A Cucold's Diary

April 2013

LITEROTICA READERS, *PLEASE* READ THIS:

I've posted more than two dozen chapters of this Cuckold's Diary on Literotica. Each time I begin by telling you that this story is about CUCKOLDING and about MASOCHISM. It is also about a very Loving Wife, who makes every fantasy of mine come true. But no matter how I phrase it, people still write to me and tell me how SHOCKED they are that I wrote about cuckolding and masochism. Tell you the truth, it doesn't bother me. It just makes me wonder why people hate themselves so much that they read page after page (I write long chapters!) of stuff they clearly can't stand.

So if you read this chapter, which is REALLY about cuckolding and masochism, and it upsets you, feel free to write and tell me. Then be sure to give my story a terrible rating, so others won't have to read the garbage that you read all 12 pages of :-)

Sincerely

Cuckold Paul

*A Masochist's Motto: Just because it hurts, doesn't mean it's not exciting. And just because it's exciting doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.*

Forward: We've celebrated some pretty major anniversaries recently. Last month, our 30th wedding anniversary. This month, Sally's 15th anniversary with her lover, Ted. Yes, folks, my wife has been cuckolding me for half of our married life, and it has been the most amazing experience for each of us.

Our anniversary was wonderful. From dinner with our friends to the champagne and strawberries sent by my sister and brother-in-law, everything was great. Even our once-a-year mercy fuck was terrific: romantic, loving and amazing sex for me, and... romantic and loving for her. Seriously, we made love -- which we do all year long, but this time actually involved sex. I've seen Sally with Ted enough to know when she is turned on, so it was obvious -- but completely unspoken -- that the sex was a gift from her to me, not something for our mutual pleasure. When I was inside her she told me to remember that Ted gets to feel this whenever he wants, and when I was about to cum she said, "This is all you get for a year. Enjoy it." I somehow managed to hold off long enough to ask her if that was what SHE wanted -- to wait another year before letting me inside her again -- and she said, "Oh, yes. It's definitely what I want."

That experience, coupled with their last date, brought me to write this.

Dear Diary,

This chapter will be a little different. Yes, I always wrote to help me articulate my feelings as a cuckold by describing what Sally does on her dates with Ted, but this time I actually want to focus on the feelings. It's still hard for Sally to hear me talk about myself this way, although she's warmed up to it recently beyond anything I ever would have expected. She even got herself off twice while I told her how much she hurt me on her last date! But just as Good Girl has a hard time integrating all the things that Bad Girl does with her lover, Good Girl also can't come to grips with how hard her masochist husband likes/needs to be hurt. And yet, when she's with HIM, she does a hell of a job of hurting me - not just incidentally as she did in the early years, but with purpose and intent. It's fucking exciting as hell - and yeah, it also hurts like hell. AND it's exciting as hell. And it hurts like hell. And...

So today I'm going to tell you about this morning, when she and Ted had a date and they excited me and hurt me, and hurt me and excited me. Damn, I'm fucked up... but happy :-)

There are times during their dates when Sally looks at me and remarks how I look like a sad little puppy. I've noticed that it doesn't stop her from having fun with him, and I'm really glad of that! But I feel SO much sadder, and so much littler, than a sad little puppy when she is on a date with Ted.

This isn't going to be pretty, because what I experience isn't pretty. But if Sally reads this I really hope that she won't feel bad about anything she reads, because I don't want her to feel bad - ever. Ted keeps reminding us that we all have to have our needs met for this strange, wonderful relationship to keep working, and what I will describe is how my wife and her lover help to meet my needs when she fucks him.

Before I get into the shame, pain and humiliation I have to start with love. I am SO in love with my wife! There are more reasons than I could write in an entire diary, so right now I'll concentrate on the fact that 15 years ago Sally took a huge risk, trusting me and trusting Ted. She changed our lives the first time she kissed him, and rocked his world, too. I am also so grateful to Ted for being such an extraordinary gentleman and friend to both of us, who incidentally takes my wife to bed and gives her pleasure she never knew existed before she met him. And I'm grateful to both of them for allowing me to share the parts of their dates that I get to share, and for telling me when it's time for me to leave them alone. I've never felt as bad, or as excited, as I do when they are together.

