My Boyfriend Wanted to Be a Cuckold, and I Taught Him Without Mercy

Andrés had had three whiskeys when he started to loosen up. I could tell by the way his gaze kept slipping, by the way his fingers played with the rim of the glass. We’d been living together for six months and I already knew every one of his defeatist gestures.

—Cami —he said, dragging the syllables a little—. Can I tell you something weird?

I was sitting across from him on the sofa, legs crossed, my wineglass resting on my knee. I smiled. That night I’d planned to get him drunk. I wanted to see him like that, exactly like that.

—Weirder than the things you already ask me for in bed?

He laughed, nervous. Took another drink. I stood up, walked slowly to him, and knelt between his legs. I took the glass from his hand and set it on the table. His cock was standing hard against the fabric of his pants, a thick bulge rising up to his waist. I ran my open hand over it, squeezing along the length, and felt it throb under my fingers.

—Tell me —I whispered, while I lowered the zipper with two fingers—. I promise I won’t laugh.

I pulled his cock out of his boxer briefs and left it bare, red and stiff, with a thick drop peeking out from the tip. I took it at the base, squeezed hard, and he swallowed. I brought my mouth close to the head, stuck out my tongue, and licked the pre-cum off without taking my eyes off his.

—Sometimes… —he began, and stopped. His voice was trembling—. Sometimes I think about you… about you being with someone else. Me knowing. Even seeing it.

I took the tip into my mouth, sucked it for a second, and let it go with a wet kiss. The silence stretched between us like a taut thread. I didn’t blink. I looked at him with the calm of someone who’s just found the red button their partner didn’t want to talk about.

—With someone else, Andrés? You mean another man?

Panic flooded his face. I could see his chest speeding up, the way he tried to reorganize the lie before saying it. I still had his cock in my hand, moving it slowly, up and down, unhurried.

—No! Not another man. A woman. Yes, two women. It’s… it’s the typical fantasy, right? Normal.

I stroked his cheek with my free hand. I felt the rough stubble scrape my fingers. I smiled at him sweetly, that sweetness he’d already learned to fear. With my other hand I kept jerking him off, slow, squeezing the head every time I came back up.

—Look at me. Look at me properly.

I forced him to lift his chin. His glassy eyes searched mine.

—You’re lying —I said—. You said it first and then corrected yourself because you were embarrassed. You want someone else to fuck me. You want to smell another man on my cunt. That’s what turns you on. Me belonging to somebody else and you knowing it.

—No —he murmured, but his voice came out broken and his cock gave a jerk in my hand, betraying him.

—Don’t lie to me. Not to me. You get rock hard when I say it.

I had caught him.

He shook his head again, tears filling his eyes. He was pathetic and beautiful at the same time. I lowered my mouth and swallowed him whole in one go, to the throat, until I felt his pubis knock against my nose. I held him there, choking me for a second, then pulled back with a string of drool hanging from him. He groaned like a wounded animal.

—Say it. Tell the truth and I’ll let you come in my mouth.

—Cami, please…

—Say it.

—I want… I want someone else to fuck you while I watch.

I smiled and took him back into my mouth. I sucked him hard, cheeks hollowed, tongue wrapped under the frenulum, my hand working his swollen balls. I sucked him like I was starving, saliva running down my chin, until I felt his whole body tighten. I pulled away just before he could come, pinched the base between my thumb and forefinger, and stopped his orgasm dead. A sound of rage and pleading escaped him.

In that instant, I decided I wasn’t going to argue with the fantasy. I was going to take it farther than he ever dared imagine.

—All right —I said, standing up and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand—. It’ll be the way you want it. A woman. I’m going to fulfill your dream, Andrés. This very week. And you’re going to bed with your dick like that, not coming. So you can learn to wait.

Relief loosened his shoulders, mixed with the frustration of his cock throbbing in the open air. He didn’t understand anything. He had just signed up for his own humiliation and thought he’d been saved.

***

I called Renata the next day, at lunchtime. I’d known her since college. She was a painter, lived alone in a loft downtown, and had that dark elegance of women who get bored easily. I explained the situation in less than five minutes.

She went quiet on the other end of the line. Then she let out a low laugh, a laugh I knew well.

—Cami, you’re awful —she said—. Count me in. It’s been a while since they let me break a man.

—I don’t want to break him completely —I replied—. I want to realign him.

—Same thing, my love. Just slower.

—And do it right. I want you to make me scream. I want the camera to catch every moan.

—With tongue?

—With tongue, with fingers, with whatever you bring from the drawer. Everything.

—I’ll bring the harness.

—Bring it.

***

On Saturday afternoon, I told Andrés I was going out with Renata. I kissed his forehead as if forgiving him for something that hadn’t even happened yet.

—To fulfill your dream, my love —I whispered in his ear.

Before leaving, I put my old phone on the nightstand, turned on, pointed at the bed. A red light blinking like a promise.

