My truth

This is Sam, following on from Samantha’s first blog I thought I would be fully honest on my reflections of this lifestyle. My situation has really evolved.

When we started I was driven by a desire to feel full arousal and this of course would come through the excitement and anxiety of Samantha meeting, flirting with and having sex with other men. It was exciting and would provoke me to lust for her and perform for her more. At times the jealousy and anxiety I felt, particularly when Samantha was getting close to Other men physically and emotionally, was almost too hard to take, but as soon as it subsided, I wanted it again. If I am honest I actually felt guilty, like sometimes I was encouraging things so much for my own arousal, imposing my will on her but when I asked her if she was sure that she wanted to do this, she always said yes.

After some time the truth became a little hard to handle. We would be having sex and she would admit that my girth wasn’t satisfying her, she would almost prefer masterbating to interracial porn and admitted she would fantasise about other men. It was in some ways a thrill but gradually eroded my self confidence, it became a self fulfilling prophecy as I questioned my own sexual ability and that in turn meant I would instigate sex less regularly and would a poor lover as I would be preoccupied by self doubt when I performed. This, I believe would lead to a gradual change, an evolution, in our relationship.

So now, instead of arousal at the situation, there is more acceptance on my part. Cuckolding invited us to be brutally honest with each other, removing inhibitions and allowing us to get to a point where we both were truly ourselves. We are a perfectly happy couple very much in love but the sexual side to our relationship has changed totally. That was an unintended consequence so serves as a warning to some entering this lifestyle but for me, as hard as it is from time to time, I know it is right. I cannot sexually satisfy my wife as she knows now what is available out there, beyond me, and it is so much more to her liking. My wife no longer finds me sexually stimulating, she is not aroused by an effeminate man who enjoys dressing as a woman and emasculating himself by shaving, applying make up and adopting feminine mannerisms. My wife no longer has the same sexual loyalty toward me, her view of chastity went from initial enjoyment at teasing me to realising it would serve as a preoccupation for me and she preferred me in it so she could better achieve her own ends. The biggest truth is however that deep down this is what I want. I like being a sissy cuckold in chastity. I thought at the start I would, but then began to think I may not, particularly when the jealousy and angst was so intense but once that was ‘normalised’ I realised I would only get the same enjoyment from being in this position. We will be happy together but through this dynamic.

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Something to think about…

Hello. This is Samantha, and this is my first contribution to our blog. I am, by definition, a hotwife, though I don’t like putting labels on people let alone myself. I have read a lot on this lifestyle and it has me rather perplexed. Some feel that this lifestyle, where I take other men as lovers over my partner, as some form of liberation for women, as some way or raising my esteem, as some form of feminism. I disagree. It’s just fun. Good, healthy, consensual fun.

Now, I understand that some might think its a bit one sided, I have fun with other men at my husbands expense while he remains in chastity and has his masculinity removed through his appearance. However, this was something that we both decided on, something we both wanted. It appeals to his submissive tendencies, he actually feels more comfortable in this form of relationship and to be honest, I would rather he was able to be open about that to me, than hiding it away. I dont judge, not too much.

In my previous relationships, I have had a mix of experiences but I enjoy sex. Some women enjoy it more than others and again I don’t judge. My relationship is just that, mine. I am entitled to do as I wish and I am so glad I can be open and honest with my partner just as he can be for me. We have love and intimacy, but it suits us to be in a cuckold/hotwife relationship and it meets both our needs. It suits us for me to have other men as lovers. It removes any pressure or expectations from my partner, other than to be a loving, attentive life partner. It hasn’t saved our relationship however, it didn’t need saving.

