Hell To Pay

When I was 19, I was brutally sexually assaulted while attending a music festival in a tiny town in Illinois.

In the days and weeks that followed my rape, I felt like my body was betraying me.  My senses were completely off kilter: my food tasted bitter, my sense of smell was heightened to an alarmingly abnormal degree, and my vision was hazy.  I began to be extremely concerned that my rapist had impregnated me.  I can’t begin to explain the emotions I went through, but the thought of that coming to pass was so threatening that the only thing that kept me from completing suicide was the knowledge that I could have an abortion legally and safely.  I later learned through my process of healing that the sensations I was experiencing were somatic manifestations of acute post traumatic stress disorder.

I was born with bodily autonomy. I have the right to consent. I have the right to not have my blood drawn or my organs removed against my will, even after death. I also have the inalienable right to decide, for any reason, to end a pregnancy based on my own authority because I have the right to life and liberty. To date, I have not had to make that decision because I have yet to become pregnant. Throughout my life, I have supported women, who have become pregnant and had abortions, and I have supported women, who became pregnant and chose to carry the pregnancy to term. I have supported a woman’s choice in all circumstances and situations.

A year ago, a bill was passed by the legislature in the state where I live to restrict abortion access after six weeks of pregnancy.  Not only would this archaic piece of legislation effectively ban access to abortion before most women even know they are pregnant, it would deputize private citizens to sue anyone who “aided and abetted” a woman in obtaining an abortion after six weeks of gestation.  It could be the medical provider, a family member, an employer, or a friend. In response, the people in my state marched in the streets.  We voted.  We donated to abortion funds.  We implored our federal government and the Supreme Court to protect our constitutional rights.

In September of last year, I effectively lost my bodily autonomy.  I have less rights than my mother did when she was my age.  The Supreme Court did nothing to intervene.  The federal government did nothing to intervene.  It has been 246 days. 

Never before have I written a blog post addressed to a specific group of readers. I realize that you do not come to Cuckoldress Musings to read about sexual assault or senate bills. I know that you come to this space to indulge in my musings about cuckolding and sex, and I never take my audience for granted. However, recent events have compelled me to reach out to one specific type of person who I know reads this blog. And there are a lot of you.

This post is for the people who read this blog who are immensely aroused by the cuckolding relationship dynamic and also hold conservative political views.  Specifically, this post is for those people who are interested in cuckolding but have expressed anti-abortion sentiments and voted in alignment with restricting reproductive healthcare.  Most specifically, this post is for men with cuckolding desires and conservative views, who would like to encourage their wives or female partners to explore the lifestyle with them.

If Roe Vs. Wade is repealed, that will likely never come to pass for you.

Cuckolding relationships will never be viable in a society where women do not have bodily autonomy.

Sure, you could be fortunate enough to live in one of the 16 states and the District of Columbia that have laws that protect the right to abortion.

Or, like me, you could live in one of the 23 states have laws that could be used to restrict the legal status of abortion. 

At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter.  Because the fear that comes with the loss of this fundamental human right will have struck deeply in the hearts of American women.  

Cuckolding relationships will never be viable in a society where women do not have bodily autonomy.  The very foundation of a true loving cuckolding relationship relies upon a woman’s inherent agency over her body and the compersion that her cuck feels when she steps into the power that accompanies that agency. 

So, if you belong to that group of people who I have addressed this message to, I have one single message for you: You’d better be on the front lines with us fighting like HELL for women to have accessible and legal reproductive healthcare.  Cuckolding is about empowering women.  If you cannot empower a woman to make the most fundamental decisions about her body, then you have no business calling yourself a cuckold. 

If you are reading this post and you support a woman’s right to choose and see the obvious relationship between bodily autonomy and cuckolding relationships, please spread this message far and wide.  Support the women in your lives.  Support abortion funds and reproductive justice organizations.  With your dollars, with your time, and with your energy.  Most importantly take care of yourself.  Your mental health and body matter too.  And we need both to be healthy.  We have the fight of our lives ahead of us, and there will be hell to pay if Roe is repealed.  

These are abortion funds and reproductive justice organizations I support:

Tell them Scarlet sent you.  Then take a screenshot of your contribution and email it to me at cuckoldressscarlet@gmail.com and I will respond with an expression of my personal gratitude. 

I would like to send a special word of thanks to my dear friend and SlutSister Mistress K of the INCREDIBLE blog Headstrong Hotwife. Her support was critical for this post. Go visit her blog and show her some love!

The Year of The Slut

Followers of my twitter account will likely recall this tweet from approximately a year ago…

I composed and sent it moments after I looked deeply into my fiance’s eyes and informed him of my intention for the new year.  I am not a creature of custom—I need novelty, fresh experiences, and the opportunity to break new sexual ground to feel most alive.  With my first vaccine appointment booked I was ready to begin planning the year ahead; dreaming of ways to make all my slutty dreams come true.

I can’t remember the exact nature of the fantasies that poured from my head to my mouth to my Cuck’s ears that night, but I am certain that the reality of my year surpassed them tenfold.  I wanted to share some snapshots of the sluttiest year of my life: the friendships I forged, the unforgettable evenings of pleasure I reveled in, and the new developments in my cuck and I’s loving cuckolding dynamic.  I could never accurately capture how meaningful and revolutionary these moments have been in the fabric of my life but I will do my best to give you a glimpse behind the curtain of the great production that was 2021: The Year of the Slut.

The highlight of my year was meeting a woman whose presence has forever altered the course of my life.  We became acquainted in the fall of 2020 and developed an immediate friendship.  I have always valued the opportunity to get to know other Cuckoldresses.  Our shared mentality and sexual empowerment is fodder for wonderful shared conversation.  Within the first hour of meeting Áine, I knew our unique bond would be unlike any friendship in the lifestyle I had previously experienced.  Áine is caring and gracious.  I got the feeling of truly being held and listened to every time I looked into her beautiful eyes during our hours of conversation.  When the conversation stopped and our hot play session with five of my bulls started I quickly learned I was in the presence of a slut as ravenous and eager to be worshiped as I am.  We quickly realized that the context of our relationship is more than like-minded friends, more than women sharing the same relationship dynamic, and more than sexually empowered women seeking our pleasure without shame.  Áine and I are souls that have known one another throughout the ages and we found each other in this life through our shared love of the cuckolding lifestyle.  I cannot accurately express how much I cherish this relationship with my Slut Sister; the value of our connection is beyond words.

Áine and I at a Vegas Nightclub

Áine and I were able to spend time together on four occasions this year, each more legendary than the last.  We danced the night away in clubs in Vegas, attended two Splash Mocha hotel takeover events, and sent videos engaging in some playful humiliation to our loving Cucks at home.  The culmination of our slutivities ended where we began them, in Houston, where Áine, her amazing cuckold Husband E (who was the grand architect of all of our adventures throughout the year), my Cuck R, and I were able to all share some cherished moments together.  We also celebrated the launch of Áine’s incredible new podcast, Sexualchemy, at Splash Mocha in Houston.  Áine’s podcast is a groundbreaking exploration of the intrinsic link between sexuality and spirituality.  Her work unravels the shame narrative surrounding sex and pleasure and she has already hosted some incredible guests to discuss their individual journey of sexualchemy.  I have had the honor of joining her for two episodes, one sharing my own journey and one describing the origins of SlutSisters, which has evolved from the friendship we share to a full-blown movement!  More details about SlutSisters will be released soon, please listen to these two episodes for more details and subscribe to Sexualchemy!

My cuckold and I have been on a journey of maturation throughout the past year. The first years of our cuckolding dynamic felt like a whirlwind for both of us.  We were both ravished by the sexual energy that was ever-present in our relationship in ways we had never before dreamed possible.  In October of 2019, we took a hiatus from the lifestyle to focus on one another, debrief our lifestyle experiences, and re-evaluate our goals.  That hiatus ended in February of 2020.  You can probably imagine our disappointment as the world shut down right when we were ready to move forward with full clarity about our desires as a couple.  We found ourselves navigating a very different lifestyle scene than what we entered into, and we each responded differently to the novel stressors and challenges the COVID-19 pandemic brought into our lives.  My cuck has remained the ever-present source of support and encouragement I have relied upon for the better part of a decade. However, we have both realized that his desire to be a present participant in my sexual encounters with bulls and play partners had waned over the years.  He has always derived the most joy within our cuckolding dynamic from ensuring that I am having the most fulfilling sex life possible and enjoying the amplified passion that overflows into our reconnection.  

