Hey, you! Yep, you—the one scrolling here with a mix of curiosity and maybe a cheeky grin. Welcome to a corner of the internet where we embrace the taboo, laugh at the absurd, and celebrate the unique stories that make life endlessly fascinating. 🌟
This post is all about real tales sent to me by people brave enough to share their most intimate, thrilling, and sometimes hilarious experiences. These stories are a blend of vulnerability, fantasy, and the occasional “did that really happen?!” moment. And trust me, you won’t want to miss a single one.
What makes these stories even more special? They’re authentic. So, whether you’re here to explore, learn, or simply enjoy a glimpse into someone else’s reality, you’re in for a wild and fascinating ride. Ready to dig in? Let’s see what’s behind door number intrigue. 😉
7 Cuckold Slave Stories With Shared Media
Life is unpredictable, and so are these stories! There’s always room for surprises! Let’s be honest, you’re a little curious, aren’t you? 😉
1. Her Pussy Cleaner
It’s funny how things can change over the years, right? For the first decade of being cuckolded by my wife, cleaning up was something I had absolutely no interest in. It wasn’t on my radar, and my wife never brought it up, so it just wasn’t a part of what we did.
That all shifted one rainy day afternoon. One of her regular bulls came over — he had his own key, so when we didn’t answer, he let himself in. He found us in the living room, right in the middle of having sex, and instead of interrupting, he quietly watched. He stood there until we were finished.
Afterward, I sat back on the couch, and my wife laid beside me, covering herself with a blanket. Her bull took a seat at the edge of the couch near her hips, still mesmerized from what he’d just seen, saying over and over how hot it was to watch. He was always the type who enjoyed going down on her, and after a few minutes of talking, he pulled the blanket off her legs and started parting them to go down on her. My wife pulled back a little, telling him, “Don’t — I’m not clean down there. Jon came inside me.”
But he didn’t mind at all. He replied, “I know, I watched him cum. I like it messy like that.” Then he buried his face between her legs, fully embracing it. He brought her to a series of quick, intense orgasms, and when he pulled back, his face and hair were covered in our mixed cum. Sitting up, he looked at me with a grin and said, “The taste of cum inside a pussy is the most amazing thing anyone could ever savor.”
After that day, something changed for both of us. She had a few more hookups in the following weeks, and each time, they’d fill her up. A couple of weeks later, she’d just finished a session with her boyfriend, who had left a huge load in her. I was sitting beside her, holding her hand, when she looked at me and said, “Baby, I know you don’t like going down there when I’m messy, but it felt incredible last time. Will you do it for me now?”
I’ve never been one to deny her anything, so, with her boyfriend still there watching, I got between her legs and began to lightly lick her swollen labia. The intense smell of sex and Milan’s cum was overwhelming. It took me a moment to gather the courage, but once I did, I found myself unexpectedly enjoying it. My wife’s orgasm was out of this world, and I quickly learned that anytime she’s eaten out after being filled, her orgasms rock the entire room.
Now, Milan and I both take turns cleaning her up, and she still loves every second of it, as much as we do.
Watch Our Wild Moments: Her Pussy Cleaner
2. My Slutty Wife
My wife had this brilliant idea. And by brilliant, I mean a truly humiliating, ego-crushing scheme that had me feeling like the smallest man on the planet. She wanted to do a little “comparison photoshoot.” Like, really? Seriously? But yeah, that’s where we were.
She made me jump into a freezing cold shower first—I’m talking, like, ice cubes running down my spine cold. Why, you ask? Oh, she had her reasons. Apparently, making sure I was shivering and shriveled would, enhance the difference between me and the Bull that she had invited over. Yeah, you heard me. Bull, as in the guy she had decided was gonna put me to shame in every conceivable way. She wanted to make sure my less-than-impressive “equipment” looked even less impressive—like, a sad little cashew sitting on a walnut.
And I swear, when her new Bull showed up, I kinda hoped maybe she had exaggerated a bit, you know? But nope, no exaggeration there, not even a little bit. Dude had a massive one. I mean, it wasn’t just big; it was proud. That thing stood at attention like it knew its purpose and was about to serve. Meanwhile, I was over there, shivering, feeling like a crushed bug.