Perhaps I am not as attracted to my partner when I see him shaven, feminised and in chastity but the love and bond and intimacy between us is more than I ever imagined. It is pure love. In terms of the intimacy it may seem contradictory that I have sexual relations with others and yet me and my partner are more intimate than ever. Yes, when I am with a lover the sexual chemistry can be electric and even if Sam is in the room I get lost In the excitement and on occasion I forget he is there. However, after I am done I want nothing more than to cuddle into Sam and transmit my happiness to him in a close bond because we have shared an intensity together. That is intimacy. And for him, the intimacy between us is constant because when he is in chastity and even when I am out with another man I know I am constantly in his thoughts. All of his fantasies involve me, all of his arousal and lust is for me. This intimacy is like nothing we have experienced and it brings us such acute happiness. Indeed, however this lifestyle evolves we will remain happy. I like things as they are now, I won’t stop.

On reflection

So after the disappointment of the previous week, it was time to take stock. The fact that Samantha’s date has not materialised into anything more significant was palpably frustrating for us both and we fell into a bit of a lull despite having a weekend in Manchester just around the corner. I was released from chastity, a mutual agreement, as there seemed little point in maintaining that situation whilst there was no prospect of play. I resorted to wearing male underwear too and we even had intercourse again.

But sex was different now. As we held each other in bed, gently caressing and kissing, the old flames initially flickered. As I entered her however, things began to feel very different than before. I lusted desperately for Samantha but as I thrust myself against her I was acutely aware of the relative silence between us. There was no moaning and groaning, nor were there any sighs of passion and pleasure for her. On my part a genuine realisation had emerged. I felt that I wasn’t able and couldn’t satisfy her. My self confidence, and with it my libido, had vanished and I was going through these emotions in my head whilst wrestling with my inadequacy. The weeks of chastity, feminisation and knowledge that she craved other men had clearly taken its toll. Eventually the silence was broken by Samantha who whispered to me ‘is that the best you can do!?’. Momentarily I began to pound harder and firmer but as I felt myself close to ejaculation I slowed again, giving in to the demons in my head. ‘I can’t really feel you’ she hissed, perhaps trying to tap into those cuckold and humiliation urges that has aroused me so much but instead, I found it hard to challenge her and grinding to a halt I said meekly, ‘I know. Sorry’. Grabbing my head she pushed me down towards her cunt instructing me to lick and ‘do the only thing you are good at’. I obliged with little resistance, eventually bringing her to orgasm with my fingers and tongue.

As I lay there beside her afterwards, I began to try to make sense of where we were. We were beyond cuckold and hotwife play, we had dabbled with single one off meets but we both now wanted more, perhaps even needed more. In terms of a cuckold lifestyle however, we seemed far from that, if not in terms of desire, certainly logistically. It was proving so hard to find the ideal bull. So what were we? It dawned on me that we were now in a cuckold relationship. A middle ground between what we had done and what we aspired for. In other words, although in no position yet to make this a lifestyle, it was clear that given any opportunity Samantha would happily chose another lover over me and it, if I was being honest, was what I wanted too for me and her. It was supported by her actions a few weeks back in Portugal when she slept with a guy she met when I was far from her at home. Indeed she was still in touch with him though distance would make it impossible for them to meet again. Manchester would provide further opportunities for us to play and it was now an unspoken desire for both of us that that would happen. After Manchester though, it was clear that should opportunity arise for Samantha to play with others then she certainly would and I would be happy for her to do so. This was now a cuckold relationship and it was our future. It felt that we could never go back to what we had.

Anti-climax

As a cuckold, and that was what I had become, I was experiencing the whole spectrum of emotions. Being relatively new to the situation, the feelings were still very raw and acute. Maybe that would always be the case or perhaps the intensity would eventually ease and that may explain why cuck couples over time might want to push the boundaries further. Like skydivers and extreme sport fanatics we were adrenaline junkies, constantly craving more of a ‘fix’. I certainly felt like a junkie when Samantha came into the room and told me ‘the date is off, he hasn’t been messaging’. My initial reaction was relief, I had been battling with the extremities of cuckold angst as I imagined her with him, close and intimate and with this news there suddenly came a great calm. A weight off my shoulders, I could eat again. But that feeling was short lived. By the next day I felt truly empty, devoid of any spark or drive, the junkie was going cold turkey! The last week had been psychologically and mentally exhausting, coupled with a lack of sleep and food and that may have contributed to my general apathy towards anything that next day. Deep down however I knew that because Samantha would not be meeting this guy I now felt deflated and genuinely down. I tried to remind myself of the stress, fear and sick feeling in the pit of my stomach from only a few days earlier but it did little to convince me that this turn of events was a good thing. It was the catch 22 of being a cuckold. There was such emotional and psychological torment when being cucked but, when not being a cuckold, there was something even worse; a total nothingness. I really felt I now needed to be a cuckold.

