This is a true story from a southern-based cuckold husband. The second half of this story is published in IR/Cuckold Avenue. But take your time to read this one first before going for the other.
My name is Paul, but my wife often prefers calling me Chastity Paul. That started the first night when I got her to have sex with a friend of mine. Since then, she hasn’t looked back and neither have I. Mike, my friend, sometimes calls me by that nickname, but never when we are out with people. I do fancy the name and have been it as my username in my social media accounts. You’re likely to find me in several online cuckold sites; just try not to announce it when you happen upon my profile.
Today is a special day for me, which is why I decided to write this short post to send to you to include in your blog for others to peruse. Today marks sixty days of me being locked in my chastity cage. Did you hear that? Sixty. I have never been enclosed that long before. Tara did promise to let me off tomorrow, thank God for that. I sure can use a breather.
My wife and I have enjoyed a cuckold relationship going into our fifth year now. It wasn’t an easy fight to get her to do this, and I sympathise with husbands out there still struggling with getting their wives/girlfriends on-board. I spent hours and days trying to suggest this idea to her. Yes, that’s what I said—suggest. I reckon that might be one of the problems many husbands often get. You keep trying to force this idea onto your wife when you ought to know that’s never the right way to go about it. Not to say that there’s any proper way (whichever means floats your boat, go ahead and do it), but wives often put up aggression once they see you trying to impress this on their mind. Trust me when I say that was the same thing that happened to me.
Yes, I did try talking to Tara day after day about this. Some times I would try to be cajoling while being forcefully persuasive, and other times I’d be upset. None of it worked at all. Tara did put on a brave fight, but always I lacked whatever means to seal the deal with. I couldn’t find myself a genuine reason(s) for why I’d want her to do this. By this, I mean for her to have sex with another man. Preferably one who is more than capable and versatile to satisfy her in bed.
At one point, I even gave up. I figured that nothing I was trying was working out. I had reached out to successful couples who were living the cuckold/stag lifestyle to the fullest, wanting to know if by some chance my methods were neglecting something. I bought books on the subject; I even consulted horoscopes to see if maybe they knew something that I didn’t. Nothing seemed to work, and Tara had gotten frustrated about wanting to watch porn movies with me. But still, in the bedroom, nothing was wrong. We still had sex whenever we could.
But then something occurred that changed the direction of things.
You see, Tara had begun bugging me about having kids. We were both in our thirties, and to her, her biological clock was running out. I, too, wanted kids for her and couldn’t understand why nothing was happening.
We decided to seek some medical attention to find out whatever might be out of place. As it turns out, the fault came from me—low semen count. How and why that came about? The doctor gave us a lengthy summary regarding my affliction, but none of it was adequate to answer the question regarding why. I was in such a shock that Tara felt terrible for me when we took our leave. Who would have known that all this time I had been shooting blanks with her?
I did fall into a depressing funk for several days. Tara was the one that inevitably pulled me out of the runt when she then decided to have sex with someone as a means of pleasing me. I figured the fact that I had a low sperm count was the reason why I’d been pushing this cuckold idea upon her; if only she knew. But she did succeed in making me no longer depressed, and I love her for that.
The next tackle we needed to resolve was finding who would make for the perfect candidate to do the job; whom would she agree to have sex with.
My initial idea was to search online for any suitable bull that resided within a 50-mile radius from us and see if he would be worth it. But then Tara began developing cold feet. She didn’t want to do it with someone that she fairly knew, and she also didn’t want someone whose only intention would be to fuck her and then leave. I looked at her complaints and reckoned they were genuine enough for me not to ignore them.
I had researched this subject before, and knew that many wives have gotten dispelled when they couldn’t find a lover to match their bed attitude. Most bulls want to fuck, and then it’s ‘See ya later, ma’am’, and that was something I didn’t want for my Tara. She required someone who could be not merely a lover in bed but also one when not having sex. I could be the willing spectator, or I can leave them to their devices, as long as they got on well with each other.
Then I turned to my friend, Mike, who happened out to be the perfect lover for Tara.
Just as it wasn’t easy convincing my wife about indulging in this fun, so too it was when it came time to present the idea to Mike. He had never done such a thing before, though he was well aware of it. And he and Tara were great with each other. When I suggested the idea of him to her, she quickly agreed . . . but as long as he agreed, too.
I did share my medical issue with Mike, and he showered me with sympathies. However, why that meant that I wanted him to come and have sex with Tara was another debacle; he couldn’t see any reason why I’d want him to do that. In the end, I had to dare to do it.
Let me stop this story now; next time, I’ll continue from where I stopped regarding their first time together.
Once again, read the second half of this on-going confessional on Medium here: How I Talked My Friend into Seducing My Wife.