Now, here’s the fun—I didn’t realize until later who the Bull was. Imagine my absolute shock, and I mean the kind that makes you feel like your stomach dropped into your feet, when I figured out this dude was also my General Manager at work. Like, the very same guy who signed my paychecks. Holy hell, that was awkward on a level I’d never experienced before, and probably never will again.
This twisted scenario carried on for, like, three whole years. You ever have those times in life where you think, “Alright, this can’t get worse”—only for life to straight up laugh in your face and prove you wrong? Yeah, this was my reality. He loved torturing me and treated me as a slave. He’d have me on these work trips, sending me all over the place, and my phone would light up with videos of him and she getting it on. Just… in our house, in my bed, like it was their favorite pastime.
And if I wasn’t the one traveling? Well, he’d be off at these conferences and trade shows, and of course, he’d bring her along. They’d send me clips from hotel rooms, backseats of cars, parking lots—you name it. It was like their personal twisted version of a travel vlog, and I was the unfortunate subscriber forced to watch.
But wait, it gets worse. He had this idea once to set her up with some of the factory boys—the guys who worked in the warehouse. He told them he knew this “slut” who loved gangbangs, and he got her to show up on a Friday after work for some fun with the six of them. And me? I got told to head over to the factory an hour later to “pick up something.”
When I walked in, I don’t know what hit me first—the sounds, the sights, or the realization that those guys didn’t know she was my wife. None of them had any idea. And honestly, I think that made it even more bizarrely… fascinating, in this fucked-up, can’t-look-away kinda way. Watching her be, she—being an absolute slut, and owning it—was somehow, weirdly, fucking awesome. Like, I can’t even explain it; it was twisted but also thrilling in this car crash you can’t stop staring at kinda way.
I don’t know if it’s a kink or a messed-up power dynamic or what, but damn, it was an experience. It was humiliating, and it was fucking real. And for some reason, I still can’t shake it, and maybe I never will.
How They Used My Wife & How I Cleaned Their Cum: My Slutty Wife
3. My Dominant Alpha Wife
I’ve always known, even from a young age, that I was meant to be submissive. That feeling of being less in control, of wanting to serve rather than lead—it was a part of me before I even understood what it meant. But it wasn’t until that first experience that I felt the full force of it, the undeniable truth that I was destined to be a sissy cuckold. It wasn’t only a fantasy anymore—it became my reality, my role, and that experience validated it in ways I hadn’t imagined.
There’s a kind of erotic humiliation that comes with fully embracing who you are, and for me, that meant acknowledging that I’m not meant for the bedroom in the way most husbands are. No, my role is different. My purpose isn’t to be her sexual equal—it’s to serve her, to support her, and to step aside for the kind of man who can truly satisfy her needs.
That first time, when I saw her with him, it became clear. I knew I wasn’t meant to provide what she truly craved in the bedroom. And that realization, oddly enough, was freeing. It felt like all the doubts, the insecurities, the years of wondering if I was enough, fell away. I wasn’t meant to be the man for her in that sense—I was meant to serve the woman she was, the alpha she’d become.
The next morning, I couldn’t help but notice the way she was glowing. She was satisfied, completely and utterly. She had this smile on her face that was pure joy, a look I hadn’t seen in a long time. And that’s when it hit me—she had experienced something that I could never give her. Long, passionate sessions, a variety of positions, and multiple orgasms. I knew, deep down, that I could never bring her that kind of pleasure. And for the first time, that truth didn’t sting. It felt like acceptance.
All the hesitations she had before, the nervous energy, the butterflies—they were gone. She was confident, self-assured, and most importantly, she knew what she had been missing. She had tasted what the cuckolding lifestyle had to offer, and it was like a switch had flipped inside her. She understood now, as I did, what our dynamic truly was.
We sat together, talking it over, there was this unspoken understanding between us. She realized how submissive I truly was. And me? I finally saw that I wasn’t meant for sexual satisfaction. Not for her, not for anyone. That wasn’t my role. My role was to step back and let her be the alpha woman she was always meant to be.
Together, we came to terms with our new reality. We weren’t a traditional couple, and we didn’t need to be. She was the dominant, the alpha, the one in control. And I? I was her beta, her submissive slave type cuckold. And honestly, it felt like a weight had been lifted. We finally embraced what had always been our destiny.
