The Weight Of Want Pt 03

Introduction:

This is part 3 so... go read the first 2 if you want the full story.

It started with a video. Just one.

Milan didn't expect it to change everything the way he saw his wife, the way he saw himself. But watching Nevena with another man didn't make him jealous. It made him obsessed.

At first, it was just about control. About holding back. About edging to the sound of her voice as she whispered instructions from another room. But the more he gave up, the more she took. And soon, it wasn't about porn anymore. It was about training. About obedience. About surrendering to something he never thought he'd crave.

And Nevena? She's not just playing along. She's building something. Testing limits. With every video, every denied orgasm, every quiet humiliation, she's reshaping their marriage into something raw, unfiltered, and dangerously intimate.

Now, with Stefan back in the picture and the rules rewritten completely, Milan isn't just watching.

He's being rewritten.

A slow burn descent into power, pleasure, and the brutal beauty of giving in.

If you start watching...

One wife. One bull. One husband who can't stop stroking to what he swore he'd never allow.

Welcome to JoI Training: The Cuck Descent.

Watch. Obey. Ache.

If you can handle it.

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Weeks Later

It started slowly, the way most habits do.

Not with a climax.

But with a memory.

A flicker of her tongue on another man's cock.

The smirk in her voice as she whispered "You're watching, aren't you?"

The sound of her moan raw, real as she bounced on something too big to be his.

It haunted Milan.

Not in a nightmarish way.

Not with guilt.

But with need.

It played in the back of his mind during work meetings, idle drives, shower steam fogging the mirror. He'd catch himself zoning out, eyes glazed, cock slowly stiffening in his pants without touching it just thinking.

About her.

About them.

About how real it had become.

At first, he thought he could ride the wave by revisiting the videos Nevena had sent him the blowjob, the countdown, the final cumshot painting her face in thick streaks. He'd watch it under his blanket, hand already wrapped around his cock before he hit play.

But it wasn't enough.

Not anymore.

The orgasm came too quickly, too cheaply. There was no chase.

And Milan... he needed the chase now.

That's when he fell into it.

JoI.

Jerk Off Instructions.

He didn't even know the acronym the first time he stumbled across one just clicked on a thumbnail of a soft voice and lips painted red, whispering:

"Good boys don't rush. Stroke when I say... not before."

It stopped him cold.

It wasn't porn, exactly. It was something between porn and hypnosis. A voice in the dark. A leash around his cock. Women telling him when he could touch himself, when to stop, how to breathe, how to edge, how to ache.

Milan obeyed.

Almost involuntarily.

One stroke. Stop. Breathe. Two more. Stop.

It made his cock hurt in the best way.

He didn't come that first night.

He didn't want to.

He lay there, panting, soaked in pre cum, cock twitching, feeling like he'd just confessed a secret to someone invisible.

The next night?

He came harder than he ever had.

Soon, his phone's algorithm caught on.

His feed flooded with suggestions: split screen edits, cum denial captions, women stroking huge dildos with smug voices and countdowns.

Some of them called it "training."

Some promised ruined orgasms.

Some... didn't let you cum at all.

Milan started collecting them like artifacts, curating playlists, learning rhythms. His cock had favorites now. Phrases that made it throb without warning.

"Don't stroke until I say."

"That's it, ruin it for me."

"Imagine it's my hand and you're not allowed to cum unless I say so."

He wasn't watching porn anymore.

He was consuming commands.

And Nevena?

She noticed.

Of course she did.

She always noticed.

It began subtly: the way Milan started spacing out during their makeout sessions. How he'd gasp when she said something casually dominant like "Don't you dare finish yet." His cock would jerk in her hand like a reflex, pre cum slick and sticky before she'd even touched him properly.

But it was the night she caught him in the bathroom that confirmed everything.

She woke up alone.

Their bed was half warm, the sheets ruffled. At first, she assumed he was just getting water, maybe working late. But when she padded quietly down the hall, she saw the light under the door that thin strip of betrayal.

She stepped closer.

And heard it.

Not moaning. Not porn.

Whispers.

A female voice soft, commanding.

"You're not allowed to cum yet. Not yet. Not until I say so."

The audio crackled faintly.

Muffled breathing.

The wet, unmistakable rhythm of skin on skin.

Nevena's breath hitched. Her hand fell to the waistband of her sleep shorts.

