Cuckqueaning as a fix for insecurity?

Photo by Nate Neelson on Unsplash

A kinky friend whom I exchange with regularly asked me today whether a part of my desire to be cucked might stem from an inner fear that I am not enough to keep Master interested for a lifetime, and whether the ‘high’ I enjoy from cuckqueaning might in fact be a response to my martyrdom and self-sacrifice. This was perhaps too complicated a question to wake up to, and after banging out a sleepy response to her on Telegram, I continued to give the topic more thought over the course of the day.

The first part of the question is easy to answer. It is true that I lack positive examples of happily married couples who have withstood the test of time. Take my parents, for example. After thirty over years of marriage, one horrid extramarital affair that wore the entire family thin and a honeypot scam that rendered the family near penniless, they decided to call it quits in an extravagantly hostile manner. It shouldn’t be too difficult to imagine that this had a very negative impact on me. It might also have been the push that led to the dissolution of my first marriage; the moment it became very apparent that I didn’t see myself growing old with him anymore, I initiated the separation.

Nonetheless, the above coupled with the wearing down of my self-esteem, confidence and value by my ex-husband does not make for a good recipe. So yes, I will readily admit that despite the time and effort my Master has put into picking up the pieces of my broken soul, teaching me to love myself again, it is challenging for me to have the required confidence in myself to truly believe that I deserve him. Deep down inside, I do feel that he is too good for me.

I feel like I lucked out. Somehow, I struck the lottery with this one. He’s attractive, incredibly intelligent (he thinks circles around me), well-spoken, interesting and funny. Not just that, he gets me. He seems to always know exactly what I need; he pushes all the right buttons, even when it gets difficult. He instinctively knows how to give me just enough of a push but also provide enough time and space for me to warm up to an idea. I’ve never felt truly afraid nor in danger of being messed up too far over the edge that I’ll lose myself, despite us tangling with some rather taboo topics in our marriage.

And therefore, I don’t deserve him, right? I’m not speaking from my cuckquean heart here, I’m speaking as me. He’s given me the life I could only dream of in the past. I don’t have to work if I choose not to, I have the space to devote myself to being exactly who I want to be. I can pick up projects that I find interesting, learn a new skill, take up a new hobby. He encourages and he provides the opportunities. I mean, he’s given me the chance to make an entirely new life in a foreign country, something many dream of but simply don’t have the resources to undertake.

And therein lies what I find most interesting. In spite of my perhaps crippling concerns that I am not good enough for Master, we’ve taken this and bundled it up and turned it into something we use for play. Perhaps in some warped fashion, this is my way of taking ownership of my insecurities. Yes, I have a deep fear of being cheated on, my father having wrecked the family with his affair. Maybe cuckqueaning is my way of ensuring Master’s need for variety is always met, and by encouraging him to date and fuck other women, it diminishes greatly the need for him to cheat. And I am ok with this, because I’m not just doing it for him, I’m also doing it for me.

This leads me to the second part of the question. Do I enjoy cuckqueaning because I secretly enjoy the idea that I am sacrificing myself? I don’t think so. Honestly, if it were altogether just a negative experience, I wouldn’t be into it. It’s not so much the sacrifice that drives me, it’s the humiliation of knowing I am sending my Master, my husband, into the arms and bed of another woman. It’s the humiliation of knowing she can show him pleasures I cannot, even if, in our case, I am denied pussy sex for the very purpose of this comparison. So, I think, no. I’m no martyr. I’m just a silly little cuckquean who really really gets off on being made to feel smaller in comparison to another. Again, I’m doing it for me, and he’s just a really lucky man (as many like to tell me) who gets to benefit from my fucked up kink.

I’m in a happy space!

I am happy.

In the past two days, Master has called me into his office to suck him off when he was ready to cum. So this is the compromise. Master still enjoys his me-time touching himself while surfing porn, and when he’s about ready to cum, he calls me in to finish him off, all the while still perusing porn as though I’m not there. I squeeze myself under his desk and remain as unobtrusive as I can while working hard on making him cum with my mouth and hands. I’m happy to report that I did a superb job both times so I will be used this way more often. I’m not really sure what I find hotter – Master using me as a sextoy or being told to get out once I’ve cleaned his cock with my mouth. 🤔

And then there was tonight. We played hard. I knew it was coming since we always have one intense scene every Sunday before the workweek starts. It’s a great way for Master to unwind and clear his head before Monday. So at 9.30pm sharp, I was kneeling on the bed in wait. Music was playing from my computer speakers and there were three implements on the bed that I’d been tasked to select. As usual, being a sucker for pain, I’d gone with three I knew would be difficult to take, but which I adored – the thick rattan cane, the sadistick (a flexible metal rod with a rubber tip that you pull back and release with force), and the looped delrin paddle.

When Master entered, he told me to stand at the edge of the bed with my hands on it, back arched. This was the first position – bend – and I was to remember it. Then he starting spanking me, hard enough for me to realize he was warming me up. Next, he reached for the delrin paddle and started using it on my ass and the backs of my upper thighs. Mmm I have to admit I really love it when he hits my thighs. They hurt so badly and mark so brilliantly after. When we were still in Singapore, I used to take regular pole dance lessons so I’d begged Master to go light on my thighs as I didn’t want to have to explain the marks to my teacher and classmates. It feels liberating to know that here, I can wear purple bruises down my legs and no one would be any the wiser.

I have no clue how many strokes I took but I knew I would have nice marks from the delrin paddle. Then, Master picked up the rattan cane and told me to start counting. Swish. Un, Master. Swish. Deux, Master. And this continued until he stopped. I saw through the reflection in the glass of the window that he’d picked up his mobile phone. I thought he was taking a picture of me, but he was taking very long. I was perplexed but I didn’t move. Suddenly, he placed his mobile phone on the bed, right below my face. There was a picture on the screen of a very beautiful woman. It only showed the bottom half of her face and her lips were gorgeous. And her body… My god. Tight with beautiful breasts. Not big and fake like mine were, but pear shaped, firm and a good size.

“You know who that is, don’t you?” Master asked. Yes, yes indeed I did. It was Ms D, the lady Master sees this Wednesday in Paris. He told me she’d sent him a few pictures to taunt me with. Well, it worked. Taunted, I was. I like my body, but I was nowhere as tight as she was. Clearly, she worked out a lot more than I did. Her tummy was taut, her nails beautifully done, her make up flawless. She made me feel kind of frumpy, truth be told. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” he asked again, as he picked up his mobile phone to swipe to the next picture. This one was taken from the top down, she was lying on the floor on her side, clad in very sexy black panties and sexy black heels. Again, her body was perfection.

Then, the strokes restarted. “Keep your eyes on the picture as you count. Don’t you dare look away.” Yes Master. He alternated the cane with the sadistick, not stopping till I’d reached trente (thirty). The last few strokes were delivered quickly in succession and I barely managed to stay in position with my feet planted flat on the ground. I knew that lifting them would only result in more punishment. I definitely could have taken more, but I guess Master felt it was time to take my ass, so he ordered me to kneel before informing me that this was the second position. OK, I could keep up so far. I sucked his cock, feeling it swell and harden in my mouth, then throat, feeling him push it deep in my throat as he held the back of my head down against him. He only released me when I started gagging.

