Hello. If you are a male reader, then you might wonder whether I can absolutely relate to your interests here. Wonder whether I can understand your excitement about another man taking your wife and servicing her as you have never done. Whether you simply are drawn to watch and admire, or to cooperate, then you may say to me, you are a woman. You cannot know. Yours is another perspective, one surely at the sexual maelstrom that is cuckolding, but not that which I know. You cannot completely know what it is too long, to wait, to witness, or submit in the way that I do. You may be right. Of course, you might well be right. But I hope to assure you otherwise. I hope to hearten you, for I sense how often you fear that which you are compelled towards. I know that you wrestle with that which you slowly realise is your sexual nature.

My name is Zurati. I am twenty-nine years old, enough years to be worldly wise ;). I am well educated (a doctor) like a lot of people who are drawn to cuckolding as a lifestyle. I am told that I have a very good figure, that I dress well, and that I am extroverted and assured. Such details you need for understanding. Whether I am black, brunette, dark brown-haired or something else hardly matters. That which you desire, that which your wife is, your future mistress may be, is for your heart to add. This is how you read these things no? With your imagination racing, perhaps with your hand down your pants, touching yourself, shamefully pulling on your prick. My husband's name is X. He is thirty, well-read, successful in his career, doubting as regards his manhood. That an individual can be so different in their public and private lives is not so startling. For I believe that men like X, men like you, are not fashioned by experience but by genes and instinct. You have always needed to be this way, submissive to the woman in your life. Just as there are women like me, those who want to submit to one man and dominate another, so there are men like you, less appreciated, less valuable, less attractive to women, at least till they find a new use to put you to. My lover's name is Arya. He has a European mother and an Indian father and the mixing of genes has produced a man of indescribable beauty. He is not simply physically powerful, he is wondrous to the eye. No woman would seriously resist him if he but deigned an interest in her. All women, no matter how devotional, devout, or faithful, would come to his bed. That is what Arya is like. That he is aged twenty-eight, that he works part-time and paints at others (as a self-taught artist) is almost incidental. What resonates in my head, in X's and henceforth will in yours I believe, is that Arya and men like him are so beautiful, so masculine, that all the social conventions associated with marriage, and social grace, are cast to the wind. Men like Arya, are meant, destined, to have it all.

I met Arya at an art exhibition. X took me along and we idly stared at canvases hung along an endless white wall. Arya was making notes at one. He studied the techniques of the painters, that produced the effects. I asked him about his notes. He smiled. I melted and from the off, I promise you, X submitted. He knew, in his soul, deep in his chest, in his stomach that knotted meeting such a perfect man, that Arya was his better. That Arya took an interest in me, meant that X must immediately surrender ground. I know, Zurati, she is my wife, but you are so intrinsically male, so completely masculine, that she is yours to seduce. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever seen your wife beside such an absolutely perfect man, that your soul has whispered to you, 'she is his. He has every right to her. Of course, he will fuck her and you….you will admire how they are entangled, perfect, inevitable, supreme, alpha'. This very weakness, if you have truly felt it, betrays your nature. A cuckold is not a victim. A cuckold is not an accident. A cuckold is born, sensitive to the instincts of sex, ready to question, however painfully the social mores that have limited the woman's choice to the compromise partner. You are the compromise. Nice, I suspect that you are nice, and considerate too, but you are a compromise, no? For your wife, you are also run with saving grace.

I remember that we talked for over an hour. Arya teasing, laughing, explaining and my husband pretending interest in paintings some way distant. I know that X watched us. I know that every time I smiled, laughed, or touched Arya's arm, I insulted my husband. But this was necessary. This, from deep within our psyche, is what women instinctively do. We assess and we choose and we punish. We find some wanting and we displace or reject them. Arya asked if we could have dinner tomorrow night and I said 'Of course'. I had no idea what was already in my diary, it would be abandoned. I had no idea what X thought, I knew only that it didn't matter. I would see Arya no matter what my husband said. I would take any and all risks and ruin our marriage if necessary. If a marriage is 100% then space in it can be split. That which once was 50/50 becomes 80/15/5. I would give 80% of my time to Arya, reserve 15% for making myself as attractive as possible to him, and leave 5% on the floor for X. There, the next night I dressed for my date, I told X that I was going out but not where or who with, Arya and I ate and we fucked, and we both knew that it would grow and grow.