She opened the door a sliver.

And there he was.

Milan. On the closed toilet lid.

Earbuds in.

Boxers around his ankles.

Eyes closed.

Hand stroking so slowly painfully slow, like every inch was agony.

He was edging.

Not even trying to finish.

He was obeying.

Nevena watched for a long minute the way his jaw clenched, the way his hips barely moved, like he was desperate to stay still and listen.

Something snapped inside her.

Not jealousy.

Not even pride.

Power.

She was soaking through her shorts in seconds, and she didn't even touch herself.

After that, she started playing a game of her own.

Leaving her robe open just enough to show she wasn't wearing panties.

Bending over in front of him, then walking away without saying a word.

Asking him questions like:

"You've been watching those countdown videos again, haven't you?"

"You like having someone tell you how to touch your cock, baby?"

And when his eyes fluttered shut, she knew she was right.

Milan was being trained.

Not just by porn.

By her.

By her absence.

By her permission.

One night, it all clicked.

She'd come home from work late and found him on the couch red faced, earbuds in, hand under the blanket. When he saw her, he yanked the covers up like a teenager caught mid fantasy.

But she didn't scold him.

She crawled onto the couch, pulled the blanket down, and whispered:

"Keep watching."

He blinked. "W what?"

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

"You're gonna watch your video while I stroke your cock, baby. But you're not allowed to cum. Not until the countdown ends. And if you do... I'll stop touching you for a week."

The look in his eyes?

Wrecked.

Nevena took the phone from his hand. Found the video. Hit play.

A woman's voice poured out in soft, firm rhythm.

"Stroke once. Stop. Stroke again. That's it. Just like that..."

Nevena mirrored every instruction with her hand.

Slow.

Precise.

Cruel.

Milan gasped.

"F fuck, Nevena "

"Shhh," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Obey. Be a good boy."

He lasted nine minutes.

Came with a broken sound, cum spilling in hot, messy spurts over her hand.

He apologized instantly, flushed and humiliated.

But Nevena didn't scold him.

She licked her hand clean.

Smiled.

And whispered, voice dripping with approval:

"Looks like we'll need to start training you properly."

And from that night on...

Milan wasn't just watching JOI videos.

He was living one.

And Nevena?

She was scripting it.

Every glance.

Every order.

Every ruined orgasm.

She was building something. Testing the limits.

Of him.

Of herself.

Of their marriage.

Because beneath her teasing smile, something darker had started to bloom:

If I can make him this weak... this obedient...

What else can I make him do?

It didn't take long for Nevena to learn the rhythm of Milan's addiction.

The videos were like spells each one pulling him deeper into his own surrender.

She started recognizing the types he liked best: the soft voiced dommes who praised while they ruined; the ones who whispered "you're doing so well" while dragging out the ache to unbearable levels.

She studied the captions too.

"Try not to cum."

"Stroke only on the beat."

"Ruin yourself for me."

Each phrase burned into Milan like a brand. He'd whisper them sometimes in his sleep. And Nevena, wide awake beside him, would smile.

Because this wasn't just his thing anymore.

It was theirs.

One rainy evening, she called him into the bedroom.

Milan stepped through the doorway, towel around his waist, still damp from the shower. His cock was already half hard, like his body knew what she wanted before she said it.

But Nevena didn't say anything at first.

She just sat at the edge of the bed in one of his button down shirts nothing underneath scrolling through her phone with her legs crossed, a slow smirk tugging at her lips.

"Close the door," she said eventually, not looking up.

He obeyed.

"Get on the bed."

Again, no hesitation.

Milan lay back, swallowing thickly, towel slipping open across his hips.

Nevena finally looked at him. Her eyes gleamed.

"I want to play a game."

She climbed onto the mattress slowly, straddling his legs not touching his cock, just near it.

Then she held up her phone.

On the screen: a video of another woman's hands.

Stroking a thick dildo in perfect rhythm. And goon captions edits pop up.

"Match my pace. One stroke every two seconds."

"You're not allowed to cum until I say the word 'release.'"

Milan groaned.

"Please..."

Nevena giggled softly.

"Already begging, baby? We haven't even started yet."

She tapped the screen. Play.

Then reached behind her and pulled something from under the pillow: a small, new toy. Silicone. Flesh colored. Realistic.

