Becoming Her Cuck

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There has always been a power dynamic in our marriage. During our vanilla years, it may have been unspoken, non-sexual and at times, unnoticed, but it has always been there. Although she did not recognize it as sexual, being deferent to my wife has always been an expression of my sexually submissive tendencies. The roles have always come very naturally for us and have followed the general pattern of my wife desiring something and most often getting it because it makes both of us happy. When something catches her eye, it’s a window into the passion that she brings to life. She drops everything, learns all there is to know about it and her patience buckles under the intensity of her excitement. She comes to me with bright eyes and says, “Honey, I’ve been thinking…” I never know what is going to be on the other side of those words. A complete room remodel? A garden? What she wants for dinner? Whatever it is, I know that it’s likely to be an adventure.

I’m not sure why I expected cuckolding to different. This time I was on the other side of, “Honey, I’ve been thinking…” I don’t remember what I thought would result from sharing my heart with her but at the time, I expected that my wife was the last kind of person who would ever consider sex outside our marriage, let alone want it, let alone love it. I expected her to have hesitations, hang-ups or fears. That’s not to say we haven’t talked and worked and cried and laughed plenty about opening our marriage but the reality is that on December 21st, seven days after our first discussion about cuckolding, my wife told me that she wanted it and just like anything else in our relationship, she didn’t look back. I forever have a photographic memory of that moment; I was standing in our bedroom doorway and she, sitting in the corner chair. From then on the trajectory of our relationship changed from me fantasizing about being her cuck to us beginning the process of her patiently, passionately and lovingly making me her cuck. As she alluded to in her interview with Venus, there were some hurdles that lay ahead but much to my surprise, they were my own.


I Might Kiss Him

Exactly one month from that decisive moment in our bedroom, practically to the minute, Bunni was in our master bathroom getting ready for her second date, not only with this particular guy but ever as a married woman. Their first meeting a few days prior had gone excellent and my wife was feeling like going further with him. During the course of our conversation about the night ahead she asked “How would you feel if we kissed tonight?” and my heart entered my throat. Understand that my first real bout with cuckold anxiety was on this topic. It was two days before Christmas and we were in that very early whirlwind phase of hormones, fantasies and porn flying back and forth between each other. That afternoon there was one particular video that she reacted most strongly to and it contained no sucking or fucking, just slow, passionate kissing.

Later that evening Bunni left to go shopping. Yes, our fantasizing had been hot but so far it had been all play and no discussion. The old, engrained ways of thinking about sex were still programmed into my brain. With my wife gone, the temperature dropped and me left all alone with nothing but my thoughts, they surfaced and I started to have a true anxiety spiral and started irrationally projecting assumptions. Why did she react so strongly to that video? Isn’t kissing making love? I thought that she was just wanting sex? The room was now flying. I felt just as nauseas as if it actually was. I sat down in that corner chair, unable to move. My entire mind and body was frozen with worry and each minute that ticked by felt like an hour. Eventually I was able to walk around, do some chores and recite affirmations that I knew to be true. I talked myself down. Once she finally returned, I shared with her what had happened and once we got into bed together, we talked all about kissing. I learned that for her, it’s a sexual act and something that she needs to feel an erotic connection with someone. It doesn’t mean she’s in love with them.

My wife framing kissing as a sex act challenged my previously-held assumptions about things that only couples in love do but the work wasn’t over. Maybe kissing was okay in the bedroom as part of sex but what about out on a date? Isn’t that about affection and not sex? Is he a fuck buddy, a bull or a boyfriend? We hadn’t talked much yet about the differences between the three and what she was looking for so when my wife asked me in the master bathroom how I felt if she kissed her date that evening, it fell right on the edge of my comfort zone. That space is a sweet spot where if you can just push past a little bit of newness anxiety, you can reap a great reward. I had my nerves but I also couldn’t deny the excitement inside about my wife possibly kissing her date. We talked more about my feelings while she finished up her makeup and got dressed and when she left that evening, both of us were comfortable with the possibility.

