Has your perception of your spouse changed?

Most definitely my perception of Pansy has changed, I feel far less need to be diplomatic in voicing my needs and desires, which, surprisingly leads to less stress in our relationship as what was *being diplomatic* from my perspective is far too often *being unclear* from Pansy's perspective.


I love Pansy and so if chastity was becoming something that Pansy couldn't offer me, we'd have to have a long talk about why that was and if we could make some modifications to "the rules" to make it work for both of us. I'd have a hard time going back to a relationship without enforced chastity for Pansy, but if there was an absolute need for that (for physical or psychological reasons) I'd try to find creative ways to get the benefits of chastity thru other means.

 

Do I think of him (my cuckold) differently?

This question has very profound implications for me. Please forgive me if my answer becomes a little long winded, but I think it is important to explain not only how my perception has changed, but the cause of this change.

Yes, my perceptions of Jamie, my former spouse, now my cuckold, have changed dramatically, completely in fact, as have my perceptions of myself and the entire world, including but not limited to: life, love, sin, sexuality, relationships, kindness and cruelty. The most obvious change of perception is that I now see Jamie not as my husband, but as my cuckold, servant, and plaything; I see his body as my property.

Because of his unusually small penis, and his obsession with latex, leather and bondage, our sex life during nearly ten years of marriage went from disappointing to exasperating. I brought my own issues to the marriage bed, having been sexually molested by my father who was enabled by my mother.

Like most men who are unable to sexually satisfy their wives, my husband ultimately was only able to satisfy himself (during sex or masturbation) by fantasizing about my sexual fulfillment in the arms of a man whose penis was as abnormally large as his was abnormally small.

For the two or three years that he literally begged me to dominate him, bind him and force him to watch me make love to other men I thought he was sick. I thought he needed help. I thought there was no way I could ever be the kind of woman who dominates her husband, especially sexually. I knew it was never going to happen. I also felt that if he didn’t give up this obsession there was no way our marriage would survive.

The breaking point came when he confessed to me that he had been seeing a professional dominatrix and could no longer be happy having “ordinary” sex with me. I was overwhelmed, in shock, broken. As far as I was concerned he had just said our marriage was over. This was the most emotionally devastated I had ever been. In the time it took him to speak one sentence, my life was turned completely upside down, inside out, and backwards.

I told him to move his things into the guest room, and then did not speak to him for several weeks, other than whatever was absolutely necessary. I didn’t go out, I didn’t do housework, I just sat around trying to mentally put the pieces back together and make some kind of sense of the situation.

Unable to do so, I tried to look at the situation differently. For some reason I got the idea that I had to meet this “other woman.” The idea turned into an urge, then a desire, and then a fixation. After a couple of weeks of living like strangers on an island I asked Jamie for the name and number of the Dominatrix he had been seeing.

It was totally out of character for me to confront this other woman, much less just meet her. Jamie probably thought nothing would come of it. Every day I thought of good valid reasons not to meet her, but I could not shake this nagging feeling that I had to meet her. A tiny voice in my mind kept whispering, “You know this is the only way; you know you have to do it.” Not a very compelling argument as I tried to reason through my options logically. But I noticed that it was only when I heard that voice, or considered its message, that I felt any semblance of peace or assurance. I figured I hadn’t done a great job of managing my life so far. I thought things couldn’t get any worse, and I knew I had nothing left to lose, so I decided to follow that voice. It may have been the first time I’d ever made a decision completely for and by myself.

It took about five days for me to work up the courage to call, all the while trying to figure out how I would approach her. I finally decided to book a session with her; don’t ask me why I thought of that, it’s something I would never do in a million years, yet here I was doing it. I figured at the very least that if I booked a session, her time was mine. She would have to listen to me even if she refused to answer my questions, and I could leave at any time if I could not handle it. It took several calls before I didn’t hang up when someone answered.

I stammered, “Does Mistress Dominique do sessions with women?”

“Of course darling, I would love to do a session with you!” she answered in a voice saturated with sweetness. It was the sexiest voice I had ever heard outside of movies or TV.

Oh my god, she thinks I’m a lesbian, I panicked. “It’s for my husband,” I blurted out without thinking. “I want to learn how to dominate him.”

“Sure, that’s wonderful; I’ve taught hundreds of women how to submit, and how to dominate. You won’t be the first, don’t worry. I have lots of experience. I’ve even written books and produced videos on how to dominate your man, and how to submit to your man.