There wasn’t too long to wait however for things to look up. Within 24 hours Samantha announced that she was speaking again to her potential date and they had agreed to do coffee the following day. Surprisingly though, the angst wasn’t there initially. I was a little sceptical it would go ahead, and could tell Samantha’s excitement for him had waned a little, she was going in truth out of curiosity and it was to be literally a coffee.

By the following early evening I was laying on the bed, chatting with her and watching her get ready, for another man. The casual conversation, notably different to the previous week, meant the angst still hadn’t reared its head. It was only when I sat back and reminded myself that she was applying her make up carefully for another man, that I felt any twitch of arousal through my caged penis. As she collected her bag and keys, I calmly kissed her good bye, as if she were going to the shops and then the door shut and she was gone. I was alone, and she was off to meet another man. Truthfully neither of us had any great expectations, particularly because the guy had disappeared for a day or two and Samantha had a tendency to bore with things quickly and that could have been setting in with this meet. Even the chastity and feminine underwear I had on did little to overtly arouse me. Perhaps I had had my high but then any hopes and fears for the date were then suddenly dashed making it harder to rediscover that same excitement. I was struggling to get back the same intensity. It didn’t however stop a slight nervous ache in my belly. That was surely to be expected but I busied myself with stuff around the house, not thinking too much about where Samantha was. The minutes ticked by.

An hour passed and then a little longer. The butterflies In my stomach began to return as I realised this may have been more than a coffee. I felt the need to go to the bathroom, sitting staring at my phone with a dry throat. Eventually, nearly two hours later, I heard the click of the door. She had returned and I scanned her face for any reaction that might give away how the date had gone. There was very little. ‘It was fine’ she said, ‘we ended up talking about all sorts of shit’. Bizarrely this response sent a surging pang through me, the thought of her chatting informally and in a friendly manner with another man. It wasn’t sex but was it more? Or was it the kind of conversation that might be placing him in the ‘friend-zone’? I would find out later perhaps when we spoke more but irrespectively it was a start.

By the end of the evening I was feeling empty again. Samantha had been flirting with him and talking intimately, a little kissing, cuddling, fondling and touching but little more than that. She had spent most of the time processing things in her head, trying to determine whether this man was what she wanted. As it turned out she felt he was a little inexperienced and even a little immature sexually. He was cute as hell but just not ‘bull’ or ‘lover’ material. I suppose there would be ups and downs in this journey and this certainly felt like a ‘down’. The evening had served however to show me how much I wanted to be a cuckold and how much Samantha was keen to get the right kind of man. It was just a shame this wasn’t him. That said we had a visit to Manchester the following weekend so perhaps there would be an opportunity to kick start things again!

Date Night

It was bitter sweet. I had been working all day and checking my phone I saw Samantha had text me. ‘Do u fancy going out for dinner tonight.. date night?’ It gave me an excited buzz, it sounded great and yet a little odd considering how things had been over the last few days in relation to our cuckold journey. Perhaps she longed to be close to me after the hectic week we had had, perhaps she wanted a night off from all the kink. I immediately said I would love to and asked her why this sudden lovely idea? Minutes later she said text back, ‘yes, splitting the time!’. In other words this was her spending time with me so that at some point very soon she could spend time with another man. Was this a sign of things to come? Preplanned evenings whenever she could fit me in? Was I reading into this too much? I felt nauseous, nervous but excited. Being at work I had enough mundane stimuli to bring myself round quick enough and convince myself that this was not a bad thing. I was going to go out with her tonight. All to myself.

