Diaries of a Real Cuckold · Volume 2
Permanent Chastity
The true story of my journey to becoming a Cuck
He wrote the date down himself: the 8th of September 2017, the last time he would ever be inside his wife.
January 2018. Same kitchen table, same legal pad, her coffee going cold. A year after signing the contract that handed his wife the key to his chastity cage, a fifty-one-year-old man watches her rewrite it. The cage is no longer temporary. There is no end date and no schedule, and every renewal brings a smaller cage. And from now on, when there is intimacy in this marriage, she is the one on top.
Permanent Chastity is the second volume of Diaries of a Real Cuckold, the true journal of a three-decade marriage that turned itself inside out. It covers 2018 and 2019, the two years in which:
- The contract is reopened every January, and each new version asks more of him
- The cages only get smaller
- Her lovers come and go with his full knowledge, and every visit ends with the same ritual
- She takes him in front of friends of fifteen years at a December party
- A new clause gives her the right to dress him however she likes, with no vote for him, and a new name follows the new wardrobe
- A new man arrives after weeks of careful vetting, and her birthday request asks him to cross a line he never expected to reach
Nothing in these pages happens to him. It happens with him. The big steps are proposed in daylight at the kitchen table, fully clothed, and each one can be refused. He keeps his safeword, and at the end of every night she asks the same two questions. What makes this diary different from the fantasies on the same shelf is his honesty: the doubts, the bad nights, his own unflattering moments, and the night he stood alone in the kitchen looking at the key.
This volume stands on its own. Becoming a Cuckold, Volume 1, tells how it began.
Chastity, cuckolding, strap-on play, feminization, orgasm denial and humiliation, all between consenting adults.
Excerpt
From the diary
She put the harness on standing up in front of everybody, still in her dress, and did the buckles herself, and it took her about a minute because by December she has done it two hundred times. She had brought the eight. Not the nine, which I had assumed, and not the seven.
Then she said, “On your knees bitch and suck my cock.”
So I got down on the carpet in front of nine people I have known for fifteen years and sucked my wife’s cock. It had been on the list at our kitchen table on the Saturday and every person in that room had been told so, and I still had to make myself open my mouth. She saw me make myself do it and waited.
She held the back of my head and she did not push. She said, to the room and not to me, “This happens first. He does not get fucked until it has been in his mouth. And before anyone asks, yes he has sucked a real one.” She was leaning into the humiliation heavily, but I had a mouth full of her cock so I could not speak even if I had something to say.
Two or three minutes of it. I got half of the eight in and no more. I gagged once and she waited for it the way she waits at home. Linda said, “Oh,” very quietly, somebody put a glass down, and nobody said anything else at all.
Then she took it out of my mouth and wiped it once on the back of her hand, which is exactly what she does in our own bedroom on an ordinary Wednesday.
She said, “Sofa. On your front. Head down on the arm. Ass up in the air so I can get my cock deep in it.” So I got onto Annette and Darren’s sofa, naked, caged, in front of nine people I have known for fifteen years, and put my head on the arm and my ass up, and waited.
She got the towel under me and got the lube and spent ten minutes on my ass exactly the way she does at home on a Wednesday night, two fingers and then three, telling me to breathe out and stop clenching, and she asked me twice whether I was all right and waited for a real answer both times.
The first check was there, at the start, with her hand flat on the small of my back and the head of the eight resting against my asshole and not going anywhere yet. She used my actual name, quietly, six inches from my ear, in a room with nine people in it, and asked whether I wanted to stop. I said no. She said, “Two taps and it ends and nobody in this house says one word about it afterward.” I said I know. She said, “Good.” And then she stopped being nice and she stopped being quiet.