I managed to show up for the session, but was nearly catatonic with fear. It felt like I was in a vat of syrup. She was dressed like a naughty librarian, and I wondered if that was intentional or not. Her hair was in a bun; she wore large glasses that were obviously not a prop based on their thickness; a frilly beige satin blouse was stretched tightly over her ample breasts that were constrained by a bullet bra. She had on a black worsted wool skirt that was tight to just above the knees, then flared out slightly. I would surmise that her hosiery was stockings and garters, not pantyhose, but either way the front of her calf, ankle and foot cascaded into the highest heels I had ever seen.

She suggested we do a session where she dominated me, and then afterwards we could have coffee or tea and discuss any questions I had. She did a short interview asking me about my likes and dislikes. I told her about Jamie, his sexual proclivities and inability to satisfy me. I never mentioned his name, or that he was her client. I did tell her that Jamie would love for me to wear latex but I found it too hot, confining and sweaty. I also confessed that I’d never had an orgasm.

“I have a few clients with tiny penises. One in particular wouldn’t be able to satisfy a garden gnome. A girl could have sex with him and technically remain a virgin.”

I learned later what I suspected then: she was talking about Jamie.

“You both need to come to grips with the fact that it’s never going to happen. He’s not going to ever have a big enough penis, and he’s never going to satisfy you with what he’s got. You have to incorporate his inadequacy into the sex.”

“Tie him up and make him watch while you masturbate with a good sized dildo. Tell him how sorry you are that he isn’t as big as that dildo so he could be inside you, making you come right now. Don’t ask me why, but these guys thrive on humiliation. I think that in their mind it kind of makes it alright that they can’t satisfy their partner, and entitles them to satisfy themselves despite their shortcomings. And it ultimately makes it ok when they give their wife to another man; I think they subconsciously feel that it’s ok that they enjoy watching their wife fuck another man, because they pay the price of ultimate humiliation each time they do. I don’t understand it, but I’ve seen it repeatedly. Humiliation is like Viagra to these guys.”

“After you’ve come using the dildo, make him do something humiliating before you untie him to masturbate, or give him an orgasm. Make him lick the dildo clean or clean your asshole with his tongue. I guarantee he’ll come in seven seconds or less”

I’d never been around anyone who spoke so openly about sex, let alone such weird perverted aspects of sex. I was clearly embarrassed.

She took me to a room that was sort of like a beginners’ room, no threatening torture equipment and such, just a simple bedroom setting with chairs that could be used for bondage, a suspension bar, and some tie downs countersunk in the floor. She laid a loose fitting latex skating dress on the bed, told me to put it on and kneel facing the door until she returned.

She returned wearing a black latex corset with garters attached to matching thigh high stockings, six inch patent leather shoes and black latex opera stockings. I had never seen a woman in such high heels other than prostitutes and strippers on TV.

She took her time tying my ankles to the hooks in the floor, and then my wrists to the suspension bar above. As she skillfully and effortlessly completed her knots, her tall well-proportioned body was brushing, bumping and sliding against mine—seemingly accidentally—but I would learn later that everything she did in a session had a purpose.

She raised the suspension bar until my heels were off the floor. I got a sudden apprehensive feeling, yet in some way in was strangely exhilarating. At that moment I was more vulnerable than I had ever been in my life, and yet I had never felt so free. Standing there helpless was liberating. I don’t know how to explain it other than to say there was no pressure on me. All I had to do was stand there.

When she put a blindfold over my eyes it was like I was on drugs. Unable to see my mind sharpened and honed in on everything I was experiencing at that moment. Not knowing what expect, I tried to decipher every sound. My mind tried to prepare me for what never came, and failed to prepare me for what did. Eventually I gave up trying to anticipate what she might do, and decided to concentrate on experiencing whatever I was experiencing at any given moment. Her hands explored every part of my body as she cooed and purred with self satisfaction.

“You look so beautiful and so helpless hanging there.”

I remember thinking, “This is just a demonstration right? She’s just showing me how I should treat my husband. She certainly doesn’t think that she’s going to seduce me somehow! She can’t possibly think that just because she tied me up she can have her way with me! Don’t waste your effort lady, I haven’t ever been attracted to a woman and I’m not ever going to be.

