How I Fulfilled My Cuckold Fetish

Lately, I've been watching a lot of cuckold porn.

It's not a conscious decision, my obsessions never are. It's just that I've stumbled onto it on the Internet and can't stop myself.

It's not a fetish that makes a lot of sense as porn when you think about it. After all, at brass tacks, it's just two people you've never met fucking. Regular porn in other words.

It's like those step-daughter, step-mother, step-sister videos. You know that there is no way that they're actually step-related. Those performers probably never even met before today. But they stick 'step' onto the front of practically every video these days because they figure it has got to float someone's boat somewhere and the rest of us just roll our eyes and watch it anyway if the girls are hot enough.

No, that's why it has to be amateur cuck porn. If it's obviously filmed on a mobile phone, from a solitary unchanging position under terrible lighting, there's a chance it's real, right? Hell, maybe she's fucking the dude because she's genuinely sexually frustrated and gets her jollies from exhibitionism, and not as some misguided get-rich scheme. There needs to be just enough uncertainty that you can't say for sure that she isn't.

There's a formula to it, or at least well-established tropes. She should be older. Old enough to have worked up an appetite. Don't give me any of that 'just married cuckold' shit. That's just your common or garden slut. No, a woman with an actual established marriage. One who has struggled with inadequate sex for decades. She needs to be lying flat on the bed. This isn't going to be a whirlwind tour of the karma sutra. She's passive. She's being fucked. Taking it hard. The only thing not passive is her voice. This is the best fuck of her life and if she can't vocalize that, they've no business posting the video.

Then there's the race aspect. We don't need to get weird about it. Sure, it's the twenty-first century and things have changed for the better. People can marry who they want and I've no problem with that. It's just very simple colour coding, a clarification of the roles -- white wife, white husband, black bull. That's just how it works. Imagine if the cuck and the bull were both gingers. It just wouldn't feel different enough. It wouldn't feel right.

The wife could be Asian of course. God, I fucking love it when she's Asian.

The husband needs to be there. I don't really care what he's doing or if he's even in the shot. He can be behind the camera. As long as he's around, it establishes that he's cool with it.

And that's it. It's simple, almost ludicrously so. But these days, it is what makes me hard.

There's a problem though.

See, there comes a time, in any fetish when I have to try it for myself. It's like an itch that I have to scratch. And my wife is so not going to be into it.

She's not even going to be into my broaching the topic.

No, not even a little bit.

That's usually okay. Winifred is not adventurous. She has many fine qualities and, if nothing else, she's given me two lovely daughters and a, frankly, rather less lovely son. I love her and don't want to do anything to hurt her.

And telling her what I want to see done to her by whom and with how large a penis would definitely hurt her.

Normally, when I get these notions, it's not a problem. I find a sex worker and have the experience. Like with water sports. I was watching those videos for months. It finally got to the point where I hopped online, booked an appointment and the lovely lady had the plastic sheet ready for when I turned up.

Same with threesomes. Same with spanking. Same with pegging.

Then the next time I watched one of those videos, I could get off way more comfortably because now I knew what it felt like. I'd ticked that box. It only had to be the once.

Especially with the pegging.

And then before too long, my current fetish would make room for a new one and the cycle repeats.

That's not going to work with cuckolding though.

I looked it up. Well, no actually, cards on the table, I researched it thoroughly. There are couples you can hire. You go round, and they fuck in front of you.

The problem is - that's not cuckolding, is it? It's them, an established couple, fucking each other's brains out while you, Samuel Smalldick, sit there jerking yourself off. Then, when the hour is up, you're the one they're closing the door on, and he's the one she's slaving over a hot stove cooking dinner for.

Assuming she can still stand, of course.

That's not going to do it for me. Not even close.

But I'm damned if I know what I'm going to do about it.

I thought about sugaring. That's a thing, apparently. Pay a youngish girl enough in perfume and handbags to be your mistress. A mistress can cuckold you. It's not as great as a wife cuckolding you, but it's the same ballpark.