“Lie down with your head off the edge of the bed.” As I quickly assumed the position, Master informed me this was the third position – edge. He fucked my throat like this for awhile, only letting me breathe when I started gagging or choking. I love being used this way. Yes, it is sexual and maybe not really bdsm play, but I love being dominated through face fucking and anal sex. Perhaps it’s more the cognizance that these are the only ways Master uses me, rather than the physical acts themselves, that make me feel absolutely submissive. Engaging in them reminds me that I’m just an anal-only fuck pig. My pleasure doesn’t matter when we fuck, only Master’s does. Master uses my ass because it’s his preferred hole, and I’m lucky I can cum from it, but it wouldn’t change a thing if I couldn’t.

I’m on my period right now so I had a tampon up my pussy. Master didn’t show my clit nor pussy any attention today. Sometimes, he slaps his cock against my clit to tease it, or pushes himself inside my sloppy pussy to lubricate his cock. Today, all he did was rub his cock outside my pussy and it lubed him up well enough to take me up the ass. And he did, missionary style at first so he could choke me while fucking me. Of course I started begging for permission to cum and then came lots. Then, “bend,” Master called. For a moment, I was lost. It didn’t mean anything to me, and then I remembered. I quickly got into the first position, standing with my hands on the bed, back arched. “You’re such a stupid piggy, aren’t you?” Master berated before picking up the delrin paddle and giving me a couple of hard swats on the ass. He plunged his cock into my ass while I was still tensed from the pain. It was quite splendid.

He fucked me really long and really hard, making me face fuck myself in between. His cock never entered my pussy once and it was like my clit didn’t even exist. When I was lying on my belly with him on top of me, his cock deep in my ass, he reminded me that this is the only way I’m fucked now. All the (pussy and clit) orgasms, the pussy fucking, the pleasure, they go to proper women, not pigs like me. After Master finally came, we cuddled for a bit, hugging each other tight and whispering words of love and endearment. I asked him why all the women he’s hooked up with in France have been so insanely hot. He laughed and said I should be happy that when he’s not using his piggy, he’s enjoying some top shelf quality ladies. I had a fleeting thought that that made me bottom shelf stuff. The stuff you have often enough because it’s cheap and easily available, but lacking the refinement and pleasure of the high-end top shelf products. Yes, he was right, and I could get behind that idea.

I talked a little bit about the importance of the pre-cucking scene for me. Today was absolutely spot on. As I took pain while staring at Ms D’s perfect body, I felt put in place. What right did I have to deny Master the pleasure of such perfection when I had no basis for comparison? Of course he should enjoy himself with her, and I’m happy to say that whatever jealousy I felt was immensely hot. Oh, and also, my bed in the closet is to be used for the first time that night. While Master is away in the arms of Ms D, I am to sleep in my pet bed, off Master’s bed, and use the opportunity to reflect on my new role in life – his frequently cucked piggy slave. The belt went back on after I cleaned myself up, further cementing the fact that Master gave zero fucks about my pleasure. Of course I do get pleasure from being treated this way, but clit orgasms… God I miss them.

(To Ms D, if you’re reading, thank you so much for the pictures. They really contributed to an amazing scene. And thank you, also, so much for being my Master’s muse. I truly hope that you will find great pleasure in your play with him. I am both humbled and honored at being allowed this little glimpse of your gorgeous body, and I have no doubt Master will relish his time with you.)

My Fondest Cuckqueaning Scene

Today, I was asked whether I’ve ever participated in a cuckqueaning scene, or have I always been in another room or not in the same place at all. Truth is, yes I have. Multiple times, in fact. I just never wrote much about them because most didn’t quite check my boxes. Most of the women who wanted me present were either keen on threesomes, looking to be co-dominated by me and Master, or interesting in subbing alongside me. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with these permutations. I still enjoyed each and every one of these scenes, even if the cuckqueaning was simply implied or something for Master and I to pick up on after the lady had left.

There was, however, one lady who was very interested in our dynamic and equally interested in topping and humiliating me. We only had one scene with her before the pandemic hit and my country went into lockdown. By the time restrictions lifted, we had drifted too far to pick up where we left off, so we stayed friends but didn’t play again. I’m going to be writing this from memory and while my recount will be based on what really happened, I will be tweaking some parts to neaten the delivery, because, here’s the thing, her ideas were fantastic, but she wasn’t an experienced domme at all so the execution was a little flawed. Let’s just say that I’ll be remembering this scene as fondly as I can.

This was early 2020. I’d just started exploring cuckqueaning with Master. We’d been seeing each other a year by that point so I felt like I was ready to give it a go with him. Master had a couple of play partners, and my very first cuckqueaning scene was with one of them. She came over to play with and fuck Master, knowing full well I was home and in the next room. Mid way through their scene, I was allowed to step in to see her. She had a blindfold on so I couldn’t see her face, nor could she mine. Still, that image of her tied up on the bed, her legs tied spread and her pussy pointed right at me, will probably remain in my memory forever.

Anyway, my second cuckqueaning experience with Master involved someone he’d met here on fl. She was an expatriate, like him, and identified as a switch. She was very keen to play with the two of us and relished the idea of being a cuckcake. That evening, she arrived dressed in (I kid you not) a very hot black latex dress. This was in Singapore, mind you, with temperatures averaging thirty degrees Celsius. So kudos to her, she looked stunning and it was obvious that Master thought so to.

After the formalities, I scurried off to prepare and serve dinner. While I was banging around in the kitchen, I thought I heard the faint sound of moaning. But with the whir of the oven in the background, I wasn’t sure. I peeked through the small glass window in the kitchen door and, sure enough, spotted Master and Ms K, her name, making out on the sofa. I have no clue whether they fucked or not, I couldn’t see much and the oven had dinged. When I emerged from the kitchen with dinner, Master strutted over to me, a smirk on his face, and held up a used condom. He only disposed of it after making sure I fully understood what it meant. I remember wishing he’d made me swallow the contents, like I usually did when we played, but I knew he was being careful not to push me too far in front of someone new.

So we had dinner. It was delicious and there was a lot of chatting and flirting at the table. Ms K was sitting bare assed on her chair, as Master had asked her to. She had also taken off her dress by this point and was sitting across me in a black latex bra and short latex skirt. Distracting, to say the least. Once we were done with dinner, Ms K and Master took a shower together while I did the dishes. I remember hearing a lot of laughter and moans coming from the shower. I was pretty sure they fucked again, and when they emerged, I was standing as instructed, naked from the waist down, standing with my legs spread on top of one of the dining chairs. I was also facing away from the bathroom so I could only hear them when they emerged.

I was so excited that I was already extremely wet, my pussy juice snaking down my thigh and threatening to create a wet patch on the seat of the chair. I had no idea what Ms K had in mind, but I knew she wanted the chance to top me. She pulled out a small jade ball from her handbag and showed it to me. It had a string attached to it and it looked weighty. As though reading my mind, she gave it a little toss before catching it in her palm and announcing to me that it was indeed quite heavy. She then told me she was going to see how tight my pussy was because hers was so tight she could milk a man to orgasm just by clenching and unclenching, her words, not mine. I was so wet that as hard as I tried, I could not keep the jade ball for long in my pussy. I wasn’t allowed to close my legs though I felt that would have made the task a little bit more achievable. But I guess my failure was the idea because it gave her the fodder she needed to mock me for my loose pussy, and mock me she did.