Then she kissed me. She kissed me like I’d never been kissed in my life, so softly, so gently, and so perfectly. I loved it. I surrendered to it. That kiss began the destruction of everything in which I believed. If I could be so wrong about my sexual inclinations, what else had I managed to perceive incorrectly?

I had never experienced a kiss so intensely in my life. It was intoxicating. Our lips and tongues became the only things that existed in my mind. They worked together like the left and right hands of a baker kneading dough. Each one knew exactly what the other was going to do as they did it; it was like we had one mouth. Together, our tongues could have picked up a dime from a tabletop. Our tongues danced as if this kiss had been choreographed and practiced a thousand times. But it was all new to me. I melted. I mean that almost literally, had I not been tied up, I would have been a puddle of skin and tissue on the floor. Every muscle in my body relaxed, as if it had a mind of its own.

My lips followed hers as she slowly opened her mouth wider and wider. I thought she was going to inhale my soul. Instead, before I even realized it had happened, my mouth was filled with a giant ball gag. I smiled and chuckled as I realized what had happened. I was in a delightful daze. I wondered how this could possibly be happening. This is exactly the kind of thing I thought I could never do.

I asked myself, “Why aren’t I choking on this gag? Why aren’t I kicking and screaming trying to get away? Why aren’t I at least resisting? How can I possibly be allowing this to happen?”

I didn’t get an answer, but I noticed that the ball gag felt so sumptuous in my mouth it was oddly reassuring, like it belonged there, a giant pacifier.

“I should be having a panic attack. I have allowed myself to be tied up and gagged by a woman I only met a few minutes ago. Am I out of my mind?”

I was keenly conscious of how I should have been feeling and behaving, how I would have been reacting had I found myself in this situation a few weeks ago, and I was acutely aware of how I was reacting. Not only was I not afraid, I don’t think I’d ever felt more safe in my life. I felt so comfortable, so protected. I surrendered to the situation. As I did, the word “surrender” took on a whole new meaning for me. In that moment, it seemed to be the most important word in the world, the most important concept in the universe, and the most important idea ever thought.

I tensed with fear as I felt what I would later learn were two floggers rhythmically attacking my breasts. The fear subsided as I became aware that not only was I not experiencing pain, but my breasts were feeling warm and sensitive.

I felt oddly “at home.” Probably the last thing I should have been feeling in that situation. Perhaps I was at home with my thoughts. They were so calm, so reassuring and seemed so true. A voice that I recognized as the one that kept guiding me to see Mistress Dominique spoke to me. I did not actually hear an audible voice, perhaps I only thought of it as a voice because these thoughts were so foreign to me.

“Give Mistress Dominique whatever she asks and she will give you everything you really want and more.”

You see why I call it a voice; there was no way in hell my mind came up with a thought like that.

I became aware of Mistress’s hands and mouth caressing and soothing my breasts, which had been awakened by her flogger. My nipples were sensitive, and grew large with excitement.

Mistress Dominique said quietly. “You’re mine now; there’s no escape.”

The voice re-joined the conversation, “Give Jamie everything he wants and needs and he will give you everything you really want and need.”

“What the hell do I really want or need?” I wondered to myself.

“You’ll know when you have it, and you’ll have it when you know.”

“Oh shit, that really clears it up.” I thought.

“Just know that you don’t know. Don’t try to figure it out; it will come to you.”

I had never seen or heard of nipple clamps. All I knew was that suddenly my nipples and my vulva were the only parts of my body I was aware of, and they were on fire. They seemed to be some kind of sensory receptor like my eyes, ears or fingers. My mind focused on them intently. One second my mind interpreted it as pain, then a moment later as pleasure, and back and forth, and so on and so on, until it just became background noise.

“Just relax. You don’t have to do anything,” the voice continued.

The floggers found my bottom. This time I tensed with fear for just a millisecond, and then I tried to focus all of my consciousness on my ass. I wanted to experience these sensations with my whole being. As my bottom warmed, I noticed my vulva was trying to join the party. I perceived a peculiar “wetness” down there that I had never experienced before.

As Mistress Dominique began to fondle my ass cheeks, rub her breasts against them, and cover them with kisses, the voice continued.

“Look at yourself: bound and helpless, completely at her mercy. You are powerless to make anything happen; you are powerless to stop anything from happening.”

