Femdom How I Became A Cuckold

Landlord recalls how be became his tenant's cuckold

This female domination story contains graphic details of mental sadism and masochism, including tease, cuckoldry and cum eating. It is entirely fictional and completely my own work.

Please DO NOT read any further if you do not enjoy fictional stories in which males submit to dominant females, either willingly, forcible, or by coercion.

Please DO read further if you want to know how Andrew rents his spare room to Belinda, falls in love with her, and becomes her cuckold.

How I became a cuckold

------------------------------------

Until I met Belinda at the age of 26, the thought of becoming a cuckold had never crossed my mind. I had had quite a vanilla sex life until that point, and although I wasn't banging a new girl every week like some of my friends claimed they were doing, I wasn't at all disappointed with my lot. My only kink was to masturbate onto my own chest - not because of some gay inference, but because it gave me a sense that I had been dirty. In hindsight, even that seems vanilla now.

By the age of 26 I had started a small catering business, got extremely lucky, and sold it for a few hundred thousand pounds. I decided that I could do the same again in a bigger town, build a bigger business and make a bigger profit, so I moved out of Barnstaple to Bristol, invested half my money in the new business and half in a smart town house in the Kingsdown area of the city. The house was more than I wanted, and more than I needed, but I fell in love with its smart Georgian looks at first sight, and couldn't make myself see sense after that.

To ease my financial distress a little, I reasoned that I could rent out a room until I got the business up to full speed, so as soon as I had the keys to the front door I offered a room for rent on a couple of websites for £600 per month. In my head there would be a lad, probably a student, crashing in the spare room; he would be in his room studying, or going out most nights, we would see each other some evenings to cook and watch a bit of TV and we'd get along fine, but otherwise we would live our separate lives and not interfere with each other too much.

What I got was quite the opposite.

The same day that I listed the room for rent I got a text from 'Billy'; 'Hi, is the room still available?'

'Yes, I'm free today if you'd like to come and see it'

'Great, that works for me. What's the exact address?...'

I fell in love with Billy the moment I saw her. I imagine that I looked like an awestruck Manga character with huge puppy eyes and heart-shaped pupils as I gawped at her across the threshold. She seemed to sparkle, her warm smile beaming at me and her eyes glinting in the low, November sun. She smiled cutely at me for a moment, then said, awkwardly; "I'm Billy, I've come to see the room?"

I snapped myself out of my trance. "yes! I live here!" (idiot).

"I thought you might" she said, "can I see it? The room I mean?"

I showed her around the empty rooms of the house, explaining that my furniture wasn't due to be delivered until the next day. I worried that she might be put off by the lack of... well, anything in the house other than a furnished bathroom and fitted kitchen, but she didn't seem at all perturbed. We waltzed through the empty rooms imagining what would fit where, drinking wine and chatting about our jobs, but all too soon we arrived back at the front door and she stepped outside.

"Can I have a think about it and let you know?" She asked.

"Sure!" I said, cool as a cucumber.

For the rest of the day I hoped that she would text me, and that no-one else would ask to see the room, and, to my relief, my hope was rewarded in the early evening by a text; 'would you take £500?'

'Ok, since it's you'

'And I get a big comfy bed and a large wardrobe?'

'Yes, you can help choose the bed as I don't have a guest bed yet'

'And free wine?'

'You're pushing it a bit now.'

'lol. It's a deal. Thank you so much'

----------

Billy and I chose her bed the following Tuesday - a high iron-framed Victorian bedframe from a charity shop in town. We had it delivered along with a new mattress the next day, and Billy moved in the following Monday. I offered her the room at the back as it already had a lock, but she opted for the room at the front, saying that she preferred the large wardrobes, and playfully asking why I thought she needed a locking door. The attraction between us grew stronger over the next few days as we re-arranged sofas and book cases, cooked student-style easyfood, drank wine, watched TV, chatted and chatted, and laughed and laughed. It was almost as though we were a couple who had just moved in together until Friday night arrived and Billy unexpectedly announced that she was going out to the pubs with her friends. I was a little jealous, though I had no right to be, but I managed to cheerily wish her a nice evening.