An hour passed, then two, and finally my phone lit up. Bunni had sent me a picture of them snuggled next to each other. She looked really happy and he did too. Fifteen minutes later, another text came in. “He’s so gorgeous. I might kiss him.” Now my heart was in my throat again but this time in the best way. Now I was held in suspense and I couldn’t wait for her to get home and find out what happened. Sooner than I expected (I wasn’t complaining) she let me know that she was on her way back. It caught me somewhat off guard but not as much as what followed. “I have some things to share. So fucking excited to see you.” It’s fair to say I was more than excited for her to get home too but what things could she be talking about?


Finding My Place

I have struggled with anxiety all my life. The most frustrating part is that knowing how irrational my thoughts are doesn’t necessarily make managing them any easier. After we started getting serious about her cucking me, anxiety episodes started to crop up. For example, on Christmas Eve while we were driving around looking at lights, my brain was spiraling. We had not yet moved past the fantasizing and porn to talk about how cuckolding would practically play out for us. In that moment I felt out of control, conjuring up visions of a caged and sexless marriage against my will. This culminated in a late-night conversation where I voiced extreme insecurity about the cuckold label. Maybe I wanted to be considered a stag or perhaps just a husband with no label at all. Not that there’s anything wrong with those but in that moment they were wrong for me. I was just making unfounded and wild projections that called for grounded conversation. We talked about the obvious reality that Bunni is never going to do anything that I’m not comfortable with because she loves me. I knew that. I wished that was enough. I even felt like she should be angry at me for having so little faith and trust to cause me to worry about something so silly but she wasn’t. She understands how anxiety works and always shows me patience and love when I need it. That safe space that Bunni holds for me is what enables me to fully embrace my role as her cuck husband without fear.

We’ve had our bumps in the road together; most significant, her very first match on her first app. He was drop-dead gorgeous and super interested in her. Shortly after starting to chat, he asked her if she ever got to go out solo and if they could grab a drink. I bristled, as this was completely outside my expectations of being acknowledged as a couple. This guy is asking my wife out alone and he doesn’t even know who I am yet? Does he think we’re in an open relationship? I raised a red flag. My unmet expectations triggered me. Bunni thought I was off-base and offered an alternative perspective. I failed to truly listen. It sounded like she was defending him which triggered me further. My wife is giving a strange, hot guy the benefit of the doubt over her husband’s feelings? There was no safe space, only conflict. Lots of words were being said but neither one of us was hearing the other. To make matters worse, it was all while Bunni was rushing to get ready and out the door in time to get some last-minute holiday shopping done. It wasn’t a good circumstance for a thoughtful conversation on a sensitive topic.

My wife going out shopping ended up being the space we both needed. I was deep in thought, replaying from the beginning what had happened when she reached out. I assured her that I was okay, the kids were down, our room was set and I was ready to truly listen and talk more when she got home. We tried again, this time in a calm environment with quiet voices and eye contact. I got to admit how I fucked up by reacting emotionally based on an expectation that we hadn’t actually talked about yet. How were we going to approach meeting guys, first contact, texting, sexting and meeting? Where did I fit into the picture or did I at all? None of that had been discussed, yet I had an expectation of how things would happen in my head and then let my emotions control me when life went another way. In that reactive moment I failed to remember everything about Bunni, how she was on my side and that of course I could trust her to always advocate for me, for us. I forgot to slow down and listen. My head was filled with so much noise I couldn’t have even if I wanted to.

After I apologized I got to learn more about Bunni. She helped me realize that a gorgeous guy matching with her, chatting with her and wanting her was a really, really big deal. She was so excited but her enjoyment of that moment was cut short when my emotional reaction trampled all over it. That realization crushed me. She explained that of course she cared about my feelings. She wasn’t “taking his side” but simply felt that I was in the wrong. Maybe he’s just a social guy and prefers to meet rather than text. She reminded me he had no idea what our expectations were and getting a drink was not going to hurt anyone, if I really trusted her. She was in the right and I was the one unreasonably upset. This time we were truly hearing each other. I apologized again for the mistakes I made and she showed me grace. We then had the overdue dating conversation and came to the agreement that it made the most sense for her to connect and meet people solo. She was going to be the one playing and as such, her connection was what ultimately mattered. That didn’t mean there was no place for me in the process. There is. She just needed to help me find it.