We ended up at a cheap Italian restaurant; bring your own bottle kinda thing. We chatted about all things vanilla, interesting and not. That was until she began to look beyond me, about 30 minutes in, like she had something else on her mind. I looked quizzically at her and then, forgoing any attempt to be subtle she dived into her bag to get her phone. Unapologetically she said ‘I just need to see if he has text’, turning all of her attention to her phone. Her face became animated, eyes sparkling, unable to resist smiling as she stared at her phone before her fingers suddenly began to type furiously. As I watched her from across the small table I felt a thousand miles away from her as she raised her phone at a deliberate angle to take a selfie for him. It felt like the colour was draining from my face as I sat there transfixed, my penis beginning to pulse again inside it’s chastity device. My date night with Samantha was being hijacked by this guy she had been chatting to over the past few days and my stomach churned looking at the sheer excitement in her eyes. For the remainder of our dinner together she was frequently messaging him, she couldn’t help herself. We chatted about other things intermittently but any discussion was inevitably interrupted by her returning to her phone. I ate very little of my meal, I couldn’t. In fact I hadn’t been eating much at all that week such was the angst I was experiencing.

We returned home and the texting continued. Sitting on opposite sofas, not deliberately but perhaps symbolically, I watched her immerse herself in her phone. It was as if I wasn’t even there and the hurt was tangible but so was the dampness seeping through the panties I was wearing as my penis weeped precum. Eventually she looked up and announced ‘I am going on a date Wednesday’. No doubt I looked a little taken aback and after a short pause I managed to croak ‘Ok’, before asking when. ‘As soon as you are home from work I will go’. I nodded with the deference of a caged cuckold, sitting in panties and a nightie, understanding then there was little I could do, or perhaps wanted to do, to change the situation.

‘I’m going upstairs to facetime him’ she then said, breaking the silence between us as she had been busy on her phone. Standing up with her phone in hand, I listened as she walked up the stairs and heard her greet him on the phone excitedly before her voice became inaudible as she shut the bedroom door. A long 10 minutes passed before she returned, smiling. She walked over to me and gently placing her hand inside her trousers she touched herself ever so briefly before bringing her hand back out and presenting me with a glistening finger. ‘This is what he did to me’ she smirked, ‘taste it’ and without a second thought I was sucking her wetness from her finger as my cock continued to strain and ooze. Looking down at me as I sat on the sofa she smiled then swiftly withdrew her finger, ordering me to get the wine from the kitchen. I hurried back to see she had removed her trousers and had taken my place on the sofa. Laying back she invited me to perform oral sex on her which I tended to immediately. I knelt down, between her legs and lowered my head, busying my tongue. In the midst of it though, perhaps desperate after over a week in chastity and the experiences and thoughts of the evening, as well as the dampness of her pussy, I asked if I could be released to masturbate too as we used to do when I went down on her. She suddenly closed her legs with force, almost trapping my face as I sat back up. Looking directly into my eyes with full sincerity, perhaps for the first time that evening she said sharply, ‘No. You shouldn’t cum until I have met him’. She paused then briefly before saying ‘and even if u did I will be meeting him anyway’. The stomach churn returned sharply, this really touched a nerve, of course I knew she was right. Where I to cum I would fall into an immediate bout of denial and shame and no doubt beg her to stop things in that moment. I had done it before in bed with her, my orgasm almost immediately stopping me from playing the role of a cuck during pillow talk, it was just too risky. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her I increasingly felt and if, as it seems, she was now adamant about going on a date with this guy, it would also make things further distressing for me. With that in mind, I nodded obediently and then lowered my head to finish eating her pussy to orgasm.

Torn

They say a week is a long time in politics, turns out it’s a long week in cuckoldry too. A week ago, we were engaging in pillow talk about cuck scenarios. A week later and Samantha had fucked a guy, I had been in chastity for a full week, and she has arranged a date with another guy hoping for it to develop into something regular as we looked to step deeper into a cuckold lifestyle.