At around 11:30 I got a text from Billy; 'Lisa says I must be the luckiest girl on earth to have a landlord like you'. I was chuffed; partly because of what she'd said, but mostly because she was thinking about me on her night out. I stayed up a little longer, watched some more TV, tidied the kitchen and put the washing on, but eventually I went to bed before she got back.

In the morning it was obvious that she was home; her little sequinned handbag hung over the newel post at the top of the stairs, her high heels lay abandoned on the landing and her door was slightly ajar. I wanted desperately to peek in on her as she slept, but somehow resisted the temptation, went downstairs, and at around 10:30 cooked a full English to help with her hangover.

I knocked on her door. "Billy, I've got breakfast for you downstairs"

"Uhhhh... Could you.... Could you bring it up for me please?" she said as though she were struggling to remember how to pronounce every word.

I went down to the kitchen, put her breakfast plate, juice, tea and toast on a tray, and took it back upstairs, knocking and waiting to be invited in before pushing the door open with my back. Her room was dimly lit and smelt of slept-in cotton sheets, warm skin and old perfume. It was intoxicating, and immensely exciting.

Billy was sat up in the bed as I handed the tray to her. She thanked me with a lovely, pained smile, and I was turning to leave when she said; "Sit down, let me tell you about last night... I had a whale of a time."

I needed no excuse to spend more time with her in the intimacy of her bedroom, with her bras and knickers strewn across the floor, so I sat down on the soft duvet at the foot of her bed and listened to her recount the story of her evening. Part of me wished I had been there, and part of me was glad that I was not. Her tales of drink, dancing and karaoke made her seem suddenly less angelic, and an awful lot more sexy. I wished I could have seen her drinking pints and dancing, teasing the boys with the gyration of her hips and sultry looks.

For the next few weeks Billy went out on Friday nights and we repeated our Saturday morning chats. We got more and more familiar, and her tales became increasingly detailed, and, perhaps, more candid. She described where she had been and what she had drank, the boys she'd flirted with, and how they had tried to take her home. I was jealous of the boys she'd met, but I did enjoy her stories of tease and denial, and the intimacy this disclosure brought us.

----------

One Friday night around two months after we had first met, things suddenly changed. Billy went out with her friends again as usual and I didn't expect to see her until the morning, but to my surprise she got home at around 11pm. I'd tidied the front room, cleaned the kitchen and was in the process of loading the washing machine when she tottered into the kitchen-diner.

"Hello my lovely landlord" she said, slurring a little. She had the sparkling eyes and radiant face of a girl who had just had a most enjoyable evening. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes of course!..." I started, though it had only been 4 hours.

"Ooo! You're doing the washing!" she interrupted. Then she came close to me, so close that I could smell her sweat and perfume, lifted up the sides of her mini skirt, hooked her fingers into the strappy sides of her knickers, and slid them down until they slipped off her thighs to her ankles beside my pile of washing.

"Run these through would you?" She asked.

Once she had stepped away, and without a second thought, I gathered her discarded panties onto the top of my washing pile and pushed the whole load through the open porthole of the washing machine. Her knickers were warm and automatically, without thinking, once the clothes were deposited inside the machine, I brought my hand back out and pressed it to my nose. The embarrassment hit me immediately and I glanced up at her with a guilty look on my face. She gave me a wry smile, chuckled "I'll leave you to it!", and tottered off to bed.

I remained kneeling on the kitchen floor for some time, mortified at what had just happened. I considered taking her warm knickers back out of the washing machine for some indecent purpose, but I just didn't dare getting caught with her panties wrapped around my face or cock. I quickly added detergent and conditioner to the soap drawer, selected a programme, and pressed the start button before I could change my mind.

I was soon in bed. My hand had automatically attached to my shaft and I was slowly stroking myself as I thought about Billy's warm knickers in my hand, when I suddenly became aware of a noise that I had not noticed in the house before. Faintly, I could hear Billy's bed rhythmically creaking. I rubbed myself more casually, concentrating hard to hear my tenant next door. The tempo was steady for a few minutes then it would go quiet. Then, just as I thought she must have finished, it would start up again. This went on for around 20 minutes until eventually, to my delight, I heard her moan softly whilst the bed creaked loudly a few more times. When all was quiet and I was sure that she'd orgasmed, I threw back my covers, yanked my hard cock furiously for a couple of minutes, and blasted cum into the air, letting it spill onto my chest and tummy in thick, warm pools. I was exhausted. I didn't wipe myself clean, just pulled the covers over myself and fell asleep in my own mess.

