MSM cuckoldry

CNN just posted an interesting article on cuckolding to their website.

In our current political climate, the term “cuck” — short for “cuckservative” — has become an insult of the so-called alt-right, aimed at men they view as spineless and emasculated.

Since I don’t identify as a conservative, I’ve never been called a “cuck” but I think it would be one of these weird non-sexual things that occasionally crosses over to give me a little thrill.


According to a recent study by David Ley, Justin Lehmiller and the writer Dan Savage, acting on cuckolding fantasies can be a largely positive experience for many couples, and hardly a sign of weakness.

The paper Dan contributed to deals with cuckolding in gay male relationships. I follow a few tumblrs on that topic and have to admit it’s something that doesn’t really trigger any kind of significant sexual response. I can’t explain it, but for me, the formula that works is “woman + other guy – denied male partner.” In the best case, the husband is cucked against his wishes (but then comes around after the fact because, you know, it’s all fantasy anyway). For whatever reason, if she turns into a he, the helium totally escapes from the fantasy ballon. The paper also suggests the issue of interracial cuckolding isn’t prevalent with gay men as it is in straight couples. Again, for me, that’s not a critical element. I do respond to it, but it’s not an element in my relationship fantasies. The fantasy guy just needs to be one with a better tool.

The article quotes Lehmiller as saying…

We found several personality factors that predict more positive experiences acting on cuckolding fantasies. For those who have a lot of relationship anxiety or abandonment issues, who lack intimacy and communication, and who aren’t careful, detail-oriented planners, acting on a consensual non-monogamy fantasy could very well be a negative experience. In other words, not everyone who has a cuckolding fantasy should think about acting on it.

This makes so much sense to me. I’m no expert, but it seems perfectly logical as a person who is confident in the strength of his relationship that either of us going outside the marriage for sex simply doesn’t seem to bother or threaten me. Far from it.

Ley said…

For men and couples considering the issue of cuckolding, it’s important there be honesty, integrity, communication, mutuality and shared values. I’ve seen men who try to trick their wives into cuckolding them, and this never, ever ends up well.

Guys, DO NOT trick your wives into this. Come on. What a dick move. Otherwise, yes, honesty, communication, integrity. It’s not on his list, but also trust.

This really surprised me…

Lehmiller surveyed thousands of Americans and found that 58% of men and about a third of women had fantasized about cuckolding.

Holy shit. Most men!? And a third of women? That’s so many more than I would have guessed.

Part of what makes cuckolding arousing for heterosexual men is that they tend to view it as a taboo act.

I can remember my earliest reactions to the concept of cuckolding (helped by writing about it at the time). Not being an expert in human sexuality, I can’t say for certain how taboo influences what turns me on, but cuckolding for me seems just another expression of sexual inequality, domination, and denial. In that post I wrote nine years ago, it seemed clear to me even then, though I certainly would not have written it in the same way today. I have evolved.

Unlike then, the concept of inferiority is clearly motivational for me when it comes to the idea of being cuckolded. Of being inferior to the fantasy him. He’s got a cock more to Belle’s liking and can fuck for days (and he knows it) whereas I know I’m not as big as she would prefer and I can’t fuck for very long at all without needing to stop well before she’d like me to lest I orgasm. I still feel in most aspects of our life Belle and I are equals, but certainly not in our sexual relations and I’m clearly inferior to this fantasy sex partner of Belle’s.

It’s one of the things that has complicated the potential of being cucked in real life. The actual guy who might make it a reality is, it turns out, an emotionally stunted turd (IMO — she’s more charitable). Literally the only part of him that’s superior to me is his cock. He has and might again hurt Belle emotionally and so my dander is up in general. It’s an interesting situation to be in. On the one hand, the penis never strains against the steel more than when I’m thinking about him fucking Belle, but on the other, he bugs the shit out me for being such a putz. Belle might see him when she goes through London on this trip and, if she does, then something else might happen, too, but neither of us are counting our chickens just yet. And I’m more likely to want to go punch him for being a dick to her than I am wanting to stroke myself at the idea of him putting his dick in her.

In any event, it’s somewhat encouraging to see mainstream articles on non-monogamy. Gives me hope that what seems to be such a natural part of our sexuality won’t have to live in the closet forever.

Me, absent a very good reason

“I don’t understand,” she said.

I said I was uncertain about being locked up in the woods for a week.

“I mean, you’ve done it before.”