—In case you want a souvenir —I said, smiling.

Andrés nodded, confused and aroused in equal measure. He didn’t know whether to hug me or ask me not to go. Doubt paralyzed him. I left him there, on the sofa, doubt eating him from the inside.

***

Renata and I didn’t go to a bar. We didn’t drink cocktails, chat about art, or wait for the right moment. We went straight to the apartment. We went up in silence. I locked the door.

—The bed? —she asked.

—Ours —I replied—. His.

She smiled slowly. She understood perfectly.

The room smelled like Andrés, like his cologne and the clean sheets he’d put on that morning himself, excited, hoping to come back to the smell of our sex. That room was our sanctuary. There he had confessed his love. There he had asked me to live with him. There, for six months, he had fucked me every night.

I undressed slowly, looking at the camera. I wanted him to see my face. I wanted him to remember every gesture. Renata helped me with my bra, sucked my nipples one by one until they were hard and shining with saliva, bit my neck, went down with her tongue along my sternum, between my breasts, down my navel. The red light kept blinking.

—Hi, Andrés —I said to the camera while Renata spread my legs with a slap of her hand—. This is where your fantasy begins.

Renata knelt on the floor, brought my hips to the edge of the bed, and buried her face between my thighs. I felt her hot tongue part my cunt lips, climb to my clit, circle it with a precision Andrés had never had. She licked me slowly, sucking me in full, then traced quick circles with the tip of her tongue until my back arched off the mattress.

—More —I gasped—. Eat me all.

She slid two fingers into me. Curved them inside, searching for the spot, moving them with an obscene rhythm while her tongue kept working. I looked at the camera. I grabbed one breast with my free hand and pinched my nipple hard, moaning loudly so it would be heard. I smiled at the lens with my mouth open, saliva dripping from one corner.

—Do you see this, Andrés? Do you see how she eats me out? That’s how it’s done, my love.

Renata climbed onto the mattress. She rode my face without asking permission. Her shaved cunt pressed to my mouth and I stuck out my tongue, drove it between her lips, moved it up and down until I found her swollen clit. I licked her hungrily, holding her ass with both hands, squeezing her cheeks, sliding one finger between them until I brushed her asshole. She moaned, gripped the headboard, and started rocking on my face, fucking my mouth with her cunt.

—Suck harder, bitch —she growled from above me—. Let him hear it.

I drove my tongue deep into her, in and out, swallowing her wetness. The bed smelled like both of us, like sweat, like wet cunt, like the sheets Andrés had ironed that morning with hopeful trembling hands. Renata came over my mouth with a rough cry, squeezing my face between her thighs, and I kept licking her through the last contraction.

Then she got down, stretched out beside me, and took the black leather harness with the thick silicone cock from her bag. She strapped it to her hips while I watched her, legs already open, waiting.

—Get on all fours —she ordered.

I turned over. I showed my ass to the camera. Renata came up behind me, ran the dildo across the lips of my cunt, soaking it in my own wetness, and shoved it into me slowly, all the way, in one single thrust. I screamed. She grabbed my hips and started fucking me hard, with the relentless, steady rhythm no drunk man had ever given me. The silicone cock went in and out of my cunt with a wet, obscene sound while my ass slapped against her pubis.

—Harder —I begged—. Harder, please.

—For him or for you? —Renata asked, her mouth against my ear as she thrust into me.

—For both of us.

She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so the camera could get a good look at my face. My mouth was open, eyes half-closed, tongue out. I moaned like a bitch in heat. Renata shoved her thumb into my ass while she kept spearing my cunt with the fake cock, and that double pressure made me explode. I came with a howl, trembling, clenching around the silicone until she laughed and yanked it out of me.

When I came again, minutes later, I did it looking into the lens. Renata had me on my back, legs over her shoulders, and she was pounding me with all her hip, folding me over myself. I smiled at Andrés through the glass. I thanked him. I told him it was the best gift he’d given me in six months. I told him Renata filled me more than he did, that she fucked me harder, that she didn’t even need a real cock to make me scream.

Then I got on top. I ripped the harness off Renata, put it on myself, and fucked her face-down with a pillow bitten between my teeth. I made her arch. I made her dig her nails into the sheets he’d ironed. I gave it to her hard, hands on her waist, watching her ass bounce against my pubis. I made her come twice like that, with the faux cock inside her and my fingers rubbing her clit at the same time.

We finished cheek to cheek. We kissed long and deep, tongues mingling, our saliva mixed, the taste of both of us in our mouths. Renata sucked my nipples one last time before rolling onto her side, panting.

We were in that bed for almost three hours. When we were done, the sheets were wrinkled, soaked, marked with sweat, with dark stains from our cunts, with smeared makeup and lipstick. The room smelled like another woman. Like two women fucking. There was no semen, but there was something worse: there was pleasure without him, there were screams he’d never pulled out of me, there was a wetness that wasn’t his.

Renata got dressed in silence. Before leaving, she looked at the camera and blew it a kiss.