Strangely, when faced with the reality of the situation, suddenly, initially, panic sets in. For the first time in months I wasn’t fantasising about being a sissy cuckold, instead I was envisaging being in bed with Samantha, naked and erect, kissing and touching her as I penetrate her, reasserting my masculinity. I was kicking back, against something that I set in motion, that seemed to be snowballing out of control, and yet something I couldn’t completely say ‘stop’ to. Perhaps it was the way she spent so long yesterday evening messaging her prospective date, perhaps it was the fact she said she wanted something regular, or it may have been the fact that as I tried to express my jealous, hesitation and worry, she argued why it would be a good thing, rather than stepping back as she may have done previously when she saw my concerns. She wanted it now. She seemed empowered, and why not. The preceding months had seen me gradually emasculated and saw her grow in confidence to the point where she felt comfortable enjoying herself alone with another man when she wished and telling me after.

To be honest the idea of Samantha having, and enjoying sex with other men was something I was increasingly comfortable with. I could accept she wanted more than me, I could accept she needed more sexually and I was now prepared to see another man replace me in that as I was sissified and caged. However, by broaching the subject of a regular bull it suddenly dawned on me that I could be usurped further in a social and emotional capacity and this had never fully registered before. As we chatted we both seemed to acknowledge a regular lover would bring increased intimacy between Samantha and him, as well as taking time with her away from me. They could in essence be dating and connecting on other levels beyond a purely sexual one and I sat there thinking about it, increasingly incapacitated by the raging cuckold angst inside me. Imagine her getting dressed up excitedly, leaving me at home on a Saturday evening to go out for dinner and a fun night with him? Imagine her leaving to go to stay at his overnight, leaving me to languish at home alone. Imagine her sitting in bed with him cuddling, chatting and joking. What if they wanted a weekend away as a couple? Him introducing her to his friends as his girl? Was I being selfish? It couldn’t just be exactly as I wanted. If I was to be chastised and feminised regularly as a cuckold, Samantha would need sex from elsewhere and I would have to accept that some form of relationship would form with her and her bull, at the expense of mine. If I didn’t then I wasn’t truly being a cuckold and allowing her to blossom as a hotwife. I was torn as despite this jealously, my penis was pulsing inside my chastity device. Perhaps over time this lifestyle could be something I could accept, I didn’t want to stop being a cuck. If we did it step by step things would evolve naturally and despite the concerns I was being drawn to this idea.

As we went to bed I cuddled into Samantha and she held me lovingly but with limited passion. ‘Do you want this?’ She asked and as much as my mind was racing I couldn’t say no. Instead, I replied ‘we both want this. You need a lover’. She cuddled me closer rubbing her hand up and down my nightie and said ‘so what do you need to do?’ With a pause and then a long sigh I said the only thing I could at that point, ‘I need to be a good cuckold’.

After the hen night

I have often wondered, perhaps worried or feared that one day Samantha might turn around and say, ‘let’s stop this lifestyle’. I have asked her enough times if she is still ok with this, as if I was the driving force and certainly in the beginning I thought that I was. I feared if she did want to stop it might be difficult for me, that I might lose this vehicle by which to play out fantasies and experience extreme psychological arousal that was addictive as hell! Then I thought, why would she want to stop? She enjoys it, it’s fun, it’s intimate in its own original way and she, and I, get what we want without it impinging on other aspects of our lives. Our relationship is strong enough to accommodate and enjoy a cuckold lifestyle. But that was almost irrelevant now, Samantha had stepped forward and by fucking a guy last night thousands of miles from me she had signalled that she was now leading this cuckold relationship of ours and that it was not an arrangement for my pleasure alone, she was finding it rewarding. Now, I certainly didn’t feel like a Dr Frankenstein but I was aware that I had instigated something I had to be pretty sure I wanted as things were in place for us to go to the next irreversible level, if we were not there already!