There’s no shame in it, no resentment. In fact, it feels like we’re celebrating something deeper, something more honest. We’re not pretending anymore. We’re living our truth—her as the powerful, alpha woman she is, and me as the submissive slave husband I’ve always been.
Watch Her Fucking Expression: My Dominant Alpha Wife
4. Her First Humiliation And Emotions
The first time we dipped our toes into cuckolding, it was a huge emotions. At first, it was electric—better than any of the fantasies we had spun in our heads. We both were into it, the thrill of it all. But soon enough, after I came, everything changed. That initial high faded quickly, and I was hit with this wave of disgust, like a switch flipped. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I asked them to stop. But here’s the thing—she was still completely in the moment, loving every second of it.
When she asked me to leave the room, I felt humiliated. My stomach dropped. I was supposed to be in control of this fantasy, and yet, here I was, being pushed aside. It hurt. Bad. I left the room, feeling like a fool, while she kept going, completely lost in her own pleasure. Then, the bull fucked her roughly with his huge thick cock and she reached her orgasm.
After everything, once her hormones leveled out, reality hit her too. She started crying, feeling guilty for what had happened. It wasn’t what she expected either. Meanwhile, the bull, this guy who had obviously done this before, was as cool as could be. He was on cloud nine, no shame in his game at all. He reassured us, told us it was normal to feel off after the first time. He handled it like a pro, took a shower, and eventually left, telling us it would all feel better once we let the emotions settle.
For a while, my wife and I didn’t really talk about it. She was adamant that she would never do it again. I wasn’t sure how I felt. The whole thing had messed with my head. The humiliation, the guilt, the weird mix of emotions… it was a lot to process.
But after a few days, once the fresh feelings had cooled down, something strange happened. We started to remember it differently—not with the same shame or regret, but almost fondly. It became this hot, forbidden memory that we couldn’t help but replay in our minds.
And here’s the kicker—after the hormones settle, after you’ve processed it all, you’ll tell yourself you’ll never do it again. You’ll swear it off, think you’re over it. But then, once the dust settles, that craving creeps back in. You start thinking about it again, wondering what it’d be like to go back for more.
How They Humiliate Me: Her First Humiliation And Emotions
5. I’m Slave of My Mistress
I never saw this coming. Growing up, I was your typical American guy—into sports, action figures, and always chasing girls. I wasn’t one for self-reflection when it came to my masculinity, and honestly, I thought I had it all figured out: tall, strong, and firmly heterosexual. That was who I was, or at least who I thought I was.
By 2002, I had it all lined up—married to the love of my life. It was one of those whirlwind romances. We met, sparks flew, and before I could even blink, we were walking down the aisle in less than six months. She was everything I admired—conservative, shy, Catholic, and the epitome of traditional. From the outside, we were the picture-perfect couple. But, as with most things in life, appearances rarely tell the full story.
Sexually, we were… fine. At least, that’s what I thought. For me, sex was straightforward—penetration, orgasm, then I’m good. For her? Not always. She loved me, no question, but juggling kids, a house, and work had its toll on her. Some nights, she was relieved when I finished so we could roll over and fall asleep. I didn’t understand back then. I chalked it up to her having a lower sex drive than me. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
In 2012, we moved to Germany for my job as a university professor. It was a big change. New country, new routines, no family or friends around to lean on. And I wasn’t much help—too tired most nights to pull my weight around the house. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, and somehow, I thought the solution was… a dildo. Yeah, genius move, right?
I bought her this huge strap-on, thinking it’d spice things up. She didn’t expect that, for sure. When she saw it, she assumed it was for me. “No, no!” I told her, “It’s for you. Maybe you’d like something… bigger?” To my surprise, she was game to try it. But what really shocked me? I didn’t even care if I got off. Watching her use it, seeing her satisfied—it sparked something inside me. A different kind of pleasure, one I hadn’t anticipated.
That moment opened a door I didn’t even know existed. I started reading about different dynamics in relationships, especially Femdom and BDSM, which was a complete departure from who I thought I was. The idea of serving her, of putting her desires above my own—it turned me on in ways I hadn’t experienced before. I brought it up to her one night, suggesting that maybe we try a dynamic where I focus entirely on her pleasure. No expectations for myself, just her. She was hesitant, confused even. She thought I was going through some sort of identity crisis—worried I might be gay, or maybe I wanted to be a woman. It took a lot of talking, and a whole lot of reassurance, to convince her that wasn’t the case.
