Accepting yourself (cuckoldress living)

Three years ago I started a relationship with a handsome and very emotionally mature young man called Leon. Leon is a property developer, aged 28 and already very successful. My husband Neil, works as a university lecturer, he is aged 34. This is the first of three articles of advice, this one attending to your feelings, as a woman about to embark on an extra marital relationship. The second attends to your husband, the man whom you cuckold.  The third discusses the management of others’ reactions, however much you might plan the manage a trois, information does tend to seep out.

I wanted Leon, a very masculine guy who is significantly more assured, extrovert and successful than my husband. I know that that sounds callous and selfish, but its best to be honest I think. If I wasn’t that, if I didn’t confide to Neil early on that Leon was dating me, then the relationship would have become an affair, quite possibly leading to divorce rather than a more imaginative lifestyle. Did you know that in Britain this last Christmas Day 13 people filed for divorce? The rate of marriage breakdown remains high, but is (I think) unnecessary. If we accept the improved lot of women, their power and choice, then there are better ways to proceed. Sex isn’t something that you have to hide in a cupboard. Neither should it be divorced from feelings and relationships. I wanted Leon to fuck me (yes, a physical desire) but I also wanted to love and be loved by him.

I don’t think that I’m especially highly sexed, although going with Leon has made me much more discerning about sex. I have multiple orgasms, I love being petted and licked, and yes, I fuck more casually than before. One major thing that Leon has taught me is that sex is an appetite, a process and a skill. For example, I dress to arouse Leon and to disenfranchise Neil. When he sees me dress in a rather provocative short skirts and tight jeans way it signals my attitude. It tells how much I want Leon, because Leon enjoys me dressing that way. A woman is always, has always been, sexual. No matter how much you are distracted with being a mother, or a professional at work, you are sexual too. It is just how much more the right man brings that out in you. The right man enables you to express you sexuality, powerfully, honestly and directly. You understand how dress or behaviour sensitises you to your body and it’s potential, how you can affect others with your looks or behaviour. That which excites Leon, usually humiliates Neil, but we will come to my husband in another article. For now, I want you to concentrate on yourself and ask, when did I last feel alive in the way that Chloe (me) is describing?

I am 30, I’m the mother of a six year old daughter and I work in healthcare, all the things that suggest that I shouldn’t have fancied a man like Leon. I should be staid, boring, settled in a routine, focusing on parenting, sustaining an income, making something extra of my marriage shouldn’t I? I should be. But I wasn’t. I had met black guys before, the wide guys, the street cred braggers, but Leon was different. He dressed in a sharp suit, he drove a sports car, and he seemed refreshingly honest about not getting tied down into stereotypical roles. I met him taking some blood for tests and he was very honest about his life. He had just broken up with a married woman, he didn’t want the standard marriage, he liked women with attitude, and, he wondered, smiling quietly, whether I would go out for a drink with him? I said that I was a mother of a six year old, had an anorak academic husband back at home. He said, so, ‘which pub shall we go to?’

Professional etiquette suggested that I should have brushed him off. But his quiet candour, his serious intent, prompted me to give him my mobile number. I said that he had to wait two weeks before calling me. It was like that was a professional incubation period or something. As if that distanced me from him in my nursing role. I didn’t believe that he would call me, but he did, suggesting a pub called the Boathouse in Shrewsbury, up above the river. He suggested that he would pick me up from my house in his Porsche and I said he was crazy! My husband might object! He said that some guys these days were pretty relaxed about their wives dating black guys. It was kind of hip.

His attitude though was so sexy, so direct, that I said OK, he could pick me up at the house on a Thursday evening when Neil gave a regular series of lectures. As Neil’s mum would be child minding that evening, Leon was to introduce himself as someone linked to the hospital, taking me out to a colleague’s birthday party. It was dead weird having Margaret stare admiringly at a man who I insisted was a colleague but who certainly looked like a very smooth suitor! I got into Leon’s Porsche, he closed the door (clunk) and we just drove off.

I remember that we drank cider and that I wanted to ascertain straight off why Leon was interested in me and what he hoped for. I’d decided right then (?!) that this would enable me to dismiss him as a chancer, someone really too full of himself. I failed. He noticed my bag (Gucci), noticed the Italian leather skirt I wore and explained about Italian design, liked it that I wore a Cartier watch and painted my nails a deeper red. Post box red, well, that was a less sophisticated. He’d done a little homework, looked up my profile on the hospital website, saw that I was a clinical lead. He’d looked up Neil on the university website, saw that he was a ‘bog standard lecturer’. His efforts, they didn’t feel creepy, they didn’t feel invasive, they felt attentive. I quizzed him. He didn’t boast about his income (which was pretty impressive), he admitted that work was stressful, that some investments faltered, but then smiled as he described his love of classical music and a good malt whisky.

