Her Will, My Submission: A True Cuckold Story

I always knew there was something different about my relationship with Sarah. We met in college, and from the start, there was an undeniable spark. She was beautiful, intelligent, and had a charisma that drew people in. I, on the other hand, was more of the quiet, studious type. Despite our differences, we clicked, and our relationship blossomed.

As time went on, I started to notice little things that made me uneasy. Sarah would often come home late from work, her eyes sparkling with an energy that seemed to come from somewhere else. She would laugh at her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen with a familiarity that suggested more than just casual texting. I tried to brush it off, attributing it to my own insecurities, but the nagging feeling persisted.

One evening, as I was cooking dinner, I heard the front door open. Sarah walked in, her cheeks flushed and her hair slightly disheveled. She smiled at me, but there was something in her eyes that I couldn’t quite place. “Hey babe,” she said, her voice a little breathless. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yours?”

“Great,” she said, her smile widening. “I had a really good day.”

I wanted to ask more, to probe deeper, but I held back. I didn’t want to seem like the jealous, insecure boyfriend. Instead, I focused on finishing dinner, my mind racing with unanswered questions.

As the weeks turned into months, the signs became harder to ignore. Sarah’s late nights became more frequent, and her phone would often light up with messages that she would quickly hide. I started to feel like a spectator in my own relationship, watching as Sarah’s world expanded beyond our shared boundaries.

One night, as I lay in bed, I heard the soft click of the front door. I glanced at the clock; it was almost midnight. Sarah tiptoed into the room, her silhouette framed by the moonlight streaming through the window. She undressed quietly, her movements graceful and deliberate. As she slipped into bed beside me, I could smell a faint, unfamiliar scent on her skin.

“Where were you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to face me, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Out with friends,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Go to sleep, okay?”

I lay there, wide awake, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts. I wanted to believe her, to trust that our relationship was still solid, but the evidence was stacking up against me.

The next day, I decided to confront her. I waited until she got home from work, her usual time, and then approached her with a mix of trepidation and determination.

“Sarah,” I started, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “I need to know what’s going on. You’ve been acting strange, and I can’t ignore it anymore.”

She looked at me, her expression a blend of surprise and resignation. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice careful.

“I mean the late nights, the secretive phone messages, the way you come home smelling of someone else,” I said, my words tumbling out in a rush. “I know something’s going on, and I need to know what it is.”

Sarah sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft. “I guess it’s time to tell you.”

She took a deep breath and began to speak. “There’s someone else,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “His name is Alex. We met at work, and we started talking, and… things just happened.”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if someone had reached in and squeezed my heart. “How long?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“A few months,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, I never meant for this to happen. But I can’t deny how I feel.”

I nodded, trying to process the information. “And the late nights?” I asked.

“Spending time with him,” she said simply. “I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.”

I felt a mix of anger, betrayal, and a strange, perverse sense of relief. At least now I knew the truth. “What about us?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Sarah reached out and took my hand, her touch warm and familiar. “I still care about you,” she said. “But I need this. I need him.”

I pulled my hand away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “So, what? You want to keep both of us?” I asked, my voice laced with sarcasm.

“No,” she said, her voice firm. “I want you to understand. I want you to be a part of this, in your own way.”

I stared at her, shock and confusion warring within me. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, I want you to be my cuckold,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and desire. “I want you to know that I’m with someone else, and I want you to be okay with it.”

I felt a surge of anger, hot and fierce. “Okay with it?” I spat. “How can you ask that of me?”

Sarah stood up, her posture straight and confident. “Because I love you,” she said. “And I know you love me. This is who I am, and I want you to accept it.”

I sat there, stunned, as she walked out of the room. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I had always known there was something different about our relationship, but I never imagined it would come to this.

Over the next few days, I struggled with the reality of my new role. Sarah was open about her relationship with Alex, often bringing him up in conversation or sending me pictures of them together. I felt a mix of jealousy, humiliation, and a strange, twisted excitement. I was her cuckold, her obedient partner, and she made sure I knew it.

One evening, as I was sitting on the couch, Sarah walked in with Alex. He was tall, handsome, with a confident air about him. I felt a pang of jealousy as he smiled at me, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Hey cuck,” he said, his voice mocking. “How’s it going?”

I forced a smile, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Fine,” I muttered.

Sarah sat down next to me, her hand resting on my thigh. “Alex and I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice sweet.

I braced myself, not sure what to expect. “What is it?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

“We’re moving in together,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. “Alex is going to live with us.”

I felt a wave of shock and betrayal wash over me. “What?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “How can you do this to me?”

Sarah leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. “Because I want you to be a part of it,” she whispered. “I want you to watch, to serve, to be my cuckold in every way.”

I pulled back, my mind reeling. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Alex chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You don’t have a choice, cuck,” he said, his voice mocking. “You’re hers, and she wants you to be a part of this.”

I looked at Sarah, her eyes filled with a mix of challenge and desire. I knew she was serious, and I knew that if I wanted to keep her, I had to accept her terms.

“Okay,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “I’ll do it.”

Sarah smiled, her hand squeezing my thigh. “Good boy,” she said, her voice soft and encouraging.

Over the next few weeks, my life became a whirlwind of humiliation and submission. Alex moved in, and our house became a playground for their desires. I was often tasked with serving them, fetching drinks, cooking meals, and even cleaning up after them. I felt like a servant, a cuckold in every sense of the word.

But despite the humiliation, I found a strange sense of satisfaction in it. I was fulfilling Sarah’s desires, and in doing so, I was strengthening our bond. I was her cuckold, her obedient partner, and she made sure I knew it.

One night, as I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard the sounds of their pleasure from the bedroom. I paused, my heart racing, as I listened to the moans and gasps. I felt a mix of jealousy and arousal, my body responding despite my mind’s protests.

I walked into the bedroom, my steps hesitant. Sarah was on her hands and knees, Alex behind her, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. They both looked up as I entered, their eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and desire.

“Join us, cuck,” Alex said, his voice mocking. “Show us how much you love your mistress.”

I hesitated, my mind racing. But the look in Sarah’s eyes, filled with need and desire, spurred me on. I undressed quickly, my body already responding to the sight before me.

I knelt beside Sarah, my hand reaching out to touch her. She moaned, her body arching into my touch. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the evidence of their passion.

Alex chuckled, his hips never stopping their steady rhythm. “Good cuck,” he said, his voice laced with mockery. “Show her how much you love her.”

I did, my hands and mouth exploring every inch of her body. I could feel her pleasure building, her moans growing louder and more urgent. I looked up at Alex, his eyes locked on mine, a mix of challenge and amusement in his gaze.

As they reached their climax, I felt a surge of satisfaction. I had pleased my mistress, and in doing so, I had fulfilled my role as her cuckold.

In the days that followed, my life continued in this strange, twisted dance of submission and desire. I was Sarah’s cuckold, her obedient partner, and I embraced my role with a mix of humiliation and pride.

I realized that this was who I was, who we were together. And despite the challenges and the humiliation, I found a strange sense of peace in it. I was hers, completely and utterly, and she was mine. Our bond was stronger than ever, forged in the fires of desire and submission.

As I lay in bed one night, Sarah curled up beside me, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me. I was her cuckold, her obedient partner, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.