Now the floggers were working their magic on my pussy. Expecting pain I felt only pleasure. As my vulva began to smolder it felt like my nipples and clitoris were connected by an electrical wire. I could feel a powerful current flowing between them. She picked up the pace and intensity of the flogging; I could feel my pleasure growing, and my tension building. Although I was tied so tightly I could barley move a quarter inch in any direction, I tried to open my legs even farther, symbolically offering my womanhood to her, presenting her a better target, and silently screaming for more.

I had never been anywhere near an orgasm in my life. As my pleasure amplified, and my sexual tension built, I wanted to scream, “Harder, harder; faster, faster.” But the ball gag silenced my mouth, as the voice quieted my mind.

“You’ve never had an orgasm in your life and you want to tell her how to do it. Just relax, give yourself over to Dominique and the moment.”

Being as I had never had an orgasm before, and being as no one had ever flooded my senses like this before, and being as I was blindfolded and couldn’t see what was going on, I had no idea what was happening as she removed the nipple clamps and set about licking, sucking, pinching and biting my nipples and clit with her mouth and hands. All I knew was that somebody had opened the floodgates.

I would have sworn that she had three mouths, one on each nipple, and one nuzzled in my labia. My feet were involuntarily lifting up, straining against the hooks set in the floor. All of my weight was suspended by my wrists. I did not recognize the sensation in my arms and back as the pain it was. To me, it was just more energy on its way to assist my throbbing cunt.

“Just relax. Just let whatever happens happen. Trust Dominique. This is my gift to you.”

The instant that last thought came into my mind it started. It felt to me as though I was thrashing about like a chicken with its head cut off (sorry, I was raised on a farm), but I was tied so tightly I must have been barely moving. Each orgasm seemed to start on my skin. Then they would sink into my muscles and bones and shoot down nerve paths to my groin where they would shoot out of my vagina with the force of a cannon.

They started so gently. They kept coming, gradually growing in intensity with each wave. It got so intense I thought I was going to die. And I couldn’t have cared less. It just didn’t matter if I lived or died. Either outcome was equally acceptable to me. Just keep them coming; don’t ever stop.

I could no longer feel my body which oddly enough made the orgasms even more intense. I seemed to be in the center of the orgasms now. I remembered Mistress Dominique and was filled with enormous gratitude and love, a love that was growing and expanding in union with the orgasms.

I forgot my body, I forgot this world, I forgot about the concept of “having” let alone an orgasm. I forgot Angelique and Jamie had ever existed. I forgot that anything had existed except this ever growing bliss. I was no longer having an orgasm, I was an orgasm. And then I disappeared. I became nothing. And in that instant there was nothing but bliss. There was no orgasm, there was no one experiencing an orgasm, there was no time or space, there was just bliss, a bliss that grew exponentially, a bliss that annihilated everything except itself.

If asked to describe this experience I would have to say it is impossible, but I would add that I can easily see how some people would call it heaven, or nirvana, or paradise.

The indescribable ecstasy began to diminish, and I was again aware of my body, and the orgasms flowing through it. I rested on those waning orgasms taking a moment to feel a deep appreciation of my life, and Jamie, and Mistress Dominique. I came to the realization that what I perceived to be the road to hell might well be the road to heaven. I felt contrite for my previous perception of both of them. And in my contrition grew the awareness of the undeniable importance of each of their lives in my life. My heart opened to a love I had never experienced before.

Suddenly there were no waves, no light, just the darkness of the black leather covering my eyes, and spasms in every muscle of my body.

“Your work here is not done,” was the last thing I heard from the voice.

Mistress was holding me so I wouldn’t fall as she untied the ropes. My muscles were still twitching and I could not stand. She propped me up and walked me to the bed. I curled up in a ball and after removing the gag and blindfold she held me, rocking me and patting my shoulder.

“I thought you said you couldn’t orgasm.”

I just groaned, too spent to even think of words, much less make them come out of my mouth. I noticed a huge puddle under the suspension bar. Nodding in that direction I grunted, “Huh?”

“I guess you didn’t know you were a squirter.”

Not only did I not know I was a squirter, I had no idea what that meant, but I was too tired to talk about it. I did surmise though, that those waves of ecstasy flowing through me and shooting out my snatch weren’t just symbolic.

Needless to say, I couldn’t get enough of that woman. I booked several more sessions with her. She always wore latex, and dressed me in ever tighter and sexier latex; it was pure genius because I came to associate the feel and smell of latex with having an orgasm; now I love to wear tight shiny latex.