It is often said that a loving cuckolding relationship, like any other intentional endeavor within a relationship, is a journey containing many expected and unexpected turns.  What is not often shared is how these evolutions in dynamics and/or preferences are affected by the competing and shifting demands of life.  During the pandemic, my cuck realized that certain elements of the cuckolding angst that used to be erotic and appealing to him had begun to feel more like stress, which he was already experiencing a great deal of.  If you are reading this blog as a fantasist or a fan of the lifestyle, without having ever lived within a cuckolding dynamic, you may not understand this development.  I would be willing to wager that those readers who have lived in and maintained a healthy and loving cuckolding dynamic throughout the trials and stressors of life will understand our experience exactly.  

I was invited to share my experience in a loving cuckolding dynamic on several podcasts last year including The Kinky Cocktail Hour, Consenting Adults, and The Ofacez Podcast.  I was thrilled to discover my interview with Leyna Nugyun on Consenting Adults was her #1 most downloaded episode!  I consider this success to be further proof of the cuckolding renaissance as the public is truly hungry for information about real people’s expression of this amazing lifestyle dynamic.

One of the messages I was most proud to share last year came in the form of a podcast episode with my wonderful and cherished friend Cuckoldress Venus.  We decided to set the record straight about cuckolds being cherished, loved, and celebrated for their sexual orientation.  I was able to share the lessons from my previous blog post, Cuckolding From Abundance, and add my voice to a collective of women uplifting cuckolds for being exactly who they are. If you haven’t listened yet, be sure to listen to the Venus Cuckoldress Podcast episode “The Worth of a Cuck.”

My frequent travels in 2021 made it possible to develop connections with a great deal of incredible gentlemen bulls and fellow Cuckoldressess and Cucks.  It’s an amazing feeling to know that I am part of a worldwide tribe of people living their truths intentionally and without shame.  If we shared a moment together in 2021, whether it was an orgasmic fuck, conversation and laughter over dinner and drinks, a stroll in the moonlight or all of the above, know that I continue to cherish the memories we made.  Those of us who make up the creative heart of the cuckolding community have spread the message that #CuckoldingisLove far and wide.  Many interpret this to mean that cuckolding dynamics are based on the love shared between the Cuck and Cuckoldress, and that interpretation is absolutely true.  My experience with this entire vibrant community has been loving, inclusive, and compassionate.  Cuckolding love extends to my bulls, who I am so grateful to have in my life.  Cuckolding love extends to my fellow Cuckoldresses, who boldly pursue sexual empowerment in a society hostile towards their sluthood.  Cuckolding love extends to my cuck friends, brave and bold enough to explore desires that run counter to toxic notions of masculinity.  Cuckolding love extends to those curious about this lifestyle, or exploring their own desires.  Cuckolding love extends to you, dear reader. 

I look ahead to a year of continued growth, change, and slutiness-of course. My Slut Sister Áine and I are currently developing an intentional collective of sexually liberated women to provide mutual support, empower one another, network, and play.  I believe this sisterhood will be a powerful resource to women seeking to further their sexual expression, regardless of the relationship container or lack thereof they inhabit.  Subscribe to my blog to remain up-to-date about SlutSisters, coming later this year!

Lastly, I am abundantly excited to announce that I am a part of the first annual CuckWeek Celebration.  I have lovingly christened Dr. David Ley’s incredible book, Insatiable Wives, “The Basic Text” of the cuckolding/hotwifing relationship dynamics. Insatiable Wives is a comprehensive account of the rich historic and psychological context of cuckolding/hotwifing dynamics and it is being released for audiobook purchase during CuckWeek: January 25th – 31st 2022!  I and several incredible cuckolding community members will be releasing podcast episodes, blog posts, and hosting live audio chats during CuckWeek.  Please consider this your formal invitation to join us in sharing the cuckolding love!!  Follow the #CuckWeek account and my account on Twitter to join in the festivities.  I will also be announcing an opportunity to enter a raffle to obtain an audio copy of Insatiable Wives, digitally inscribed by yours truly!

Thank you for your continued support and for bringing life to my Musings.  My wish for all of you is a year of abundance and fulfilling sex.  

The Glass Slipper

I’m going to invite you to participate in a quick exercise.  Imagine for a moment that you are tasked with purchasing an item you didn’t know existed 24 hours prior to making the purchase.  Then, imagine that you were purchasing this item for the person you love and you feel an immense amount of pressure to ensure that they enjoy it.  Furthermore, imagine this item is an accessory that is physically impossible for you to wear.  And for all of this to go well you must determine the correct size and specifications to ensure it is a perfect fit.  Does that sound stressful?  Nearly impossible to get right?  This, dear reader, was the exact predicament I found myself in when I ordered my fiancé’s first chastity cage.

During our first conversation about cuckolding on the eve of my birthday, my fiancé invited me to purchase an extra gift for myself: the first device I would use to lock up his penis.  We sat around my laptop and browsed the various models for over an hour.  He explained the basics of the mechanism to me: the ring wraps snugly around his scrotum and the “cage” portion fits around his penis.  The cage connects to the ring and a padlock is affixed at the conjoining point, ensuring that it could not be removed.  I looked at the chastity cages with a sense of wonderment, curious about what these strange devices would feel like and imagining how they might look on him.  

“I think it’s only right that you should pick mine out.  My penis belongs to you now in a very different way than it did before.” He said.

“I like the sound of that, but I’m a little intimidated to be honest.” I remarked.  “I mean, you appear to be the expert on this…”

“It’s okay if it’s not perfect.  We can always get another one.” He replied. 

I spent the rest of the evening laying in bed scrolling through my phone reading about chastity.  I read contradictory beginners guides on how to find the perfect cage.  I learned that cages were made from different materials: steel, plastic, silicon. I read about the pros and cons of each of these and read review after review. I began to feel overwhelmed by all of the information I was taking in.  It was almost as if I was a newly crowned Queen about to make her first royal decree.  I nervously decided it was best to just pull the trigger and buy one from the first website we had visited together.  I’ll never forget the model: cbx-6000.  I hurriedly selected the color: a neutral wood grain. Then I approached the question I had been dreading: the size of the cage.

At this point in my life I was not well versed in determining the size of men’s cocks.  Societal conditioning had programmed me to believe it was rude to overly fixate on the dimensions of any man’s penis and it seemed especially uncouth to measure my fiancé’s.  He had always insisted that he was average at best and I tended to believe him, even though I often felt he was being slightly modest in his assessment.   Now I was tasked with selecting the perfect length to encase his flaccid penis in a sheath of plastic.  I agonized about it for a few long moments and then made a selection: 3 1/4 inches. 

Something shifted within me when I looked at that number on my phone screen.  Three and a quarter inches.  It seemed like such a small number.  More than small; miniscule. Insignificant.  Three and a quarter of anything isn’t really all that much.  That realization quickly transposed into a title wave of excitement.  My fiancé had just given me the gift of freedom to fuck anyone I wanted.  I was certain I would fuck men with bigger cocks than him.  I hurriedly finished the checkout process before eagerly grabbing my Hitachi vibrator and embarked on a google search of an entirely different nature.

I am an obsessive purchase tracker.  I greatly enjoy shopping online because I never lost the wonderment of opening a package I have received in the mail.  I will often compulsively check the tracking even though I know the location of my package is not likely to have been updated.  This tendency was on full display as I waited for my fiancé’s chastity cage to arrive in the mail.  It was a grueling wait made even more excruciating by the unbelievably hot sex my fiancé and I were having.  We had both worked ourselves into a frenzy fantasizing about cuckolding, denial, and the dynamics of bringing a bull into our relationship.  I had even gone out and bought a surprise: a spool of pink ribbon to tie around the chastity cage and a pair of thigh high stockings for him to wear with it.

You can imagine my excitement when the tracking status read delivered during my 10th check at work.  I hurriedly texted my fiancé and told him it arrived.  

“I want you to put it on as soon as we get home.” I commanded.

“Yes, Mistress.” He promptly responded. 

