Cuck Talk (#7 - Masochism)

"See how wet you get when I hurt you?" he said sweetly as his hands roughed me up. I was already floating away, the room felt distant and hazy, his blanket felt like a cloud.

His face. I watched his face. His jaw tightened as he forced more of his fingers inside of me. His eyes set hard, focused. His expression was searing hot. His sadistic resolve, the intensity of this exchange, felt holy. Blissful, immaculate pain, like the universe was just this current running through us.

"Promise me," | gasped, we both knew I was drunk with lust and would ask for impossible things. "Promise me you'll never hurt anyone else," | begged. "Promise me you'll be nice to the other girls and only mean to me." Of all the things to be possessive of, I wanted his cruelty. Of all things to claim I wanted this to be mine.

🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥

The prose above is something I posted on Tumblr years ago, and it’s also one of the many stories featured in my most recent ‘zine (Poems About Fisting), so I wanted to share the cucky backstory here:

Years later and this precise moment still stands out for me as one of the hottest most electric sexual moments I’ve had. The lightning charged dynamic between us in this moment was so blissful and so pure, I’ve jerked off to it a thousand times since.

My dominant/partner/best-friend at the time had started looking for a serious partner. I wasn’t a candidate, I had a primary partner, plus he and I were looking for different things in life. But that didn’t stop the avalanche of irrational feelings that arrived when he met someone new and they clicked.

Looking back I think my biggest anxiety was that his new girlfriend would be uncomfortable with our intense kink dynamic. I didn’t want to lose that, it was so incredible having someone whose kinky interests aligned perfectly with mine. We built whole depraved worlds together. It was intoxicating, intimate, we were constantly pushing boundaries and finding new responses and feelings to play with. I wasn’t worried he’d have a girlfriend, I was excited about that part, and happy for him. I was just afraid I would lose our magical connection.

The easiest (and hottest) way to deal with this fear was to turn it into kinky cuck play. Obviously. We could both see the potential. We talked over what felt hot, what felt scary, where those intersected. We discussed what sort of angles felt unsafe, or too sharp. We let our usual dynamic lead us.

It was the first time he had a date with both the new girl and I in the same week. He and I had been planning an intense scene involving me being a good little girl while he hurt me. (Our sweet spot.) I got frustrated during the scene and leaned into my little side. He was playing stern daddy, which always made me want to be a brat. I couldn’t have articulated it before we started, the feelings were complicated, but all of a sudden I spat out “it’s not fair, how come she gets to go to the aquarium and I get beat up?”

Stern daddy melted away and he became my saviour. He scooped me up, stroked the hair away from my face, cradled me. Sweet words washed over me, loving words, special words, Daddy words.

It’s funny how littleness and cuckiness helped me get to the centre of the feeling, and communicate what I needed. Instead of having these tense adult conversations where I rambled off my anxieties and he tried to convince me it wouldn’t happen, I could boil it down to the most base fear; “Am I still special?” And then he could answer with our most special things, soothe my insecurities with gold we spun ourselves.

“We don’t have to do any hurty things my sweet girl,” he reassured me. “We can go to the aquarium, we can eat cake, we can just snuggle here in bed, whatever you need okay?” The warmth, the comfort, the big pulsing in my heart, everything feels better with his arms wrapped around me and his voice in my ear.

Until this exact moment I thought that’s what I wanted. But now that it was being offered I knew the truth. It was heavy in the air like the lump in my throat. I wanted our darkness, I wanted our depravity, the aquarium was a symbol for a normal date, but we weren’t normal. We were delightfully twisted and I wanted it that way. I wanted to be his gross girl, not his princess, the one who took his most shameful desires and matched them with lust in her eyes. I wanted our gritty feelings, our electric hum. I wanted him to hurt me. I needed it.

“I don’t want the aquarium daddy, that’s for regular girls, I want our magic.” He kissed me, hungrily, I could feel his desire, his understanding. Sparks like flint and stone, we dove right back into the kinky fucked up scene we planned, wholeheartedly. Our rib cages pounding, our roots throbbing, needy for that soul connection.

His sadism became romantic to me, something he gave me, something I asked for. Something special only I understood. Suddenly I wasn’t being cucked, I was cucking his other girl. Everything felt different, like it clicked into place. I was Daddy’s whipping girl, his prized possession. I could take his frustrations and his wild imagination and make them into something beautiful she’d never understand. She could have her aquariums and late night walks in the city, she could sit for boring Easter dinner with his family, what was that compared to the mind-altering endorphins flooding our time together? What was that compared to bending time and space and feeling?

“Of all the things to be possessive of, I wanted his cruelty. Of all things to claim I wanted this to be mine.”