That said, how long of a relationship do you need to have for a mistress to really hit the spot? You can't rush into these things. It has to be an established relationship for the word 'cucking' to apply. You have to be going steady for it to actually feel like some kind of betrayal or taboo. Otherwise, she's just an easy girl making easy money. You probably have to set her up in her own apartment and buy her jewelry for absolutely ages.

That sounds expensive.

Besides, it also sounds like cheating on Winifred, and I've never cheated on my Winny. At least, not properly, not in any way which counts. I've barely even visited the same prostitute twice.

So what's a guy to do? There's an outside chance that I'll get lucky and find Winifred is having an affair of her own volition. It's not outside of the realms of possibility. She spends half her time at home and half working part-time at the chemists. All day to play, in other words. There's plenty of opportunity around if she's minded to. Say an obvious bull drops round and asks if they sell extra large condoms, she asks exactly how extra large and he shows her. Boom!

Could happen.

Or say a hot tradesman knocks while she's bored watching mid-morning TV at home. Sex or Bargain Hunt? She'd be a fool not to. We don't get a lot of people round though. The only regular delivery we get is from Ocado and a bull which is partnered with Marks and Spenser's? No, I can't see it myself. He's going to be too gentlemanly, isn't he?

I even asked Winifred the other night if she'd like us to start getting our milk delivered by a real milkman again. That's a thing that's happening in some upper-class areas these days apparently. She looked at me like I'd gone mad though. In fairness, we have a Co-Op just three doors down, so it's hard to justify the premium.

Besides, a milkman is all a bit 1970s British sex comedy really, isn't it?

Oooh, a window cleaner! Now there's an idea!

No, wait, we live in a bungalow. It's not a problem for either me or Winifred to put a quick cloth around all our windows, inside and out. Pity.

The thing is that we've been in that house for five years now. Enough time that we've completely renovated the kitchen and the bathroom, but not enough time that anything is starting to wear out. Not much need for plumbers or electricians.

I guess could always green-light that conservatory that Winny has been talking about for years. We could have rough trade round for months at a time then. Makes me hard even thinking about it. But it's not about how hard it makes me, I could spend tens of thousands of pounds and not have Winny's knickers get even one drop wetter.

Nonetheless, hope springs eternal, especially for just nabbing her in a common sordid affair. I've been popping back home at random intervals a few times a week. You know, I've spilled coffee down my shirt and have an important meeting, or I've forgotten my office key or my phone or my laptop charging lead. You know, trying to catch her unaware. Just on the off-chance. She's started to think I'm going senile a decade or two early.

It's a waste of time anyway. I'm sure Winifred is faithful. Pretty sure. Still, how many men have said that over the centuries? You never know until it happens to you.

Oh, please let it happen to me!

But no, the steamiest thing I've caught her during these daytime raids is reading a Mills and Boon paperback in the bathtub. It's not much, but it's worth encouraging. I've brought her a ten-volume box set as a birthday gift.

Alas, they don't have a cheating wives line. I checked.

The other thought that struck me was Cerys, my eldest. True, cuckolding is the fear of your wife being fucked by another man, but us dads also have an intense dislike of thinking about their daughters getting fucked. I figure it's all got to light up roughly the same centers of the cortex. Not the textbook definition, but enough to fool the lizard brain, surely? I could be lying in bed and then suddenly through the walls, I hear my firstborn angel crying 'Oh, fuck me! Fuck me harder you massive stallion!'

That's definitely the vibe we're going for.

I'd have to find an excuse to swap Cerys' bedroom with our home office for the noise of even the roughest sex to travel, but it would be so worth it.

All this hinges on her starting to date the right guy though. She's had boyfriends before, but even she wouldn't call the weedy bespectacled hipsters she goes for stallions exactly. It'd have to be someone special. Someone a little out of character for her. Mind, now that she's at university though, who knows what she's up to?

Just think, when she turns up at our door next winter holiday, she could start with the words, "Hey, Mum, Dad, I'd like you to meet Tyrone. He's just started a Master's at Durham having come straight out of the University of Compton." Then when she's unwrapping her present on Christmas Day it's a life-size replica of his big black cock and while he says, "Shit, I didn't mean to put that one under the tree!" he has this brazen grin on his face that makes it very clear he's establishing his dominance.