They told me to follow them as they adjourned to the bedroom. There, my cuffs were locked in front of my body and I was told to stand against the wall, facing it. I was told to assume the position for impact, which meant my hands were to be placed palms flat on the wall, slightly higher than my face. I was also to stick my butt out slightly while arching my back. Ms K started commenting on the obvious differences between our bodies… How my boobs were fake but still similar in size to hers, how her body was much curvier than mine, how she was much taller than I was. She asked Master how good I was at taking pain and Master offered to show her. He warmed me up a little before caning me hard. I was well trained enough to keep still and to keep count. She found it absolutely adorable (her words) and asked if she could use her crop on me. Master agreed and she went to town on my ass. Honestly, compared to Master’s strokes, hers were a lot lighter, BUT the whole situation was very hot.

She inserted one of my own kegel balls, a much bigger weighted ball than the jade one she’d used earlier, so it pretty much stayed in with little effort. However, she started piling on the weights. Pretty quickly, I felt the ball plop out of my sloppy pussy, landing on the floor with a thud. Laughter filled the room and I was told to go stand in the corner, facing the wall. I was only good enough to hear them fuck. So I did, and I remember being so incredibly turned on. I knew I’d have a heck of a time cleaning the floor up after we were done – pussy juice is slimy and sticky and dries up quickly. I could hear them making out, the sounds of their long kisses music to my ears. Eventually, I was told to turn around, and I did so to the view of Master inserting his cock in Ms K’s pussy, her eyes staring directly at me as she asked me how I felt watching my boyfriend (we weren’t married yet) with his cock in another woman.

It was quite dreamy. Master would fuck her for a while, pull out, remove the condom and beckon me over to suck him while he would use his mouth and fingers on her, keeping her nice and horny. When he was ready, he’d put on another condom and plunge right into her waiting pussy. After he came, he pulled off the condom and made me clean up his cock. When I was done, they pulled me up on the bed and Ms K sat her just-fucked pussy right onto my face. Ms K was curvy and she had a really nice meaty pussy. Plus, she was a very tall girl and bigger built than me. The weight of her and the sheer size of her pussy compared to my face suffocated me. I was licking for dear life, hoping she’d remember to let me breathe. Still, not a bad way to go. 😂

I felt Master straddle me and push my legs apart. Then he pushed his cock into me while making out with Ms K. He had just come so his cock was just chubby. He started comparing my pussy to hers, saying he couldn’t feel much in my loose pussy. Eventually, he pulled out and Ms K got off my face at the same time. The two of them flanked me, one on my left and one on my right. I felt my vibrator thrust into my hand and I was told to make myself cum. While the vibrator buzzed away against my engorged clit, Master and Ms K started kissing right above my face. I don’t think I’ve cum quite so hard and so beautifully before. I still think about that view from time to time. It’s hard to forget.

The rest of the night was spent rather casually. We had more wine, chit chatted about kink and our experiences with other partners, we experimented a little bit more with girl-on-girl action. Both Ms K and I had not had much experience with women so we traded tips on how to make each other cum. That was pretty wholesome. Lol. She left when none of us was able to deliver a sentence without yawning, and Master and I fell asleep in each other’s arms.

So this was my best in-person cuckqueaning scene. All the elements I needed were present. It’s a pity we didn’t have the chance to explore another scene with Ms K. As with all dynamics, the play gets better and better the more you know about each other’s likes, dislikes and buttons. I could tell she really enjoyed the role of a cuckcake; she was such a natural! Nonetheless, I’m pretty hopeful we find someone like this now, but even meaner. I don’t want to get to cum at the end of the scene! And I’d love to be sent to the closet to sleep in my piggy bed while she and Master fall asleep in each other’s arms.

An Opportunity for Self-reflection

Master threw me in the closet today for close to an hour. There was very little warning. He gave me just five minutes to use the toilet and have a sip of water before gripping the back of my neck and escorting me into the bedroom.

I was being punished for waking him up this morning (Saturday – his only day to really sleep in) rather unceremoniously at the ‘early’ hour of 11am. I was supposed to wait for him to wake naturally.

And I get it. Really, I do. Master pulls long hours at work during the week and needs to recharge over the weekend. I am not sure why I waked him. I think I thought 11 was pretty late and also, I was getting hungry for brunch. 😂

Anyway, I was informed I would be punished, but I thought he was going to punish me tomorrow, Sunday, since that’s when we usually play. Well, I guess I thought wrong because I found myself in my tiny closet with only half the floor area available because clever me had moved stuff from Master’s closet into mine to make way for my pet bed. 😂

Before shutting the door, Master told me to be prepared to be locked in for awhile. Honestly, at that point, I was still grinning on the inside. I mean, I love tight confined spaces! I’m not sure how locking me up is meant to be a punishment, but I guess I can get behind that.

Still, an hour, while not being extremely long, can FEEL like a very long time when you’re mentally unprepared and don’t have anything to entertain yourself with. I tried to sleep, but the tight space meant I had to sit upright with my knees hugged into my chest all the time. With my head leaning against the cupboard wall, I managed to dose off a few times but kept getting jolted awake from the sheer discomfort of my position.

And then of course there’s the chastity belt. Let me tell you it is uncomfortable AF sitting for prolonged periods balled up like I was. The genital shield was digging tight into my pubic region and the metal bar at the back was digging into my lower back. Ouch.

I think my enthusiasm waned about the halfway mark. There was a small part of me that wanted to bang on the closet door to let Master know I was uncomfortable. But then I realized he would probably shut the door on me again and keep me in for even longer, so I scrapped that plan as soon as it formed.

I was way too uncomfortable by the midpoint that I couldn’t dose off anymore, despite sleeping anywhere at anytime being my secret super power. Damn. So, I decided to do what Master probably expected me to do while being locked up – try to wank. Nah, I’m kidding. I decided to self-reflect.

Then it dawned on me. I was being punished for something I’d done. I’m no wife, I’m a slave. Master is showing me that there are repercussions to my actions when I do not live up to what he expects of me. And in truth, this was probably the first punishment that I truly felt was a punishment. I’m such a masochist and so fucked in the head that no matter how hard Master hurts me, I love it.

Then I thought about my life now. Every inch of it. And I realized that I’ve been so well trained I don’t even feel as though I’m living a life much different from before. But that’s not true at all. My life now is nothing like it was before – financial dependence, 24/7 slavehood, weekly cuckings…

Everything single thing I do now is monitored by Master. I need to seek his approval for the most basic of things – buying something for myself, snacking, deciding on a project to pursue, everything. My life now is pretty devoid of decision. And… I like that. It sounds weird, I know. I used to have to make tonnes of decisions, like everyone else. But this feels strangely nice.

And then I realized that I was making good progress in getting where I want to go. I’ve shared with Master that I eventually want to be able to give up all semblance of choice to him. I don’t want a say in when or how he cucks me, or even how frequently these occur.

Of course, I’m not saying I expect him to disregard all the boundaries I’ve communicated as mattering to me. On the contrary, I know he’ll safeguard them, but I don’t want the power to choose whether he sees other women or not. On the surface, I’ve given that up, but the truth is I have a safeword so I could call the stops to everything whenever I want.

And I know safewords are important and I’m not shitting on your playstyle if you use them. I still do! I’m just saying that I fantasize about having them removed. (And look, it’s 2022. If I really want to walk out, I walk, so don’t worry that I haven’t got my head on right.) I don’t want the power to make a single decision, not for cuckqueaning, not for anything (important).

I felt like I needed to add that in parantheses otherwise someone would probably ask me about whether I make decisions in buying groceries, etc. Yes, of course I do. But I also know Master’s preferences and they factor into every simple decision I make for the running of the household.

After Master let me out, he gripped the back of my neck again and told me to cook us a delicious dinner, so I whipped up two cuts of beautifully cooked steak and some creamed spinach. We finished off our meal with some pinot noir and cheeses we’d picked up from the local fromagerie. That was my aftercare right there, and a delightful one it was.