Eventually I told her about Jamie and our marriage problems, but I did not tell Jamie about her until I was ready. She taught me about cuckolding, a word neither Jamie nor I had ever heard before. Also a survivor of familial sex abuse, she helped me come to terms with it, and its detrimental effects on my sexuality. She taught me how to masturbate, how to orgasm, how to make love to a man, and how to make love to a woman, how to be submissive, and how to be a dominatrix. We became friends, lovers and eventually business partners; she trained me to be a professional submissive, switch and dominatrix.

In one afternoon—at our very first meeting even—my perception of her as a slutty, perverted, sick, demented, money hungry, selfish, unsophisticated, unintelligent, unfeminine, mean, man-hating, husband-stealing, deviant whore was transformed into one of the sweetest, wisest, most understanding, dignified, well-studied, loving women I had ever met.

Conversely, I have embraced my inner slut. I missed some of the best years of my sexuality; I have a lot of catching up to do. My perception of myself has been transformed from that of a weak, shy, dumb, undeserving little girl to a completely autonomous, strong, independent, self-motivating, sex loving, professional Dominatrix and Cuckoldress.

I learned how guilt was holding me back. Guilt from being abused by my father, guilt from my sexual fantasies, and guilt from past sexual transgressions were all making it impossible for me to experience the joy of sex.

Guilt now seems like a completely useless emotion to me. We all know right from wrong; we don’t need guilt to follow the golden rule. If we make a mistake is it not better to learn from it instead of punishing ourselves with guilt? Guilt is a stick with which we beat ourselves, and each other. Before my “transformation” I would have been horrified at the thought of whipping someone, but would not have thought twice about giving them a good dose of guilt; now my view is just the opposite.





Would I stop cuckolding him if he wanted?

Absolutely not! We are in a committed cuckolding relationship. We take our relationship and our roles in it as seriously as other people take marriage. Jamie is free to end the relationship at any time with just a word if it becomes too much for him. But if he ends it, we say goodbye and walk away. We both know this is the only relationship that works for us, the only relationship that makes us happy, and going back to husband and wife is impossible unless one or both of us would compromise who we are. And that is something I would never ask of Jamie or myself.

Having the ability to end his cuckolding assures us that Jamie is a willing cuckold. Every time he endures a particularly harsh punishment, every time I find a way to take him to an even lower level of depravity, every time I ask him to humiliate himself even more, I know that he does it out of love for me and our relationship. I know he is not doing it because he is forced to under threat of being punished or degraded. I know it is his gift to me; a demonstration of his love for me; proof that he would give up everything he ever had or hoped to have in life, just to be near me and see me happy and fulfilled. How many people are loved like this? Do you think any of my lovers (an obvious euphemism for sex partners) would do 1% of what Jamie does?

It is impossible for Jamie to satisfy me with his cock, so he does it with his willingness, and I love him for it.

I have said this before, many times and in many ways: Jamie is the only person to whom I am fully committed. Every time I fuck another man, I am making love to him. His true and utter humiliation is like foreplay to him. Every time I torture his body I am showering him with kisses. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy having sex. I love being held, and kissed and fucked. I never fake orgasms or enthusiasm. I demand complete honesty from Jamie, and I would never give less in return.

Lest you be tempted to feel sorry for Jamie remember that this was all his idea. He begged for it. He pleaded for it. He even prayed for it, all of it. I wouldn’t have come up with this lifestyle in a thousand years, and I would not have cheated on Jamie had he not begged me to. It is cruel to be kind to a cuckold, as it is just as kind to be cruel. Being a Cuckoldress is a big job, a full-time job, and I take it very seriously.

We are committed to the roles of cuckold and Cuckoldress and have even signed a contract stating so. We know the contract probably has no validity in court. We did not draw it up only for ourselves. We made this pact for the rest of the world in case some judgmental friend or family member, or even a complete stranger would discover our relationship and report it to the “authorities” in a misguided effort to “rescue” Jamie. Jamie has already been rescued thank you very much. He was rescued the instant he committed himself to being my cuckold.

The cuckold decides to willingly surrender his right to decide for himself to his Mistress. If I asked Jamie if he wanted to stop—or asked his opinion about anything—I would be a very poor Mistress indeed. I would be breaking my promise to cuckold him. I would be devaluing his gift of giving complete control of his life to me.

