Cuckolded via Session Wrestling

[versmuscle12]

This is written from the point of view of a husband to his wife. The husband has long held a mixed wrestling fetish that the wife is looking to capitalize on to satiate her own taboo desires. The husband is a white male in his late 30's and of average build, while is wife is African American and a statuesque Amazon. Think Serena Williams in terms of build. Without further ado, here is the story.

You have long known about my specific...tastes behind closed doors, particularly my desires when it comes to feeling physically dominated. It has been a window into a world you never knew existed, and now you have developed an interest in taking it on as a hobby, given you know there is a market for it and being with me has educated you on how it all works. Additionally, you have the luxury of being selective about who to take on, given you know you would be in particularly high demand given your beauty and impressive physical attributes.

You decide to approach me about entering the world of wrestling and domination. You know that I am not going to be a fan because of the inherently sexual nature that comes with any fetish, but you think you can sell me on it by telling me I get to practice with you, meaning I get to indulge with you much more frequently than I currently do. In a way, you're using my kink against me to get what you want.

One day, while sitting in my office, I get a text from you. It's a picture of you in just your underwear and a sports bra, flexing in the mirror. "I have an appointment this weekend and would appreciate if I can use you for practice tonight. Unless of course you're too afraid..."

Now I'm in quite the conundrum. If I say yes, I'm essentially agreeing to let you fulfill someone else's kinky desires with you, but at the same time I would get to indulge my own fantasy with you at the same time. I look down and realize I'm already fully erect just from the site of that picture. I'm basically compromised and have succumbed to letting my manhood do the deciding, and I can't turn down the prospect of wrestling you tonight.

I text back to you: "You're on."
You text back: "Good boy. Honestly you didn't really have a choice because I was going to have my way with you regardless, but glad to see you being a team player."

At this point I am so turned on, I have to fight the urge to leave the office immediately and go get my ass kicked by you. So many thoughts are running through my head. It's not only the prospect of enduring the physical punishment, but also the mental domination you are exercising over me.

After a while, the initial thrill begins to wear off and my imagination turns to one of envy yet curiosity over what you intend to do with this new client. I begin to get jealous because I would love the prospect of meeting you for the first time as strangers, and having you physically and sexually overwhelm me. After all, I married you for a whole number of reasons, but one of the big motivating factors was how attracted I am to you. After the initial rush of lust and sexual energy subsides, I start grappling with the other side of the coin: having to compete with this new found hobby of yours.

I send you another text: "What are you planning to do when you meet this new client?"

You respond: "Wouldn't you love to know?"

"I think I have a right to know," I say back.

"While I don't disagree, I also don't want you to feel inadequate. I'm trying to protect your ego," you say.

"Why would you need to do that?" I ask.

"Well if you must know...let's just say he's playing with a much bigger deck than you," you respond, followed by an eggplant emoji.

This startling revelation was something I hadn't considered. All I could muster in response was "How do you know?"

"I mean...I do vet my clients carefully 🤗"

My imagination was quickly fading into concern and anxiety, imagining you rolling around with another guy, his big bulge incidentally (or intentionally) pressing against you. On the other hand this is exactly why this new venture is so appealing to you, i.e. the prospect of spicing things up and entertaining new suitors who are lining up to meet you.

In any case, it seems too late to turn back now. It feels to me like this more fate than free will. Internally, my own insecurities may be playing a part in allowing this to proceed, in the sense that you could have your pick of just about anyone out there so I should just feel lucky to be able to get what I can get. I also feel bit frustrated and dismayed that I got even more turned on reading your description of this soon-to-be-client's unit. Something about you saddling me with that information was surprisingly intensely erotic. I decide to press the envelope.

"Prove it" I say via text.

"Well, you asked for it," you respond. Then the picture comes through. It only shows a torso wearing a pair of gray euro-style trunks, but you can clearly see the outline of a massive bulge which he has pulled to the side, just to allow it to fit inside the pouch.

"Well, what do you think?" you ask.

"Jesus that thing is humongous" I reply.

"Yeah, unfortunately for you I think it's going to have a hard time staying hidden. Pun intended 🤭"

"And what happens if it can't?" I ask

"I think that will need to be kept secret. My client's confidentiality is of upmost importance to me," you say.

"Lucky him" I text back.

"Lucky me lol" you send back.

This game of tease and denial has me frustrated yet turned on.

"So what are you all going to do to this lucky lad?" I ask.

"I will show you tonight 😉" you text back.

On one hand, I am very excited at the prospect of getting to indulge in our playtime tonight. However, if I end up getting too lucky does that mean this new client of yours gets the same treatment? Maybe even more? This will probably be stuck in the back of my mind when we meet tonight.

The rest of the workday drags on at an agonizing pace but I finally finish up for the day and race home to get ready for my match. I do the normal evening routine and get ready for bed, unsure of when you plan to dole out my punishment. I walk into the bedroom and see a pair of gray boxer briefs and a note.

"Change into these and wait for your domination. Let's see if you can fill them out half as good as my next opponent can ;-)"

I do as instructed and look at myself in the mirror. I am fully erect and can see the outline of my package very clearly. I am feeling confident but foolishly decide to pull up the picture of your client to compare, and very quickly I am put in my place.