That’s true. I have been more than once in the woods for a week and stayed locked up the whole time.

“Explain this to me.”

I couldn’t. Truth is, sometimes in that environment I just don’t feel like being locked up. Especially when I’m with nothing but other men. Big, straight, muggle men. The feeling evaporates. Also, the hygiene issue can be complicating. One week, I wore the Looker 02 the entire time without a shower or anything. Yuck.

“I’d be willing to let you go unlocked, but I need to know why you need to be that way.”

I couldn’t say why I needed to be unlocked. As I was struggling to make the words, the part of my brain that was thinking being locked up even when I didn’t want to be came up with a plan. The Steelheart without the PA fixing. I could pull the penis out every once in a while and wipe it down and also clean the inside of the tube. There was enough privacy for that, surely. No, it wasn’t total security, but it was locked up. And locked up was how she wanted me absent a very good reason to be otherwise. And I didn’t have a very good reason.

“Never mind,” I said.

You know when you feel it

After a few recent Metrics posts I’ve received the question of what I mean by ejacualting in Belle but not orgasming. As in, if you’re shooting your load aren’t you having an orgasm? I’m going to write this up so I can link to it from now on in order to answer similar questions before they’re asked. 

Supreme Courth Justice Potter Stewart (who, I suspect, is rarely name-dropped in sex blogs but who knows) said in his opinion in the Jacobellis vs. Ohio obscentiy case that while pornograhy was difficult to define, you knew it when you saw it. As I’ve developed as a man denied anything like a regular or normal orgasm frequency, I find orgasm is much the same. There’s a lot that skirts the edges of orgasm and many things that might be mistaken for orgasm from a distance, but when the real deal comes along (pun intended), you fucking know it. 

To be clear, when I come it’s often really intense. Nothing like coming was back when I was doing it several times a week. So intense that it’s usually not even enjoyable while happening and can even be painful. I’ve felt pain in the moment of orgasm above my balls and behind the penis from, I presume, the intensity of the ejacualation through infrequently excercised muscles but also, on occasion, in the back of my head from the wave of powerful hormones that accompany orgasm. And it’s the near total lack of those hormones following simple ejaculation that indicate most powerfully that an orgasm has not taken place. 

The term “ruined orgasm” is often used to describe what happens to me, but those are most often associated with mean old Dommes stroking a restrained guy for an hour and then taking him right up to the moment of orgasm and then stopping all stimulation while his hard cock strains and thrusts and waves around in the air and squirts ejacualte anyway. That’s what happens with me, but it’s inside her and I’m the one who’s stopping the stimulation because I don’t have permission to come. I wrote recently that the line I cross from “about to come” to “OMG I’M COMING” used to feel about a half inch wide. I’d be over it and losing my shit before I even knew it was about to happen. But now it’s so obvious to me and can be felt from so far away that it may as well be a yard wide. The benefits of not coming and forcusing so much energy and attention on trying not to will, over time, give one a detailed understanding of the mechanics and process it entails. If I’m on top and controlling the pace and rhythm of the thrusting, I honestly have no excuses when it comes to “accidentally” having an orgasm. I know when to stop, I know when I have to remain absolutely still, and I know when it’s safe for me to slide it out again. 

Over the years, I’ve also realized that orgasm is not entirely physical. Some of it is mental and my body has been trained in several ways to react in as though it has come, though with less intensity than if I had. For instance, Belle’s orgasm makes my whole body tense and my breathing increase as though her orgasmic energy is feeding back into me through my fingers as her pussy clenches around them. I can even feel a subtle sleepiness after. And when the penis ejacualtes now, it will almost always immediately begin to lose its erection no matter how much I want to keep fucking her. As though it knows the reason for the penetration is complete and the erection is no longer necessary. That has led to some very frustrating moments. I can recall in the past when leaking into her like that would only slow me down for a moment and then I’d keep fucking right through the mess. But not anymore. 

Speaking of which, “leaking” is what it feels like. I might say “shoot” because I like the sound of it, but the difference in velocity of the ejaculation in a real orgasm and the shadow of one that happens when I simply leak without orgasm is significant. When I come, it feels like the semen is being ripped out of me fast enough to burn the stiff shaft from the inside out. When I ejacualte, it’s slower and more relaxed. The boundaries between surges are less defined. Sometimes it can even feel like the semen is running out of me in one long stream. 