By Boxing Day, he's doing Winny on the side. By New Year, he's moved his five Crips buddies into the house, and mother and daughter are servicing all and sundry every hour God sends.

Oh dear! The office room isn't going to fit a big enough bed, is it?

I'd better look up the difference between the Crips and the Bloods. That could be a real faux pas if I say the wrong thing at an inopportune moment.

Now that I think about it, Durham was probably a bad choice for Cerys. I should have suggested she go somewhere in London, or at least Birmingham. If only I'd been into this when she was filling out her UCAS form, I could have gently nudged her into a more reliable mixing pot.

This is all pie in the sky. Interracial relationships are way more common than they used to be, but that doesn't guarantee she's going to come back with someone of the appropriate race -- Black, or, at worst, something Mediterranean. Is there any way more direct way to help it along?

I know! I'm going to get Kanye West tickets. One for her and one for a friend down in London. You have to speculate to accumulate after all. I don't think she likes Kanye West, but I'll just pretend to be a bumbling dad again. "Oh, sorry honey. I got him confused with Taylor Swift. What am I like? Still, no refunds so give it a go, eh?" Then when she's there, all the thugs will be handing round cocaine and speed like sherbet and candy during the warm-up act and she'll be taking part in a Black-on-Welsh gang-bang with actual bone-fide gang-bangers before your man Ye has even taken the stage.

Steady on there, Rhys! You're getting yourself a bit carried away. Cerys is still your little girl after all. You don't actually want anything bad happening to her.

No, she should find herself a caring Black man to look after her. One of those relaxed Jamaican types -- strumming Bob Marley songs on his guitar, while drinking Lilt on a Carribean beach. A strict practitioner of Rastafarianism, in other words.

One who is able to go iron like a lion, obviously.

True, me and Winifred pushing a mixed race

grandson

down Llangollen High Street isn't quite the taboo that a

son

would be, but at our age, it's the best can be reasonably hoped for. There's still the element around here that's not quite as progressive as it could be. Old Mrs Bleyney, for one, would peer out from behind her curtains and look appropriately disgusted. It could work.

But no, all of this is years in the future and I've got a fetish to scratch now, damn it! There's nothing for it. I'm going to have to do this digitally.

I'll go onto one of those webcam sites and find a girl to be a regular. I'll do a couple of sessions with her each week until we've established a relationship and then I'll start getting her to tell me about the guys she's fucking when I'm not around.

My first instinct is to look for a woman who looks like Winny. That proves difficult. Don't get me wrong. There's something for everyone here, and some of the ladies under mature or BBW are clearly catering to a very specific audience whose views on beauty don't exactly line up with dear old departed Hugh Hefner's. It's just that, when I filter for 'cuckold', a lot of the ladies look quite strict. More than half of them are also running the 'findom' tag which suggests to me that they're not exactly going to be good value for money. I don't mind paying, but I don't want to suffer weeks of them taking me to the cleaners.

I decide to give up trying to match a woman to Winny and allow myself to slip instead into the Multiverse of Marriage. Who of these ladies could I see myself wed to in an alternative timeline?

If I'm choosing a wife to order my first thought is to go Asian. Find one suitably traditional and shy and the knife stings all the sweeter in my back. How about the first few session roleplay how I cuck her current suitor and break up their arranged marriage with my supposed big white cock only for the tides to turn in part two where I make the mistake of taking her to the wrong tropical beach on honeymoon. But many of the best-looking Philippine girls are transexuals and them having either a bigger penis than the bull or a smaller penis than mine is going to throw things way off.

There's a French woman who is absolutely stunning. They age better than any other nation in my opinion. It occurs to me that the French have rather reputation for adultery. It almost seems too easy and I can imagine the neighbours seeing the constant queue of gentlemen out the front door and just giving a Gaelic shrug. Everyone on that imagined Parisian street would be doing it. That takes some of the edge off.

Then there's Columbian which seems to be the dominant Latin American country on offer. A lot of these girls are stunning but they're tripping my 'fooling around with the maid' fantasies rather than my 'pimping my wife out' obsession. Besides, with their dark dusky looks they've already taken genes from all over the shop. There's no point in going to all the trouble of having a black bull breed her if her whole family is just going to look at the newborn and say, 'Hmm, he looks just like Uncle Esteban.'