I’ve made my bed…

Quite literally.

Master first planted the idea in my mind a few days ago that I might be disallowed from sleeping in his bed in his absence, i.e. when he’s up in Paris. Of course, that little seed took root and grew into a full fledged naughty idea. Yesterday, I shared with him that I personally find it extremely hot to have to sleep in his closet or on the floor, like an actual pet. And then I teased him saying I didn’t know if he would like that much, since he enjoys cuddling with me while falling asleep. He retorted that we could still cuddle and when he’s ready to sleep, off I go. I didn’t reply but of course I had a silly smile on my face.

So today, I cleared out the bottom of his wardrobe, a large vintage solid wood piece, and made myself a little pet bed inside it. It’s slightly narrower and shorter than a single bed, but still big enough for me to sleep comfortably. I have no clue how often I will use it. Of course, my depraved brain is hoping I’ll be banished from sleeping in his bed permanently unless he so desires my company. It’s got me dripping in my chastity belt, thinking of being locked in (the wardrobe has one of those antique key locks on the outside) on some nights and released in the morning when Master wakes. Of course I also have fantasies of being locked inside while Master plays and fucks someone else in his bed, and we’ve talked about this, about him taking lovers in Lyon but I still need some time to warm up to the idea.

In the past few days, we’ve been talking a little about the setting up of some new protocols and rituals to challenge me and keep me in good headspace. We like to do things slowly, if that hasn’t been obvious. Master has always been about setting me tasks I can achieve. Still, it’s been about a month since we’ve settled into our new apartment and most of the tasks I have are now second nature:

  • Wake up at 9am daily
  • Manage the household chores
  • Cook two healthy meals a day
  • Ensure the kitchen is well-stocked
  • Prepare and pack Master’s luggage before his Paris trips
  • Do 3 yoga classes a week with Master’s choice of accessory work after
  • 1h of French class a day, plus another 30 minutes to an hour of French content consumption
  • Do a full enema once every 2 days
  • Ensure Master has his coffee/water filled regularly while he’s working
  • Prepare the coffee nightly
  • Ensure there’s a glass of water on Master’s nightstand nightly
  • Seek Master’s permission before snacking (this was added recently)
  • Journal regularly

And that’s really about it. I’ll admit I still need to work on a few, like waking up at 9am. I tend to get out of bed at 9.30am; I am not a morning person at all. I also tend to skip workouts on occasion. So these can definitely be done better. But on the whole, I run the house and myself like clockwork now, and I’m ready for more!

I’ve made some suggestions to Master which we will discuss after he’s had time to ruminate on them. Honestly, when we started our D/s dynamic three years back, we agreed that we wouldn’t rely too heavily on protocol. The reason was that my ex-dominant who fucked me up quite badly used to adore protocol. We had so many in that relationship, and while it was all fun and games in the beginning when things were good, I found them stifling towards the end when they essentially became well-rehearsed actions without intent. Thus, we agreed to allow our own dynamic to evolve organically, only putting in place what we both agreed would contribute to it and to us. But now that I’ve finally laid that monster to rest, I feel like I’m ready to take them on again. Not all, and definitely not the same, but tailored to us and our needs.

The first thing I suggested was that I be required to keep my collar on at all times. I know, I know… This is such a basic thing in most dynamics, right? I guess the physical collar just was never that important to us, you know? I’ve never doubted in my mind that Master owns me, so there was never really any need for an outward show of it. I don’t need to finger the D-ring at the front of my collar to remember who’s in charge, but now I also kind of want to just be able to touch it from time to time, to feel the weight of the collar around my neck. I’ll be using my custom leather collar for now, but we plan to purchase an eternity collar as soon as they restock the one we want in my size.

The second suggestion I made was slave positions. This is something I specifically asked Master to avoid in the beginning because my ex was CRAZY about them. I didn’t want to go through the ritual feeling like I was still entrapped to him, so we never put them in place. However, over the years, through our play, there grew certain positions I instinctively knew to adopt. One for waiting, one for receiving impact, a couple of presenting my ass for fucking, etc. I realised that they were all different from the ones my ex used to train me in, and thus, I feel very comfortable ritualising them. There is something very hot about Master calling out a number or a short phrase and me knowing exactly what is required of me, like a well-trained slave.

The last suggestion I made was really more of a request. We have a routine for play. I give myself a full enema once every two days. It has to be a full one because we always practice ass to mouth, and because Master is quite big (for my size) and often likes to go for more than one round. We agreed that doing a full enema daily would have too big an impact on my colon health, thus we have an intense anal session every two days instead. On days that we don’t fuck, Master has his own routine of sorts. He enjoys wanking in the confines of his office, in privacy. I guess it’s just something he’s gotten very used to, not so much that he doesn’t enjoy using my mouth/hands. I can understand because when I used to be able to wank, I also enjoyed my own me-time with my erotica and vibe. Nonetheless, I asked Master to consider how I could serve him more, within his comfort level, whether it be to simply come in at the end and serve as his cum rag, or to be allowed under his desk and lick his feet, balls or ass while he wanks. No idea yet what he will decide, whether he’ll be open to this at all, but I would very much hope so.

All of the above are still in progress, awaiting Master’s input, but one thing we did set up, which I’m pretty excited about, is tying my orgasms to cuckqueaning. Master decided that I be allowed to earn one clitoral orgasm for every 10 times I am cucked. However, if I misbehave like the last time, trying to manipulate him into changing his plans, that time won’t count and I will lose an additional number from my present count. So although I have been cucked twice so far, since I fucked up the second time, the count remains at zero. This is quite exciting because it gives me incentive to want to be cucked, not that there wasn’t before, but this is so much more explicit. Master goes up to Paris every other week so the wait in between orgasms should be about 3-4 months, which is a good duration, seeing as I tend to lose sexual desire after too long a period. Think of it as a reset to keep me horny and sensitive. And now, I’m actually in good spirits about Master heading to Paris next week and cucking me, since I’ll be able to add +1 to my count.

So there you have it. I know my last post was pretty heavy, but it was a necessary step for me to take to move on from it. And it’s worked. The more I read and reread the post, the less power I feel it has over me. It’s strange, but I feel like I’m finally ready to let go of that beast, or that monster, and devote myself to making my current dynamic an exceptional one. Thanks for reading!

My Monster

Monsters come in all shapes, sizes and forms. My monster took the form of a sociable young man, well-spoken and well-liked. What the people around us did not realise was that he only ever showed his true form to me, when we were alone and there was no one else around to watch his unpleasant transformation.

For ten years, I stayed with him, not because I was happy, but because I truly did not know better. I did not know, for instance, that it was not normal to be in a relationship with periods of excessive highs, where I felt like everything I had taken was worth it because he DID love and care about me, but also with very long periods of miserable lows, where the urge to do better for myself was so so present yet ignored. I did not know that I had the right to have my limits respected, that I had the right to be respected, that I had the right to deserve more. It’s true that he was there through a lot of the shit my family put me through in those days, and I felt indebted to him and his kindness, so much so that I closed a blind eye, nay, two eyes, to the slow but steady erosion of my self-worth and self-value in his hands.

It’s been slightly over two years now that I have walked out. For a long time, the memories were too painful to deal with. I started out by talking them through with my Master, but it soon became evident that I needed more help. So I sought therapy. Fast forward many sessions, a tonne of journaling and even more self-reflection, I’m finally ready to share. I thought that time would heal all wounds, that over time, I’d let go of the negative and only remember the pleasant. But this hasn’t been my experience at all. In contrast, I find that I can’t quite recall the good times anymore. Every time I bring him to mind, all I remember are the bad.

