It is not an open field day for some other pretender to his throne to come in, order his wife around, boss him too, create the rules and then have the audacity to fuck me and order him to clean up. He also films me with lovers, so he has a large private library that contains his greatest fantasies: I pursue this promiscuous life because I want more experiences. Because I love him. We even have an empty birdcage sculpture in our house to represent and recall the sentiment:
I do what I want, when I want, because I want. I am the archetypal bird released from the cage of perceived societal judgement or restriction in order to be wild and free. He sees my excitement at getting a text or a message and sees my face light up. It is obvious what is in it for me: Maybe it is because someone is writing ridiculous nonsense and I find it amusing to see how much they misinterpret my blog, but to my husband it could be the text that I have been waiting for all night, the best connection I have enjoyed all evening. It is simply inferred by him, and my refusal to protect him from making this inference, whether substantiated or not, is simultaneously the fusion of his exquisite, erotic pain and our lust-filled love. He gets off on that. We have a rock solid relationship based on his complete monogamy and my absolute promiscuity and explicit honesty throughout. We even have an empty birdcage sculpture in our house to represent and recall the sentiment: And yet, sharing me still awakens dormant demons inside my Stag husband. Its effects must not be compensated for, or reduced in any way, for fear of diluting the experience. It transpires that within our unbalanced approach to promiscuity there is a scary shadow that casts its reach across both our hearts and minds: Bigger cocks, novel positions, younger lovers, new fetishes, intriguing fixations, thrilling dates, more intense fucks. Specifically he enjoys seeing my lust for new, gorgeous cocks so openly and unabashedly on display. So it would seem that all is straightforward in our sexually unequal arrangement, right? Oh yes, I make sure he does. Because I love him. Surely only cuckolds want to feel that sort of humiliation? Similarly, this leads to self doubts did you really prefer him , loneliness or abandonment you chose him, over me and so on. Well, at first sight, the obvious enticements are there. It fuels his captivation and erotic motivation. The pleasure-pain he experiences is not demeaning but it is certainly disquieting. This is us …. I want to fuck other people, therefore I do. But what is in it for my husband?
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