Luckily, my fiancé was working late that evening and I was able to get home and open the box before him.  I laid all the parts of the device out on my kitchen table.  The starter kit came with several rings of varying size.  The cage seemed light enough in my hand, but there were two pieces of plastic that I wasn’t quite sure what to do with.  I attempted to put the cage together but it didn’t seem to fit together readily.  Puzzled, I decided it would all make sense when we secured it on my fiancé later in the evening.  I laid out the pieces of the cage on our bed and placed the key to the padlock in my pocket.  I set out the white thigh high stockings next to them.  Pleased with my display, I poured myself a glass of wine and waited for the man of my dreams to return home. 

A few glasses of wine later my front door burst open and my fiancé returned home.  He kneeled before me and kissed my feet.  

“Are you excited, Cucky?  Your new life starts today.” I said.

“I am, Mistress.  I’m ready.”  He responded.  I instructed him to shower and remain naked.  I felt a euphoric sense of joy wash over me.  I was experiencing the same emotion I always feel when I’m stepping onto an airplane. The man I love and I were about to embark on a remarkable journey together.  I wasn’t just stepping into my bedroom to place a chastity device on his penis, I was participating in a ceremony of great consequence. When my fiancé finished his shower I beckoned him into the bedroom to behold his device.

The grandiose nature of the moment faded quickly over our numerous attempts to correctly secure the chastity device on his penis.  We tried one ring, and then another.  One seemed too small and another was too large.  We both struggled to understand the correct placement of the extra plastic pieces, which I learned were called “spacers.”  He became frustrated, I became frustrated. Just as we both were ready to call it a night, our attempt yielded a tenuous hold.

“Is it on?” I asked, exasperated.

“I think so.” He said, taking a precarious step forward. We both shared a laugh.

“Well, it can only get easier from here, right!  Don’t forget to put on your pretty stockings.”  

“Yes, Mistress.”

I sauntered into the living room and laid out on the couch, waiting for my newly minted cuckold to stand before me.  I waited a few moments, and then a few more, and just when I was about to ask what was taking so long I saw my fiancé demurely poke his head out of the bedroom door.

“Come out here!  Let me see you!” I excitedly commanded.

The man I was betrothed to marry sheepishly stepped out and I was slightly taken aback by the sight of him.  He had raided my panty drawer and found my garter belt and affixed them to his white thigh highs. The cage was gratefully still snuggly attached to his genitals.  

“Come closer.” I instructed.  He inched toward me.  

“I think we might have a problem, Mistress, the cage is too big.”

I scoffed.  Too big?!  The three and a quarter inches that I found so tiny when I ordered it was somehow too big?

“Let me see!” I exclaimed.

I picked up his caged penis and testicles and looked into the small hole at the bottom of the cage.  I let out a small gasp.  There was visible space between the end of the cage and where my cuckold’s penis was placed within it.  I felt slightly crestfallen, but I wasn’t going to allow that feeling to put in a dent in the power I felt from locking him away.

“We’ll order you another cage tomorrow.  I liked the pink one anyway.  So, my love, how do you feel?”  I asked genuinely.

“I feel like I’m really, really your cuckold now.  I’m locked up and dressed up and this feels right.  What matters most to me is that you’re happy.”

I leapt to my feet and embraced him in a warm, passionate kiss.  I was truly happy and more in love than I ever had been.  There are times in life that I refer to as “bookmark moments.”  Life before the moment was unrecognizable when compared to life after that moment.  Nothing would ever be the same.  The power I felt the first night my cuckold surrendered his penis to me was unlike anything I had ever felt, and the surrender he experienced was of the same gravity.  There is only ever one first kiss, one first dance, and one first night locking up your cuckold.

The Anniversary Story: A Foray Into Voyeurism and Exhibitionism Part II

Editors Note: This is a long post but I couldn’t help but include all of the relevant juicy details, I so I hope you will indulge me.

In the first installment of this two-part post, I detailed my initiation into watching others as they engaged in sex, commonly known as voyuerism, and how it sparked a desire within me to be watched by others while having sex, commonly known as exhibitionism.  I highly recommend that you return to part one if you have not read it yet, as the context of that evening is central to understanding my evolution with these two forms of sexual expression.  

I left my readers with the knowledge that a desire was born within me that night to be seen in my most carnal and hedonistic state.  That desire was tempered by the understanding that my boyfriend would, for various reasons, not likely be the ideal partner for this particular theatrical production.  I was left in this mental quagmire for a few months, and although the desire was present in the back of my mind I didn’t allow it to hinder the evolution we were experiencing as a couple.

The story of how I evolved into that woman, the center of attention and the object of other’s gaze while having sex, is not nearly as linear as the story I last told.  It is a journey that occurred over several key moments in time,  like the blossoming of a flower.  I will share my most salient memories, like pins to mark our path on a map, culminating in the story behind the famous anniversary audio. 

The Smile

Six months after the night I described in part one, my boyfriend and I had the good fortune of meeting some other couples in the swinging lifestyle whose company we enjoyed.  We became fast friends with one couple because we all shared a great deal in common, as they were both new to the lifestyle and right around my age.  I was fairly attracted to the husband, my boyfriend was fairly attracted to the wife (a match made in heaven for most swinger pairings) and we began being introduced to their broader group of friends.

Although we had spent time with this couple at several lifestyle events, we had yet to swap and play with them.  I noticed a rare weekend when my boyfriend and I would have a Saturday night off together and I proposed that we host a get together at our home with the couple.  My boyfriend tended to be much more comfortable in private settings so I hoped he would be able to let loose and have some fun.  He agreed, and after I reached out to the couple, the date was set.

The evening arrived, and everything was perfectly arranged.  My home was immaculate as I like it to be when I am hosting, candles were lit, the lights were low.  As my boyfriend and I sat on the couch and sipped champagne waiting for our guests to arrive, my phone buzzed with a notification.  The text was from the wife, and it read “Hey!  We’re on our way, I hope you don’t mind but we’re bringing a friend with us.”  I looked at my boyfriend quizzically and read the text to him.  “A guy or a girl?”  He asked.  I responded to the text in turn, and quickly got a response.  It was a guy, one of the husband’s good friends.  For a moment I was slightly frustrated that the perfect couple-swap scenario I had envisioned had gone awry.  My boyfriend interrupted my thought process quickly with a blunt statement: “He can come over.”  I relayed this message to our friends, and before we knew it they were in our home.  

Our previously quiet home was now full of laughter and merriment brought by our two established friends and our new third friend.  Before long, the wife and I all dashed to the room and excitedly doffed our clothes while our gentlemen play partners delved into their pockets for condoms.  The next hour or so consisted of a flurry of oral stimulation, penetration and writhing bodies.  As is always the case, my memory of who I was fucking in what order and how the sex transpired eludes me during recollection.  However, there is one moment that stands out.  

As is often the case when I play with a group, I would be a part of the last pair fucking.  Suddenly, the noise level in my bedroom seemed to drop 20 decibels.  I became aware that the couple, the friends we had invited, were picking up their clothes and getting dressed.  I glanced over at them from my position on all fours on my bed, where the friend they had brought was vigorously fucking my ass.  Then I heard an exclamation from the other side of the room.

“His cock is huge and she is taking all of it!”

I whipped my head around to see my boyfriend, standing tall in the corner of the room.  His expression was one of pure joy and he was smiling from ear to ear.  He stood and watched until my new friend had cum in my ass, and I gleefully hopped off the bed and kissed him.  That moment carried much more significance than I could have realized at the time.  I didn’t understand just how much pleasure my boyfriend was deriving from watching me with a more well-endowed man.  I wasn’t yet aware that my boyfriend’s cuckolding desires were becoming more and more pervasive.  I was introduced to the idea of my boyfriend as the audience in my performance of sexual voracity that evening, and I couldn’t help but admit that I enjoyed basking in the passion and intensity of his gaze.

The Show

My next moment of reveling in exhibitionism occurred the better part of a year following that evening. A few notable events occurred between the evening with our friends and the evening I’m about to describe.  My boyfriend became my fiancé and my cuckold.  I became a burgeoning cuckoldress and began exploring what that title, and the sexual freedom my fiancé had bestowed with it, meant to me.  I had been in a non-monogamous relationship for a while, so I took stock of the things I enjoyed in the hope that my new role would allow me to amplify those elements and reduce my exposure to the portions of the lifestyle that I found undesirable.  In the course of taking this inventory I placed indulging in exhibitionism high on my list.  I knew I would enjoy having passionate sex with a bull in front of my cuck while he was locked up and I wondered if I may even have the opportunity to garner a larger audience with my newly discovered sexual power.