I remember his anger. I remember how every time I tried to have a discussion with him over something or other I wanted addressed in our dynamic or relationship, he would shut down. I remember the hardening of his jaw, the veins in his face as it became more and more apparent that he was minutes from blowing up. I remember his common refrain – “Are you that unhappy? Do I make you so unhappy? If you’re that unhappy, the door is always open.”

I have never been good at communicating my feelings in person, having grown up in a household with parents who did not talk. My mother used to always tell me that as long as I lived under her roof, I had to abide by her rules and that the word ‘compromise’ did not exist in her vocabulary. And so, even as an adult, it takes me a very long time to express myself, particularly when in a confrontation. I remember so well the look of disdain on his face and the subsequent “Are you stupid? Why are you just staring at me like that? Are you a fucking owl?”

My anxiety skyrocketed in the years we spent together. I experienced full-blown panic attacks while we engaged in arguments. The worst was him not believing that I was having a panic attack. He told me outright to stop pretending. And then when the panic attack triggered my asthma and I started wheezing, he started getting worried, felt bad and then as always, started victimizing himself for being the cause to my anxiety. I felt bad for being anxious, stupid as that sounds now. I felt bad for putting him through my neurosis, for not being able to communicate with him like a level-headed adult would.

I remember him yelling. I remember very clearly the way his neck would tense when he would yell at the top of his lungs right in front of me. He never touched me in those moments, so there was no abuse, right? Wrong. The intimidation was there every single time. You want to know why I walked? The last time I let him yell at me, he punched the door so hard I felt real fear. I wasn’t going to stick around to wait for that fist to touch me, even if he said it never would have.

I remember how my consent did not matter. We were in an unhealthy D/s dynamic. I had limits, mind you, but he told me I could have none. He told me that my soft limits weren’t limits at all, and my hard limits, well they could be pushed. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered to me quite so much if this were limited to play between just the two of us. I play hard behind closed doors, and I probably would have found the whole CNC thing very hot IF it had not involved others, involved members of the public at times.

I remember he used to have this huge kink for taking me to a bar and watching me get hit on by other men. Harmless, right? No. One night, he took me clubbing and two men showed interest in me. He encouraged them to buy us drinks, lots of drinks. Of course, I expressed concern, but I was told to trust him, he would manage it. Even if anything happened that night, he would be there. We played with others quite regularly so I was prepared for a little bit of play, maybe even sex. What I was not prepared for was him allowing himself to get so inebriated he was no longer able to take care of me. He knocked out somewhere between the club and our hotel room and these two gentlemen (yea, right) helped us back. I was also equally drunk, but not to the point where I lost consciousness.

When he got to the hotel room, he knocked out on the bed, and they, they basically helped themselves to me. I struggled with this for years – was I raped or not? I thanked them for helping us back, they started feeling me up but then revealed they didn’t have condoms on them. I told them it was not a good idea and they should go, but they told me it was ok. And in my drunken stupor, I was fucked by both guys. I was so drunk the entire thing was a blur. Even till today, I have snippets in my memories, but no clear picture of their faces, no clear timeline of what actually happened. What I do remember was waking up the following morning, realising what had taken place, and feeling extremely violated and worried that they might have given me something. The two ‘gentlemen’ had even stolen my ex’s RayBan sunglasses, which he bloody deserved.

I was mad. I was so angry with him for failing me. I still am. I don’t know how a couple can move on from something like that, and perhaps we never did, because after his feeble apology the next morning and a clear STD test, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. And we were just recently married so I kept mum about it too. But it was too huge a skeleton for us to keep in our closet and it eventually started pushing its way out. (I’ve spent hours dissecting this in therapy and coming to terms with the fact that yes, I was raped, and that no, it was not my fault.)

I thought that after this incident, things would change. That he would realise that his actions had irrevocably affected my self-worth, but no. He continued to make flagrant remarks about my body to anyone and everyone who would listen. My tattoo artist, for instance, with whom I had a friendly but professional relationship. He would egg my artist on constantly to touch me, to take advantage of me. And here’s the kicker. He really did one day. I’d shown up for a session and he whipped his fucking dick out and asked me to suck it. I still hate myself for how I responded in that situation. Yes, I did it. I felt cornered, I didn’t want to sour things and for him to do a poor job on my art, which, now that I think of it, was retarded of me.

After the fact, I blew up at my ex for encouraging this, telling him that I had repeatedly told him to stop, to avoid ruining my relationship with my artist. Here’s what he said – “But you never told me no. You never sat me down and said it seriously so I knew it was a no.” I still don’t know how to respond to that. No is no. As for my artist, I made it very clear something like that would never happen again, and to his credit, he never tried anything funny again.

There are so many other instances in which he betrayed me, let down my trust. I learned that he snogged one of our kinky female friends outside the restroom on our wedding day. At this point, we had NOT yet explored cuckqueaning. He knew that my limit was that we always play together. And this was a vanilla event – our wedding for crying out loud. I only learned about this after we split when she apologised, thinking I’d witnessed it (I had not, I had been looking in the general direction, but I had not seen) and worrying I held it against her. Why he felt it was acceptable to do something like this in the same venue where our vanilla friends, family and colleagues were, I will never understand.

Then there was the time when I introduced him to someone I greatly admired – a fellow Pro Domme who had made a very big name for herself. She was someone I looked up to as a business mentor, and she never shied away from sharing about what she did and how she did it. She was extremely supportive. Knowing all this, when he met her, he groped her ass. She called him out for it on the spot, but later told me she would let the matter rest on account of her friendship with me. When I confronted him about this, he failed to see what he had done wrong. And this was probably when I realised that he was in fact, truly misogynistic.

I have so many more memories but I think I will stop there. It’s already taken a lot out of me to put these in words. But this is why I have trust issues. This is why, for the entire of the first year I was with my current husband/Master, the slightest sound/movement in the night would jolt me awake. Now, I sleep through almost anything. I haven’t had an anxiety attack in years. But I still can’t trust. I still don’t cope well with confrontations. When my Master has gotten angry in my presence, I have systematically shut down, wringing my hands together and looking like a very ‘lost puppy’, in his words. We’ve worked so hard at helping me unlearn certain reflex responses over the past few years it’s insane. I often feel like my Master is being punished for something he had no hand in.

But that said, I’ve made good progress. With my Master, I’ve learned how to speak up for myself. I’ve learned how to say no. I’ve learned how to love myself again. I’ve learned that I have value. I’ve learned that my anxiety is loved, that it’s ok. When I still suffered attacks, he’d hold my hands and take me in his arms, rocking me back and forth till I breathed easy again. I’ve learned that my fight or flight response is so fucked that I need to relearn very basic coping mechanisms. I’ve learned that it’s safe for me to be in the presence of his anger, that it isn’t going to be directed at me despite me having nothing to do with the original cause. I’ve learned what it feels like to be truly loved and cherished.

I’m still learning, and I am finally ready to put this monster of mine to rest.

A Beautiful Wrap-Up to a Difficult Week

My brain works in ways I doubt I will ever comprehend. Following Wednesday night’s emotionally toiling cuckqueaning scene, I awoke the following morning feeling quite bright, if I’m being honest. There was zero residual resentment, which I had expected, but instead, I felt grateful that Master had gone ahead and cucked me despite it being difficult for me. Indeed, I felt excited that it had happened, and over the course of the following two days after he had returned home and we had talked about it like adults, I found myself back in a very good space.