A pocket pussy.

His eyes widened.

Nevena bit her lip.

"Surprise."

He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

She lubed the toy slowly, deliberately, fingers gliding over the fake entrance, smearing slick all around the lips and inner walls. The sound was obscene.

"Since you like being told how to jerk off..." she whispered, lowering the toy over his cock, "why not let me help?"

She slid it down his shaft in perfect rhythm with the video.

Milan nearly came on the first stroke.

What followed was the cruelest JOI session yet.

Not because she denied him.

But because she led him.

With her voice.

With her hand.

With the toy's squelching sounds as she pumped it slowly, whispering in his ear:

"You don't even need to touch yourself anymore, do you?"

"You like being reduced to just this a cock and a countdown."

"Let me be your rhythm. Let me own your pleasure."

Milan moaned, helpless, fingers twisting into the sheets as the toy milked him at a pace just slow enough to drive him insane.

Nevena leaned in, her breath hot on his cheek.

"Try not to cum, baby," she cooed. "Let's see how well trained you are."

He didn't last.

Of course he didn't.

When he exploded into the toy, panting like he'd run a marathon, Nevena didn't even look angry.

She smiled.

Wicked. Triumphant.

"You'll do better next time," she whispered.

Then pulled the toy off slowly, letting him watch his cum ooze out of it in slow, sticky strands.

"You're going to get addicted to this," she murmured, kissing his forehead. "And when you do... you'll do anything I say."

Milan didn't answer.

He couldn't.

His brain was still short circuiting from the aftershocks.

But deep inside, he knew she was right.

Their sex life changed.

Almost overnight.

Every time they tried to fuck, Milan came too fast.

Nevena noticed and never shamed him. But her smiles grew quieter. Her hand reached for the toy afterward more often. Her hips rolled differently in bed when she thought he was asleep chasing orgasms he couldn't quite give her anymore.

And Milan?

He saw it.

He felt it.

And the worst part?

It made him harder.

He was becoming a slave to the dynamic he didn't know how to escape.

One night, after another quick climax left her unsatisfied and squirming, Nevena whispered in the dark:

"I think we need to recalibrate, baby."

He turned to her, confused. "What do you mean?"

She kissed his cheek.

"You're getting everything. All the pleasure. All the attention. But what about me?"

Milan's throat tightened.

He tried to touch her, tried to offer something back but she took his wrist gently, placing his hand back on his chest.

"I'm not upset," she said softly. "I'm just... curious."

He swallowed hard.

"Curious about what?"

Her eyes gleamed in the dark.

"If you get JOI videos..."

She leaned down, lips brushing his ear.

"Why shouldn't I get something in return?"

Meanwhile...some random day in the week..

Stefan The Unicorn Years POV

It should've just been a night.

One of those crazy, dirty, can you believe we did that moments people bury in the dark corners of memory and never revisit.

But Stefan remembered it all.

The sound Nevena made when she took his cock for the first time.

The way Milan looked wrecked, wide eyed, proud and powerless.

The feel of something unspoken shifting beneath the surface, like all three of them had opened a door they hadn't even known was there.

And Stefan?

He hadn't been the same since.

At first, he did what he always did.

Fucked. Faded. Moved on.

Tinder matches. Instagram DMs. A couple of casual arrangements. Some were hot. A few even flirted with real connection.

But none of them haunted him like that night.

Because with Nevena and Milan, it hadn't been about domination.

Not exactly.

It had been about purpose.

He wasn't just a guy with a big cock playing dress up in someone else's marriage.

He was part of something a fantasy they'd been too scared to chase on their own.

And the look on Nevena's face when she came while Milan watched?

That was something Stefan couldn't shake.

She wasn't being degraded.

She was being celebrated.

Worshipped.

Through him.

By both of them.

So Stefan started asking different questions.

What if this bull thing wasn't just kink?

What if it was... a calling?

He read more.

Not just porn, but forums. Psychology articles. Sex positive essays. Reddit threads full of husbands confessing their most private, aching desires to be made powerless by pleasure.

And he saw it clearly for the first time:

There was something sacred in this.

The unicorns the mythical third weren't just accessories to couples.

When done right, they were catalysts.

Stefan stopped chasing shallow flings.

Instead, he offered something else.

Connection.

Control with consent.