I had begun the process of interviewing and meeting local bulls and my cuck and I had a few experiences in the privacy of our home.  One of those experiences was with my first black bull, who for the purpose of this post I will call Jerome.  My first date with Jerome was one of the rare dates I have experienced in the lifestyle that did not go well (a story for another entry).  The fault did not lie with him, in fact, I desperately wanted to see him again.  There was something about his presence I found extremely alluring.  He was soft spoken and when we spoke the timbre of his voice reminded me of the warmth of sunlight on my skin.  He had a broad and inviting smile and when we kissed I felt passionate lust searing through my skin.  

I enjoyed my conversations with Jerome because he was inquisitive in all the right ways.  He consistently asked me thought-provoking questions that fueled the potential in my new relationship dynamic.  He introduced play possibilities and invited me to share them with my cuck.  I felt abundantly safe when I was with him and he introduced me to elements of the lifestyle I would come to love.  

One mundane Tuesday in January I got a message from Jerome inviting me to spend time with him during the upcoming weekend.   We began chatting and the tempo of the conversation quickened.  I became aroused at the thought of the amazing sex I was going to have with him and I allowed a lingering desire to become an urgent beckoning.

“I want you to take me out.”  I texted.  Moments later, a message came through: “Oh yeah?  Where do you want to go?”  I thought for a moment and boldly messaged: “I want to go somewhere where you can fuck me in front of a crowd of people.”  A moment passed, and then another moment.  My body tensed and I felt a twinge of anxiety about how my new bull would respond to my suggestion.  I laid my phone down and before I could remove my hand from it I felt the tell-tale vibration of my messenger. I hurriedly grasped at my phone and unlocked it.  

“Let’s make that happen.  I know the perfect place.” I read.  I could feel my face becoming flushed and feelings of excitement coursed through my veins.  I remember texting my cuck right away and sharing in a flirty, light conversation with him about it. He was thrilled for me.  I returned my thoughts to my work and participated in the time honored American tradition of living for the upcoming Saturday night.

When Saturday came, I found myself in the very setting I described in my previous installment.  My bull had just parked his car outside a nondescript strip mall with an unmarked door.  This time we were only there for a few moments to gather our drinks and my “slut bag” containing the lingerie I would change into within a few moments of arriving, condoms, and a few toys.   I confidently walked beside my bull as we both entered the club, but I was slightly disappointed by the crowd of people I saw gathered inside.  There were only about 40 people milling about in the cavernous space of the main dance floor.  This swinger club location had just recently opened its doors and I was expecting a much larger group of party-goers than the currently visible patrons.  Slightly deflated, I followed my bull to a couch, sat beside him and rested my hand on his knee as he poured out our drinks.  We sat talking for a few minutes, and I felt a strong gravitational urge to kiss his pillowy soft lips.  As we passionately kissed I heard a voice faintly say my name as if it was uttered at the end of a long tunnel.  I pulled myself from my bull’s strong embrace and looked up to see my friend, the wife who I had invited to our home, standing beside her husband.  

A lightning bolt of fear stung through my chest.  I hadn’t informed any of our swinger friends that my fiancé and I changed our lifestyle dynamic at that point for a few key reasons.  My fiancé had expressed that he did not want anyone to know and we both agreed that our swinger friends were not likely to understand some of the more nuanced dynamics of cuckolding.  Now, I found myself staring directly at my friend who had clearly seen me passionately kissing my muscular black bull with my fiancé nowhere in sight.  How was I to explain this?  

At certain points in life, two paths appear before you in an instant that dictate how you are going to handle a situation.  You can either dance around, deflect, or straight-up deceive or you can be radically honest and let the chips fall where they may.  I am so grateful I decided on the latter in the few moments it took for me to excitedly dash up to meet my friends with a warm embrace.  I introduced Jerome to each of them as my bull.

“Bull?”  The wife said quizzically. 

I leaned in to speak in her ear so she could clearly hear me over the din of the (still super shity) music blaring from the DJ’s booth.  

“My fiancé and I have entered into a really exciting new stage in the lifestyle.  I can’t wait to tell you all about it!  For now though, let’s have some fun!”  

“Okay!  I’m so happy for you guys!”  She said genuinely. I grabbed her hand and ushered her to the dance floor and danced with her for the remainder of the song while her husband and my bull exchanged pleasantries.  When the song ended, I approached my bull with a static and contagious energy. “Can we go play baby?”  I asked, staring deeply into his eyes.  “Fuck yes!” He answered immediately and we walked together to the back portion of the club, where the vacant playrooms lay in wait.

The layout of this club was different from the one I described in the previous installment .  There was no “pit” as I had hoped, but there was a single bed situated in the middle of an open room with a few couches along the walls.  There were a few playrooms with doors to the left of the bed.  My bull casually walked past each of those and led me right to the bed in the center of the room.  We began passionately kissing and leaned onto the bed.  In one swift motion my bull bent me over his knee and delivered a few hard slaps on my ass, pushing my thong to the side so he could caress my ass and sopping wet pussy between each blow.  I could feel the strength of his massive erection bursting through his pants. With each breath I took, my desire to swallow it intensified.  Finally, he pushed us both on to the bed and began to unbuckle his belt.  While my focus was completely tunneled on the beautiful black cock I was about to worship, I couldn’t help but notice that during the motion blur of us getting on to the bed that a few curious onlookers had congregated in the room.  Just as this realization that we were being watched dawned on me, my bull’s ebony cock was freed from his pants and I set about doing what I love most in this world: orally servicing my King. 

I’m not sure how long I was lost in the passion of suckling, gagging, and having my face fucked before my bull instructed me to climb on top of him.  I hastened to feel the fullness of his perfect dick inside me, and I climbed up to him greedily.  As I placed him inside my pussy I heard a small cheer behind me, but before I could even process it I was transported into ecstasy by the first powerful thrust of his cock against my cervix.  Lost in pleasure, I could hear snippets of conversations occurring around me.  I heard laughter and the hushed tones of dirty talk and I rode my bull with a greater passion than any man that had ever had me in that position. I then became aware of my bull tapping my leg and his low, sexy voice saying “turn around.”  I eagerly adjusted on all fours and got my first full view of the room around me in some time.  The empty room was buzzing with people watching us from every angle imaginable.   Before I could even get a sense of how many people were actually in the room I felt my bull mount my sensitive pussy and I was lost again in a moment of sheer, orgasmic pleasure.  

I became drunk with the energy of my aroused audience as they watched my bull fuck me.  I looked deeply into their eyes, moaned sensually and verbally invited their gaze.  I turned my head and my eyes met with my girlfriend.  I allowed a big smile to come across my face and pushed back on my bull’s cock vigorously.  There was certainly no hiding why I preferred to be out with my bull than my fiancé now!  

After basking in the glow of my audience’s gaze for quite some time I asked my lover to fill me with his strong bull seed.  The tempo of his thrusts quickened and my pussy clung to him, waiting to be soaked in him.  I felt the pulsating ripple of my lover’s orgasm and the energy of it hit me like a speeding freight train.  We slowly detangled from one another and found ourselves among the throng of people we had ushered into the room.  As we pulled the sheets from the mattress I noticed that some of the women were on their knees before the men, eagerly sucking their cocks.  As my bull assisted the staff member in changing the sheets, I sauntered out to the main dance floor to retrieve my drink and was shocked by what I saw: there was not a soul to be seen there.  The entirety of the club had been pulled into the playrooms ignited by the spark of lust I felt for my bull.  

There was not a soul to be seen there… 

It was then I realized exactly why I love exhibitionism.   It has nothing to do with putting on a good show or being the center of attention.  It’s about the opportunity to serve as a catalyst and a conduit for the sexual energy within a space.  Like a magnet falling among metal filings, the energy concentrates around me for a moment and I can feel the strength of it enveloping me before another magnet comes and pulls it in another direction.  In the years since this night, I have come to love being the spark that leads to the roaring fire I then get to bask in as an observer.  Voyeurism and exhibitionism are so strongly linked for me because I would only experience a fraction of the enjoyment I get from both if I were only indulging in one or the other.

