Pavlovs Bell Round 01

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!

Each man gets in his own car. My wife has already instructed them to follow her car to the motel. Sometimes I get to the car before her, sometimes she's before me, (always have our own set of keys) but I always drive. The conversation during this particular drive was weak. In the passenger seat, upon exiting the parking lot, she hiked up her skirt and with two fingers, started rubbing her pussy. The fact that she was doing it through her panties provoked a kind of sexual frustration in me so I reached over, snatched the crotch of her thong, and tugged them forward. She flashed a glance of sexy surprisal at me; my aggressiveness seemed to heighten her arousal. She let out a few soft moans and continuing to keep my focus on the road, I shook my head and whispered to myself, "fucking nympho". A moment later we turned into the parking lot, picked a spot and I hastily jumped out of the car to check in.

This sense of urgency is important to me, the less I know about these men, the hotter. To me these men are thoughtless brutes; any sort of verbal transaction may easily nullify my ideal. My wife sticks around outside, flirting with her bulls in the lot. She recounts the men pushing her up against the car, wiggling her ass to entice "spankage". She had portrayed her ass in this scene as "a basketball being dribbled against a wall".

I made it to the room and sat myself down on the sofa chair against the back wall. It was slightly off axis, 45 degrees from the door and a view of the queen sized bed straight ahead. My arms lay motionless on the armrests while my head, tilted, stared at the door with unparalleled focus. It was quiet for a few moments before the sound of intense giggling and deep voices began to pour into my eardrums, becoming louder and louder with each passing second. I closed my eyes for a moment, head still aligned with the door. The sounds had now seemed to reach a climax and within a second, three knocks had clashed against the door. This was established procedure, it's always 3 knocks. The transition between the knocks and the knob turning took minute. This is always the longest reoccurring minute of my life. My wife understands my position behind that door and likes to torment me with the suspense. This time around was no different. These 3 knocks were my "Pavlov's bell", I am the dog in this context. Sweat started to peak out of the glands above my brows, face now flushed. My penis began to raise itself, angered by the denim cage around it, the confinement only making it harder. The door knob, slowly and simultaneously turned as the door crept open, the laughter was losing no vibrance. At that moment I saw my wife with her right hand still on the doorknob, kissing one of the men; towering over her, her left arm desperately clinging to his neck. She pulled away from him for a second and managed to say "Hi, honey" before he pulled her lips back to his.

Both of these men looked like they were conceived by the combination of a pro basketball player and an olympic sprinter. These god-like creatures paid no mind to me. They were eating up my wife with their eyes and degrading her with their hands from the moment that door opened. Usually in these situations I get some type of acknowledgment, a "hey man" or sometimes something even more cordial. And this makes sense. I'm essentially letting them use my prized realty. I may not exactly be a rich man but my wife owns that trophy-wife aesthetic. I'm sure some rich asshole would take her, spoil her in a heartbeat, but I guess she values the ability to whore around greater than some excessive sum of money; a true slut wife as I had mentioned before.

But the fact that I was being treated like a wallflower only heightened my arousal. Maybe these men knew my type and put this cameo, on but I like to think that they were soulless brutes. Neanderthals running around in search of instant gratification, finding it in wives such as mine.

One of them scooped her up and chucked her on the bed while she let out a squeak of excitement. She got on her knees and grabbed them by the front of their collars and slowly dragged her hand down their torsos with each unbutton of their Polo dress shirts. This motion naturally led down until hitting a roadblock at the belt buckles. With one swift motion she masterfully unbuckled these mens belts, gripped the handles, and yanked them away from them as if they were the reigns of some carriage and the coachman needed to come to some rapid, unexpected halt. These men looked at each other in awe and I simply laughed and said, "baby, you've gotten so good at that."

"It's cause daddy lets me practice," she giggled in response.

It was at that moment I had reached down into my pants in order to release some of the tension building up in my deprived penis. The show of the year was about to begin and he couldn't even see it! She undid the pants and ripped down the boxer briefs on her bulls' waists in one synchronous motion and two semi-hard cocks burst out in olympic speed. She grabbed them at the same time, brought them together at the tips, then proceeded to slobber on the combined circumference of them in such a way that it looked like she was taping their penis heads together using her long, sharp tongue. These men were overtaken with so much pleasure, temporary amnesia became apparent. For a moment they had forgotten about their vicious straightness.

My wife loved corrupting men like this. She loved breaking down these barriers, inducing such a euphoria within them that homophobia was taken out of their conscious. It was the revenge of the gay kids they had stuffed in the locker during their adolescence. My wife was fencing with these swords, the arena being her mouth. She was her own opponent. These grown men were contorting their faces in such a way that might have resembled children losing their virginity to those sour "Warhead" candies. As my wife was puppeteering these long cocks each set of legs shuddered. It was evident that from the tightening of their glutes they were both about to blow their thick, creamy loads in and around my wife's mouth. By the way she puppeteered those cocks I could tell she wanted to stick to the theme she began with. She is such a predictable whore. She was gonna make the cocks blow in unison!

Olympic start, Olympic finish. I'd need to watch a slow mo replay to determine which bull blew first. And I can tell you, even if they essentially did not move a muscle, their fatigue was comparable to that of an olympic sprinters. My wife scooped the extra cum that painted her face with the same two fingers she had used tease herself just forty minutes ago, and drove it into her mouth, licking her fingers bone dry. Using only the strength of her knees, she propelled herself off the bed, kneeled before me and opened her mouth as I needed reassurance that she swallowed every last drop.

This entire time I had been beating my dick to this live display. I was still beating it as she cat-walked toward me with her body still naked and disheveled. What angered me is that she paid no mind to me jerking off. She only wanted to prove that she was a good slut and took my body out of the context. I was flushed with a sense of power watching two grown-ass men lying parallel next to each other, breathing heavily and in sync, exasperated. That was

my

wife's work. A permanent grin took over my wife's face and I could tell she was more than content about sucking the life out of both men, literally. Once I approved she closed her gaping mouth, got up off of her knees and started to walk back in the direction of the bed to check on her victims. This fresh illusion of power combined with anger stemming from her complete disregard for all but my face caused me to surprise even myself. As she spun around and took her first step toward the mattress, I hastily gripped her arm and aggressively yanked in a backward-downward motion until she collapsed back on her knees, her nose crashing into my wood. She let out a squeal but before she could conclude the noise I grabbed her by that messy blonde mane and forced her onto me, like a crane, dropping her head over my cock. In an instant my entire cock disappeared into her mouth. I blew so hard with no effort actually taken by her. I felt my cum ricochet from her Uvula back onto the tip of my dick. Still firmly gripping her locks I removed her head and swung it aside. I was now gazing into her ocean blue eyes, a fear was now swimming in them.

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