It was true that I had been going through PMS; my debilitating cramps proved it two nights back. That probably explained my strong reaction. That said, Master also owned his oversight, that he ought to have recognized that he shouldn’t have changed plans and expected me to be fine. A lot of the pre-cucking work I do involves narrowing my focus on the other lady, building (often false) comparisons and internalizing them so I trick myself into believing that I have no right to jealousy because of how much better she is than me.

Problem with Wednesday was that not only was I lacking in prep work (we hadn’t had a scene before Master left), I also had whatever little prep I had done on my own destabilized. Again, we learn new things every day, which is why Master has refused to remove my safeword for cuckqueaning, knowing full well I might have the need to use it one day. He reiterated that he rather I feel empowered to know I can pull the brakes whenever I need to, rather than to allow resentment to breach our foundation.

I think I might like one day to be comfortable enough to make the decision to rescind my safeword, I feel it will show that I trust Master fully in this, but I recognize I’m not ready for this just yet. I don’t know when or whether that day will come, and perhaps I romanticize too much the notion of having no control. For now, I will go with giving up control, as I chose to do last week. It made Master extremely proud of me, and I can’t deny I too am proud of myself. It was the first time I had chosen not to take the easy way out.

Master and I always have an intense scene every Sunday. Prior to Sunday, I asked Master to punish me for Wednesday, particularly for trying to manipulate him by pulling the wife card and not wanting to own my safeword. I also asked to be punished for trying to cockblock Master, but this one was more to fit with our narrative than something I truly felt sorry for doing. Apart from the punishments, I asked Master to use his scene on Wednesday to humiliate me. I experienced such irrational jealousy and resentment to this woman I’ve never met, I wanted to see if trying to fetishize the jealousy would help me overcome it.

Let’s just say that Master delivered, as he usually does. It’s been hours since our scene ended and I’m physically exhausted with a very sore ass, both cheeks and asshole. Master used the delrin looped cane on me today, hard, multiple times, making me apologize and thank him after each stroke. I had to verbalize what I was apologizing for, which was extremely humiliating. “Piggy is sorry for trying to cockblock you, Master” has quite the ring to it. So do “piggy is sorry for trying to overstep its boundaries” and “piggy is sorry for trying to manipulate you, Master”.

Master drew many comparisons between me and his lover today… That she has a great ass for fucking, whilst mine is small and only good for pain, that she has legs that go for miles while mine are… Well, let’s just say I’m 5’1″/156cm and leave it at that. The kicker for me was when he started fucking my pussy, but only just a few strokes, declaring “it’s very loose, isn’t it. I really don’t like this hole” before withdrawing and plunging his cock up my ass. I could tell that Master had held back a little, giving me just small doses to see how well I could take the verbal humiliation. I did very well though… Every line he delivered made me even wetter and begging for more. I’m hoping he will hold back less in future.

Master also stretched my ass today. He rubbed his fingers against my clit and pussy to lube them up, making me squirm, and then pushed them into my ass. He fingered me anally to multiple orgasms while I thanked him ceaselessly for letting me cum. I’ve made some sort of peace with the knowledge that I don’t get to have clitoral and pussy orgasms. Thank goodness my ass is quite as sensitive as it is. It’s quite powerful to me to feel Master literally take his pleasure from me everytime we fuck, pounding my throat and my ass while giving zero fucks about my clit and pussy. If anything, these and the chastity belt are the constants that keep me in a state of submission.

My ass is sore because at one point, Master stuck four of his fingers in it and then managed to squeeze his cock in as well. I have not felt that full in a long time. I was broken by that point, more or less crying into the mattress, my face a mess of snot and spit from when he’d facefucked me with my head off the edge of the bed. I felt like I had already taken so much and still it was not enough. Still, he wanted to wreck his fuck pig just that bit more, by testing and stretching its ass to its limit. At the back of my mind, I worried a little that his actions over time might cause my ass to get so loose he wouldn’t be able to feel much while fucking it. When I raised this after the scene, he just laughed and said he could always stuff a dildo in at the same time, then cheekily added that would give him more reason to fuck younger tighter pussy. I creamed.

Finally, I’m going to share a little about my aftercare/after scene process since I realise I don’t talk about it much. We usually cuddle for a bit until I’ve stopped trembling, then we spend some time apart letting our minds process and settle. We do a debrief either hours later or the following day. After this scene, I was so tired I fell asleep in Master’s arms for a good twenty to thirty minutes. When I awoke, it felt like an amazing power nap. I showered and then treated myself to some Asian food delivery (fried Vietnamese noodles with grilled pork and prawns) and watched some Netflix to unwind. A glass of wine also helped in my come down, and of course, the writing of this entry.

Tomorrow’s the start of a new week. It looks like Master won’t be headed to Paris this week and maybe the next, though that’s not confirmed. Part of me is very happy he’ll be home, part of me is craving to be cucked again. I’m such a confused piggy.

Cuckqueaning Milestone Crossed

This is going to be a very challenging entry for me to write because it requires me to be rather vulnerable and admit that I am not perfect in my submission/slavehood, whatever you want to call it.

Master was in Paris again last night for his once weekly trip. He had told me that he would be meeting someone he’d met on an app for a first contact. That placed pretty low on my jealousy meter, so when we didn’t have much of a scene the night before he left, I didn’t think too much of it. He had me worship his feet and give him a back rub to relax and that was it.

Fast forward to yesterday. Some time in the middle of the day, Master contacted me to let me know that his date had cancelled due to her being unwell, and he was going to see the same lady he’d seen the previous week and spend the night at hers again. We had talked about how I didn’t want to have any control over who he saw and what he did while in Paris, so I accepted the news and then spent the rest of the afternoon and evening trying very hard to work through the huge ball of jealousy and anxiety that had instantly formed.

I thought I did a pretty decent job. I had written Master a long journal entry, talking myself and him through my feelings. I acknowledged my need to give up control, etc etc. But come nightfall, I was a mess. Like a legit mess. Master still hadn’t given me any real confirmation as to whether he was seeing this lady or not, telling me they would confirm the meeting after their respective dinner events. Anyway, when he called me after his dinner event, I have to admit I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that he was in bed. I took it to mean they weren’t meeting after all.

Alas, no. Master told me he’d be taking a shower and then heading to her place and that’s when I just broke down. I admitted to him that I wasn’t in a good space at all. I was not prepared for this, I was not horny in the least, I felt like throwing up at the thought of him being with someone else when I wasn’t in my little cuckquean space. I guess neither of us really knew just how important the prep work was for me, nor did Master think it made that big a difference who he met while there. To him, it felt like a small change in plans. But to me, it felt pretty much like the end of the world. OK, I exaggerate but you get my point.

I am happy with how we worked through the issue. To me, it was a win. Master basically made me take ownership of the safeword, telling me that I was empowered to use it if I really felt that there was no way for me to work through my feelings. He assured me he would not love me less (my perpetual fear from being with my previous Dom). He gently reminded me of my earlier commitment not to make him cancel plans at the last moment, which is fair because I did give him my word, and it felt like a good decision at the time since it would impact not just him but someone else.

Master then reminded me of all the things I’d written to him in the past few weeks, of where I wanted our dynamic to go. He also reminded me that I knew that things might get tough, but that I needed to dig into my courage if I wanted us to break out of the cycle we were stuck in. It’s true. This is our fourth go at cuckqueaning, and every single time before, I’d chickened out. And yet, I keep going back to this kink, like a curse. It fuels and kills me in equal measure.

