Cuckoldry is My New Favorite Fetish

 

I step out the bath and am met by the sound of my phone ringing. Still dripping wet I choose to attend to my body instead—reaching for my towel as opposed to my phone, ignoring what must be your fifth phone call today. I place my wrinkled toes on the golden lip of the bathtub and caress lotion into my legs just as gracefully as if I were unrolling pantyhose. The Jo Malone cold cream leaves my skin svelte and dewy. “Ding!”, my phone vibrates hard against the marble countertop, this time it’s a text message; “Mistress, please just let me know when you’ll be ready for our date tonight. Did you receive the lingerie set I bought you? Call me when you can, I’ll pick you up when you’re finished.” I drop my towel and reach for the La Perla panties strewn on the floor.

 

“Yes, I got the panties and the stockings, baby.” I respond, using the points of my nails to clack rhythmically into the keyboard. Then leaning my phone against the mirror I shift both hands to lay the black thong against my hips, modeling them for you, ready to send a selfie. Suddenly the latch of the tub flickers and I hear it drain as my date lifts his hulking, athletic figure out of the bath. His broad shoulders stroll confidently up to and beside me, wrapping one veiny arm around my waist and the other around my chest. “If you’re taking pictures for your cuck make sure he sees me in them,” he breathes into my neck while he kisses the curve of my shoulder. On the fleshiest part of my body I feel his erection growing stronger. Consuming volts of anticipation urge me to push him inside of me. He’s so much thicker than you, lasts so much longer; no wonder I made you my cuckold.  “I can’t wait for pictures,” I whisper back hungrily, “let’s just use video call.”

 

Though I’ve spent the last 6 hours getting railed in the presidential suite of the Mandarin Oriental, the reservation is not in my name. The room, like the Balmain dress, Van Cleef & Arpels tennis bracelet, two dozen peonies, and bottle of brut Cristal, were all gifts charged to your credit card. Your only request, that I be kind enough to save his condom so you could at least lick the remainder of my cum off its used surface. Tonight, I decide to do you one better. We’re on the bed now and his head is buried between my legs, consuming me. I press the call button and you answer immediately, eyes wide and lustful, “Did you finish, Mistress? Was it good? Can I come pick you up now? I miss you so much, I don’t know if I can take it—I’m just so jealous.” I smile broadly; I let the phone scan first my face, then my torso, then finally shift to reveal my bull eagerly eating my pussy. I moan even louder, “Mmm no baby, I’m just getting started.”