Experience without ego.

He met couples.

Some through dating apps.

Some through underground message boards for ethically non monogamous explorers.

He learned to listen first, talk second.

To ask what the woman wanted... but also what the man feared.

He'd take it slow a dinner, a few drinks, a conversation.

And when it clicked?

When the husband gave him that first, trembling nod of permission, and the wife gave him that look hungry, nervous, ready?

That was when Stefan found what he didn't even know he'd been looking for.

Meaning.

He wasn't just good at this.

He was important.

There was Katya and Luka a Belgrade tech couple exploring hotwifing for the first time. Stefan had given them exactly what they needed: a slow introduction, plenty of communication, and a night that ended with Luka crying softly as his wife came harder than she had in years.

There was Ana a solo woman with a power kink and no patience for weak men. She liked the way Stefan fucked with his hands and his words. They'd been friends with benefits for six months now. She cooked for him. He tied her up when she asked. No strings. Just connection.

There was the poly couple from Novi Sad who didn't know what they wanted until Stefan showed them what was possible how trust and desire could exist in the same breath.

And through it all, Stefan didn't lose himself.

He found himself.

Not a player.

Not a monster.

Not just a cock.

But a man with control, clarity, and a code:

No pressure. No ego. Just pleasure.

Still... sometimes... when the nights stretched long and quiet, Stefan would think of her.

Nevena.

The way her mouth had stretched around him.

The way her hand shook when she hit record.

The way she whispered "he's begging" like it turned her on to say it out loud.

And he'd think of Milan, too.

How he'd texted, desperate, please please please all while his wife was on her knees for another man.

Stefan didn't want to ruin them.

He never had.

But the way they used him and the way he let himself be used had awakened something in him too.

A craving.

Not just for the kink.

But for the intimacy inside it.

The trust.

He didn't just want to be a prop.

He wanted to matter.

So when Nevena messaged him again weeks later, late at night, a single text glowing on his screen like a flicker of old fire:

"Hey. Still up? 😊"

Stefan didn't feel guilt.

He felt the truth settle in his chest like a slow, steady heartbeat.

Some fantasies weren't meant to be one night sins.

Some were begging to be resurrected.

And this time?

He knew exactly what he was walking into this time.

It started with a kiss.

Soft. Barely there.

Nevena kissed Milan's cheek as he sat on the edge of the bed, towel still wrapped around his waist, damp from the shower.

Then she pulled the laptop into his lap.

"Press play when I say," she whispered in his ear. "And don't touch yourself until I say so, too. Understand?"

Milan nodded slowly, unsure.

His cock was already twitching beneath the towel.

"I said," she repeated, voice firmer now, silk lined with steel, "do you understand?"

"...Yes."

Nevena smirked and stood, walking to the dresser. She bent at the waist deliberately, knowing he was watching and pulled out the sleek, transparent stroker she'd bought him. She even named it for him, so its called Lola. Lola the Milan's fake pussy toy.

A perfect silicone tunnel. Soft. Tight. Lined with ridges. Just enough friction to ruin a man's control.

She handed it to him and pulled the towel off his lap without warning.

His cock sprang free, hard, flushed, already leaking.

She just laughed softly and slid the toy over him without hesitation not stroking yet. Just letting the cool, snug pressure wrap around him.

Then she whispered:

"Press play."

The video began.

The screen showed Nevena, in stunning HD.

Hair perfect, makeup slightly ruined already.

But a cock hovering near her lips?

Massive.

Angry red. Dripping.

The lighting was flawless. Her face glowing in the soft shadows, eyes gleaming with need. She looked right at the camera at Milan as she whispered:

"Don't stroke yet, baby. Just breathe. I know it's big. I know it looks heavy. But you're not allowed to touch unless I say. Understand?"

Milan shivered.

He didn't dare speak. But he knew right away its Stefan he remembers the dick like its his own now.

Her voice was almost hypnotic soft, encouraging, cruel.

"Tonight is about control. If you cum before I let you... you don't get the rest. Not the next videos. Not the good ones. Just the edge. Just the ache."

Milan's knuckles whitened as he gripped the sheets.

His cock throbbed inside the toy. Still unmoving. Still waiting.

Onscreen, Nevena licked up the underside of the cock slowly her tongue dragging from the base to the head with obscene devotion.