Hi, I’m Jessica — a wife, a hotwife, and someone who has fully embraced the beautiful journey of a female-led, cuckold relationship. I’m in my late 30s and happily married to Martin, a devoted, self-aware man who has come to not only love but thrive in his role as a cuckold.
I’m so incredibly thankful for Emma and the thoughtful, empowering blogs she writes. Honestly, many of her articles feel like she’s narrating chapters of my own life. It’s rare to find a space that gets it — the complexity, the love, the surrender, the power, the fire — and Emma captures it all.
I’ve poured my heart (and some of my wildest nights) into my writing. Diary of a Cuckold is deeply personal — it’s erotic, raw, emotional, and very much based on my real experiences with Martin. If you’ve ever wondered what this dynamic feels like from the inside — from my side — I think you’ll find a lot to connect with.
And I’m thrilled to offer my book, Diary of a Cuckold, to the readers here. If you enjoy what you read, I’d love if you would check out this title and more of my work.
Just getting started with this series? Check out Part 1
April 16
“Was that too much with Doro yesterday?” Jessy’s voice was soft, but there was a certain uncertainty in her tone. I looked at her, her eyes sparkling in the light of the candles she had lovingly lit.
“No,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “It was just right. I… The humiliation…” I couldn’t continue, the words were stuck in my throat, but my wife understood me.
Jessy smiled. “I love being in control. Over you. Over what you feel. Over what you get.” She stroked the penis cage confining me, a symbol of her power over me. “I come when I want to. And you come when I want. I like that.”
Her words pierce me like a knife. It is the truth that I cannot speak, the truth that I would never admit in the boardroom, under the weight of daily responsibility. At home in Jessy’s arms, under her influence, I can let go. I can surrender, I can let myself fall into a depth that I would otherwise never reach.
It’s a strange game of power. At work, I’m the one who gives instructions, the one who leads. At home, the tables are turned. Jessy, who is so gentle and supportive during the day, transforms. She becomes the ruler, the decision-maker. She craves power and strength, and I give it to her. I give her everything.
The irony cannot be overlooked. The humiliation I feel is at the same time a form of liberation. I am trapped in a game that I don’t want to end, in a role that I don’t want to give up.
April 20
This evening Doro suddenly appeared at the door. I could have sworn Jessy didn’t look surprised, but I… I definitely was.
After we had sat down at the counter in the kitchen, we began to
After a brief hesitation, Doro began to rave about the penis cage I was wearing. She was deeply impressed by the depth of our relationship and how much I trusted my wife. To demonstrate her support for us and had she brought a gift, she said. She would understand that our journey was also a journey in which I would give up my masculinity to a certain extent – that impressed her in particular.
After the two penis cages and the sleeve, I had certain reservations about the gifts I had recently received and I wasn’t to be mistaken today either: In the box Doro gave Jessy was a new penis cage. Pink, for fuck’s sake. Small, much smaller than the one I’m used to. And the cage had practically no room for a member. From the outside, it was just a small hemisphere in the shape of small labia. “When he wears it,” Doro said with a kind of enthusiasm, “there’s practically nothing left of his manhood. It’s like he’s got a little pussy.”
Those were her words. “…a little pussy.”
My legs were shaking. That was a step too far, wasn’t it? I wasn’t just giving up my role, my pride, but also every last bit of my masculinity, was I?
I felt so exposed, so… small.
But Jessy, oh Jessy, she was thrilled. “Come on Martin, I want to see this now!” Her words echoed in my head and I was in no position to disagree. I was aroused and embarrassed at the same time. I retreated to the bathroom and locked myself in. For half an hour I struggled with the ring, with the cage. My cock was pushed so far back that my bulging testicles protruded far beyond the plastic. I couldn’t help it: the sight aroused me.
When I stepped back into the living room, my excitement could not be overlooked. I handed Jessy the key – an act of submission, of surrender. The two women looked at the pink cage, looked at me. Their gazes were intense, almost… hungry.
“You’re right,” said Jessy. “Like a little pussy.”
At the front, in the opening between the pink, artificial labia minora, a drop of pleasure glistened.
April 23
Jessy no longer knows any restraint. She ordered a strap-on dildo from an online store and a lot of lubricant that, according to the packaging, is indistinguishable from real sperm in terms of color and consistency.
The day was long, the numbers and faces of the working day blurred into a monotonous gray in my head. The hot shower was a relief, an escape from the daily grind. The water running over my head, the drops that washed away every worry for a moment. I closed my eyes, let the steam fill my lungs, tried to find myself in the fog that surrounded me.
Then I heard the door open and Jessy came in. I heard her enter the shower, the splash as she stepped under the stream of water behind me. “Hi honey,” she said, her voice soft but with an undertone that stoked excitement in me. “I’ve got something new for us.”
I turned and felt her hands on my skin, the soap that she glided over my body. The hot water bubbled over us and enveloped us.
“You’re so tense, darling,” she whispered as her fingers stroked the penis cage that was restricting me so agonizingly. “I thought this might help you relax.” Her laugh, a melodic, dark laugh that told me relaxation was the last thing on her mind.
I waited, hoped, longed for her to open the cage. But in vain. Only now did I realize what she had brought with her. She stepped even closer to me and put the belt on me, then she reached for the strap-on dildo that she had brought with her and had initially put away, and attached it to the belt – directly above the cage. The plastic penis stood out from me, hard and black. “There,” she said, “now you’re perfect.” Her words were a taunt, a sweet, poisonous sting in my heart.
I stood there, helpless, while she pressed herself against me, her warmth against my heat. “You love this, don’t you?” Her question was rhetorical, a statement, not a real question. I could only nod, drowning my own insecurities in the steam that surrounded us.
She turned away from me and held out her bottom to me. No, not to me – but to the dildo. I saw foam and water running down her back and disappearing between her buttocks. I stroked her sides, gripped her bottom and felt her lap. She stretched out towards me, hot and full of expectation. I penetrated her with one finger, feeling the heat of her pleasure. “Come on,” Jessy whispered, “fuck me.”
And that’s what I did. Carefully at first, then harder and harder, I pushed her with the strap-on dildo while my own cock pressed protestingly against the cage.
When she came, gasping, I had her pressed firmly against the wall of the shower. I wanted to pull out of her, vaguely hoping that I might now be allowed to make love to her myself, but she reached back with her hand, grabbed the dildo and stopped me. “No,” she said, “I want to again.”
And then I understood.
How many times in the last few weeks had I come to orgasm before she was ready? And how many times in the last few years had she wanted to come several times? I was ashamed and yet felt lucky to be able to satisfy her like this now.
I ran my fingertips gently over her shoulders and back, saw how she shuddered pleasantly and then I penetrated her again.
She came three times today while the hot water bubbled over us. And when she had finally had enough, she gave me a kiss, stroked the little pink cage with a smile and thanked me. With that, she left me behind.