After that incident I actually started to look forward to Billy's Friday nights out. Every week I would do my usual chores, but I would always leave a pile of washing on the kitchen floor ready for when Billy got home, then I would spend the rest of the evening watching TV and surfing the internet on my phone. As soon as I heard Billy's key in the lock I would jump to the kitchen and kneel beside my small pile of dirty clothes. Billy, sometimes a little merry and sometimes pretty drunk, would call to me from the hall; "Hello my lovely landlord!", then, as she came from the hall into the kitchen-diner to see me on my knees before the washing machine, would give me a sweet-but-knowing smile, cross the floor and remove her knickers from under her skirt or dress. I would gather her hot panties in my hand and reluctantly put them into the washing machine under her watchful eye. I never made the mistake of impulsively sniffing my hand again, but the humiliating memory of it haunted me every week, and she knew it.

At first, she would walk, meander or stagger off to bed and would leave her story-telling until the next morning, but increasingly she would stay in the kitchen with me, pull out one of the dining chairs and swivel it around so that she could face me as I knelt on the kitchen floor. Then she would sit down with her bottom on the edge of the seat and her back slobbishly reclined, allowing her short skirt to ride up her thighs a little. I would stay on the floor imagining what I would see if she would just part her thighs an inch or so, and she would tell me about how she had danced and flirted.

Every Friday, whether she went to bed immediately or not, I would follow her soon afterwards, and listen for the prurient creaking of her bed. Then, one evening, Billy started her recollection with "We went to Flames in town and guess what..."

I must have looked stumped...

"I got a shag off the barman!" she giggled.

I was instantly angry with her. How could she have casual sex with strangers while she had a best friend at home who adored her? Why had I been courting her for weeks without success whilst random men could get into her knickers at the drop of a hat?!

"You don't mind me telling you do you?"

"No.... not at all". In truth, I minded a lot.

"Good, 'cause you're one of my best friends. You know that don't you?"

"Yes" of course!"

"In fact you're better than a best friend I think. I think I could ask you anything and you'd be okay with it".

I didn't know what to say. I was far from okay with her infidelity, and angry with myself for thinking that way - we weren't an item, just friends, she owed me nothing.

"Will you do something special for me?" she asked with puppy dog eyes.

"Of course" I said, trying hard not to sound despondent.

"Come here" she said.

Without getting up, I walked a few paces toward her on my knees, then I settled down to sit on my ankles.

"Closer" she said, pointing to a place on the floor just a foot or so from her feet.

I shuffled closer.

She sat upright, bottom still on the edge of the seat, then bent forward. Her shapely breasts were level with my eyes and I tried hard not to embarrass her by looking at them. She brought her lips close to my ear as though to keep a secret in a crowded room. "I want you to tell me what my pussy looks like after I've been fucked" she whispered. I was speechless, but my mortification didn't break her stride. She leant back and proceeded to tug her short skirt up around her hips, then spread her legs wide. This time I did not look away - her pussy was brazenly displayed for me and I gleefully studied her puffy hairless pubic mound, the hood of her clitoris and the delicate folds of her labia, which were parted wide to reveal the open passage of her vagina, dark and deep. Everything between her thighs was wet and glossy, and the deep pink, delicate skin seemed to give off a heat. I must have stared for quite some time.

"Tell me what it looks like" she said, parting her legs a little further, causing her labia to spread and opening up her tunnel a little more.

I took my time so that I could view her divine sex forever, and described her in absolute detail, from the puffy mound of her labia majora to the wanton gaping of her sodden passage and the folded waves of her pussy lips which reminded me somehow of an orchid. Her clitoris was engorged and protruded proudly toward me. I commented on how wet she was.

