Quean After All

The harder I tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. The more Sir and I discussed his sincere desire to make a cuckquean of me; I couldn't help but find myself wanting to fulfill his fantasy. It wasn't the fact that I longed to please him that surprised me, however. It was my own driving need that shocked me. My mind clogged with doubts and fears, yet somehow, with each image, I found myself becoming aroused.

The other night I even touched myself thinking of him receiving the pleasure he deserves, and that I could never give. When I withdrew my fingers from my freshly dampened panties, they glistened with my arousal. As a denied fuck toy, I do not have the right to edge or cum without express permission from Sir, so there was no relief found after this exploration.

Unable to see past the fog of need and horniness, I recalled an online post I had recently read describing a new adult app designed specifically for the cuck community. It allowed already vetted adults to match up with other singles or couples, even groups, who were into the fetish. It meant that I could make the fantasy happen for Sir in reality, and the prospect was both thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Knowing that I had another hour or so until Sir arrived home from work, I quickly downloaded the app and set up a couple's account. I was relieved to see the level of security the developers had built into the product. It made me feel safer seeking out a perfect and more suitable woman for Sir.

As Cuckies n' Cakes was loading up my first set of potential matches, I felt the anguished anticipation of the situation arising. Why could I not decide where my true feelings lie? I wanted to give him everything that would satisfy him, but the humiliation and degradation of allowing another woman? Ugh, the jealously was visceral! I recalled the smoldering passion that had filled me only moments ago when I pictured his contentment at the release that he truly craved.

With the recollection, a familiar theme came back to mind, one that should always remain front and center, yet I struggle to keep there. It doesn't matter what I want. It isn't about me. What I want is always to do everything I can to help Sir gain what he wants. That is my purpose. This realization helped me refocus, and I moved forward in my search.

Firstly, I filtered my search for only those cakes available that evening, and I was given only one result in my region. Della. What a name. She was already hotter than me, and I hadn't even clicked her profile yet. I inhaled deeply and slowly released the breath as I clicked on her profile.

Name: Della.

Well. I knew that already.

Age: 33.

She was the same age as me. Sir would be pleased to have another younger woman to play with, though her picture certainly made her look a little more mature than she professed to be.

Body Type: Ample, Shapely

She sure could say that again. Her hips were to die for! Della may work out for her body, but I can promise it was mostly God-given. Sir loves when he has something to grab onto, and those hips and that ass were certainly that.

Seeking: Hetero Couple. D/s play. I switch. 😉

Did she put a winky face at the end of that line? "I switch." She wanted to give up control, but also to have power at the same time. Sir would mess his boxers if I texted him about that right now! It was indeed true that I was creaming myself imagining Sir and this woman in charge of me.

I didn't even notice my wandering digits until it started to build, at which point I stopped myself from continuing. This search is not about me getting pleasure. If I happen to enjoy myself vicariously, Sir may not mind, as long as I genuinely suffer, but he would not approve of this impromptu play session I had begun.

Knowing I would rat myself out later to Sir, I was feeling ever deprived after such an abrupt halt. I had just corrected myself and imagined if Sir had been here. I knew he would not allow me to touch myself like that if I had asked, so why did I? My mind was running wild with all the potential scenarios if Della and Sir met and I suppose the heat of these daydreams caused such tension that my hand had found a mind of its own.

I returned to my task, resolved not to allow myself again such errant and greedy distractions.

Commitment Level: Casual. Repeat sessions are welcome, but not looking to build any serious relationship.

Fetishes: Orgasm denial, humiliation, and getting throat-fucked.

Shit. This girl was perfect for Sir. She wanted the exact things he most enjoyed doing to a woman. I hit the jackpot on Della. Concerned that she may no longer be available if I didn't act quickly, I did not bother reading the rest. I opened a new message to contact this devious beauty of a girl.

Hello Della,

I am Ginger, a fucktoy owned by Blkcruelt, and you seem like a perfect match for us after checking out your profile. Sir has long desired a toy he can control but use against me as well. He wants someone to suffer for him and take it all out on me. He and I have roleplayed cuckquean scenarios, but I have been hesitant because of my emotional attachments to him. I am learning that my vulnerability is precisely what he wants to feed on, and my screams, of course. I see that you are available tonight, and I really want to please Sir with a superior woman who wants to serve him and humiliate and abuse me. You will absolutely leak over him since his top three fetishes match yours. The two of you sync up perfectly. He will be home in a few, but I would love to share with him whom I found. You are everything I wish I could be for him but never could be. I look forward to your response.

Yours,

Ginger

Oh! And here is our Skype if you want to call us!

As I reread what I wrote, the screen of my laptop shook as my knee anxiously bounced up and down. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. Was I really doing this? Should I hit send?

My hesitation was interrupted by the sound of Sir's key in the door. I hastily clicked send and slammed the laptop closed, jumping into bed to read.

