When we are with our bulls, it can be hard on our cucks, reduced to waiting alone while we are brought to heights of sexual pleasure by other men – heights to which cucks can never lift us.
For months hubby was my love, and the best fuck I had ever had. But then, at his encouragement, I cucked him with my bull, and now he’s not anymore, and he never will be the best again, but he brought me to the best. He brought me to the bull who takes me where he cannot, and he can take comfort, and pride in knowing that.
Being a cuckold is literally humiliating, he is humbled by the truth of my greater desire for, and pleasures from my bulls. Being a cuck is a harrowing experience, it shakes their self-confidence like nothing else ever could. It elicits profound feelings on inadequacy, whether they’re into humiliation play, or not.
Cucks can’t give us the NRE, the taboo, or the simplicity of sex outside a committed relationship.
When we fuck our husbands, we know what to expect. We know them and how they fuck. We know the positions, the sequence, how long before they cum, and how long before they fall asleep. Everyone needs variety to keep things fresh and exciting, but we especially need the spark of the new to keep our fire lit. Husbands can switch things around, and introduce a measure of variety, they can do something new but they can’t be something new, and it’s difficult to change things up enough without seeming like contrived novelty. Husbands are safe. They’re the guys who leave their dirty socks on the floor, leave the toilet lid up, and the ones who have seen us in our sweats without makeup and with the baby’s fresh spit-up decorating our shirt. They’re the guys who run to the store to get us tampons.
Our bulls are none of that. They’re fantasy men. They have only ever seen us ladies at our sexiest. They have never irritated us, or made work for us, or gotten into an argument with us. The bulls have only ever treated us like the Queens that we are, giving us undivided attention, and passion – never distracted by Cricket or Football, when we need the dick. Bulls are taboo, they’re fresh, and new, and remind us ladies how beautiful and desirable we are like husbands can’t. No matter how hard husbands insist, we don’t quite believe them like we believe our bulls’ words, and our bulls’ touches because we understand that husbands “have to” tell us we’re beautiful.
Sex with bulls is different from anything husbands can give us. They can’t compete on the bull’s terms, and sex with bulls is the hottest, wildest, dirtiest sex us women will ever have, and yes…because of all the intangibles around it, the context, sex with bulls is better than with husbands.
That said, men are linear thinkers, and so they easily conclude that the better fuck is always necessarily the preferable one. What can they give us but almost comically mediocre efforts in the one area where mediocrity is death?
But we aren’t linear as men. We don’t seem to rank them like that. Men are a constellation of all different qualities, and attributes in combinations we find irresistible.
Men aren’t statistics to us, to put in order to find the singular “best one”. They are more like food. We don’t simply crave meat, – lots of it! We want the complexity of different textures, and seasonings working together on our palates. We may like salty, or sweet but we don’t only want one, or the other, nor the saltiest, nor the sweetest. We want the flavors swirling together across our tongues. Our bulls may be the better cock, the better fuck, but a diet of only chicken – even the best chicken there is – becomes unsatisfying after a whole, and leaves you empty and craving more.
My husband may not be as good as my boyfriend, he’s not a filet…but he’s a pretty passable burger and fries, and that’s why, at the end of the day, I still choose him. Not out of pity, or love, or loyalty, but because he’s not just one quality. He’s not just a Bull. He’s not just a Cock, he’s a Cuck.
I can have as many bulls as I want, but I will only ever have one cuck, and my cuck is the man who completes me.
In some aspects I do while others I do not. Is my husband a “pretty passable burger and fries”? Absolutely not but I do see the analogy of equating him to comfort food. Sex with him is mom’s cooking and the level of comfort and anticipation that comes with the meanings behind the food. My mother cooks a wonderful cheese stuffed meatloaf and the very smell of her cooking brings me back to the wonderful emotions of holidays spent with family. Sex with my husband is exquisite in a way that could never be duplicated. There is no replacement for the emotional connection which represents so much more than the actual act. Are other men better endowed? Yes. Do other men have more stamina? Yes. Zurati is completely correct that my cuckold husband allows me the sexual freedom to try new and exciting partners while coming back to the sense of family, support of a caring and nurturing marriage. As she said, Cucks can’t give us the NRE, the taboo, or the simplicity of sex outside a committed relationship but what they can give us is wholesomeness and completeness.
What’s in it for him?
My husband loves my pleasure and lives for the compersion that he experiences when he knows that my needs are fulfilled. In fact, many emotionally intelligent men realize that his wife’s level of happiness is a good indicator of relationship health. While the old happy life, happy wife is antiquated, it most certainly adds to the gender neutral version of this saying happy house, happy spouse. When a man thrives from your satisfaction; both sexual and otherwise he truly is your partner and brings his best self to the relationship. Is a cuckold relationship right for all men? Decidedly not! For those like Kev who thrive in a cuckold dynamic, I encourage you to make your sex life as much about your own needs as his understanding, admission and acknowledgement of your physical and emotional satisfaction.