In the end, I took a deep breath, we talked, nay, hashed it out, and then I told him to go. I knew that if I stopped him from going, it wouldn’t change the way he felt about me, but it would probably change something in our dynamic. I didn’t want to hate myself in the morning, knowing that I had taken the easy way out. So he went. As for me, I went to sleep after writing him another very long journal entry. Lol. I am glad this man loves reading.

This morning, he contacted me as soon as he was out of her place and gave me a quick rundown of what had taken place. After a good night’s sleep, honestly, it hurt a tonne less. We reconnected over text, both feeling glad that we had stuck to our commitment to each other. He had read my midnight writing and told me he was proud at how I’d managed to work through my feelings, even presenting him with options and alternatives for making this work in the future.

I am aware this might read funny to some of you, some might even cry abuse. But no, I’m not abused. Cuckqueaning is my kink, and we’ve found that I am most fulfilled when I’m kept in a good cuckqueaning space. We are both still learning how to keep me there, how to cope with the ups and downs such an emotionally charged kink inevitably brings. So yes, I am aware that I sent my husband into another woman’s arms last night, even as I was breaking down internally from overwhelming jealousy. But I count it as a win. A small step towards becoming the slave I envision myself being, a small step towards cementing our dynamic as real.

Last night

I am marked, my ass an abstract painting of purple on skin, painful to the touch. My cheeks are slightly swollen with just a hint of bruising. My ass and throat feel sore, a sign of being very well-used. I am on the whole entirely exhausted, I feel like I ran a marathon (I am not a runner), or worse.

But on the inside, my heart is in awe. “Find me a man who can break you down and build you back up again,” it had asked. And now, finally, we’ve found what we had been searching for.

I don’t count myself inexperienced in the least, I’ve had good and bad scenes spanning more than a decade, but last night… Last night was something else. Last night was intense, real, fascinating on a psychological level. At the end, the both of us lay in bed in a tangle of sheets, breathing heavily and reveling in the wake of what we had just done, nay, what we had just accomplished. The only word that we could utter was “wow”.

I will try and put down the experience in words, but I feel like I won’t be able to do it justice. Still, I will try for I too want a record of what passed.

I shared in my previous entry that Master and I had spent a fair bit of time talking, negotiating and realigning ourselves on Saturday. We knew we would play on Sunday, as a way to end the week, but I doubt either of us knew it would be quite so intense.

I presented myself to Master after preparing myself as requested – ass cleaned, hair up in pig tails, makeup done in a trashy manner, skimpy lingerie hugging my curves. Master added to the outfit my leather collar, leather wrist cuffs that he attached together with my hands in front, nipple clamps connected by a single chain, tongue compressor gag in my mouth. Then he swung open the closet door and all but threw me inside with my fleece jacket over my head for warmth. “Smile for the camera”, he said and I, rather unceremoniously, pulled the jacket to the ground, knocking my nipple clamps in the process. And thus, this picture was born.

I remained in the closet for the duration of three songs before Master reappeared, pulled me out and ordered me onto all fours on the bed, ass up face down. Then, the impact started. The buffalo whip came first. It’s a bespoke piece made up of one very long and thick tail of buffalo hide, approximately three feet in length and a third of an inch in thickness. It’s beautiful, in all honesty, and packs a mean punch. He gave me about twenty strokes, if I remember correctly. The most memorable was the stray stroke that landed smack on my clit. I remember squealing into my gag and the sound of Master laughing.

The next implement he used was a flexible silicone strip with raised studs along its length. Very understated, very mean. Again, I have no idea how many strokes I took, but I estimate another thirty. My ass was on fire at this point, and the worst stroke was delivered right across my foot when I crossed my feet to ease the pain. That was probably the point where I started tearing real tears.

Master instructed me to place my feet on the ground for the next implement, but to keep my back arched, head down on the mattress. He started snapping the sadistick against my ass and my thighs mercilessly. The sadistick is a mean motherfucker. It’s essentially a thin flexible metal stick with a rubber tip at the end. You use it by lining the tip up with the intended point of contact, pulling it back with your fingers, and then letting loose… a little like a catapult. And it hurts. It’s the kind of pain that cuts through the haze and brings you crashing back to reality. Again, probably ten strokes of this, maybe more. /shrugs

But Master wasn’t done yet. The next implement was the delrin loop, a rigid loop made of hard plastic. It’s a little like using a cable to strike someone, but worse. Master was a little like a kid in a candy store as he commented on the marks forming on my abused ass. I thought he was already going hard, but he told me to brace myself for the next few strokes. He reached down and grabbed onto the chain connecting my nipple clamps, warning me that if I jumped or moved, my nipples would suffer. Of course I did my best to stay very still, screaming into my gag and tapping my feet against the floor to cope with the pain, kinda like a bull before charging. “Keep your feet flat on the ground or I’ll whip them,” he said. I quickly corrected my stance. I was at this point so far gone I was a mix of flying and crying. The duvet was scrunched up tight in my fists, my entire body rigid from the sheer amount of pain running through it. Twenty strokes, I suppose.

“Now I’m going to cane you, but since this is your preferred implement, I’m not going to give you that many strokes.” It’s true, I do love the cane, but in Master’s hands, it’s more of a love-hate relationship. I whimpered inaudibly before taking three, or was it five, more strokes of the cane. Then came the nipple clamps. They weren’t excessively tight, but after having kept them on for more than half an hour, the sensation of blood rushing back in floored me. I squealed into my gag like a stuck pig, earning me more of Master’s laughter, music to my ears.

Finally, he was done. And honestly, so was I. I lay prone on the bed, shaking and perspiring from the pain and the fear. When Master got on the bed and leaned against the headrest, I instinctively crawled towards him between his legs, expecting that he’d want my mouth on his cock, but he gestured me towards the edge of the bed instead before plonking a foot on my thigh.

“Rub my feet, piggy. Make yourself useful.” And so I did. I rubbed his feet with all the gratitude I could muster for having broken me down and stripped away all the inner turmoil in my heart – my unwarranted fears that his cucking me would lead to feelings for another, that I would be replaced. In that moment, it was clear that he owned me and that he loved me immensely. And so I rubbed, trying to communicate my appreciation and love through my fingers, since through my words I could not. When he was satisfied, he removed my gag and told me to worship his feet. And I did, with the utmost love and adoration.

A funny interjection here. In our negotiation, I’d asked Master to allow me to worship his feet, it being a dormant kink of mine that we’ve never really engaged in before. Through cuckqueaning, he’s withheld certain sexual acts from me over time – cunnilingus and fingering, to be exact. But in the past weeks, he’s also started withholding his kisses. Not the quick peck on the lips that we give each other very often, but the long deep french kisses. The idea is that these acts ought to be reserved for his lovers, them being intimate and pleasure-focused and not what his fuckpig deserves. So I asked to be allowed to make out with his feet instead. Master had no expectations for the act, thinking it would be more symbolic than pleasurable, but to his surprise, he found himself getting extremely aroused from my administrations. All I can say is that in the 6-7 years I have been a professional dominatrix, I have had my feet worshipped so often I know exactly what feels good and what does not. And back to the retelling…

Master’s cock was nice and hard in response to my administrations on his feet, and it wasn’t long before he instructed me to take him in my mouth, which of course I did, happily. And when he was ready, he ordered me to lie on my back, slapped his cock against my clit and rubbed it along the outside of my dripping pussy, affectionately called my lube dispenser, before sliding it into my waiting ass. By this point, we’ve had anal sex hundreds of times before. We’ve fucked so much that we have a routine, almost. Favourite positions, favourite ways of contorting me. I usually know exactly what to expect, but this time… this time was different.

