Diary of a Cuckold – Part 2

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

January 17

After our sex the day before yesterday, I was aroused all day yesterday too. I was constantly haunted by wild images, but when I told Jessy about my desire in the evening, she just waved me off tiredly. She didn’t feel like it. No desire! After all the excitement of yesterday?

Later, we were lying next to each other in bed and my frustration was boiling inside me.

And then, like a virus, the thought crept into my head, unstoppable, exciting. What if she had someone else today? The guy from the party perhaps? Had she been seeing him while I was lying here longing for my wife?

I imagined him touching her, her moaning under his hands, her gripping his cock – and me? I became jealous and aroused at the same time by these images. It was as if I was deceiving myself, but the idea that she was being desired by someone else, that perhaps she was now too exhausted for me because she had given herself to him, excited me. I imagined that the Nameless One had fucked her sore, that they were both soaked and exhausted after their act.

And the absurd thing? I fell asleep. Satisfied. Without having touched each other, without the act of love that usually connects us. I found satisfaction in the idea of an imaginary infidelity.

What the hell is wrong with me?

January 23

I’ve tried to distract myself, to throw myself into work, but it’s as if every spare moment draws me back to that night. To that party, when Jessy was looking unerringly at that other guest.

I’m almost embarrassed to put the words on paper, to express the thoughts that have been bothering me for days. I should actually be concentrating on my job, on coordinating my 80-plus employees.

But I can’t.

My thoughts are caught in a whirlpool of desire and shame. It’s as if I’m leading two lives. During the day, the manager who makes decisions, who leads and directs. And then, when the darkness of night falls, the secret voyeur of my own marital fantasies. If my employees knew about it… I can imagine the whispering, the hidden glances. Martin, the self-assured boss, the one with both feet firmly on the ground, the… the cheated on one. The one who stands in the shower and masturbates at the thought of his wife sleeping with another man.

I blush even as I write these words. It feels like a brand, a stigma that I have put on myself. And yet, when I’m alone, with my thoughts and my longing, it’s not just the thought of Jessy that excites me. It’s the images of her and him, the man from the party, that won’t let me go. It’s a strange mixture of pain and shame, jealousy and lust that jolts me when I imagine her giving herself to him, enjoying what I can’t give her.

I wonder if Jessy senses it, my insecurity, my hidden desire.

I close my eyes and see them in front of me, with him, and I… I can’t help but touch myself. It is an act of self-humiliation and at the same time the deepest satisfaction. I’m ashamed of it, and yet it’s the only thing that excites me right now.

I have to stop this! The words are becoming too real, the fantasy too tangible. I have to go back to the world where I am Martin, the CEO, not Martin, the…

I can’t write the word again. Not now.

January 26

I feel… strange to write these words down, like I’m revealing a secret that’s too intimate, too personal to share even with these blank pages. But I have to get rid of it somewhere, otherwise it will tear me apart.

Today I discovered a word, a term that initially seemed appropriate to me: Wifesharing. At first I naively thought that could be it, that could be the key to these confused feelings that grip me when I think of Jessy. About us.

But the more I read, the more uncertain I became: Wifesharing, that sounded like freedom, like a modern relationship at eye level, where the man supports his wife to live her sexuality freely.

But the longer I thought about it, the greater my doubts became: because that’s not what bubbles up inside me when I think about my fantasies. It’s not the pain, the shame that I feel, that consumes me and excites me at the same time.

And then I stumbled across this other term: cuckold. I hesitate to even write it here, as if it might leap through the paper and brand me. I looked up what it means on Wikipedia, and with a burning blush, I had to realize that it applies unerringly to me. This word, it sums up what I couldn’t – or didn’t want to – put into words. But the more I think about it, the more I feel a strange connection to this concept. It’s as if a dark side of me is awakening, a side I’ve never acknowledged before. The shame of being humiliated, the jealousy and the pain of knowing my wife in someone else’s arms – I feel it all. And the most disturbing thing is that these thoughts not only torment me, but also awaken an inexplicable lust in me.

I don’t know if I could ever dare to talk about it or even experience it. The mere idea makes me blush and I feel small and vulnerable. It’s as if I no longer know myself.

I hastily closed the laptop when Jessy came home. I couldn’t look her in the eye, not after what I’d just found out about myself. This realization, it awakens something in me, a strange mixture of lust and hunger that I barely understand. It’s as if I’ve found a dark mirror that shows me what I am, or at least what I could be.

I know I need to find out more about it, but at the same time I fear what else I might learn about myself. What if I can never go back? What if this door that I have just opened a crack leads to a room from which there is no escape?

I should sleep, but sleep will not come. Not tonight.

January 27

Today was a good day! Jessy came home and it was like a storm was breaking through our front door. Her embrace was stormy, full of energy. Her lips found mine with an urgency that overwhelmed me. We kissed and it was as if she wanted to devour me like there was no tomorrow. There is an intensity between us right now that consumes me and at the same time leads me astray. I wonder what’s behind Jessy’s passion.

She pulled me into the bedroom and I let her, I wanted to let her take the lead. We fell onto the bed, making out, kissing, and I gave myself to her. Quickly we undressed, I covered her body with kisses and sucked on her nipples. She grabbed my hair and pushed me to her lap. I knelt in front of the bed and covered her thighs with kisses, running my tongue over her flawless skin.

Jessy moaned under my touch, clawed at my hair and pulled me towards her. She lay spread-eagled in front of me, her wet lap pulsating with pleasure.

I carefully felt her with the tip of my tongue. I licked over her vulva, tasting the first drops of her lust. She responded to my touch with greedy moans and pulled me closer.

I finally gave her what she asked for, licking and massaging her clitoris with my tongue.

I secretly imagined another man touching her lap, tasting her too and penetrating her with his fingers. The very idea brought me to the brink of orgasm.

Jessy came under my touch, she moaned loudly, wrapped her legs around my torso and pressed my face into her lap. I enjoyed her strength, enjoyed being her servant at that moment.

Finally, she let her legs drop exhausted and released me from her grip. “Give me the vibrator,” she instructed me. “Quickly. I want it again.”

I obeyed, reached into her bedside table and handed her her white vibrator. “Watch,” she murmured and switched the device on. I obediently lay down next to her, my eyes fixed on her wet, shiny lap, which was now being massaged by the vibrator. She energetically inserted it inside her, pulled it out again and massaged her clitoris. Then the game was repeated while Jessy breathed more and more frantically. I regretted that the vibrator was made of white plastic – how intense this moment would have felt if it had been modeled on a real penis. I felt a dull ache in my testicles as I imagined it.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Jessy moaned and pushed the vibrator deep into her lap. “Admit it.”

I remained silent, just stroking her legs.

“Admit that you’re imagining a different cock, Martin.”

“Yes,” I whispered in shame. “Yes.”

She moaned loudly, grabbed my cock with her free hand and then it was all over for me: I squirted on her arm and her naked body and at the same time she squirmed and groaned under the vibrations of her toy.

I had orgasmed before we had slept together.

To be continued