So, diary, it's time for me to tell you how my wife and her lover make me feel.

From the beginning: when Sally and Ted pick a date, they TELL me. They don't ask me to reserve the hotel room; they know it is my job. I sometimes think of what they would say if I asked them if they wanted me to reserve the room; I imagine they'd look at me with complete surprise: "We said we made a date, so OF COURSE we need you to make the reservation. Why else would we have told you?"

So I reserve a hotel room for their date, reminding myself that they need a hotel room because their date requires privacy -- and a bed. And I always reserve a suite because their date also requires privacy from ME. I make sure they have a place where they can be in bed together and where they can be alone together, shielded from the outside world and shielded from me. I make the reservation online, and just before I hit the "send" button I look at what I have done and realize what a loser I am. I am reserving a place for my wife and her lover to fuck.

During the week before their dates Sally asks me to put moisturizing cream on her legs, to make them soft for Ted. Sometimes she says, "think of these legs wrapped around Ted" while I do it. Other times she watches TV or reads and doesn't say a word. Occasionally she is naked when I do it, and I have the honor and thrill of seeing her pussy. Other times she just pulls up the legs of her pajamas, shielding her intimate place from my prying eyes. I learned long ago that I can't ask her to let me see, because I have no claim on her pussy at all. With the exception of that once-a-year mercy fuck it is off limits to me... but never to him. So I put moisturizer on her legs so they will be smooth when she is fucking her lover. It's the most I ever touch her skin, and the closest I get to sex with her all year. It hurts SO much to do that, but I try not to distract her with my feelings. That's why I always go downstairs after I'm done... to masturbate, and sometimes to cry over what I am, what I've lost, and how much it hurts. (Yeah, sometimes I cry. Sorry. More about that in a little while.)

Ted was arriving at 9am today, so last night after we finished work I drove Sally to the hotel. We talked about work, about the kids, about her new, very cool car -- we talked about everything except the fact that I was driving her to a date with her lover. At one point I said, "Everything that happens for the next 24 hours hurts and humiliates me," and she said she knew. But she said no more. I remembered what she taught me years ago, which has helped me be a better cuckold and has actually helped me a lot in life: "It's not always about YOU." So I sat in my shame as we listened to the radio and drove to Pennsylvania.

It had been a long day for both of us, so when we got to the hotel Sally took a bath then put on her "Victoria's Grandmother" nightgown. Nothing sexy at all about it, but I couldn't help seeing the red velour pajamas she had packed for today - for HIM. I got her settled in bed, she said she was tired but looking forward to her date, and that was it. I told her I was going into the living room and she said, "Think about me" because she knew I was going to masturbate. Diary, it's been six and a half years since Sally asked if we could stop having sex and I'm still shocked - and hurt - by how happy she is that I said yes. She doesn't care how much I jerk off as long as I don't do it in front of her, and I detect a trace of gratitude when I tell her I'm going off to do it by myself.

I went into the living room, pulled down my pants and began the night-before-her-date ritual. You know, the one where I sit on the couch and tell myself what we're here for and what is going to happen in this room - and in the bedroom - in the morning. "I brought my wife here - MY WIFE - to have a date with TED. They are going to take off their clothes and go to bed together, touching, kissing, sucking, stroking and FUCKING each other while I sit outside the door and play with myself. I am SUCH A LOSER." That goes on in my mind until I'm so close to cumming that I just have to stop; if it hasn't been at least three days since I have cum I can't handle the cuckolding, so I make very sure not to slip over the edge. I did one time years ago and won't make that mistake again.

When I had beaten myself up (and off) as much as I could endure I pulled up my pants and joined Sally in bed.

Seeing her sitting up in bed reading, I was overwhelmed with a brain-scrambling mix of emotions. I love her so much and I love that she loves me. When I kissed her I looked into her beautiful eyes and saw the reflection of that love. But at the same time I knew that in a few hours Ted would be in my place, looking into her eyes from kissing distance. SHE knew it, too. She knew that in the morning she would cuckold me, giving Ted what used to be mine and no longer is. I didn't know whether to kiss her harder or run away in shame, but she kept kissing me so I did the same. Of course, our kisses were... well, they were OUR kisses: deeply loving and completely non-sexual at the same time. Yes, Ted would kiss her tomorrow, but he would get kisses intended to excite him.

