…The monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on…
It’s a funny one, how some fetishes and fantasies suddenly appear or evolve. So much of the time we’re used to the idea that our particular kinks have been a base material of our entire being since childhood, and we can see particular incidents or memories that have founded this need within us.
I don’t recall having had a big thing for the whole Cuckold fantasy prior to the last year or two, however. It’s been something that’s crept up in, somewhat Iago-esque in my brain, which the nerd in me does very much appreciate. (Hence the post title)
When we get down to it, I suppose the thing that really gets me hot under the collar for it is the cocktail of power, denial, and teasing.
I had such a hot session a couple of years ago with a young man who wanted me to verbally “cuckold” him during a longer discipline scenario. At the time I was confident I had the verbal skills to do so (they are renowned for a good reason) but was concerned I might not connect viscerally to the concept, as it wasn’t then a fetish of mine.
As I started describing in vivid, explicit detail just how the rival’s cock would stretch me, and examining my victim’s own cock to extensively lament how it would never get anywhere near me once I’d been fucked by a real man, so we may as well just cage it; I started to get particularly turned on.
It was the start of a whole new theme of fantasy for me, and oh boy, has my brain enjoyed itself with exploring ideas…
Forced bi elements like the sub having to get the rival’s cock hard and ready, bondage elements including the sub being restrained in a body bag as part of the bed, and even lesbian cuckolding – where myself and a lady crush enjoy each other’s bodies as only women can, finishing in me fucking the other woman with a strap-on inches away from an immobilised, desperate man’s face.
My (current) particular favourite though is the slave who so desperately desires me, always drinking in my image as he kneels by me, in collar and chain; never allowed more than a few kisses on my gorgeous bottom through my lace panties, but always dreaming of the day those panties are gone.
One day, after some prolonged leg and bottom worship, I hitch my tight dress a little and slowly slide down my panties, holding his eye contact the whole time. Perhaps finally this is the time! When I beckon in the Alpha Male, the slave begins to realise his fate. Stripped and collared, I hold slave’s cock in my hand and, smiling, merely shake my head. No no, that will never be good enough for me. Silly boy. Let’s have a look at what a real man’s cock is like…
The Alpha Male is being barely contained by his jeans, so my red nails reach out and slowly unzip, letting the slave see my reaction as the hard, huge cock is revealed, a wicked, wanton smile spreading across my face.
Now this is more like it. This is what I want. What I desire. You want me to be happy, right?
Slave’s leash is tied to the headboard of the bed and those worn panties are slipped into his leather hood, held fast against his greedy mouth and nose to inhale, whilst his vision is obscured to little more than pinpricks. Tiny, fleeting snapshots of flesh and lust as he hears in excruciating detail the hiss of zippers and throat-caught gasps of passion, the slick wet sounds of tongues and touches, and then the squeak of a bedspring and a tense pause, before the unmistakeable groan of Mistress being slowly entered by that Alpha cock.
Maybe the fucking is only for mere minutes. To the slave, being forced to listen, it feels like hours. With limited sight, every other sense is on edge, and the hot, almost petrichor scent of sex quickly infiltrates past the lace panties. Listening to the Mistress he longs for crying out her pleasure is both a torture and a strange thrill…
Perhaps these will never happen. That’s the unpredictable fun of our kinky games, I guess – sometimes specific fantasies have to stay in the mind. I’ll continue to enjoy thinking about them very much, though.