For me, this wasn’t about gender or orientation. It was about discovering a side of myself that craved submission, a desire to serve her in every way possible. It was like unlocking a part of my identity I never knew existed.
We eased into it. Slowly at first, trying out scenes where I’d serve her in small ways—massages, kissing her feet, doing whatever she commanded in the bedroom. At first, she was doing it for me, going along with it to make me happy. But after a few weeks, something shifted. She started enjoying it, the power, the control. It wasn’t about me anymore. It was about us, this new dynamic that was slowly becoming our lifestyle.
We made some ground rules. This dynamic would stay private, between the two of us. In public, we were the same as always—husband and wife, parents, partners. But at home? I was her servant. Every morning, I’d wake up, kiss her feet, and give her a full-body massage, naked, to reinforce my role as her submissive. When I went to work, I wore a plug and a chastity device, a constant reminder of my position. And when she felt I had earned it, she’d allow me to cum—sometimes once a week, sometimes once every two weeks. That delay, that denial, made me crave her more. It kept me on edge, constantly yearning for her approval, her touch, her command.
Five years later, we’ve found our rhythm. I’m still her servant. She’s my Mistress, and I couldn’t be happier. We’ve explored every corner of BDSM, found what works for us, and built a relationship that’s stronger than ever. We’re still the same couple on the outside. I’m still the professor, still respected in my field, still the breadwinner. But at home, I’m hers—fully and completely.
And you know what? That’s what makes our marriage work. It’s the balance, the trust, the communication. People might not understand it. They might think it’s strange or wonder if I’ve lost my masculinity. But the truth is, I’ve never felt more like myself. This isn’t about dominance or submission, male or female—it’s about love, connection, and exploring what brings us joy, together.
There you go! I’ve rewritten your story to reflect a more conversational, relatable tone, while keeping it respectful and intimate. It’s all about the emotional journey and deepening connection within a marriage. Let me know if you’d like any adjustments or to explore other styles!
Watch her domination: I’m Slave of My Mistress
6. My Trueself Finally Discovered
When I first met her, I had this secret that I carried around like a weight, unsure of how she’d react. I remember the night I nervously confessed to her, admitting that I enjoyed wearing panties. To my surprise, she didn’t flinch. In fact, she embraced it, and like that, our connection deepened in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Our relationship took on this beautifully intimate dynamic where she became my Mistress, and I willingly took on the role of her devoted pantyboy.
It didn’t take long before Mistress V started encouraging me to explore my desires more openly. She’d push me to go out and buy sexy lingerie – bras, panties, nylons, the whole lot. And now, here I am, with a collection of over 40 pairs of panties, wearing them every single day, day and night. She even helped me find the right menstrual pads that fit snugly, keeping everything clean and neat. There’s something comforting about having her guide me through this journey.
One of the things I’ve done to honor this role is keeping my body completely smooth and hairless. I take pride in the way it feels and looks. And my Mistress enjoys it too. She allows me to masturbate whenever I want – a freedom that she controls in her way. Sometimes she likes to watch me, with this seductive, dominant gaze, as I cum into her hand. What happens next? She feeds it to me, and I take it from her, savoring the intimate connection we share.
Mistress V has a favorite toy – a dildo that never fails to satisfy her. I’ve watched her bring herself to the brink and beyond with it, her body writhing with pleasure. Afterward, she’ll remove it from her dripping pussy and hand it to me. There’s no hesitation as I take it into my mouth, cleaning her juices from it, the scent of her cunt filling my senses, making me crave her even more.
Just last night, I came to bed dressed in a delicate white chemise, matching white panties. I was already hard – my clit stiff and panties damp, my body aching for her. I needed her. I needed Mistress to take me, to remind me of the power she holds over me. I’m hers, completely.
The moment she removed my panties and had me on all fours, my ass in the air, I felt both loved and vulnerable. She started massaging me, teasing my clit and balls, preparing me for what was coming. Then I felt it – her cock slowly probing, pressing against my opening, and finally sliding inside. It was bliss. As she fucked me, I moved my hips in time with her thrusts, wanting to match her, to feel every inch of her inside me. I’ve never felt more owned, more complete.