I slept fitfully, as usual on those pre-date nights. Every time I drifted off I was startled awake by the thought that Ted was coming here in the morning to fuck my wife IN THIS BED. Fuck her. FUCK!

My morning preparation for cuckolding is ritual by now, too. I wake up early, shower and dress without waking Sally, and go downstairs to have breakfast by myself. I look at all the businesspeople having breakfast with me, some already talking business with the others at their table, others tapping away furiously on their laptops. A night on the road: part of the job. And I remember that I am doing my job, too - preparing everything for my wife's date with her lover. Ted often compliments me on how well I do my job, and when he does I beam with pride and wither with shame at the same time. He says it with such genuine sincerity that it's hard not to be proud, until I remember that he's complimenting me on how well I prepare everything for him to fuck my wife. Then my pride vanishes and I am properly ashamed.

At 8 am I went up to the room carrying Sally's breakfast. I come into the bedroom quietly, put down the tray and touch her shoulder. I whisper, "It's time to get ready for your date, my love. He's on his way here to see you." I've done this for 15 years and it is still one of the most difficult things I ever say.

The next hour is one of powerful, painful, unspoken humiliation. I clean up the bedroom like a maid. I make the bed so it's pristine for my wife and her lover, and I turn down the covers on the side near the door; that was Ted's request years ago when he asked me to make it easy for them to get in bed. I've done it ever since. When Sally is finished in the shower she stands naked and calls me in to inspect her breasts, to make sure there are no stray hairs. I still don't understand how she doesn't laugh out loud at me when I do this (sometimes I wish she would, as it would validate my own judgment of myself), because I - her husband - bend down and closely inspect each breast to make sure they are perfectly prepared for HIM. This is something she expects me to do for her, and of course I do it. But the shame of preparing my wife's naked breasts for another man's view and touch is only surpassed by knowing that my wife watches me do it. I feel like a complete failure as a man, and I imagine she feels that way about me at that moment, too. A complete failure as a man, preparing his wife for someone who IS a man. A loser who is about to witness it as I lose even more. Again.

A man is coming to meet us in our hotel room, and my wife puts on pajamas - the red velour ones I saw the night before. I bought them at her request from the PajamaGram company; long pants and a tank top. She slips her red robe over them, finishes applying her makeup and asks me how she looks. I answer, truthfully, that she looks beautiful, and she beams. We both know it's for him.

As she sits down in the living room, Ted texts me. The screen says, "ETA 5 minutes. Room #?" But what I read is, "I'll be there in five minutes to fuck your wife. Tell me where to find her." I tell Sally he's five minutes away, and she smiles.

When my wife's lover knocks on the door, I let him in. As always he ignores me and makes a beeline for his girlfriend. They kiss in front of me with no hesitation and no shame. As Ted often reminds me, I am a non-person to them.

After standing quietly while they kiss hello, I ask if they would like me to get them coffee from the lobby. They both say yes; I already know how each of them likes it prepared. As I start to walk out, Sally points out to Ted that I brought a banana from home for him; I know he always asks me to see if there is one at the continental breakfast, but there seldom is. I was proud of myself for remembering to pack it for him and I can't believe how ashamed of myself I am for doing it - and for being proud of it.

When I bring the coffee, Sally asks (tells, actually) me to put moisturizing cream on her legs while she sits with Ted. I bend over to apply it but Sally says, "Get on the floor to do that." I hesitate and she whispers, "I want him to see you on the floor." So while my wife and her lover talk, kiss and touch each other, I kneel on the floor in front of her and made her legs soft for him. I actually did that.

They talked for a long time, and I saw my wife getting hornier and hornier. She put her feet in his lap and began drawing her toes along his pants, outlining his cock. Then she sat up, slid her robe off her shoulders and said to Ted, "Why don't you show him what he's missing?" With a smile, then a kiss, he pulled the pajama strap off her shoulder and continued to pull it downward until my wife's right breast was exposed - all the way to her very hard nipple. Ted gasped in appreciation and immediately bent over to take her nipple in his mouth. Sally looked at me silently; nothing more needed to be said for everyone to acknowledge what was happening.