The Story

Many evenings of soaking in exhibitionist energy followed that fateful evening with Jerome.  With each opportunity to watch and be seen my confidence grew.  Sex clubs, parties, and lifestyle events became an abundantly comfortable space to both ground myself and let loose depending on what I needed at the time.  Then, just as my sluttivities were building towards the development of a community with a solid group of bulls and couples who had become dear friends, the COVID-19 pandemic struck.  In the doldrums of the various lock-downs, closures, and rampant fear my beaming exhibitionist spirit began to wilt and decay.  I held out hope for the time when life would return to normalcy and I could step out into the night once again.

One evening I got a message from a bull I had met the previous year.  He was going out to a new club that had opened right before the pandemic hit and wondered if I would like to accompany him.  I remembered our evening together fondly, and I allowed a spark of hope to ignite within me.  I spoke with my cuck about the invitation and he encouraged me to go, probably tired of the months he had spent dealing with my high energy cooped up in our home.  

The day we were scheduled to go out my bull messaged me and told me that he had invited another Hotwife he played with to accompany us.  I was excited by the opportunity to meet another like minded woman and my attitude when it comes to going out is always “The more the merrier!”  As the evening approached I instructed my cuckold to dust off my slut bag and we set about our routine of packing my essentials, affixing my queen of spades tattoos, and selecting my outfit.  He laid out three pairs of panties and I decided to bring them all.  We giggled and kissed, both extremely excited about what the night would bring.  When my bull messaged that he arrived at our home, I almost couldn’t believe I was really about to go out.  It was as if I was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under my feet any second.  That feeling finally faded on the ride to the club as I engaged in conversation with my bull and my new friend.  

By this time I don’t need to describe the interior of the club to you.  It had all the required elements: a large dance floor, a voyeur room, closed-door playrooms, and really bad music blaring from the DJ booth.  As we walked to an open table a surreal feeling grasped a hold of me-it was as if all those nights in the past weren’t as distant of a memory as I thought they would be.  They were, in fact, woven into a tapestry that was yet to be completed.  

At some point much later in the evening, I stood chatting with my friends in the corner of the crowded voyeur room.  My brain registered an image captured from my peripheral view.  I automatically swung my head around to bring my full focus to the scene occurring behind me.  Time seemed to momentarily slow down as I gazed upon a black man mounting a sexy Latinx woman from behind.  That is the most basic description and surely that’s what most people were registering as they watched.  I was tuned into an entirely different frequency: I saw every muscle beneath his regal ebony skin flex as he powerfully thrust himself inside her.  I noticed every reaction in her body as she captured the pure force of his cock within her.  I felt the energy flow from his hips to her pussy all the way up to the crown of her head and back as he completed his rotation and pulled his cock out again, only to trust even deeper once more.  Although I could not see his cock, I deduced immediately it had to be massive.

I felt my feet beneath me take a step in their direction completely involuntary, as if a  jet stream of energy was pulling me towards this couple.  I approached the bed the couple was playing on and the heat of their sex became palpable to me.  When I got to the edge of the bed I felt my knees hit the carpet and my ass extended out and the full view of him taking her was revealed.  My slut instincts were more than accurate: not only was his cock massive-it was one of the largest big black cocks I have ever seen. The muscles in my jaw became slack for a moment out of sheer instinct to swallow him, even though I knew it was unlikely he would notice me at all in all of the frenzied activity in the room…

Right as that thought ran through my head he looked down at me and our eyes locked.  The power in his gaze drew the breath from my lungs.  He didn’t skip a beat in his sex with his partner and in that moment I hoped sincerely my energy was on his radar as much as his was on mine.  I broke his gaze and looked at the woman enjoying his huge bbc.  

I’d like to insert an aside at this moment for a brief and important interlude about swinger club etiquette and consent. Even though the scene I am describing is indescribably arousing and almost sounds like the contrived script of a porno, what you are thinking is going to happen next is probably off base.  I did not touch the man or the woman, as I follow the same rules of engagement as everyone should in sex-positive environments: you do not touch anyone unless asking for and receiving explicit enthusiastic consent.  This procedure is not different for me because I am a woman or because I was scantily clad or because my body language was inviting.  Furthermore, I would not have approached this couple if they were playing in the private area of the club behind closed doors.  Even if I were enthralled by watching them walk to a room together, there is an understanding that if you are playing behind a closed door you do not want an audience and I would have respected that. 

The porno, fantasy version of the following moments is probably that the man pulled his cock out of the woman and placed it in my mouth without speaking a word to me.  But that is not what happened.  The reality of the following few seconds is that I uttered some hushed dirty talk and watched as long as I could before I heard my name called out from behind me.  I pulled my energy away from the coupe and stood up to rejoin my friends.  I am always apt to live in the moment, so I let the extremely hot memory of the couple slip into the recesses of my mind-carrying a small flame of hope that I might run into this man again.

The rest of the evening contained a lot of fun, hot moments between my bull and my new friend.  The club thinned out as the wee hours of the morning trickled down.  The DJ announced that the club was closing and I knew what was to follow: the blazing fluorescent lights would turn on and the few remaining guests would be ushered out.  I decided to circumvent that unpleasant experience and headed to our table to gather my belongings.  As I was packing up my slut bag I felt a soft touch on my shoulder.  I turned around fully expecting to see one of my friends and let a small gasp escape my lips when I immediately recognized the King standing before me.  

“Hey.  I saw you earlier.”  He said quietly.

A felt a flush overtake my face and I struggled to find the words to respond.

“I did.  That was unbelievably hot.” I said.

He let a small, sly smile come across his face.  

“I was wondering if you wanted to play?” He asked almost coyly-already well aware what my answer would be.

A torrent of excitement overtook me.  I didn’t care it was nearly three AM, I didn’t care that I was tired, I didn’t care that my feet were hurting from standing in my heels.  I wanted this King inside me about as badly as I have ever wanted anything.  

“Fuck Yes!!!” I exclaimed.  

He motioned over to the play rooms and I wrapped my arm around his muscular bicep and followed him there.  As soon as we crossed the threshold I began removing my clothes and he did the same. Before my panties were even off he powerfully bent me over the bed, I felt him grasping the temporary queen of spades tattoo on my ass and heard him remark, “Oh, a queen of spades Hugh?”  I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or someone else but an instant later none of that mattered.  Nothing mattered.  I was transported into a plane of intense pleasure the likes of which I had seldom experienced before.  Words fail to adequately describe it.  The primal, hedonistic energy of his massive black cock pummeling my pussy into submission can only be felt on spiritual terms.  With every thrust he battered against my cervix, providing me with the elixir of pain and pleasure I so cravenly desire.  The noises coming out of my mouth were raw and guttural.  I begged for every thrust, encouraging him in every way I could.  I felt him grab my ass and begin to flip me over.  I eagerly opened my legs as wide as possible to receive him, and he began to once again fuck me within an inch of breaking my mind with intense pleasure.  I felt my pussy contract and my voice getting louder. “Yes King!  Yes King fuck me, Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god King!” A wash of dopamine came over my body and I seized into an intense vaginal orgasm.  Even as he felt my body contract and spasm he grabbed my hips and thrust even harder until he came, filling my rippling wet cunt with his strong bull seed.

After floating down to earth from the nirvana I had just experienced I reoriented myself to the time and space I occupied.  I could hear the droning of the DJ informing the club-goers that the club was closing.  I lept to my feet, pulled my panties up and approached the man who had just fucked me so well.  The words that fell out of my mouth didn’t surprise me.

“You fuck like a GOD!”  I exclaimed.

My new bull, who I was learning is rather mild-mannered, let out a small laugh.

“You take it like a Goddess.” He replied, prompting a huge smile to cross my face. 

“You can have this pussy anytime you want, King!” I confidently replied.  We exchanged contact information and parted ways.  He has since become one of my regular bulls, and each time we play I remember that wonderful evening.  I was completely unaware of this at the time but my other bull was gracious enough to capture a few seconds of our first encounter on video.  The audio from that video was featured in my blog post She’s Got A Dirty Mouth and seems to be a favorite of my readers.  

When I set out to write this story I did not expect to include as much elaboration and I certainly didn’t anticipate a two-part blog post.  I am abundantly glad I trusted my instincts to tell the story of my love of exhibitionism and voyeurism in it’s full depth and context.  Now I am quite certain this collection of stories will become a running series on my blog and I look forward to sharing more of my forays into voyeurism and exhibitionism with you.


Special thanks to my editor Castaway for so generously lending his time and talents to my blog.