The important thing to remember is Belle likes to be fucked and she likes to feel me shoot inside her. Also, I think she feels letting me ejaculate is actually good for me (prostate, etc.). So I know one of the reasons she’s letting me inside her is so that I’ll fill her up with seed. When I fuck her now it’s with the knowledge that even if she doesn’t tell me to come she still wants to feel as though I did. 

So, that’s what I mean when I say I ejaculating and how I know it’s different than having an orgasm. 

Tent logic

Exquisitedragon commented on my post about being an idiot in a tent. Part of what he said was…

These days, since we’re in the middle of some very long term denial (200+days) I’m not going to fall off the end of that without her pushing all the buttons to do so! It’s been so long and it’s her prize to take. I’m not crazy enough to go and change that.

And it occurred to me that if Belle was operating under a similar model (as in, denying me for a specific amount of time or to a specific date) there’s no way I would have cheated like that. I just know it. But why?

This may be due to some lingering attachment I have to my orgasm. Like, if there’s a hard goal, then I cannot do anything but respect it. But when if and how I come is seemingly random (from my point of view), respecting my lack of control over that event is more difficult. It doesn’t happen or not according to any observable process so what does it matter if I squirt a little on the side? What harm is that?

The flip side of this, and I think one of the main reasons Belle denies me as she does, is because in the past if she decided to move the date up because that’s what suited her or if I accidentally came too soon, I’d get all mental about it. Plus, of course, she’s come to the realization that denying me orgasm when she really wants to feel me come is also denying herself which is a bit of a paradox.

Bottom line, I need to fully own and respect that I don’t EVER come without permission, no exceptions, no wiggle room, no doubt. That the timing is not mine to decide EVER. That the method in which it happens is not up to me EVER. That I will ALWAYS get caught if I try.

This is my pledge to her: Forever and always, my orgasm belongs to you completely.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Mrs. Fever had a typically insightful comment to my last post regarding the issues of objectification in open relationships and it’s made me think. Belle, in particular, appreciates hearing her point of view. In any event, you should read it if you haven’t.

Objectifiction is tricky. Some of us want to be objectified, but that’s not my point. I think it’s well neigh impossible for us as sexual beings to avoid all instances of objectifying the objects of our desire. I mean, we call them “the objects of our desire,” right? If you’re checking out porn for the purpose of relieving sexual tension (I’m told that’s what some people do with it), then you are going to objectify. It’s inevitable. There are even times when you’re with a significant parter that you might slip into the mode where you’re objectifying them. What I’m saying is, I think it’s a natural human thing to do. But, I also get why someone wouldn’t want to be objectified. To be reduced to an action and have all the dimension stripped away sounds icky. 

I think this is more an issue with men than women, though I could be wrong. In any event, I’ve found myself both objectifying Belle and TOG over the past several days but also being very cognizant that they’re both real people with real emotions and motivations that have nothing to do with what makes the penis swell inside its steel containment. The second night after Belle revealed the extent to which she’s been communicating with TOG, my furtively fertile imagination simply would not stop imagining their time together. As the fantasy got into high spin, the scenes started to condense until the moment that looped through my mind over and over was a tight shot of his cock buried balls-deep in her, flexing in orgasm as he shot his load into her. It was pure pornography. It was the distillment of the cuckold fantasy. The literal money shot. And it wasn’t necessarily about Belle and TOG. It was about the concept of Belle and TOG and their actions in the context of our marriage. So, I totally get what Mrs. Fever is coming from. In the light of the day, I can still feel the significance of that image in my mind but I also feel a little guilty for it. Because I also know that those two are both complete human beings doing something that’s about them and not me but part of me wants to make it all about me.

The mistake a lot of people seem to make when they try and draw their partners into a D/s arrangement is wanting them to live up to the fantasy expectation they bring with them (perhaps that’s a problem with all relationships, come to think of it). I told Belle this morning that even though we’re perilously close to making real pretty much the most potent fantasy left in my head, I do not want it to happen at the expense of either her or TOG. She needs to think about her own emotional health and his and if shit happens and it doesn’t make sense for them to proceed, I’d rather that then know it was a bad experience but he still fucked her. Basically, I don’t want my kinks or desires to influence how their relationship develops. Even if that means it develops in a way that doesn’t satisfy my fantasy, either at all or completely. As in all other things, reality is better than fantasy because it’s real. At the end of the day, I love her and only her happiness is my goal. Also, I don’t want my fantasy to be part of fucking up what sounds like a nice young man.