Leon wasn’t a street dude, a wide boy. Sorry, I don’t mean to offend, but you need to see that. You might want to see another man, but if you’re honest, it will be because he is better than you husband. You will want it because the relationship at least augments, and quite probably surpasses your current relationship.

After that date, I was left debating so many things! Leon wanted me to initiate the next date. He wanted me to be sure and accepted that I might never call him. He was, as  I say, emotionally intelligent. But I had questions for myself and may be you will too.

What is this man to be?

Driving around in Leon’s Porsche thrilled me. He drove fast. He made me feel glamorous. But he didn’t pretend about me being a mum. He asked about our daughter and laughed a the tales of her antics. He looked at me in that quiet dreamy way, as though he always wanted me to kiss him. I did, the once on that date. It was after he bought me a rose from the gypsy woman who traded her wares before the landlord threw her out. I wanted him, yes, to be my lover. I wanted him to fuck me and thought about it several times as we looked down towards the river below. He touched me in glancing asides, never holding me long, but thrilling me with every touch. I had never gone with a black man. I knew about the reputation, the jokes, the anxiety folklore of white men. But I wanted this man, to fuck me.

I asked myself why? You would too, right? You would have to ask that question. I answered the question, sipping English cider and listening to Leon laugh at some of his more inept property purchases. Answer, because he is better than your husband. Because he is more than your husband. Call it sophistication, call it charming, call it romantic, call it what you chose, but the base word is better. Leon was superior to Neil. He was more imaginative, funny, assured, suave, he dressed better, he liked company more, people in the pub met and admired him. He was social, unlike Neil. He was far more handsome than Neil, far more physical looking, sharper, wittier, he was beautiful and Neil was dour.

We might not like it, but its women’s lot to be to courted and our lot too to judge men. You might not want that! You might not like it. What a relief to be married and off the dating scene huh?! What a great relief not to have to glam up! But that is our lot. If you are presentable, if you are pretty, if you know how to wear clothes, if you speak well, if you show style and intelligence. Men, sexy men, like Leon, will want to fuck you. They will pose questions to you that you would rather not confront. Will you be a cheap adulteress, a one night adventurer, blaming the accident on the booze? Or will you be a bitch, insisting on something more. Will you insist upon living a fuller, a less conventional life?

Who am I to be?

The way that Leon talked with me, the interest he showed in my life, my interests, dancing, fashion, interior design and so many other things, I knew that he wanted me to be his bitch. He wanted me to have a relationship with him and yes, through hints, quiet asides, if we did see one another again and again (he smiled) then he didn’t want me to have to ‘creep around’. He said, if necessary, that he would ‘deal with Neil’. I remember my surprise, the frown that I gave him. ‘Did you hit the last woman’s husband?’ I asked. The thought of violence appalled me, but the thought of being so desirable, he would beat my husband if necessary, it excited me. He drank his cider, paused, checked his thoughts and said, ‘yes, but it would be under terrible provocation. Neil sounds a dull intellectual. if he’s intelligent, then he respects that you make choices.’

That thrilled me. It might thrill you. I know, I know, its wrong, not nice, not polite, not British even, but the thought of men fighting over you is just plain sexy, alright? Relax about it, there is somewhere in your brain where that registers big. If you are a mother then it registers very big. You are worth something elemental to a man, and despite the fact that you have a child in tow. I remember trembling with excitement. ‘So you want me to make him accept that you are dating me… (I paused), taking me to your bed?’ He ordered more drinks. ‘Yes’ he confirmed, ‘if that’s a problem, I will speak to him, but that puts you in a difficult position choosing between us. It’s best if he is weaned slowly onto something less and you gradually help him to understand that we are more. You have other things with him, other history, you have a lovely daughter, I’m not asking you to leave him, just make him a bit less in your life.’

The immensity of that, so quick, so sure, so absolute is startling. But it is part of an appeal that you are willing to go with, someone better than your husband. It’s not cheek, it is not even plain arrogance because he is black, taller, younger, fitter, it is quiet certainty. It is profoundly flattering, that he is willing to risk a fight, perhaps a loss of reputation, at minimum a dismissal from you, because he fancies you that much. It is something about putting sex back inside your personal universe. A woman chooses how much she allows a man, sexual favour, self esteem, it is that elemental, that powerful.