The Anniversary Story: A Foray into Voyeurism and Exhibitionism Part I

When I announced my last post “She’s Got a Dirty Mouth” on twitter, I received a request from one of my twitter followers about one of the audio posts I shared along with the post:

I just love the story behind this particular audio clip, so I began the process of writing about it.  However, I found that the richness and depth of the story would be lost without contextualizing it in my broader experience with voyeurism and exhibitionism. I will end this exploration with the Anniversary Story, but I’m going to begin it on a balmy night in September several years ago.

“I don’t think I can do this…” my boyfriend stammered, his voice wavering with trepidation bordering on dread.  I let out a labored sigh, annoyed yet feeling compassion for the man I loved at the same time.  We had been sitting in my car parked outside a nondescript strip mall containing an unmarked red door.  As we sat there talking, both trying to muster up the courage to make a move, we watched couple after couple casually park their cars and saunter in the red door as if they had been there a thousand times.  We came prepared. The cooler we bought earlier in the day was the perfect size to sit underneath a cocktail table and was filled with tequila and vodka.  I wore a short black dress with stockings and no panties, in an attempt to straddle the line between slutty and classy.  He wore his nicest dress slacks and my favorite collared shirt (we had copiously researched the dress code in the weeks prior). Yet, for all of our preparation, we had found ourselves up against an invisible barrier of fear that seemed to be paralyzing my boyfriend from leaving the car.

I was feeling an entirely different set of emotions.  Since my boyfriend and I had decided to open our relationship to a “swinger” status, I had been very excited about going to a swinger club.  It seemed to be the most viable way of meeting other couples whom we could potentially play with.  I also imagined the atmosphere to contain an explosive energy of hedonism and debauchery that would allow my most slutty fantasies to burst into reality.  As I studied the photos of the club online, I imagined an “Eyes Wide Shut” scenario of people fucking everywhere in true Roman orgy fashion.  I had mentally prepared myself to be right in the middle of the tangle of bodies writhing in pleasure I would surely find behind that red door.  I had allowed myself to desire that level of craven sexual pleasure and I wanted to experience it with my boyfriend.  After all this, here we were, and he was bitching out.  I was caught between wanting to be a good girlfriend and wanting desperately to see what was happening a short 50 feet away from where we sat.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this.  We don’t have to go.  We can turn around and go home.” I said in a fatigued, placating tone.

“No, we came all the way out here.  We should at least go inside.” He said determinedly.  This was typical of my boyfriend.  It was his signature grin-and-bear-it, grit-your-teeth-and-get-it-done attitude.  In our communication thus far, my boyfriend had consistently expressed interest tempered with nervousness about going to the club and specifically about fucking around other people.  He was anxious about his ability to perform with other people watching.  I had reassured him that I had no expectation of playing and that our first visit should really just be for socializing and watching.  I can admit now that I wasn’t entirely honest with him or myself at the time.  Deep down, I absolutely wanted to fuck someone else or at the very least involve myself sexually with another women or couple.  Now I found myself in a quagmire: do I relent with his tenuous agreement to go in and take it at face value, or do I communicate and attempt to ease his fears further?  I decided on the latter. 

“Can you tell me what you are specifically most nervous about?”  I genuinely inquired.

“Well….I just….I just don’t know if I can be with another woman right now.” He said.

I remember feeling taken aback, as this was not the response I expected to receive.  In fact it raised more questions than answers.  So, he wasn’t most concerned about me fucking someone else and the jealousy that may arise from that?  He wasn’t most concerned about whether or not he could obtain and maintain an erection with other people around?  He was most nervous about sleeping with another woman?  Why?  The answer eluded me although we spent the next several minutes discussing it.  We came to the agreement that if we did play at the club tonight it would be with one another.  I was still pondering his response as we walked through the red door and crossed the threshold I had been so eagerly awaiting.  

If you’ve never been to an on-premises sex club, let me be the first to assure you that they are absolutely nothing like you imagine them to be.  There is no “Eyes Wide Shut” orgy happening.  People are not fucking everywhere, in fact, the areas where sex can occur are relegated to certain rooms.  In reality, swinger clubs are simply night clubs without a bar and with far worse music (I could write an entire blog post about how bad the music is at most swinger clubs-my apologies to any DJ’s reading this but the playlist just fucking sucks).  A few of these realizations were beginning to dawn on me as my boyfriend and I were led around the club by a tall, beautiful woman in a bikini who was giving us a tour.  She showed us the main dance floor and lounge where most of the other club-goers were currently congregated.  A disco-ball spun lights around the dark room.  It reminded me of a middle school dance ambiance.  She led us to a large adjacent room where three beds were set up side-by-side with sheer curtains hanging from the bedposts.  Beyond the beds was a small staircase leading into a room with couches lining the walls and a single bed In the center with no curtains.  She described this room as “the pit” and stated that it was the designated group-play area in the club. Something about that name and the set up of the room piqued my interest.  After showing us a few more play areas and the smoking area on the patio the bikini-clad staff member concluded the tour and we were on our own.  

Something about that name and the set up of the room piqued my interest…

My boyfriend and I sat at a table and unpacked our cooler.  He hurriedly obtained a drink “set-up” containing ice, plastic glasses, and mixers from the bartender and made us both drinks.  As we sat sipping our drinks and watching couples dance I decided to check in with my boyfriend.  I leaned over and grabbed his arm, putting my face up to his ear so he could hear me over the din of the music and couples talking.

“Well, what do you think?  How are you feeling about this?” I inquired.

“I feel good.  The club is pretty cool.  I’m glad we came.”  He replied in my ear.  

I felt relieved.  It appeared that we had cleared the hurdle and all was well.   My boyfriend excused himself to go to the restroom.  I sat alone for a few minutes, taking everything in.  When my boyfriend returned he had a sly smile on his face.  He took a sip from his drink and leaned into my ear:

“We haven’t been here 10 minutes and I’ve already been approached by someone wanting to fuck you.”  He said almost gleefully.

Feelings of excitement rose up within me.  It’s always flattering to receive that kind of attention, and it felt right that this mystery man had approached my boyfriend before approaching me.  

“Who was it?”  I hurriedly asked.

“The guy in the cowboy hat standing by the DJ’s booth.” He replied.

I paused a moment and drew my eyes over to the DJ’s booth and saw an older gentleman with a cowboy hat tapping his toe in time to the music.  I was 27 when this evening occurred and I surmised him to be pushing 50.  I fucked him later that night.  It was forgettable and not at all the most noteworthy event to occur that evening.  My boyfriend and I engaged in further conversation about this for the next few minutes, and I asserted that we had agreed to only play together.  We agreed to keep our options open and see how things may develop as the night was young. 

Over the next several hours people poured into the club.  We didn’t know this at the time but we had arrived extremely early.  Most of the action at swinger clubs tends to happen around the midnight hour and we had arrived as the doors opened at 8:00.  My boyfriend and I attempted to fuck twice in a room with a closed door.  My boyfriend wasn’t able to perform, explaining that the noise of others playing and milling about was too much of a distraction for him. I reassured him that I wasn’t upset and that I was satisfied that we had adventured further than we ever had before.  I told him that was exciting enough for me. 

The most memorable part of that evening occurred in the early morning hours as we had both decided it was nearly time to go home.  My boyfriend and I had walked over to “the pit” a few times that evening to see if anything worth watching was happening down there.  Each time we checked there was nothing truly exciting happening.  A few couples had wandered down and were engaged in some foreplay throughout the night, but nothing more exciting than that.  As we approached this last time there was a tangible shift in the energy. We walked past the three beds towards a congregation of people who had gathered around the top of the stairway leading into the pit.  In my drunken state I became aware of the scent of sex in the air and heard moans of sensual pleasure. I felt swept up in a fervor of excitement, allowing myself to begin to hope to experience my Roman orgy fantasy in real life.  I needed to step between and around the others standing there to see what was happening in “the pit.”  I finally reached a clearing where I could catch a glimpse at what was happening in the room below.

There were about 15 people spread around the room engaged in various sex acts.  Most were in a state of half undress, but one couple was completely naked.  They were in the center of the room fucking on the lone mattress.  She was riding his cock reverse cowgirl style, boldly facing the crowd in front of her.  For a fleeting moment, her eyes caught mine and I was transfixed by her energy as she gyrated on her lover’s cock.  Then I heard a woman next to me yell “Happy birthday Cassie!”  The woman in the center of the room smiled.  More members of the crowd started yelling their happy birthday wishes to her, and she responded by vigorously riding her lover’s cock, playing with her clit as she basked in the attention and affection of an entire room.  

