cock to fill her, my 
tongue swirling against her as his balls brushed over my face.

I saw every hair, blemish and droplet on his dick as he rammed it into 
her, making her legs quiver and her hands grab at my skin, squeezing 
tightly as her pussy quivered to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts.

My cock was painfully erect, but my wife was tripping on repeated 
orgasms, her body trembling with every poke of his tumescent prick. My 
tongue traced a message to my lover, crying and groaning as pleasure 
consumed every pore of her body.

But Aaron wasn't wearing a condom; his balls vibrated and several 
streaks of cum landed in my wife's pussy. I saw it leak out from within, 
running down her cunt as he withdrew. "Eat it," he demanded. "'Cos there 
is plenty more where that came from."

I screwed up my face as his cum rolled against my lips, determined not 
to let his spunk into my mouth. A quick squeeze of my nipples changed my 
mind as I sucked the musky semen from my wife.

He seemed satisfied, watching as I cleaned up his mess. I had 
surrendered the last shred of dignity to him; I had consumed another 
man's spunk directly from my wife's quivering cunt. I felt two inches 
tall yet swimming with lust and desperate for orgasm.

My wife rolled the cushion from underneath me and made some gentle 
strokes with her hands, sliding my cock between her fingers.

I stared into her cunt as my mind swam with her delicate touch. I 
grunted and my cock twitched, desperately thrusting my hips into her 
waiting hands.

She withdrew them as I tripped past the point of no return. She pinned 
my hands to the bed as I twisted to get free, my orgasm slipping away as 
cum dribbled from the end of my cock.

I was horny and spent, unsatisfied and unsated. They laughed, cackling 
sadistically at my torturous ruined orgasm. But Aaron made us sit down 
and talk through what we wanted: did I want the bull and my hotwife to 
dominate me? Did I want chastity play, cross-dressing, small penis 
humiliation or what? For the first time, I talked to my wife about our 
sex life in a detached, dispassionate way with Aaron's parting advice to 
ignore what other people do and just agree what we wanted to do. Our 
limits, our games. No-one, but me and my wife, could decide the right 
way to surrender my wife to other men.

The ruined orgasm was truly awful as was eating his creampie from my 
wife, but I found them sexily arousing. I wanted her sadism to play with 
my masochism and what I needed was my wife to be uncompromisingly 
selfish in her pursuit of her twisted desires and her satisfaction.

My chastity cage arrived a few days later: a twisted nightmare of cold 
steel to encase my flaccid cock into. I protested, my brattish self 
objecting to her prohibition of my masturbation. She crossed her arms, 
counted to three, and when I still hadn't relented, grabbed me by the 
hair and flung me over her knee.

Her hands barely stopped slapping against my bare buttocks as I squealed 
in pain, trying to free myself from her humiliating torment. But the 
strikes rained down on my abused skin, tears falling down my cheeks as 
my insides burnt from the embarrassment of receiving a spanking as a 
grown adult.

She rang Aaron a few moments later; he arrived as I sulked in our 
bedroom, sitting down to offer a few words of wisdom; chastity wear was 
my choice, but it would be a gift to my wife to relinquish control of 
all my orgasms to her and show that I was committed to her dominance. 
Show that I cared not about my pleasure. Showed that I trusted her.

The cage was on within a few minutes, imprisoning my cock. I complained 
about it rubbing, but she said once I got used to it, it would be fine. 
And it was.

That was two years ago, and I had been allowed out of my cage just four 
times in those 24 months. I changed jobs to work from home mostly; I've 
moved into the "granny flat" we had built that consists of my office, a 
bedroom and a small kitchenette-cum-lounge. That was my choice so I had 
somewhere to go when Aaron and my wife wanted to be alone: they didn't 
always want me around when he was satisfying her. Sometimes he did, 
sometimes he didn't.

Every step of the way we had Aaron; he was much more than my wife's 
bull; he became my confidant and best friend. He ensured the 
relationship my wife and I had flourished, yet also arranged dozens of 
gangbangs and orgies with my role as host, fluffer and waiter giving me 
the best views. He held my hand as I watched my wife taken, and feel 
satisfied that everyone in the room had orgasms, except me. He made me 
comfortable with my sexuality and into a happy cuckold.

I also had my clothes locked away by her; I have to ask to wear clothes 
when I need to go out of the house, and spend most of my time naked 
except for my steel chastity wear. I submit to my wife and her bull, and 
am all the happier for it. Canes, whips and paddles are kept in every 
room, but it is the mental punishment, the emotional endurance, that is 
a greater evil.

But she is still my wife: we celebrated our anniversary and Valentine's 
Day without Aaron, and I was released from my chastity cage for the 
evening. She is still the woman I love, with a sex-life that suits us.

Which brings me to yesterday. It was my wife's fortieth birthday and 
Aaron had decided we should come out of the closet: it made no sense to 
pretend that he wasn't an important fixture in our lives and he wanted 
to meet our remaining friends and work colleagues as my wife's well-hung 
lover.

My wife agreed, and they spoke to me after they had finished videoing 
their explicit webcam recording. I agreed, although I had no idea what 
they were going to do. Submissives like me didn't need answers to 
questions like that; I trusted my dominants.

But I knew what I was getting myself into.

With the fancy-dress party in full swing, Aaron had a little 
announcement. He rose to his feet and got everyone's attention. And then 
proceeded to tell the world who he was, why he was part of our 
relationship and that my wife needed him to get any sexual satisfaction 
in the bedroom.

Titters and giggles engulfed the room as I stood motionless, my cheeks 
blushing with humiliation. I stammered and muttered, not sure what to say.

"And my darling husband hasn't had an orgasm for almost six months," my 
wife cried from behind me and unbuttoned my cloak that made my "V for 
Vendetta" costume. "Because he wears a chastity cage!"

The drunk laughter roared around the room, as my cock strained to escape 
from the cage. Never had I been so aroused as I stood naked on the 
dancefloor of the small room, shifting my balance from one foot to 
another as my wife beamed incessantly, revelling in my degradation.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew that my wife sought sexual gratification 
from the arms of another, and that I was a slave to their whims and 
demands. Everyone knew that I had given more blowjobs in the last two 
years than I had received in thirty-eight years of my life. Everyone 
knew that I was denied pleasure and lived from one day of humiliation to 
another, yet had never had a more fulfilling sex life.

Yet I was both ashamed and relieved, liberated to be free of the secret 
and yet desperately embarrassed by the truth. I saw fingers point 
towards my encased cock as my wife curled my cloak on the table; I 
wanted it back, but there was little point.

As I walked towards her, there was a commotion to my right. My 
sister-in-law talking to my wife, ripped the front from her husband's 
outfit and showed the world his tiny, pink chastity case; he swore and 
writhed as she ordered him to behave. He squealed, his cheeks redder 
than mine.

"Looks like we are both attracted to weak men," the sister-in-law joked.

"No!" Aaron interrupted. "It takes real strength to submit. They're not 
weak men, just kinky." He glanced at me shuffling in the warm air. "And 
good men everywhere, but not in the bedroom. That's why me and my kind 
get to fuck his wife every night and he gets to dream of his cock being 
free and a nice new frilly apron!"

My cheeks burnt even more, as my brother-in-law murmured complaints. But 
he was just like me; exposed, humiliated and  -- not objecting in the 
slightest. We truly were, cuckolds.

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