When Sir arrived in the doorway, he noticed the rose of my cheeks and the glistening of my brow. He always knows when I am up to something. I attempted to act as normal as if I had been laying and reading for a while, but he just prolonged his piercing gaze, assessing me in my flustered state, a bright mockery invading his stare. Then a grin overtook his features as his dark eyebrows arched mischievously.

I tried to keep my features deceptively relaxed, and he seemed to enjoy my struggle to capture my composure. With a tip of his head, he motioned me to the chair beside him, the loveseat that we sat on when he wanted to confer something with me. There was a sourness in the pit of my stomach, worried that I was in trouble for trying to deceive him, but I was pretty sure he knew I wasn't bad while he was gone.

Well, except for the whole, I touched myself thing.

But still, his eyes read lighthearted to me.

"What were you doing before I got home, ft?" Ft is what he calls me for short. Fucktoy. Ft. Fuck. Toy.

I squirmed, trying to think of my response. The sudden touch of Sir's calloused hand was almost unbearable in its tenderness. He took me by the chin ever so gently and turned my face towards his. "Fucktoy, answer my question."

I stammered, "Um, Sir, I was..."

Was I sure about telling him? At this point, I could pretend it never happened, apologize to Della, no harm, no foul. But no, I knew that was not a real option.

"I was getting a surprise together for you, Sir."

My body felt as if it were half ice and half flame, the pure agony of what I had probably gotten myself into mixed with the sheer magnitude of my lust.

His smile sweetened slightly. "And what was this surprise, fucktoy?"

I could not say it out loud. I was so scared and excited all at once. "May I show you instead, Sir?"

"No. You did not provide a reason; therefore, you will tell me and then show me."

Damnit! I was always terrible at remembering that rule, and this was the worst time to forget. If I make a request, I must provide a rationale with the request; else, I consequently am denied.

"Yes, Sir." I wanted so badly to look away, but my chin was still resting softly in his grip. I knew that moving would cause his grasp to tighten, and the playful spark in his eyes to fade, so I remained obediently in place.

"I signed us up for a new app, Sir. It's called Cuckies 'n Cakes, and I think I found a cuckcake you'll like. She might be coming over tonight."

The heartiness of his laugh filled the room as I hadn't heard it do in years, and I bit my lip, hoping it was a good thing. I knew it was when he grabbed my hair instead of my chin and used it to pull me into a tight embrace.

"Look at you, little fucktoy. You are finally offering yourself up to be humiliated for my enjoyment. And having the initiative to do it on your own. Good girl!"

I bit my lip and grinned a proud smile. It was all going to be worth it. "Wanna see whom I found, Sir?"

"Absolutely."

I opened up the screen of the laptop sitting on the loveseat next to me, and as I recalled the ecstasy of being held against his sturdy body, my jaw dropped.

"Sir. She's on her way." My desire for him overrode everything else, as he answered with an impersonal nod. There was a heated intensity to the way he stood, and in his long strides as he went into the bathroom to shower. I followed him, knowing that was what Sir expected of me.

Our shower was quick, my body craved his hands again, cleaning me, grazing his fingers across my skin. I desperately needed more of him than that first touch he gave me on the loveseat, but I knew that moment was long gone. Any signs of playfulness had washed away with the sweat and the grime.

Sir donned his faux fur robe, dyed a hunter green, I found it to be so comforting and sexy on him. I knew better than to get comfortable. When I was denied clothing, I almost began to protest, but I stopped myself as I noticed he was grabbing my corset and a particularly sexy set of panties I like. It was a gift, and I was grateful for his generosity. I willed my actions to make my thanks clear throughout the evening.

Sir sat at the dining room table as I knelt by his feet, our typical breakfast stance. He read the newspaper I had fetched him today; he loves the tech section, always keeping up with the robots and such. When the doorbell rang, he slowly and neatly re-folded the paper, placing it in the center of the table. He gestured for me to stay where I was and ambled to the door.

The front door was not within my site, and that is most likely why he had me remain behind. I just heard his husky voice speaking and a woman's airy response. I could not make out what was said, and it must have been at least ten minutes before Della sauntered in with Sir behind her, robe untied, already stiff as a board.

She was tall and graceful, even more gorgeous than her pictures made her appear. She carried herself confidently, aware of the appreciative glances of Sir and me. Della's face was a perfect oval, pink with eagerness, and as I lowered my eyes from top to bottom, noticing how her plump hips tapered into long straight legs. Watching me gawk at her sexy body, she shook her head in dismay and turned to Sir.

"She is very pitiful, Sir. It is a good thing I am here to take care of you the way you need." Drops of moisture clung to his still damp forehead, one that was mostly dry before the doorbell rang. His fingers brushed her collarbone, lingering there too long to be an accident, and he looked at me intensely, almost mockingly as he and I both observed her breath quicken.

They both just stood there in the dining room doorway, taking their time to explore, to hint at the pleasure they would soon be trading. I sat there as my mouth dried out, my juices demanding every bit of water in my being, and I gushed.