I remember being lost in a riptide of emotions in that moment,  My pussy was drenched and I was so utterly turned on by what I was seeing.  More than anything, I wanted to be that beautiful, empowered woman that was so blatantly pursuing her pleasure while being on full display in front of such a large crowd.  The exhibitionist within me was born that night.  In my fantasies in the following weeks it was me riding my lover’s cock in front of a crowd of people.  However, I was privy to two realities whenever I allowed my thoughts to drift there.  How desperately I wanted to be watched by others and how seemingly impossible it was that my boyfriend would be able to live out that fantasy with me.  If I were ever to truly be watched the way I desired to be I realized it wouldn’t be possible with my boyfriend.  The implications of this frightened me, as I didn’t want to think about where I might be led if I did decide to pursue my exhibitionist desires.  So I temporarily abandoned any attempt to live out this fantasy and occasionally relegated it to some dirty talk with my boyfriend.  Little did I know at the time that my boyfriend was engaging in his own internal tug-of-war surrounding disclosing a fantasy of his own to me: his desire to be my cuckold.  And so, as couples often do, we found ourselves harboring the solution to each other’s dilemmas for a while longer as we gathered enough experience and trust to be totally and brutally honest with one another.   

As always, special thanks to my wonderful volunteer editor Castaway.

Cuckoldress Pillow Talks: Spend an Unforgettable Evening With Us!

Like many of you, I have been swept up in the chaos that defines the holiday season. If you’ve come to know anything about me by reading this blog you’ve probably gleaned that cuckolding is never far from my mind, even in the midst of the most “vanilla” time of year. That’s why I’m so excited to announce that I have been invited back as a guest on a live broadcast hosted by Cuckoldress Venus!

If you are somehow unaware of Cuckoldress Venus I’m thrilled to introduce you to her. She is a passionate advocate for cuckolding relationships and she’s created a fantastic blog and podcast that is informative and accessible for everyone interested in cuckolding-especially women. During the pandemic she created a live broadcast/AMA for her Patreon supporters and she has graciously invited me and other cuckoldresses to share our perspectives.

I realize that I have yet given my readers the opportunity to “ask me anything” on my blog yet (although you can always use my contact form to reach me directly). During pillow talks, my Cuckoldress friends and I provide revealing and sexy details about our experiences in this lifestyle. I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening then sharing some laughter with men and women who love cuckolding as much as I do.

This event is only accessible to Patreon supporters of the Venus Cuckoldress Podcast. Join me in supporting her podcast and blog, it’s essential that women’s voices lead the conversation about cuckolding relationships. I can’t wait to see all of you at the next pillow talk!



She’s Got A Dirty Mouth…

“I would commit crime for that cock!”

I couldn’t help but enthusiastically exclaim how much I enjoyed the bull who had just finished fucking me so well.  As the words fell out of my mouth I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. While my literal sentiment was certainly hyperbolic, my level of enthusiasm was 100 percent genuine.   My bull sensed that and smiled broadly.  Looking back on that enjoyable encounter, I reflected on how my propensity for dirty talk went from the generic “fuck me baby!” to “I would commit crime for that cock!”

Like most people who I imagine read my blog, a great deal of my fundamental understanding of sexual expression came from viewing porn.  I’ve been an avid watcher of porn all my life although for a long time I was ashamed to admit it.  In porn, dirty talk is pretty generic in most of the standard categories.  It’s full of canned phrases you hear over and over again; I’m sure we could all summon memories of hearing a beautiful actress coo “I love that dick baby!” Or “Fuck me harder daddy!” while she’s performing.  As a young women with a burgeoning sex drive and a desire to please my partners, I took to using these phrases often during sex.  However, for the longest time, I would not identify dirty talk as an element that contributed to my arousal.  I realize now that I likely felt that way because these phrases weren’t genuine at all.  They came from the famously overproduced porn of the early 2000’s and the convincing actresses were likely given those lines from male directors.  In fact, “dirty talk” felt so hollow for me that at one point in my life I had abandoned it completely.  I look back and shutter at my misfortune for those years and the memory of that time makes me all the more grateful for the enthusiasm I have in my sex life now.

When I didn’t have the knowledge of just how hot genuine dirty talk was, I saw it more as a courting necessity than an aphrodisiac to enhance sex.  At this point in my life I had clocked scores of hours of phone sex and I was a very accomplished flirt.  I knew how to subtly change the tone and timbre of my voice to give it a velvety, alluring texture.  What I was missing was the content of dirty talk that would mutually arose both my partner and I.  The advent of texting broke down some barriers in that area for me.  Writing has always been one of my talents.  The ability to craft some truly sexy messages and edit them before I sent them for maximum impact helped me find my voice.  I could fluidly express myself via text, but I couldn’t help but feel as though something was missing from dirty talk during sex.

A revolutionary shift happened this this arena when I started dating my fiancé. He is a wonderfully skilled orator who turned me on immensely by sharing detailed fantasies and raunchy desires.  I have always loved the way he delves deep into my mind during intimate moments, watching attentively to what excites me and what doesn’t.  His enthusiasm weaved a web of trust, one fiber at a time, that allowed me to utter some of my most salacious, deviant cravings.

Non-monogomy opened up so many sexual experiences for me.  I would definitely say my attraction to a man who could “get between my ears” with some nasty words increased dramatically when my fiancé and I began exploring the lifestyle.  I enjoyed the exposure to the variety of ways men and other women talked in bed.  I began to express myself more honestly and fluidly, allowing the barriers between my mouth, brain, and physical sensations to break down.  I found myself saying things that felt like they were part of my regular vernacular dipped in a lustful layer of chocolate.  Finally I had broken through my ideas of what I thought dirty talk needed to sound like and began expressing what I wanted to say in bed.  However, I had no idea how much my proficiency for dirty talk would be tested when my fiancé and I transitioned to cuckolding.

Humiliation definitely falls under the umbrella of dirty talk in my determination.  It is a targeted, highly-specific form of dirty talk, but the essential function is the same.  I want to save my journey with humiliation for a separate blog post, but it’s essential to my development as a dirty-talking cuckoldress.  Humiliating my cuckold fiancé did not initially come naturally to me for a number of reasons.  I felt slightly crestfallen, it seemed that just as I was finding my sexual voice I was presented with an entirely novel and foreign concept.  In the early days of our transition, I found myself once again hosting words that weren’t mine.  I replaced the canned phrasesof my early sexual experiences with the new terms I heard the performers in cuckold porn sharply remark: “Look at that pathetic little dicklet!  I’m going to lock that sad excuse for a dick up and throw away the key!”  My cuck was so ecstatic to finally experience the humiliation he had long craved that it took a while for him to notice how unappealing it was for me.  We engaged in a great deal of communication about humiliation, and I grew more and more willing to go through the same process of owning it.

Cuckolding is beautiful for so many reasons.  There’s a mystical quality to the triad of energy that occurs to between the bull, cuckold, and cuckoldress that is unparalleled in its eroticism.   As I started to meet bulls and have sexual experiences that were far more pleasurable than I could have imagined, I began noticing myself talking more and more in the bedroom.  Spurred on by the enthusiasm of my cuck and the intense sexual prowess of my bulls, I allowed my inner slut to chronicle the narrative of my encounter.  I began referring to my bulls differently, gone were the days when I would call the man who was fucking me baby or daddy.  I began enthusiastically calling my bulls King or Sir, begging them to ruin or destroy my pussy with their beautiful big black cocks.  The words may sound cliche when read, but when uttered from my mouth in the throes of worshiping my bulls any observer would know I genuinely mean every word.  The last vestiges of the barrier that once existed between my mind, body and mouth had collapsed.  Now, my propensity for dirty talk turns me on so much I can hardly keep myself quiet.  I’ve got a filthy mouth and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As I was writing this post, I became keenly aware that writing would not be the best medium to fully display this subject.  I enlisted the help of a good friend, @usefulbcuck on twitter to select a few audio clips that from my personal collection of videos.  These clips exemplify my dirty talking abilities, and I may even add new clips as my cuckolding adventures continue.  Oh and be forewarned: I am very, very loud and these clips are in no way safe for work. Enjoy!