There’s no point going into a blow by blow recount, so let’s just say that he really roughed me up. He slapped me repeatedly and so hard that I started crying from the pain and pleasure. I remember thinking to myself that I might get a big bruise on my face and then feeling thankful that masks were still mandatory. XD And whenever he took a break from fucking my ass, he’d make me lie on my back with my head hanging off the edge of the mattress and fuck my throat instead. He used me like a toy, grabbing my neck to feel his cock slide in and out of my throat, holding his cock in my throat till I gasped and tapped his thigh for air. And even when that happened, he slapped my hand aside, held himself in place for a few more seconds before pulling out. I was a mess, but a happy one.

At some point, he slid himself in my pussy which hasn’t been fucked in months. I started begging to cum almost immediately, only to feel him quickly withdraw. I begged him to fuck my pussy a little bit more, promising that I would not cum, and he did. It was maybe just five to ten strokes, but it felt like heaven. In those moments, I was a swirl of emotions, remembering the reality of our situation, remembering how good he felt in my pussy, remembering that I didn’t deserve it anymore, that it was reserved solely for the other women in his life.

After he came, I moved to cuddle with him for a little, but he almost immediately pushed my head down between his legs again for round two. And so I sucked on his semi-erection, feeling it slowly come to life once again in my mouth. Then, we did the whole dance a second time. This time took longer than the first. My ass was so loose by the end I had to clench tight in order for Master to feel more of me and reach orgasm. After he came the second time, he exclaimed, “And NOW, we are done.”

I don’t know how long we lay together, just basking in the afterglow. I remember asking him, “How does one go back to normal sex after this?” “You don’t,” he replied, and we laughed.

This scene was something else. It pushed my limits like never before. At a few points while Master was giving me impact and when he was slapping me, I’d been close to calling the safeword, but it never got to that point. He kept me at the cusp of the edge for the entire duration, flying within safe boundaries, never once feeling like he was out of control.

I am happy, I am satiated. I enjoyed no orgasms, but for some strange reason, it doesn’t matter. Master is satisfied and that’s all that does. My heart is so full. I can’t explain it, but in moments like these, I know without a doubt that this man I love, he owns me, body and soul. I’ve never loved someone the way I love him, the thought of growing old with him, staying constantly by his side, it fuels me like nothing else has before.

The Steep Learning Curve of Cuckqueaning

I have a pretty curious mind. It’s a pity I’ve never been very curious about academic things. :X Instead, I spend most of my time thinking about kink. In particular, my kinks. While others spend a lot of their time reading up about technology (like Master) or… I don’t know… evolution (like someone else I know), I am pretty much only concerned with honing my kinks to a T. I adore figuring out what works for me and what doesn’t, and having a partner who’s on the same page is such a treat (when he isn’t binging on tech news).

Let’s take orgasm denial, for instance. I can only describe our approach as experimental. Over the years, we’ve set out to answer a couple of burning questions, such as how I respond to denial while honor bound as opposed to while wearing a chastity belt, whether regular edging adds to or detracts from the experience, how long perpetual arousal can be sustained and how the inevitable dip in arousal can be delayed or prevented. It’s fun, almost scientific, wouldn’t you agree?

And then there’s cuckqueaning, and goodness me… This is a tough one. I have to say the learning curve for this particular kink is the steepest I’ve encountered so far. I feel like we are spending so much of our time exploring, calibrating, experimenting, reviewing, over and over again. Why do I even like cuckqueaning? What is it about this kink that enthralls me so? How do I manage my emotions when arousal wanes? What kind of cuckqueaning set up is ideal? How best to optimize the fine balance between what’s hot and what’s not? What’s up with me and jealousy? Why does it turn me on so much?

For the past two years, Master and I have been experimenting with cuckqueaning within a healthy dynamic. We started out light and then slowly ramped up the intensity. I chickened out at one point and we put a stop to all activity for a bit. Then we tried to see if we could make the kink work in a more controlled fashion, where I wasn’t always humiliated but instead, co-dominating alongside Master, who would of course go on to fuck her. We discovered that though this was incredibly fun, particularly with S our female pet, it didn’t give me what I needed, which was to feel small.

So this is perhaps our fourth go at cuckqueaning. We are in a good dynamic at present, something I’ve written extensively about in the weeks prior. We have a good M/s set up where I’m essentially a live-in house slave, I can fully focus on serving Master and occupying a submissive headspace. We weren’t too sure initially how we would go about exploring cuckqueaning within this set up until we learnt that Master would be required to travel to Paris once a week for work. It felt like the perfect opportunity. He would meet women while there, cuck me in my absence and come back home to rub it in my face.

And it happened for the first time this week… Master headed up to Paris for work on Thursday and spent the night with a young lady he had matched up with on a dating app. It was a huge step for us. This was the first time Master spent an entire night with someone else. This was also the first time I was entirely uninvolved. And how did it go? On the surface, it went according to plan. Master met up with her after he was done with work. They went for a nice dinner at a restaurant near her place, then they headed back to hers for a little extra extra. He slept over at her place, went to work the next morning and then found some time to give me a call.

On my end, the earlier half of the night was pretty manageable. Sure, I had my little anxiety spike, as expected, but I was OK after Master took a bit of time to put me in my place via text, and I found myself working on a long private journal entry to him while he was busy with her. I went to bed at a decent time, pulled out my vibrator and started using it over my chastity belt. And I… came. Lol. Yep, you read that right. I came despite the fact that the vibrator was over the belt, never making direct contact with my clit. I guess I was so horny that the muted vibration of the metal shield got me off. I was left in a stupor, going what the actual fuck just happened.

And then came post cum clarity, and that was NOT fun. The deadening of sexual arousal plus the fact that Master was STILL with someone else and I could do basically nothing to change the situation sucked. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Thankfully, the exhaustion from an orgasm after two weeks of denial set in, and I put an end to my emotional Olympics and fell asleep. The next day was when things started getting a little hairy. Some context is necessary. I’d asked Master to be meaner with me. I didn’t want him to give me an easy out, I wanted him to take away my freedom of choice, to remind me that this was my life now.

And so he did, except he was really mean with me. I guess when I asked Master to be meaner with me, I was referring to quantity rather than quality? I like it when he’s cruel in scene, and I wanted more of that, but I didn’t know that I would hate it quite so much outside of scene, nor that he had the capacity to be that much harsher. Anyway, this was new to me too and we ended up having a really long heart to heart discussion Friday night and also today (Saturday) about what I had actually meant. I’ve never been very good at expressing myself, and when I write, I tend to do so under the haze of arousal, so it was a good lesson to me to be a tonne more explicit and also to temper my requests, taking into consideration how I would feel/react when/if I were not horny.

All in all, this was a good lesson to the both of us and I’m glad we were able to tackle the issue maturely. If anything, we’ve grown from this experience. We’re still on track to continue our current exploration, the boundaries and expectations having been clarified properly. We haven’t played yet since he got back. In France, everything closes on Sunday so we had to run our errands today. We will play tomorrow and I’ve requested for a hard session to get me back in the headspace I crave. I’m looking forward! I guess this is part of the fun of kink… Making mistakes, learning and moving forward. What’s important is that we’ve perfected the art of pausing, taking stock, identifying what needs to be changed/improved, and working together as a team to do so.