Leaving Safe Harbor

I used to feel that it was the act of my wife having sex that would make me a cuck, as if the exact moment his penis entered her would flip some sort of switch and automatically ship my cuck ID to arrive 7-10 business days later. Now that feels incredibly reductive and penis-centric. Yes, her first extramarital fucking will be a significant step for us, especially given how we were raised, but it will not have been the first one. Becoming my wife’s cuck feels much more like a process where in tiny increments, my wife and I have to unlearn, re-learn, discard and reframe so much of how we had always understood love, sex and how the two interact with each other. The journey has plenty of excitement, passion and mountaintop experiences but it also requires braving the unknown. That’s normal. By choosing to embark, we were leaving a kind of relationship that had always felt very safe and leaving safety is scary, no matter what goodness awaits on the other side. Feeling nervous doesn’t have to mean something is wrong. It doesn’t have to mean someone did something wrong. It doesn’t have to mean you aren’t cut out for the journey. It could just mean you’re human. I am absolutely addicted to my wife kissing other men now (and she is too). It doesn’t have to be in the bedroom. She can share the pleasure of kissing with anyone, anywhere, and cuckoldress wife kisses after a date are the best fucking thing ever. The point is with enough time and communication, I learned to extend the trust we had already built to the new facets of my wife, in the new facets of our relationship. Insecurity is just a description of how you feel in the moment; it doesn’t need to be a prescription for who you are.


Give Me Your Hand

“I have some things to share. So fucking excited to see you.” I wondered what could Bunni meant by that? It must be that she kissed him. My wife kissed another man. I let the thought sink in while I turned down our room and awaited her arrival. I heard the front door open and the sound of her boots on our hardwood floor growing louder as she approached our bedroom door. It opened and our eyes met. She couldn’t help but grin and I got up to kiss her. We kissed, a lot. I still had no idea what she had done on her date. I waited in bed while she got undressed so we could talk and when she joined me, we kissed some more before she started in from the beginning. I grew hard in her hand while she told me all about the sexual chemistry between them at dinner. How he guided her hand over his bulge under the table. She was stroking me now, telling me how they left the restaurant and got into his truck. The moment the door closed, they were eating each other’s faces off. They kissed! She loved his hands on her throat and in her hair, something we had never done together before. My pulse was already thumping when she got to the part where her hand went to his pants and took out his cock.

These were the things. His dick in her hand. Her tit in his mouth. Him telling her to switch to her wedding hand. My wife jerking off her date and getting his cum on her sweater sleeve and the ring I married her with. She looked into my eyes as she told me what she did and with each word I fell deeper in love with her. I felt more turned on than I ever had in my life but I also felt proud of her. I recognized what a significant thing she had just done. My thinking quickly turned back to my little head. A switch had been flipped in my brain that never had before and in that moment, I was desperate to be inside her. She lay back and while my hips worked into her over and over, we talked again about what she had done to him with her lips, her hands, that hand. Her wedding ring had been rubbed by his cock and dirtied with his cum. A small thing but for me, everything. “Give me your hand” I asked. “The one you jerked him off with.” Something inside me needed to worship it. She raised her fingers to my face and I lavished every inch of them with my lips, all the while the events of an hour ago and what had last touched them raced through my mind as we took each other in.

That evening was much more than just the most erotic moment we had yet shared together. It was a discussion of feelings, an invitation to press boundaries and a challenge of comfort. It was my wife taking her sexuality into her own hands. In the course of one date she went further physically than either one of us expected, discovered something new sexually with someone else and did it all without asking for permission. It was a major milestone in her new sexual identity and witnessing that bloom changed something in me too. The way her revelations made me feel and the love we made afterward confirmed for me beyond any doubt that I loved being a cuck, her cuck. The next morning, we spent a few hours out on a lunch and shopping date together and I’ll never forget that time. I spent all of it quietly reveling in her sexual power on display the night before. She felt new. Our relationship felt new. It all felt right. There were no more hesitations. She had free reign to live her sex life how she wanted, doing whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted, and I loved it that way. It truly felt like she had stepped into the role of cuckoldress and I had become her cuck.

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