Even whispered in percentage terms, this terrifies you I think. The very fact that your influence fades like snow in the meadows beneath the mountain. The fact that you once had so much attention from her and then so little. Almost nothing at all. Did you think about this? Beyond the frisson of knowing that she was seeing someone else, your fantasies about her sex loaded with his cum, did you anticipate the abandonment? It is better mon ami that you do. It is better that you contemplate the profound sense of loss. When I was in those headlong halcyon first weeks, X did not really exist for me. You will not exist for your wife, not if she finds the right man. You will have spent so much on her clothing, so much on her jewellery, her car, her hair, and makeup, you will have committed to her sex appeal and bared your testicles for kicking. I know that you pretended about this. She is dressing to tease. She is a hotwife and I am her stag. This is our sport. Oh, I am sorry, did we not tell you? Women can have only one place in our hearts and therefore between our shivering soft brown thighs, for a proper man. Once he has taken her, once he has made her scream and beg, she cannot see you as much at all. A sponsor, a sugar daddy, a slave, a fool, a verbal punch bag, she will choose, you will not. Don't do this then, don't have her dress to seduce, unless you accept, she will, in turn, be seduced.

I remember those first months. X diminished in front of me. He wasn't foolish to argue or to remonstrate, he had more sense than that and a misplaced dignity in silence. He pretended that Arya was simply fucking me. No matter how often I went to Arya's bed, no matter how many weekends I spent with my man, he was 'a stud', rather than 'my lover.' There was no sex for X, only dismissal. I went out as though he was simply a house servant. I was prim, and polite, but unengaged with him, emotionally. Women are cruel. This is what a bitch does and it is not sexy. It is not done only when you feel ready to be insulted or teased. It is done all the time because she has so little regard for you. It is Eve who has bitten the apple, and realised what the serpent always offered. How terrible for you, non? How terrible for you to realise that your wife is in love with another man. How terrible to realise that she refuses to keep sex in Pandora's box. How devastating that she ponders now what to do with you. X described it afterward as a free fall off the highest mountain precipice that you can imagine. The drop is so sudden, so complete, so fast, that you are sure that you will be obliterated at the bottom of the fall. You will not simply break a bone, you will be destroyed, because your wife doesn't care. She doesn't care about you and what happens to you. Remember, 5%.

It is the other man, the lover, who then determines what your life will be my reader. It is he who determines whether there are any crumbs left for you. Don't pretend that you can set an agreement. Don't pretend that you can set out rules. There are only his rules when she finds the right man. Inside your heart, you knew this, you knew it, but it seemed so hard to bear. So you wait for the net to be cast, for your rescue before the rock-strewn gorge beneath the mountain precipice is met. I would have abandoned X completely. Your wife will willingly abandon you, for the right man, the better man. Beg as you might, to play some other role, to fulfil some other menial duty, to worship your wife, it avails you nothing. If you are to be saved mon ami, it is because her lover has a use for you. It is because the blood flows so hot, so strong in his veins, that he thinks it might be amusing to destroy you slowly before her. Look how I take him apart. Look how weak, little, pathetic, unappealing he is. If I ever put him back together it will be as our creature, your plaything. I will teach you to bitch him till he wishes that he could die, till he wishes that he could live forever in your most menial service.

I remember that there came a day, some weeks after Arya and I first slept together when he said he would come back to sleep at our house. Hotel rooms, Arya's apartment, these were not enough, he wanted to own me, in my own home. I knew it instinctively, he wanted to wound X. He wanted to wound his self-esteem, his notion of manhood, so badly, that he would never get up again. Once I had witnessed my husband being so humiliated, then there was no path back. There was no way for our marriage to be again. It would be over. In the accepted sense of the word, he wouldn't be good enough to be married to me, my equal, my partner, the man who occupied my bed. I know what fear that raises for you. The man who reads this. I know how your heart beats faster. Excited as you are, the terrible jolt as the other man commands you. The sudden kick as you are made to look useless in front of your wife. For a woman, for any woman, for your wife, this is, I promise you, indescribably, terribly, wickedly, arousing. It is the instinct seed at the centre of her soul, it is the primal drive, to see one man bettered and to submit to the champion. Yet, my reader, it is your salvation too. If you can but weather this catastrophic moment, and bend your head in submission to him, you might just have a place in the future.