She wanted to be sure I saw her hurting me. I did. I still do.

As soon as Ted stopped sucking Sally's nipple, his hand replaced his mouth. I sat there like a fool, watching silently as he kissed my wife and felt her up. Within a minute he said, "Those pajamas are very beautiful, but they'll look even better on the floor."

"We can arrange that," she replied, and got to her feet.

Without a word to me, Ted and my wife -- with her breast still exposed -- walked to the bedroom together. I heard the door click shut, and I was alone. All alone. Sally was no more than 10 feet from me, but it might just as well have been 10 miles; she was with HIM, not me.

I barely had time to start feeling bad when I heard the door open and saw Sally walking toward me. Her breast was still exposed, but she didn't seem to notice as she walked right up to me and kissed me. It was a deep, intensely passionate kiss, which rocked my world and gave me an instant erection. But we both knew it wasn't foreplay, because it wasn't for me. It was the kiss my wife shares with me to show me how excited she is about fucking HIM. It was the moment that I got to meet the Bad Girl who goes to bed with Ted every chance she gets, and does it right in front of her husband.

As she broke off the kiss and turned to walk back to the bedroom -- back to HIM -- I croaked out, "thank you."

Without turning around or even breaking her stride she said, "Thank Ted. It was his suggestion."

"Thank you, Ted," was the last thing I got out before the door clicked closed again. And then it hit me: When Ted took my wife to bed he apparently mentioned that she hadn't kissed me goodbye as she usually does, and he suggested she should go do that. So my wife, getting ready to fuck him, took his advice and came out to give me a taste -- literally -- of what she was about to give him. Her tit still sticking out, her pussy already wet for him, she came to kiss me... goodbye. Or more accurately, "Goodbye, loser."

Now Diary, I know some people doubt that I'm telling the truth with what I write. I don't argue with them, because there is no way I am going to prove it while preserving our privacy, and I won't compromise on that. But I know that I am relating actual events, and I keep trying to communicate how it feels when my loving wife does things like that to me. The door clicked shut, my mind went through all the above, and only 20 seconds had elapsed. I tore off my clothes, grabbed a chair from the dining table and sat down outside THEIR bedroom door. I had placed the Vaseline there earlier in the morning, so I was ready to masturbate as my wife cuckolded me.

But she cuckolded me so hard.

Ted made love to my wife for a long time. For more than 20 minutes he held her, kissed her, touched her, sucked her, caressed her, whispered in her ear and drove her wild. I didn't see any of it; I sat outside the closed bedroom door and listened. I couldn't tell exactly what was happening, but I knew WHAT was happening because I was sitting outside their bedroom and listening. I heard my wife's whimpers of pleasure: sounds she never makes, and really never made, with me.

Twenty minutes is a long time to stare at a door. And it's a long time to be ignored by my wife while she is in bed with another man. Time enough to think, over and over again, "It would be SO great if she called me in now, to watch what they are doing," and to be disappointed over and over again as the whimpers continued. Time to remember her telling me, "We don't think about you at all when we cum."

Time to remember what she said to me last month, the day before our anniversary: "I'm sorry. I love you, but I love sex with HIM."

And more than enough time to remember, as I sat there and rubbed my penis, feeling hurt and excluded and pitiful and alone, what Sally's been telling me for years: "It's not always about YOU."

No, it's not about me. Certainly not when I'm alone outside THEIR door it's not. It's about them. That's why we are here: so they can have a date together, have sex together, hang out together in bed and enjoy each other. That's what is happening now: they are enjoying each other. I can hear my wife enjoying Ted, and enjoying herself. That's not so terrible, is it? She's enjoying herself. And enjoying herself. And 15 minutes later, still enjoying herself.

I'm such a fucking loser. A sexual loser. Not only is my wife fucking another man -- I made all the arrangements for it, I ran the errands and now I'm straining to hear the sounds of sex through the door. I'm jerking off, but that's all I ever get. She wants him. And now that she's with him, I am the last thing on her mind. And it goes on and on and on. I spend the last five minutes on the verge of tears. Still hard, still masturbating, but nearly crying as I see who I really am. And knowing that THEY -- the loving, happy, excited couple -- see me that way, too, when they notice me at all.