If my friends want a bite, they can have it. Am I overly generous? I don't love this slut. Let her cut a gloryhole into the bedroom wall. Every time I walk down the hall I'll see a dick-less man glued to that sad layer of sheetrock.
Addiction says, "this is exactly what your body needs right now" as an addict wraps an elastic band around their bicep, scrummaging around for the needle. This is the same way I want my wife to desire cock.
And I can provide it just as fast as I can take it away. Let this be known. If you think what I have previously said makes me a good cuck, a powerless man, I am far from it. Perhaps I'm not even a cuck at all, for I see myself more as an actor/director.
See I have this bell, a hand bell. Whenever I ring this bell I envision Ivan Pavlov smiling from within his casket. And every time I ring this bell, sweat starts to pour out of my wife's glands; her nipples puff up, white panties turn transparent. You get it. When I ring this bell she walks to her drawer and pulls out a cell phone, a burner; but in this case she's not the dealer, she's the fiend. I lost count of the amount of cocks this phone has summoned. I get a little trigger happy at times; I ring once, one man. I ring twice, two men. You get the idea.
One time we were strolling through the mall and had passed one of those Salvation Army bell ringers. We could've filled that donation jar to the brim with the amount of sperm that was ejaculated behind that cardboard baler hidden in the guts of the mall.
So as you can see, I am in control...well for the most part.
I am writing this as a form of therapy. You would too if your wife stripped you of the last ounce of dignity left in your depraved soul. And this means nothing if you fight back to redeem it. But what if this degradation is your fetish! I'm not speaking about myself. As I have already mentioned, I am a director. Who I'm talking about are the authentic cucks. The ones who are defined by their willing desecration of self-worth and dignity; not just in an intimate setting, but whispering to themselves, "sorry", for being in the fast lane while abiding the speed limit as some prickle haired douche zooms past in his droptop, erecting his middle finger while getting his own erection satisfied by some cokehead cutie-pie. But I digress. Let me present you with an account of my best role to this day.
This is an account of one of our annual cuckold sessions. It was about a year ago, sometime in September. My wife and I both took a week off from work and headed down to the shore, the Jersey Shore. The hotel we booked was in Wildwood. Scum city U.S.A, ugh I get hard just picturing that exit sign off the highway. We always book these sketchy, cheap motels. And money is far from the reason, these types of places simply add to the slutty ambiance that we love to achieve. Hookers get fucked in these motels. Running rampant from room to room, highly skilled in the art of draining a cock quick then recycling that tainted money back into the drug business, as if it weren't filthy enough. Taking party favors through the nasal cavity, some Lou Reed track playing from God knows where. With the amount of cum that has been sprayed on these beds, I wouldn't have been surprised if a nun became impregnated simply by laying snug between the sheets. A virgin birth, bless her. Must be the highest honor in nun-ship, God seems to frequent these types of places.
The motel we stayed at was pink, it had one of those blusterous boomerang signs lined with those large, incandescent bulbs . Two floors, a deck with a fake palm tree. It couldn't have been updated since the 70's when some type of economic "boom" potted this particular building as well as the hundred others identical to it. It's seemingly permanent residents have remained there since that era, usually posting up on the stretched balconies, reminiscing on times when it was a cocaine castle.
But those must've been simpler times. Now I have scroll through countless dick pics on craigslist to find the lucky bulls that will put all of her 3 holes out of business for at least a week.
The procedure for filtering these men is quite simple. She's not picky, a true cum slut never is. They have to be aggressive and endowed with cocks over 9 inches. And if this discredits my previous statement, this rubric is of my creation and simply making a male mammal cum satisfies her reason of being.
After I exchanged contact information with these men over the net, we met them at a bar no further than 10 miles from our musky sex cave. She sits on a bar stool; her fat ass in a skimpy red, skin flute skirt; slim torso enveloped by a leather black top, cropped up just above her belly button. Her 34DD's prepared to burst out of this top as if they've been caged in there since middle school.
We always make sure the place has tables behind the bar. There are two reasons for this and these reasons could not possibly contradict more. One involves complete deprivation of my manhood. I watch my sultry slut getting teased at the bar, 3 men pawing at her, caressing her hips, harassing her freshly shaven legs. Not laughing because of something present, but laughing over the joy they're about to receive when blasting their cocks into each of her holes. This setting arouses me very much, it's a classic porn intro. The anticipation alone petrifies my penis.
The second reason that I am present during all this is command. I've made mention of this particular object before, my bell, or as I like to say, "Pavlov's bell". When my arousal peaks and I simply cannot take it anymore, I ring it. The moment I do, my barbie receives chills down her spine and moisture sprawls out of her pussy (The bell's second established function, signaling exit). She immediately said something like, "So you gentlemen want to head back to the hotel with me?" in a playful, giddy, slut-like manner. These men were not about to be offended by the interruption, for they were about to have to have the time of their lives, their long-time porno inspired wet dreams are about to become realized!