In other news (yes, there are other things going on between us!), Belle thinks that during this period of my submissive “reset” that I stay locked up. That could be for a while. I think she’s right. I think what I need more than anything right now it to be woken up every morning with the Steelheart squeezing the the fuck out of the penis. That, to me when I’m in the state of mind I’m in now, is comfort and love. To be sure, I want to fuck her more now than I have in a long, long time. But I need to feel that and not have it satisfied. 

I feel bad for sort of unilaterally checking out of our dynamic like I did. I know why I did it, but it was unfair of me to do it without communicating. I asked her to not let me get away with it again. If I refuse chastity, I need to be able to explain why. And I also asked her to make me do it anyway. The most toxic thing to my submission is implied indifference. She wasn’t being indifferent, but I was.

I have, I until recently, thought of D/s as an overlay to our base romantic relationship. I think that was true, but it’s been overlayed for so long I’m not sure there’s any difference anymore. I find that I’m simply incapable of getting excited about sex that doesn’t have a power exchange component. That when I’m not actively giving up power, then I’m not really being sexual. It’s like the D/s is less an overlay than it has been laminated onto our base relationship. They’re now inseparable and there’s no going back. Not ever. With that in mind, I should not be allowed to pretend otherwise.

To help keep me centered on my subness, I have asked Belle to help me come up with some kind of active demonstration of my submission to her. She is much more the Goddess than the Mistress and doesn’t get off on making me actively submit, but I feel as though I need just a small token of that to keep myself from feeling disconnected. Some little submissive touchstone I can moor myself to. We’ve had versions of this in the past. For a while, I wasn’t allowed to sleep naked without her permission to do so. I would have to ask permission to get into bed with her as a reminder that it was her bed not mine. I suppose someone would point out that wearing a steel chastity device all the time seems like the ultimate “submissive touchstone” but that’s so much a part of me now it’s hard to see it any other way. So, I don’t know. Not sure what it should be and Belle doesn’t either. Ideas?

I have news regarding Drew to pass along, but this post is long enough and it really should have its own. That will have to wait just a little longer (also, it needs to perhaps gel a bit further). Oh, mysterious!

The other guy

A couple of months ago on a Saturday or Sunday morning, Belle laughed and told me she had received a random friend request from some guy in England. They had no mutual friends and she had no idea who he was but, on a lark, she accepted the request. Shortly thereafter, they struck up a conversation along the lines of, “Who’s this?” and “I dunno, who’s this?” He said he didn’t remember requesting to be her friend and maybe meant to friend someone else with the same last name (her maiden name) and he had been at the pub and, well, you know how things happen. 

Their exchange continued beyond that day. He told her he thought she was hot. Things got more flirty from there. At some point, he sent her a picture of himself naked but with his hand covering his junk. I really don’t know the sequence of events since I was in my funk and not really picking up the little hints she was dropping, but I totally picked up the hints tonight. And then I carted them off with a wheelbarrow.

We were in bed and I asked her what was up with this guy. She said he was going to be in the United States this summer and she was planning on meeting him in NYC in August and maybe again in September. This made me squirm into her. I have been unbelievably, surreally horny all day and all I could think about even before having this conversation was her pussy and making it come. I reached my hand into her pajamas and slipped a finger into her ready wetness.

She told me he’s twenty-seven. She told him she’s in an open relationship. He told her he’s got thick 7.5″ cock. What she called a “proper cock.” She told me he likes to talk dirty. That he’s confident. That he intends to fuck her with that cock in New York. He described the ways and the positions in which he intends to fuck her silly. He says he will give her the fuck of her life. The kind of fuck she’s never had from me. The kind she can’t get from me. He says it’s his goal for her to prefer him to me in bed. All he knows about me, besides that I’m married to her, is that he’s much bigger than me. That’s it. But he’s naturally assumed a position over me even before meeting her. He may not know the word or understand the dynamic, but he’s already made me a cuckold.

All the time she was saying these things to me, my finger slipped in and out and over her slick clit. The penis was pushing against the Looker 02 as strongly as I’ve ever felt it. Choking on the device’s insert. It was painful. She got wetter and wetter telling me how he was equipped to give her a real fuck and that he’d undoubtedly last much longer than me and fill her in ways I couldn’t and that yes indeed she expected he could deliver on his promise all I could do was whine and finger her pussy and think how it would feel after he was done with her. How it would feel to her as it stretched her open like I can’t and touched her in places I’ll never reach. How he’d be able to go again and again and never get caught up in his own head and just fuck. And how badly — how honestly achingly badly — I want that for her. 