Jamie knows better than to even ask. He knows that whatever he asked for he would receive the opposite. The only question he need ever ask himself, or me, is: How may I better serve your pleasure and happiness Mistress?

So, in light of our commitment to our roles as cuckold and Cuckoldress I would never stop if Jamie wanted to. I would never ask him, and he would never volunteer. The cuckold makes only one decision, but he makes it countless times every day: Do I wish to willingly surrender my will to Mistress, or do I wish to lead my own life?





To summarize:

I’m not sure I believe in miracles, or even know what they are, but in the way the world uses the word, it’s a miracle that my perceptions and my life have changed so dramatically. What if Jamie hadn’t had his sexual proclivities, and he hadn’t gone to Mistress Dominique, and I hadn’t gone to meet her, and so on and so on.

At the very least it’s ironical that because of his obsession with latex & leather, being dominated, and watching other men have sex with me, Jamie used the words “I could never be happy having ordinary sex with you”. He got exactly what he wanted. He need not worry about ever making love to me again. He is no longer allowed any sexual contact with me whatsoever. All he needs to do is sit quietly by as an endless parade of lovers have “ordinary” sex with me.



Love to all,

Mistress Angelique

 

Very well told Mistress Angelique. I can see the passion in your writing. I know many men dream of being in your husbands shoes, but most will never have the opportunity, unlike you, the woman never made the connection to her needs.

I've thought many times about if women only knew the pleasure and satisfaction they could have by just giving their man what he deep down really wants. Or thinks what he wants. But then again, not so many men would like the end results. Remember be very Careful what you wish for..

Sincerely, Missy Tanya

 

Thanks for your comments. My hope is, that in sharing our stories, Jamie and I can open people's minds to the idea that love, and loving relationships, take many forms. And that we shouldn't be too quick to judge. To an outsider, it probably appears that I hate Jamie, and he is too weak or frightened to leave. We find our present relationship incalculably more loving and passionate that we did as husband and wife.

But my secret desire is--and I think of this every time I write about our experiences as a cuckolding couple--it's that I hope there is at least one woman reading my words that will at least give cuckolding some serious consideration. Cuckolding need not necessarily involve other men (I think I'll write a separate post on that subject), which I think is what frightens women the most.

Alas, having experienced the resistance firsthand, I know that I am not likely to change anyone's mind. I had to go through extreme emotional trauma to be brought to willingness. If I write a thousand posts, I would feel fortunate to change just one mind.

I also agree that many men think this is what they want, but crap their diapers when reality sets in. That is why the cuck must always have an out, but an out with consequences. And it is important to test your cuckold before you take a lover. If he can't handle that, it can have repercussions that last a lifetime.

Love to all,

Mistress Angelique

 

Hi Mistress Angelique,

What an amazing story. Its good to see the journey was as good for you as Jamie. I hope you are able to continue this together as you desire.

Claudia

 

What relationships do you develop with the male partners outside of your marriage, and how do those relationships impact your own marriage?

 

First of all, while still legally married, we do not consider ourselves husband and wife. We are cuckold and Cuckoldress. However, we remain as committed to that relationship as we were to our marriage. This relationship comes first in the sense that if a relationship with one of my "lovers" would cause conflict with my relationship with Jamie, I would terminate or change the other. Keep in mind that Jamie has no say in this. I will not dump a perfectly good lover just because Jamie doesn't like him.

For instance, if I felt I was "falling" for one of my lovers, or one of my lovers would want to exclude Jamie, I would stop seeing him or her. I never "cheat" on Jamie in the sense that I never have sex behind his back, never have sex without telling him, and I am totally honest with him at all times.

So I guess you could best describe my relationships with other men as: "friends with benefits." They do not impact my marriage because I do not have a marriage. They impact our cuckolding relationship in a very positive way in that they bring me sexual fulfillment, pleasure, companionship and conversation, all the while providing Jamie with the humiliation, torment, and sexual stimulation he needs. As Jamie often says, even though he doesn't come often, and he only gets to come by masturbating (and rarely while watching me get laid, he must wait until I'm done, and he has eaten all of my lover's cum, so that my lover and I can watch him masturbate, and then slip his cum filled condom over his tongue) every organsm is intense and memorable, which is much more than either of us can say about sex when we were married.

Love to all,

Mistress Angelique

 

Mistress Angelique,
I'm sure I am not the only person here who would be interested to read such a post. When might we hope to be able to read it?