Would you fight if a bigger and more assertive man came into your home now, with her, and told you that he was taking her up to bed? Don't squirm, don't prevaricate, don't beg caveats or conditions, answer me truthfully. You must embrace this moment, this is your destiny. She has chosen him because he is better than you, superior, alpha, perfect, masculine, dominant. She has not chosen him because he will press your button. She has not chosen him because he is a 'bit different from you'. She has chosen him as her partner and that means that you cannot remain. Not as the prince of pretences you cannot. You cannot be a pretender. You must submit to him, in whatever humble, subtle, or otherwise ways that will enable him to rule your home and to take her completely. This night, when he fucks her on your territory, you become nothing. Your only hope is to signal your complete capitulation. He won't admire you for contesting the matter. 'Having a go' is not in his lexicon for you. You are the support whilst he fucks her. Your place is to submit, to admire, to support if he permits you a place at all.

I remember X's face when I brought Arya home. It was as if a plug had been pulled beneath X's jaw and all the blood in his head ran out. If your wife worships him, if she knows that he is so much more powerful than you, she won't prepare you. They will just arise and you will flounder as best you can. If you resist, then she will watch him hit you. Whatever it takes to change the guard, to re-order the nest, to crown her lover, you chose the analogy, that she will do. X thought quickly. He is an intelligent man. He stared at Arya. He blushed and then he asked whether he could fix my lover a drink. Arya placed our orders. My husband served our drinks and then Arya and I sat on the sofa and he petted me. I can't explain the rush that gives you as a woman. To feel your alpha finger you in front of your husband. X stood in the corner of the living room. He tried to look elsewhere but he couldn't. He tried to look elsewhere as Arya kissed me slowly. The sensation of Arya's tongue in my mouth, whilst my husband watched on sheepish, was quite honestly exquisite. X went to creep away and Arya told him to 'stand fucking still!' The order was so brutal, so decisive, that X froze. Arya pulled my thong down, wet now already from our casual fuck in the car. He held it up for X to collect and hold. I watched my husband approach and collect my thong. He could smell it, I knew he could. He could feel its wetness.

X was beckoned forward again and my skirt was hitched up to show him what Arya had already done to me. I could feel Arya's spunk between my lips. It was gluey, thick, and coagulated. We had fucked a couple of hours earlier and it was snug inside of me. A plug of his creamy, salty, glutinous spunk filled my vagina. X was directed to lick me out which he did. He knelt silently and submitted to me that way. My mistress pussy. A cunt that ruled him through his nose and mouth. I loved the feel of his tongue licking me. I liked the way he tried to ladle the spunk out of me. Impossible of course, Arya delivers so much, but X tried. Whilst Arya watched my husband do that, he took his cock back out, stiff, powerful, and eager to own me again. He has such a brutal, big, and compelling erection. It's like a weapon. This isn't pretty. It is a spunk injector, a woman enslaver. X saw it and to my surprise he licked it. He licked it quietly, without comment or explanation, one run of his tongue, up the shaft, before Arya pushed it back inside me.

There. It was repulsive no? It was the moment that you cannot understand in your head, even though you know in your heart, that this is what you feel compelled to do. You are not gay, and you are not bisexual, but you are so deeply, uncomfortably submissive, and this, this brief act of submission and admiration, says so much to the dominant male. If you but knew it, the lick, your lick, the one you will give your new master, it always says one thing, 'please, please, I beg you, accept me. Let me serve you.' I remember that Arya dismissed X's gesture at that moment. He told my husband to go sit on the carpet and then he fucked me. It was that time, a self-conscious fuck. It was faster than normal, but brutal. It was like he was grabbing his prize. Later, and oh so many times, there would be no grab, only a considered, teasing, leisurely fucking of my cunt until I gasped and moaned, and then our bodies locked together in front of X.

Here is what I try to explain to these little readers. You see, it is not a series of sexy acts. It is not a performance or two, but what changes in your head. As you learn to suck your master's cock, to lick your mistress clean, or to arouse her ready for your master's prick, you are not turning tricks. Every time you clean her, you are confirming that the pleasures are his. That which is stretched and torn against your mouth, that which drains semen and her cum into your tongue, is his. You close your lips around his glans and he trusts you as you look up obediently. You loosen your throat so that he can thrust until he shoots into the back of your mouth. You let him use you. Eventually, with your gestures, with your submissive looks, you beg him to use you. Then mon ami, you have hope. You may have a place, one of absolute intimacy. It is what will be expected of you, day in and day out, over months and years, as he breeds her. This is what it is like. Do you see….I do understand you. I do know. I think you must be ready no? I think you must submit all the way, as a good cuckold does.