Scrolling through the text conversation we had after she woke that next morning, I was a mix of arousal and jealousy, excitement and inadequacy. I was picturing her and this guy walking drunkenly back from the bar in the idyllic quiet humidity of a night in Portugal, perhaps their hands brushed against one another and it instigated intimacy, perhaps they both took the Initiative on what would have been a giddy evening for them, like the excitement of a first date! I don’t quite know how it would have started but from her text messages I knew that they had played and she had loved it.

They kissed, and she began to feel his crotch and at that moment she had to have him, even if there had been an ounce of lingering doubt in her mind earlier that evening. His Cock was huge and she had to release if from his trousers. The lust that she and this random man felt between each other was so intense that they didn’t make it as far as a hotel room. The raw animal instincts and chemistry between them meant they had to have each other right then, right in the street, on a set of steps, no matter the risk of being seen. She lay on her back and he went down on her bringing her, working her clit with an expert tongue and his fingers, to a shuddering and soaking climax that had been three days in the making. With the taste of her still fresh on his lips he raised himself on top of her and pressed the tip of his fat, hard cock against her drenched cunt pushing it in and stretching her with painful ecstasy before fucking her hard as she had so longed for. He was grabbing her hair as she moaned and he thrust it deeper still inside her at her desperate and passionate request. At one point they had been seen and had to move from the steps where they had been making forceful love. As soon as they were out of view she dropped to her knees taking his Cock hungrily and instinctively into her mouth to get him hard again so he could penetrate her once more. As these events appeared vividly in my head, as I pieced together the arousing and honest messages she sent I looked down at my own small but hard cock pressing desperately and painfully against my chastity device. I could feel involuntary dampness as pre cum wept helplessly from the tip of my cocks tiny plastic prison as I saw Samantha making love in my minds eye.

She needed his Cock then and she wanted more now that she was home and was busy reliving last night again in her head. I mooted a suggestion that I could help her out later but she did not want mine and she was unrepentant in this stingingly honest appraisal of my sexual inadequacy. My suggestion was half hearted anyway because as I read the messages she had sent, I could feel her excitement for him, I could see the colour and sound as if I was there and I knew I couldn’t compete with him. Whereas in past times I may have felt the confident and virility to compete for my partners affections, as her sexual provider and lover, the past months of emasculating chastity and sissification had chipped away at my drive and I began to slip further back into the the only role I could see myself destined for; a loving, loyal but sexually redundant emasculated cuckold.

The hen night cont…

A strange thing happened as I waited to hear how Samantha’s last night in Portugal went. I got into bed and stuck my phone on charge but I bypassed any notion to slip into a nightie or hold ups as I had been doing the previous nights when she had been away. Perhaps I was trying to detach myself from things, perhaps I couldn’t face anymore anxiety that demeaning myself through sissification might bring. Either way my senses were alive and my brain alert, there was a snowball’s chance in hell of me sleeping quickly.

Samantha had been on a date before, a coffee date. But it was a different feeling tonight compared to the last time I sat home alone wondering what might be. This was, after all, the first time she was potentially playing alone. I mean, going for coffee was just that, this was different. She was in a warm (added horniness) different country, having had a few drinks (hornier still) and now sitting in a bar with a few lads, one of which had given her his number earlier in the day.

So, as any respectable cuckold would do in this situation, I messaged Samantha as asked ‘are you flirting then? X’. The next twenty three minutes were a real mix of emotion but eventually she replied saying ‘Yh I am, tx you later x’. In one simple text I had been sidelined, pushed aside, ignored, just as she did when playing with previous lovers. Well that could be the case, or alternatively she was in a bar sitting chatting to a few lads and couldn’t, and wouldn’t be reaching for her phone every two minutes to message someone. It would be rude of course, but feeling sidelined, emotionally cuckolded was my predominant thought.

Another forty minutes later and she tried to call, but it was difficult to hear. She was still at the bar and my phone was playing up so she said she would text. The messages came through intermittently. The fact she was tipsy made her messages a little incoherent but from what I gathered one of the fellas was a little clingy towards her but she didn’t elaborate. I was left in limbo again not knowing what was happening or what she was thinking, my cuckold angst now choosing to rise up and take me unawares as I lay restless in bed.