Equal parts of me are hopeful and afraid that he will do what he says and deliver on his promises. That she will be fucked like never before and that she’ll prefer him to me that way. It is both terrifying and exhilarating to comprehend. But more than anything, I want it for her. I want her to come home from her visit with him fucked so hard she couldn’t have sex with me even if she wanted to. For when the time comes that she’d let me touch her pussy again, or even enter it, I’d want to know that not only am I not the only one to enjoy it but that she enjoyed him more. Was craving to feel him there again, not me.

I cannot explain this. How it goes against everything we’re taught and conditioned to believe and expect in a relationship but how it absolutely fills me with ecstatic excitement, for her and me.

I can’t say I ever really believed something like this would happen. That she’d never really do anything with anyone else. And a lot can happen between now and summer. Who knows. Regardless, what I know now is that I’m not only not hurt or bothered by the prospect, I’m enthusiastically hopeful for her success. The only thing that makes me wary is I don’t know this guy. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to be treated poorly. That’s my only concern. 

I also used I think that if something like this did eventually happen that I’d want to be part of it. But that doesn’t matter to me. Of course, I am part of it since she’s my wife and I’m her sub, but I won’t be physically part of it. Chances are I’ll never set eyes on this guy. If she sees him and fucks him it’ll be a thousand miles away, out of sight and entirely out of my control. And, it turns out, I’m really OK with that. What I want is for her to have a great time. I want her to feel free to do whatever she wants with him and enjoy the space she has to maximize her pleasure. To dote and spoil him and leave him wanting more. I realize that in that way, I’m not part of it. And I don’t need to be. 

As I sucked her tits and rubbed her snatch and felt her hips grind and heard the moans deep in her throat, I realized she probably wasn’t thinking about me. That she was already in some New York hotel room with the fat cock and her orgasm was already his. I wanted to fuck her so badly then. More than I have in I don’t know how long. But of course, no. No way. So my stifled erection was pinched and squeezed and choked and the device leaked useless natural lube while my heart pounded in my head. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

On the bounce

It’s kind of surprising to me how quickly and ferociously my sex drive has come back. Like I said yesterday, it started to peek its little head out of the box I was keeping it in (all blinky and tentative like a baby bear leaving the den for the first time in the Spring) on about Saturday and then seemed to exponentially grow until Sunday when I was sporadically super horny on the flight back (what percentage of guys going into those little bathrooms on planes do you think are jacking off?). Monday it was on point to the extent that I could just find the will power to get a device on. Last night was a bit of a challenge falling asleep since laying on my stomach pushed the Looker 02 into me in a delicious and distracting way and laying on my back inevitably led to my fingers poking through the bars of the device’s cage and feeling the hard shaft of the insert buried inside me. Today, I’m walking around with a ball of vibrating horniness in my chest and sneaking time with Tumblr whenever possible to stare slack-mouthed and in kind of a daze. But the thing is, nothing else has changed. It’s like all I had to do was give myself permission to feel sexual again. 

During the time I was in my funk (which, based on the dates of my posting here was more like a month and a half at least), Belle did let me come several times. Maybe three or four times. But I was all kinds of messed up. The one morning we had sex on the trip, after I got her off, I was desperately hoping she’d not let me come. I fucked her for about a minute or so (usually about as long as I can last anymore) before slowing down to keep it from happening and then she told me I could. I started back up again but quickly lost my erection. It’s been like that lately. Like the penis and the brain aren’t working in tandem in any way. She let me masturbate to completion, but even then I felt weird about it. Almost guilty. Or maybe not guilty. More like disappointed. But how would she know? It’s not like there’s instructions printed on the side of my box and I am the rules say I’m not to tell her what I want with regard to orgasm. It’s supposed to be entirely up to her. 

It’s a telling indication of my rapid change of heart that a week ago my relationship with my own orgasm left me feeling blue but today writing those last few sentences strains the cage I’m wearing. Playing with the things we do in our dynamic — the way we force the higher brain to disconnect, override, and otherwise fiddle with urges and processes that are instinctual and natural — is not to be done lightly. But now that we have, I will never be the same again. Our dynamic isn’t an overlay on top of my sexuality anymore. It’s replaced my sexuality. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just a thing and not one whose significance I think I really understood until recently.