It drives my bull wild when I humiliate my cuckold.
A dominant bull takes what’s his.
Telling my cuck directly how useless he is compared to my bull.
The sound of a King making a Queen cum while interrupting an anniversary announcement.

I would also like to thank my friend Castaway for providing the invaluable service of proofreading my posts.

My Conversation with Michael C. on the Keys and Anklets Podcast

I wanted to inform my blog followers that I was recently given the opportunity to have a recorded conversation with prolific Bull and wifesharing lifestyle promoter Michael C. for the Keys and Anklets podcast.

This episode is a tremendous honor because I have been an avid listener of the Keys and Anklets podcast since the very early days of our transition to cuckolding. If you are not familiar with the podcast, Michael C. has curated an amazing collection of conversations with Hotwife and Cuckold couples. All of his episodes are informative, honest, and revealing. Listening to real couples genuinely express their love of the wifesharing lifestyle inspired me when we were a fledgling cuckold couple and continues to inspire me now.

I’m sure you are passionate about cuckolding if you read my blog. There is no better way to show your support for this lifestyle than to support the Keys and Anklets podcast on patreon. If you become a patron now you can listen to my episode before it is released to the general public. Please consider becoming a patron along with me so we can promote this amazing lifestyle. When the episode is released fully I will include it in this blog post.


My episode has been released to all Keys and Anklets listeners. The podcast is available on all major podcasting hosts and also available on the Keys and Anklets website: https://www.keysandanklets.com/episodes/58.


The Green-Eyed Monster

I recently had the opportunity to participate in a conversation about my journey as a cuckoldress for a respected podcast about the cuckolding/hotwifing lifestyles. The host, who has become a good friend, asked me a very insightful question about jealousy.  He prefaced the question by explaining that women receive the message that jealousy is conflated with love from society.  He then asked if I questioned the love my fiancé felt for me because he wasn’t jealous of my sexual attention and encouraged me to direct it towards other men.  I’m so grateful for the host’s insight into the barriers and challenges cuckold couples and other non-monogamous couples experience during their development.  I’d like to share some of my feelings about jealousy, share how it’s effected us, and discuss some perspectives on how to manage jealous feelings.  I consulted my cuckold fiancé for this post to obtain his perspective and I will be including his thoughts on the matter.

We’ve all felt jealousy, that desperate, gnawing feeling that leads to anger and bitterness.  It’s a blight that curses relationships and can lead sane people down a rabbit hole of unending strife and chaos.  I was lucky enough to get jealousy’s number years ago, and what I discovered proved that this raging green-eyed monster is nothing more than a child throwing a temper tantrum.

Early on in my professional career, I stumbled into working as a domestic violence counselor.  Most would assume that I was working with survivors of domestic violence, but I actually worked exclusively on the other side of the isle with the men who had perpetrated the violence.  I had excellent training and a curriculum that focused on encouraging my clients to accountability for their violent behavior and learn relationship and communication skills.  As I worked with these men I began to see a pattern emerging: so many of their episodes of violence were motivated by jealousy.  These men were generally highly insecure, unsure of themselves, and in need of constant reassurance and praise.  Rather than the cold-blooded batterers that most would assume to find in domestic violence counseling, I was working with men who struggled more with self-confidence issues and had no tools to cope with feelings of inadequacy.  Sadly and unnecessarily, they fell into patterns of habitual violence that damaged their families and loved ones.  I am not arguing that jealousy has a causal relationship on intimate partner violence, as it has wide-ranging multifaceted causes.  I was, however, able to observe a very clear correlation between jealousy and intimate partner violence.

At this point in my life, I had already experienced my share of dealings with jealous boyfriends.  I didn’t fully understand the contributing factors to jealousy and I did briefly experience the misgiving that they were jealous because they loved me, and it felt good to seemingly be so loved.  None of those relationships lead to anything serious, as I have always slithered away from controlling partners.  My understanding of jealousy was cemented in my mind when I began working with my domestic violence clients, but it’s applicable for everyone.  Jealousy is not an admirable trait.  It’s rooted in low self-esteem, insecurity, and a lack of confidence.  No good can come from rampant, unchecked jealousy.

With this understanding in the back of my mind, I specifically sought out a partner that did not display any kind of jealous behavior.   Of course, I didn’t know anything about cuckolding, but I knew for certain that I wouldn’t be able to cope with a jealous guy.  When I started dating my fiancé, he seemed abundantly sure of himself, confident, and self-aware.  We have always been the kind of couple that wouldn’t dream about looking through one another’s phone or social media messages.  Trust flourished naturally from our openness and honesty with one another.  I knew early-on that jealousy wasn’t likely to rear it’s ugly head in our relationship, however, I had no idea just how much the trust in our relationship would be explored.

As our relationship evolved into a swinging dynamic and ultimately a cuckolding dynamic, we have experienced a lot of situations that may have sparked jealousy for other people. However, it was largely absent from our experience until it cropped up during a few moments in our cuckolding journey. This definitely makes sense for us, as cuckolding has been a far more emotional dynamic than swinging ever was. I came to understand that jealousy is one ingredient in the cocktail of emotions known as cuckold angst. This intense cuckold angst comprises so much of what cuckolds are drawn to sexually within their role in the dynamic. I like to describe these experiences as twinges of jealousy, they are often sharp but very short lived. The twinges of jealousy that my cuckold has experienced throughout our journey generally fall into three categories, and were addressed easily with communication and connection.

Jealousy of Possession

“I’m jealous over you.

Jealousy of possession is the simplest form of jealousy. It’s the jealousy that screams, “But you’re my wife/girlfriend! Therefore I deserve all of your attention/affection/adoration!” This jealousy is rooted in black-and-white thinking, attention-seeking behavior, and general immaturity. Carrying though the line of reasoning that accompanies this feeling makes absolutely zero sense. At some point, your significant other is going to have to shift his or her attention away from you if they desire to be functional in society. If couples in the lifestyle are experiencing this challenge, I would encourage the person experiencing the jealousy to specifically define what is triggering the jealousy. Do you experience feelings of jealousy that your wife is texting her bull as she sits next to you on the couch? Beyond the fact that you consented to this arrangement and encouraged her to explore her sexuality with other men, how rational is it to become disturbed by your wife or girlfriend sending a text message?

Jealousy of Envy

“I’m jealous over the man that’s fucking you.”

This is the form of jealousy that has been most prevalent in our relationship. My cuck realized very shortly after our transition that he could never provide me with the sexual pleasure that my bulls can. He had fantasized about this experience for years, but experiencing it in reality was raw and new. The bulls I have had the pleasure of sharing my bed with are generally athletic and have bodies that are very different than his. Yes, they are more well endowed, but they also have sexual stamina and virility that he has never been able to achieve. These specific jealous feelings can be very common for cuckolds, as they often deeply desire their Cuckoldresses to seek out men who are very different than them. This thought excites them, but can also trigger feelings of low self-esteem. Cuckolds who are confident in themselves may never experience this form of jealousy. Thankfully, my cuckold fiancé has grown out of experiencing this jealousy with time and communication. Reconnecting and taking a hiatus if necessary are two great approaches to addressing these feelings of jealousy.

Jealousy of Status

“I’m jealous over what we have.”

This is likely the most damaging form of jealousy.  These jealous feelings stem from insecurity and fear.  These feelings of jealousy are present when a partner in a wifesharing dynamic is afraid that it will lead to the cuckoldress/hotwife ending the relationship because, and only because, she has the freedom to fuck other men.  It’s the misguided belief that somehow, her sexual freedom will damage or break the foundation of trust and love the relationship was built on.  The inkling that introducing this dynamic will somehow cheapen or lessen the overall quality of the relationship.  Again, I would advise those experiencing this type of jealousy to think this line of reasoning through.  How can a mutually beneficial relationship style that requires increased trust and communication truly damage your relationship?  And if it does, was the foundation of the relationship built firmly enough to withhold the vicissitudes and challenges of life in the first place?  Asking yourself these questions should hopefully reveal the irrational fear behind these feelings of jealousy.

In closing, please realize that I am not asserting that if you are experiencing jealousy within a wifesharing dynamic that you are wrong or bad, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  Jealousy is a feeling, and while feelings are valid they are not always right.  Finding relief from jealousy is worth it for you above all else.