What about a Russian like Ivana here? I thought she was the perfect mail-order bride, but instead, she turns out to be the perfect secret agent, sent undercover to topple the decadent West. She knows no love, no remorse, and no shame. The only things she lives for are danger, Mother Russia, and her secret meetings with Ivan the Terrible, the Soviet Superbull who is genetically modified, enhanced with steroids, and spends every waking moment training to be a perfect and devastating lover.

A bit advanced for a first session maybe, but I'll write into the porn parody people and see if they want to buy it off me.

Who else? A Kenyan? Hmmm, she's stunning but that's...well, that's going to take me some time to get my head around. It doesn't exactly fit into the usual tropes, but it sounds like a good starting point to go buck wild with scenarios -- 'homesick' would just be the beginning of it.

Later, though.

Finally, my eyes settle on a German girl, in her thirties but advertising the 'natural' look -- which to my mind conjures up the word 'librarian' albeit a librarian who could probably direct you to the muckiest bits on any given shelf. Short blonde hair with a fringe and big round glasses, she seems like someone I would be interested in talking to in a coffee shop or wine bar in real life. Let's go in and check out her English. She's chatting away happily. I watch how she interacts with others and after a few minutes, it's clear she'll be able to convincingly sell any fantasy I want to buy.

She's the one and thus I spring into action.

They say a smile doesn't cost anything, but here it's actually ten tokens. That's fine. I'm just getting her attention, letting her know I'm not just some silent, stingy lurker.

Now she's private messaging me. We quickly run through the usual hru bb, ntmu fluff and then we get serious. Her name is Anna and she's from Munich.

What are you into?

She asks.

I'm a cuckold,

I reply.

As those of you who have been paying attention to this treatise will have noted, this isn't technically true. Is a cuckold who can't even get cuckolded more pathetic than a cuckold who gets cuckolded daily or vice versa?

I love it,

she says.

Tell me your fantasies.

So I do. All the dreams and desires, all my foolishness and frustrations, it all starts to come out. She asks about Winifred and we discuss what I'd like to happen. As we type, I tip every couple of minutes.

Blow a kiss

(Why not?) -- fifteen tokens.

If you like me

(I do indeed) -- twenty tokens. Small change items to begin with.

Further down, at the very end of the menu, you can pay eight thousand tokens for

marry me!

I wonder what actually happens if you tip that. I fear I might have to find out if I'm going to commit to this path fully. But not today.

Still, we can step up the tempo a bit. I'm about to tip for

show breasts

at fifty tokens when I see something else below it.

Nipple clamps

-- eighty.

That presumably comes with

show breasts

gratis and raises the stakes nicely. It's not one of my usual orders, but it is something a bit different, at least.

Anna gets up and goes to a bedside drawer and returns with two silver pegs on a thin metal chain and then attaches them, one by one, to each nipple.

Oh, Christ, would you look at that! That little face she made when she put them on each tit. Like, it's a little bit painful, but nowhere near actual sadism. Delightful!

Now she's jiggling them and the chain is going up and down.

She's adding slapping in for free. God bless her!

It's abuse, but it's fun abuse. I had no idea.

Let's see. Eighty tokens is what? Five dollars which is...yep, best four-odd quid I ever spent. So damn hot!

Just as I'm about to comment on it, the screen goes blank, breasts in mid-bounce.

It takes me a moment to realize what just happened.

Someone else has taken her private.

A message tells me that she's in a show, but I can spy on it if I want to spend the tokens.

I hesitate for a few seconds and then hit enter. It takes longer than it feels like it should to connect.

When it does, she's lying back and fucking herself with a big black dildo.

"Oh, Dave!" she cries. "Your cock is so big. Fuck me with your massive cock, you beast!"

I watch for two highly expressive orgasms. I'm not even sure she realizes that I'm there. Then I return to the main page of the site, stunned.

What just happened?

We were talking happily, making plans for our own session, getting on famously, and then some random guy comes in and, without even talking, just takes her. And then the next thing I know she's calling out this asshole's name while she's fucking herself silly.