I said to Leon, ‘I can’t sleep…. I can’t fuck, with two men, pretending things’. It was something equally startling. I’d never given such a thought till then. It was like I was a light switch, on or off, not something hovering between the two. Leon smiled, the quiet, respectful smile. ‘I don’t want him in your bed. Slowly, your speed, your decision, your route, I want him pushed out of your bed. I want it to be our bed.’  I shook. I remember having to put down my glass, it was so embarrassing! ‘You don’t think he can live that way, without fucking you… he can. You can live that way, on much less. He will…. may be he will (Leon seemed to soften the point, just for me) lean to adore you for the rules that you set.’

That, I understand now, is what being a bitch is. It is demoting one in favour of another. It is making him something less so that you can enjoy more of something that is better. It is selfish, arrogant, you have to believe that you can do it, that you can face censure, that you deserve the best. How long had we been talking, two hours. I checked my watch. How could this have become this deep so fast! Leon wasn’t laughing, jesting or joking, he was quietly intent, calmly sincere. I could chose never to call him again, if this was ‘way too much’ but he hoped, he hoped, that I had the attitude to ‘handle that stuff’.

What will be involved if it becomes more than a tantalising interlude? 

It was three weeks later that I rang Leon and asked to see him again. Did I want to make him sweat? No. I wanted to see him again , as quickly as possible! I wanted him to kiss and touch me. I must have looked crazily happy when I relieved Margaret from her child minding stint! But I had to steal myself, to force myself to be sure. This, this risked divorce. It risked me ending up a single mum, although I knew Margaret could ever give up her grand daughter. A man like Leon, a utterly sexy, emotionally savvy man, like Leon sets you the biggest challenge of your life. He pays you a massive compliment, arguing, quietly, thoughtfully, that he thinks, you have the poise, the attitude, the self will to hand that! When a man, that sort of man tells in effect, that you can be a bitch, he is NOT insulting you. He is saying that you can make rules as well as enforce rules. He is telling you that you are relationship creative. He is telling you that you are utterly, utterly feminine. You have an appetite, you know how to manage that.

I rang Leon. I had terms. He was to introduce himself to Neil, explain his property developing business and announce that he was asking me to advise on new home interiors. I know, a subterfuge, but I wanted to see him a lot! In case Margaret was suspicious, Leon was to say that he had developed some nurse accommodation at the hospital (not entirely a lie!). He was to tell Neil that he planned to see me regularly, to take me out to properties that he was developing. He was to tell Neil that plan, not ask his permission! I suppose for moment Leon’s confident attitude had seemed unbelievable. He was incredibly suave and sure of himself. It was just so sexy. I wanted him to prove that he could enforce that attitude.

Leon agreed. He would drop by the university the next day and buy my husband lunch. He would tell him what was going to happen. He said that he wanted to buy me some nice things, may be I would explain that came from my advisor’s fee? I felt like Leon’s bitch to be then, dressing for him, looking his required way. Teasing him till he HAD to rip open my blouse! I said yes, sure, my voice sounded husky. I was very aroused. Then I said I would sleep with Leon only when I had started to wean Neil onto something else.  I heard Leon chuckle. ‘Of course’. I asked what the ‘course’ was and he said simply, ever so calmly, ‘teach him to go down on you.’ I asked whether that was what the last husband had done on his wife. He waited. Silence on the phone. ‘It’s what men want to do, if they feel humble’ he said.

My head said, ‘you can’t do that!’. My heart insisted that I could. This is what you do if you assign a husband less, give a lover more. It is about your territory, your sex, your boudoir, your control over the realm of fucking. That is where women are potentially so powerful. It is may be where you are powerful. I don’t know, think about that. How do you feel about telling a man he make lick you, jerk his semen off over your sex, but not fuck you? How do you feel about being that sort of bitch, that sort of mistress? have you thought about what a man’s face looks like as he grimaces and wastes his semen load over your pubes? Have you thought what it will feel like to have your husband lick you when you have lain with another man? It feels, the dirtiest, the horniest, the most powerful and instinctive thing in the world. It is a feeling impossible to encapsulate, impossible to sum up.

[More on Leon and I next time and on training Neil as a cuckold. I hope that this has helped. The thoughts, they’re so strange, so powerful, so compelling and arousing, but other women know. We do.]



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I've been writing erotic literature for something over a year, certainly that with a cuckolding assertive woman twist. I've written a cuckolding novel and as at summer 2018 two collections of raunchy short stories that you'll find by internet searching 'Lutheran Maid'. Frankly I love intelligent cuckolding sex. But there's scope to explore more widely too!