And then it struck me. If this was to work, a proper cuckold relationship, then this was what Samantha would have to to and what I would have to accept. We talked about this and I wanted it and therefore I would have to accept that when she was out, and potentially playing, I would have to leave her to enjoy it and not harass and angle for constant updates and pics. I would find out from her at some point and enjoy that moment of closeness with her but this was not all about me and I would have to learn to love this.

A further thirty minutes later she got back to me to say she was just hanging with the guys and that she didn’t like clingy guys anyway. It appeared my angst was for nothing but the time alone had brought me to a revelation on being a good cuckold and my personal journey in this lifestyle was moving and evolving.

I awoke suddenly, a chunk of light coming through the curtain had eventually landed on my eyelid waking me up. It was early morning, the mid summer sunrise was already brightening the room. After a moment I came round and glanced at my phone to see a message. It was Samantha, ‘I got my fuck!’ She had written. Almost immediately I could feel the rush of blood into my penis as the reality dawned that she had cuckolded me once again. My Cock strained uncontrollably in my chastity device that I had to jump out of bed and ‘walk off’ this intense but suppressed erection. My mind was racing. I had fallen into a sleep and in that time my partner Samantha, having been in a bar with a group of guys in Portugal had gone back to theirs presumably and let one of these men fuck her. As I lay back into bed staring at the message I knew it would be a few hours before i would find out any more detail but the cuckold angst had gone. There was no need or no point having not because it was already done and I had been cuckolded.

The hen night

It may have been the two bottles of beer but when I read her text message I felt an acidic taste in my throat. My heart pounded and the butterflies jostled about in my stomach. I dropped my phone, picking it up quickly to see that my three sent messages had gone unanswered. I can’t text more I thought, I have to wait but the waiting was arousingly agonising. I went to the bathroom.

Samantha was on a friends hen do, not the conventional type if there is one, but a more tame affair. Only four agreed to go in the end, two of which seemed a bit older and were intent on one thing only, topping up their tan. Samantha’s frustration and being back at the hotel early each evening was acutely evident in her messages to me. We were necessarily expecting her to play, we had both joked about it prior, but perhaps that’s because we hadn’t played for a number of months. This wasn’t because we didn’t want to, far from it, it was because it was seemingly impossible to do so discreetly where we lived. As a result, perhaps we were grasping at straws but we had aroused ourselves with thoughts of her laying in the Portuguese sun, with a hunky swarthy Mediterranean guy pressed up against her in throws of carefree, debauched passion.

That hadn’t been the case. It was her last night and I was, truth be told, itching to see her again. It was that reassuring feeling of wanting and needing to see and be around your partner even after only a few days apart. It was clear she was my soulmate in so many ways. The obligatory social media posts had appeared with the girls and their farewell cocktails, and It appeared now that our pillow talk about her playing alone whilst away was just that, pillow talk… until the text came through. ‘Alone at last lol, think I am gonna meet up the guy I was chatting to at the bar!x’.

I had been sitting at home relaxing, tinged with a slight disappointment that Samantha would have nothing to report but glad she had had a few days away to herself. I was wearing my Cock cage, as we had both suggested before she left, something to excite me in those lonely nights when she was away. When that text came through however, I instantly felt very different. The cuckold angst returned and different to before. I was helpless, I felt vulnerable, not knowing what that might mean and what may be happening. As the acid in my throat subsided, I could feel the strain of my Cock inside it’s tiny locked plastic cage. This whole cocktail of emotion was highly intense, and highly addictive. I was trying to gauge the situation, I asked her how she was feeling, then asked if she would keep me up to date, then a confession that I was feeling giddy. I now looked at my phone to see my messages but no reply. What was happening?