"It's all me!" she said, then suddenly jumped as she remembered something, put her hand down her blouse to rummage around in her bra, and extracted a condom, full and tied. "He got all excited and made a mess in this little bag for me" she cooed in mock innocence, then she flicked the little package over her shoulder onto the dining table and brought her hands to her lap, allowing them to rest on either side of her pussy and pulling herself open a little more for me. Lazily she let the index finger of her right hand brush over her clitoris and softly over the tips of her labia.

"You're very beautiful" I said. I was referring to her pussy, but once I'd finished I realised that I could have been talking about her as a whole.

"Do I make you hard?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Good".

She smiled at me and slowly closed her legs until her knees were together and touching the boner in my jeans, then she stood up, let her skirt fall back into place, and headed for the stairs.

"See you in the morning bestie" she said.

I gave her a moment, then headed up the stairs to my room, stripped naked and began to slowly and silently stroke my throbbing erection. I listened hard and was soon rewarded by the sound of her bed rocking gently back and forth. I edged myself continuously for the next 15 minutes until I heard the sudden random creaks of her bedframe and the soft moan of her orgasm, which hurled me over the edge and into my own shuddering climax, giving me another sloppy shower.

In the morning I used tissue paper to pick up and wrap Billy's used condom. I knew that there would only be her lovely juices on the outside and that the barman's filthy mess would be safely contained inside, but still I found the thing repulsive. The load inside was a copious, sloppy gloop, making the little pink parcel squidgy to the touch. I wrapped it carefully and placed it directly in the outside bin.

The next Friday evening marked another milestone for Billy and me. She went out as usual and I did my chores, desperately hoping that Billy would have sex again and ask me to describe her pussy afterwards.

She arrived home at around the usual time and came to find me by my pile of washing. "You're such a good boy" she mocked, as she slipped her knickers down her legs to the floor

"Thank you Billy" I said. I hadn't expected to sound quite so subservient, but I suddenly realized that responding to Billy in this way was quite thrilling, so I decided not to try to correct myself.

I reached to grab her gift but suddenly noticed that the gusset of her panties, which lay spread wide between the loops of her leg holes, was caked in a creamy, frothy gunge.

I looked up at her and she stared intently back down at me with a devilish grin on her face.

"Do your job, Andrew" she said, sternly.

I trembled ever so slightly as I placed my hand right on the spunky crotch of her hot knickers, picked them up, and slowly loaded them into the waiting machine. When I had finished I was painfully aware that my hand was smeared with her lover's filthy fluids, and that my clothes would soon be churning in a soapy soup of his semen.

Billy pulled the dining chair out, swivelled it around, and sat down.

"Guess what" she said.

"You got a shag?" I ventured, trying not to sound sarcastic. I was angry with her again; it really hurt to know that she had given herself to another man while I stayed at home doing my chores, but at the same time I was immensely turned on by her frivolous infidelity. Somehow her sluttiness and cruelty aroused me more than any fantasy I had ever concocted, and the thought of sinking my cock into her sloppy, second-hand pussy, scooping his semen out with the spearhead of my glans, and depositing my own spunk in its place made me want to fuck more than I had ever known.

She slouched in the chair and, opening her legs without ceremony, asked me to describe her pussy.

I crawled to her chair and sat on my knees so that I could admire her captivating sex. Her whole vulva was red, her hole gaping, her clitoris firm and proud, her labia crumpled and spread. Every inch of her sex was sodden with a creamy cocktail of semen and pussy juice, spread by her knickers so that it matted and glued her little patch of dark pubic hair. Inside her vaginal passage I could see a fat blob of white cream, and I knew that at that exact moment, the rest of some bastard's sperm would be swimming through her uterus, well on its way to defiling her further.

"Do you like it?" she asked, the excitement causing her voice to gently quaver.

"Yes Billy," I said, "it's beautiful".

She moaned softly and spread her legs further. Her sex was wetter than ever now and her fresh juices were adding to the existing co-created mess so that it had started to dribble down to her anus.

"Come closer" she said.

I inched forward until my eyes were perhaps 9 inches from her beautiful, disgusting cunt.

"Closer!" she demanded.

Soon her hot, defiled pussy was just an inch or so from my face and I could smell sweat, perfume and spunk.