All of the sudden the bedroom door opens. You appear out of the shadows and I can barely contain my excitement. You are dressed in a black leather thong and matching bra, and are wearing a pair of 5" heels that give you a towering height advantage over me. You have a devious smile, knowing you have me in the palm of your hand.

"Is this what you're going to wear on Friday night?" I ask nervously, referring to your upcoming appointment.

"Maybe," you say dismissively, sizing me up. "Is that a problem?" you ask.

"I mean, it seems a little too revealing," I say rhetorically.

"Aww what a shame. Maybe if you had some bigger equipment I'd be more inclined to hear your concerns," you say, grabbing my crotch.

You push me up against the wall, dwarfing me in stature thanks to your high heels. The height discrepancy adds another layer of dominance to the dynamic. You release my crotch only to drive your knee into it while also pinning me to the wall with your hand wrapped around my neck.

"Just feel lucky that you get to be my practice dummy to keep my skills sharp," you say. "So for starters, I need you to make sure that I'm fresh." With that, you raise an arm and bury my face into your arm pit. I was not expecting this, getting overwhelmed by combination of deodorant and your natural pheromones. You reach into my briefs and squeeze my balls while keeping me confined in a sort of half-headlock, half-smother. You parade me around the bedroom in this compromised position, demonstrating your superiority over me. You then release me, pushing me onto the bed.

"Time to work on these thighs," you say, laying me onto the bed face up, my head dangling off of the edge of the bed. You stand over me, giving me an upclose-and-personal view between your legs before clamping them around my head and burying my face deep between your thighs and right up against barely-concealed womanhood. I instinctively grab dick, overcome with lust. You immediately swat my hand away and follow that with a sharp slap to my balls.

"Ah ah ah, down boy. You're not allowed to touch yourself unless I say you can. I can't give you preferential treatment over my clients," you say sternly.

In a way, this gives me some comfort that you won't take things too far with said clients, although the thought of another guy having the good fortune of being in my current position still gives me pause. Speaking of, my current position is getting less comfortable now that you have slammed your legs together, hooking your ankles to secure the hold and smooshing me face like a vise. You have my arms pinned to the bed, eliminating any leverage or hope I have to escape. I am helpless to do anything except tap out, which I frantically try to signal by tapping the bed. You just laugh and ignore my pleas, occasionally letting up only to reapply the squeeze with powerful effect.

Finally, after what feels like 20 tap outs, you release the scissor hold on me, dragging your scantily clad pussy across my nose and mouth to give me another tease and denial of what I could have if I was better equipped.

Rather then let me up, you climb on top of me, still facing my feet. You then lower your impressive backside onto my face, sealing my face like an envelope. You reach into my boxer briefs, gripping my dick with one hand and cupping my balls with the other. I begin to squirm to try and catch a breath but to no avail.

"Unfortunately for you, you're no match compared to the size of the units I'm going to be entertaining in this new endeavor," you say. "I think I'm going to set the minimum length at 8 inches to become a client of mine. At least that way not EVERY guy I wrestle is twice the size of you, although it will probably be pretty close."

At this point I am just struggling for any gasp of air I can get, maneuvering my head to the side before promptly being repositioned back into your ass.

"I might need to use you to properly assess if they are big enough to qualify," you continue. "I could take you with me if there are any that are on the fence, and compare theirs to yours to make sure they properly outsize you. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now I need to figure out what to do with this eager little fella," you say, starting to stroke my shaft while squeezing my balls.

"On one hand, you're practically begging to bust a nut into my hands for some sweet relief. Problem is, if I do that for you I'll have to do the same thing with that big unit of his on Friday. Unfortunately for you, I could do it either way and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

I am overcome with a flood of lust yet dread, trying not succumb to the threat of you pleasuring a cock that is twice the size of mine. I realize resistance is futile given my current predicament. Not to mention, I am getting light headed thanks to your relentless face sitting. I realize I need to just let you finish me off now and deal with the consequences should you chose to share those details.

I gasp for a few more precious breaths of air before you slap my junk and forcefully reposition my face back underneath your ass. "Every time you breathe I have to punish you," you say, resuming the stroking and ball cupping. I barely last another 15 seconds before requiring a break, resulting in another forceful slaps to my manhood and resetting the pleasure clock. This continues for what feels like an hour, but in reality is likely only five minutes.

Finally, I start to feel the internal surge. You sense it and tighten your grip around my balls, increasing the pressure. Finally I feel the release, erupting with a load that shoots multiple feet in the air, giving you a sense of satisfaction over this complete control over me. The flood of pleasure has subsided, and now I'm forced to reconcile the impending session you have scheduled, where presumably you will be repeating the powerful pumping exercise for this lucky client. Whether or not that happens will be determined on Friday evening.

[versmuscle12]

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[mooretiger]

good story..... would like to read more.

[Prophaniti]

Good stuff, I wanna read more too!

[versmuscle12]

good story..... would like to read more.

Thank you! There will be more. I just need to find time and also get feedback from my wife ;-)