By the time I returned from the bathroom I had a reply. ‘He’s on his way, he’s cool’, followed a short time later by ‘just with the boys now’. He had brought a couple of his mates and so I felt my angst subside, could just be a chilled, even flirty drink. Now here is where porn does a disservice to us in the cuckold community. If you watch enough of it, you may imagine Samantha would end up in a random bed with each of her holes filled at the same time by these likely lads. In reality, an intimate meet up with one guy would more likely result in sex than a few mates joining her for a drink. It didn’t matter though because each gap between my messages and her replies felt like an age, as I was left to wonder what she might be up to, if anything. The gaps initially exacerbated my angst before giving me time to talk myself down and reassure myself all was good. It was almost midnight and I crept up to the lonely bed to wait for her updates…

Cuckold climax

As I hurriedly stepped outside of the club, I could feel the cold December air race up through my nostrils, the shock of which was little more than what I felt realising Samantha had disappeared. Momentarily I turned to go back in to see if I could find her but was stopped in my tracks by her familiar laugh echoing across from the adjacent car park. I had stopped to briefly say farewell to the host while Leon and Samantha had continued together out of the club. By the time I had got out they were over at his car, sharing a cigarette, emphasising my demotion for that evening. He had offered to give us a lift back to our hotel and as I got to the car they had both already got in and were sitting together in the front seats. As I got into the back, behind Leon, Samantha turned around and in an almost sympathetic tone asked softly, ‘are you alright?’. I nodded and she immediately turned round continuing her conversation with Leon. It’s wasn’t a sexual conversation, and indeed we had all been chatty earlier in the night but sitting in the back made it difficult to engage in any chat so I sat back and looked out the window. I began to zone out and replay in my mind the evening we had had. I could feel my pulse in my ears as I thought of Samantha in Leon’s arms and as I looked at the two of them in the front of the car, i noted Samantha could barely keep her eyes of him.

We parked up at the hotel and I leaned forward to begin the obligatory goodbyes. Samantha turned to me and in a tone that was devoid of affection she said ‘why don’t you go in to the hotel and I will follow you in one minute!?’. Almost on autopilot I complied and took the short, cold and lonely walk into the hotel by myself. I don’t know what I was thinking, I suppose I knew they were going to say their own goodbyes alone in the car and that did thrill me. To be honest, Leon put me at ease enough to let Samantha play alone, and I think both her and I were glad of that.

I got into the hotel room, my ears ringing and eyes slightly heavy, typical of a late night with drink. I went straight to my side of the bed and stripping off I then pulled on the panties, hold ups and nightie I had brought and got into bed to wait for Samantha. My penis, still in chastity was aching now, having been treated to a full sensory experience of cuckoldry, and now additionally I lay wondering and imagining what Samantha and Leon might be doing, as I gently stroked by stockinged legs.

It seemed an absolute age before I heard the click of the lock and creak of the hotel room door. Looking up, I saw Samantha walking in, a little unsteady on her feet perhaps to do with her heels as much as the alcohol. Her eyes looked equally heavy, her cheeks a little flush and a grin from ear to ear. ‘Glad to see you got dressed up for me’ she giggled before kicking her heels off and throwing herself onto the bed beside me. Cross dressing had always been my crutch, in some way helping me embrace the submissive inside me. She glanced up at me, reaching her arm out to gently rub my chest and I waited to hear what she had done as I stroked my caged Cock through my panties. She just kept giggling giddily and the suspense was killing me! Perhaps they had talked, just talked, but I so wanted to think they had been doing things together in his car, I had to ask, ‘did you suck his dick again?’. She nodded, her grin widening across her face and I moved across to gently kiss her for what seemed like the first time that evening. Straddling her I began to kiss her neck and lower down her body until my head was between her legs, my mouth against her well used pussy. I breathed in the scent and as I did she said ‘we fucked again too!’. With adrenaline and arousal coursing through my body I pressed my lips against her cunt and flicked my tongue gently against it tasting him on her. I could feel the dampness from my locked Cock through my knickers and I moaned as I could smell the scent of sex on her, desperately tasting her pussy as I caressed her sensitive clit with my tongue.