—Thanks, daddy —she said, laughing—. Your woman fucks like a goddess. We’ll be back whenever you want.

***

I came home after midnight. Andrés was on the sofa, exactly as he’d been when I left, except now his eyes were red and an empty whiskey bottle lay at his feet. He smelled of alcohol and defeat.

—Hi, my love —I said, dropping my bag—. Were you waiting up for me?

He nodded without looking at me. I sat beside him, stroked his hair, and handed him the phone.

—Here’s your gift. Watch it with me.

His hands were trembling. He pressed play. I didn’t take my eyes off his face for the first ten minutes. I watched his excitement grow, the way he bit his lip, the way his hand went to the bulge in his pants without thinking, the way he tried to justify to himself that it was fine, that it was what he had asked for. He pulled his cock out while he watched. He started masturbating slowly, eyes fixed on the screen, while Renata spread my legs.

Then, slowly, I watched his face begin to fall apart.

He saw my gaze into the camera. He heard my words. He heard me moan with another woman the pleasure I had never moaned with him. He saw Renata fucking me with the silicone cock in the very bed where he had declared himself. He saw me riding her, making her come, telling the lens that she filled me more. And, above all, he saw that I was happy. Happier than with him.

The erection died in his hand. It shriveled between his fingers, limp, pathetic. I’ve never seen anything crueler in my life than that: a man’s body giving up before his pride, his cock shrinking while mine was being impaled by another in the video.

He shut off the video with clumsy fingers. He tucked the dead cock back into his pants without zipping up. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at me.

—Well? —I asked softly—. Did you like it?

—No —he whispered.

—No? But that’s what you wanted.

—Not like that —he said, and finally his voice broke—. Not like that, Camila.

—Oh, no? Then how? Did you want a clean fantasy? A pretty scene where nobody suffers? Look at me.

He lifted his face, crying. I took his chin between two fingers.

—You asked for someone else to fuck me in our bed. I gave it to you. You asked to see it. I recorded it. You asked to imagine me with another pussy on top. I showed it to you. The only thing that changed is that now you know I really came harder with her than with you. And that can’t be undone.

He covered his face with his hands. I let him cry for a couple of minutes without touching him. Then I stood up, grabbed his wrist, and took him to the bedroom.

When I opened the door, the room’s smell hit him. Cunt, sweat, women’s sex. He choked. He tried to back away. I shoved him inside.

—No —I said—. Inside. All the way.

—Camila, please —he begged.

—You smell that, don’t you? That’s women’s perfume. That’s women’s sweat. That’s wet cunt. That’s what you asked for without daring to ask for it. I want you to sleep in here tonight. Alone. Without changing the sheets. With your face in the stain Renata left when she came.

I let go of him. He fell to his knees at the edge of the bed. He was crying in silence, shoulders shaking. I grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his face into the middle of the sheet, into the dark stain, still damp.

—Smell it. Hard. With your mouth open.

He inhaled, trembling. I could feel his cock hardening again against the edge of the mattress, his body betraying him, proving that he loved it.

—And tomorrow —I continued, calm—, we’re going to talk about what you really are. Not the pretty fantasy you invented to make yourself feel normal. What really turns you on: humiliation. Submission. Knowing that I decide which cunt and which cock I spread my legs for, and that you obey me even when it hurts.

—I don’t want to be that —he muttered, without lifting his face from the sheet.

—Yes, you do. You’re getting hard right now. What you don’t want is to know it. But it’s too late, my love. I know it already.

I bent down in front of him, took his face in both hands, and kissed his forehead for a long time, almost maternally. I could smell Renata on his nose, on his lips.

—Relax. I’m not leaving you. Quite the opposite. We’re starting over, but with the rules clear.

He nodded, eyes closed, while a tear slipped down to his jaw.

—Repeat after me —I said—. I choose.

—You choose —he whispered.

—I decide with whom, where, and when.

—You decide with whom, where, and when.

—And you thank me.

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a threadbare voice that was no longer his:

—I thank you.

I smiled at him. I kissed his eyelids, one by one, with a tenderness he hadn’t expected and that somehow destroyed him more than any insult.

I left him there, kneeling at the foot of the profaned bed, with his nose pressed to another woman’s cunt soaked into the cotton. I closed the door gently. I went to the bathroom and got under the hot water.

I knew what was going to happen next. I knew he would lie down on those sheets, even if he was scared at first. I knew he would pull out his cock and jerk off with his face buried in Renata’s stain, smelling my cunt mixed with hers. I knew he would cry and come at the same time, shooting his useless semen onto the same sheets another woman had soaked before, hating himself, wanting me more than he had ever wanted me.

And I knew, above all, that from that night on he was mine in a new way. Truly mine. Mine the way he had asked without knowing he was asking.

I hadn’t broken our relationship. I had transformed it. And still, after all that, I hadn’t used the whip even once.

That was for next week.