I’m a forty-something wife and cuckold phone sex Queen, and yes—I cheat on my husband. Not by accident, not because I’m “missing something at home,” but because I want to. Because I can. And because watching him squirm when he knows about it is half the fun. He’s not stupid. He knows where I’m going when I put on that little black dress, it is deep dicking time. He asks, but never stops me — like he ever could. He nods, pretending he’s okay with it, pretending he doesn’t hear the unspoken truth: he can’t compete. And honestly? That’s hysterical, and it just makes my pussy so much wetter.
I come home late smelling like another man, pussy full of cum, freshly fucked hair, lips still swollen from all kinds of whorish stuff I did. My husband tries to act normal, but I see the way his eyes drop, the way his jaw tightens. He wants to protest, to reclaim me, but he won’t. He can’t. He’s resigned to his role—my cuckold. He knows I crave the thrill, the power, the attention of men who make me feel alive, men who remind me that I’m still magnetic, still dangerous. And the cruelest part? I make him sit with it. I tell him little details he doesn’t want to hear, watch him shift in his chair while I lick my lips and laugh at his discomfort. Sometimes I let him touch me after I’ve been thoroughly used, knowing he’s second place, knowing he’s only allowed because I’m feeling generous. It’s wicked. It’s intoxicating.
Do I feel guilty? Not at all. I feel radiant. Desired. In control. My husband may hold the title, but I hold the power—and I’m not giving it up. He’s lucky I let him stay in the game at all. And deep down, we both know he loves every humiliating second of it. Cuckold phone sex is our way of life now.
1 888 474 6769 and ask for Remy