Cuck Talk (#5 - Hot Spot)

My goodness, you guys have shared some pretty cucky hot things in the comments, and also in my inbox. One of my friends went ahead and had a whole cucky sapphic threesome this past weekend inspired by last week’s posts. (Happy Pride!)

There’s also been folks who can’t relate, who read these things and think “that’s so mean!” I love you, sweet summer children. I feel like I started that way too, horrified by just the thought of it. Over time my curiosity got the best of me and I couldn’t help but shift to “but what if it was hot?”

Someone clever pointed out how helpful cuck dynamics can be for processing the very normal feelings of jealousy and impermanence that life delivers. I agree entirely. Reality stings, “what if” is tempting, attachment is the origin of suffering etc. We play with very real fears and insecurities, hurting each other in a safe and consensual way.

Sometimes my girlfriend dirty talks by fucking me real slow and very calmly telling me stories about how if we break up she’ll get over it pretty quickly by fucking some hot 23 year old piece of ass. She tells me how easy it would be to move on, how girls who want to cook her dinner and sit on her face are a dime a dozen. “That reminds me,” she’ll say as she fucks me absentmindedly with her hands, and then she’ll go on to tell me about the hot lesbian in her building who’s been flirting with her in the elevators. And then I’ll cum so hard my legs can’t stop shaking and I lose my breath and tears stream down my face, and she’ll hold me close, kiss my face, tell me how special I am and how much she adores me.

It sounds so mean to some people, but it’s actually her playing verrrrrrry carefully with a pre-negotiated cruelty that (if I’m in the right headspace) happens to get me off faster than almost anything else. It’s embarrassing really. I’m a masochist in lots of ways, the sharp edge makes me wet. It’s like she’s strumming the exact chords that tie my heart to my pussy.

I hate the way cuck stuff is portrayed in mainstream media as hyper-masculine, and often super racist. Coming up with non-shitty queer scenes that feel clean, and flip that assumption, is a fun part of the challenge too.

When I was married (and poly) I was dating a bisexual dude, all three of us were curious about putting a different spin on cuck dynamics. Together we came up with scenarios that pushed each of our buttons… mostly threesomes, but sometimes little rituals that kept our sexual energy in a perpetual heat cycle; Before this dude picked me up for a date my husband was so turned on by being cucked that we’d fuck. He’d be sure to cum in my mouth, knowing that when I got into our beloved dudes’ car and leaned over to kiss him hello, he’d taste it. We all knew that the dude would be so turned on he’d lose his mind too. We’d fuck ravenously, like the pheromones fuelled him, sometimes in his car before we even got to the restaurant. He’d leave scratch marks on my back, and hickeys on my chest, knowing they’d drive my husband wild for days when he saw them on my naked body. The cycle would continue, charged and re-charged with each encounter.

They both walked some strange line between asserting dominance over each other, and at the same time enjoying the thrill of losing their place. They passed me back and forth, marking their territory on me, excited by the trade. I could tell how much it drove them crazy when they could smell each other. I felt like powerful prey when they’d come close and breathe me in, sniffing me out. We’re animals after all, each inhale pushing biological buttons we didn’t need to understand. Base competitive drive.

“You taste like his cum,” is something they’d both say, almost like an accusation, while they lapped it up and got rock hard. It was a wild few months of them fucking via me, I was the vessel for their aggressive crush and curiosity. The threesomes we’d have were explosive with that vulnerable tension, and I had the time of my life in the middle of it.

I loved the slow burn of unfolding those desires and trying, on purpose and with permission, to escalate them. What have you been told you shouldn’t feel? What would happen if you felt it and you liked it? The exploration itself is erotic. When we found a hot spot we’d lean into it, press right there. How much is too much? Does it hurt or is it just uncomfortable? Twist it again, just to see.

It was all we could think about.