Later that night, we lay together, talking. I told her how much I cherished what we had. How it turned me on when she touched my breasts, sucking on my nipples, making me feel like the woman I longed to be. When I close my eyes, I can imagine it – being a woman with full, lush breasts and a wet pussy, waiting to be fucked.
Mistress V listened and smiled. She told me she enjoyed teaching me how to embrace the woman inside of me, helping me discover what it feels like to be truly feminine. That’s when I made a request – I asked her to teach me how to suck cock, like a woman who wants to please her man. I wanted to be on my knees, dressed in lingerie, learning to please her in the way she’s taught me to desire.
A year has passed since I first slipped on those panties. I went from being just a guy with a couple of pairs to having an entire wardrobe – bras, panties, nylons, girly pajamas, and nightgowns. I even have my own collection of dildos and vibrators now. I wear panties all the time, every single day. I even wear sanitary pads most of the time. When I pee, I sit. And the bathroom door? It stays open for me, but Mistress V? She’s the only one who gets privacy.
My body remains smooth and shaved, as she likes it. My clit and pussy – they belong to her. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
This past year has been beyond anything I ever imagined. Thank you, Mistress V, for helping me find who I truly am.
7. They Use Me Like A Slave
I’d been fantasizing about this day for what felt like forever. The moment I would finally walk up to her door, strip myself of all my clothes, and surrender completely. As I stood outside her house, my heart raced in my chest, anticipation gripping me tighter with every second. The door swung open, and there she stood—Mistress, calm and in control, with a knowing smile that sent shivers down my spine.
Once inside, without a word, I began to undress. The air was thick with tension, every movement deliberate. Mistress wasted no time leading me to the St. Andrew’s Cross, her presence commanding, dominant. She secured my wrists and ankles with care, but not without a cruel sense of precision. The cold metal bit into my skin, but the sensation only deepened my submission.
That’s when she revealed the steel chastity belt. My breath hitched. The cool metal touched my skin, sending waves of arousal and panic through me. She locked it into place with a sharp click, but something in her eyes told me this wasn’t enough. “No, that won’t do,” she said, leaving the room with a casual strut.
When she returned, I saw the rivet gun in her hand. My body tensed. She explained, almost nonchalantly, that these were titanium rivets—undrillable, impossible to remove. Panic set in, and I began to beg, my voice shaky and desperate. But Mistress had no intention of listening. She pulled out a thick, 8-inch penis gag and shoved it into my mouth. I gagged hard at first, but soon enough, I adjusted, resigned to the reality that I was now completely under her control.
The sound of the rivet gun filled the room as she made the chastity cage permanent. Each pop of the rivets sent a jolt through my body, knowing there was no going back. My mind swirled in a mixture of fear, lust, and submission. But Mistress wasn’t done. Not even close.
Next, she slid a large, intimidating anal plug inside me, stretching me in ways I wasn’t sure I could handle. My legs trembled as she unlocked my ankles, allowing me to reposition myself. She wasn’t cruel, though—she knew exactly how to push me, how to make me crave it. Before I could catch my breath, she pulled out neon pink boyshorts and slid them over my body, adjusting them with a firm tug.
Pantyhose came next—sheer, coffee brown fabric that hugged my legs, feeling like silk against my skin. She followed it up with a short, skater skirt that barely covered my ass. I could feel the cool air grazing the exposed skin, heightening every sensation. Finally, she released my wrists and helped me into a breastplate, G-cup breasts bouncing as I adjusted to the new weight.
But Mistress wasn’t satisfied yet. She handed me a matching bra and a tight, white button-up shirt, completing the look with a pair of 8-inch high heels, which she locked onto my feet. With every step, I felt my balance shift, helpless in these towering shoes.
Then came the moment that made my stomach drop. She gathered up my male clothes, looked me dead in the eyes, and smirked. “Catch me if you don’t want to wear this outfit home.” She took off outside, and I scrambled to chase her, stumbling over my heels. But it was no use. I watched helplessly as she burned my clothes, flames licking the last piece of my old self.
Her voice was soft but firm as she turned to me. “Go get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
The next morning, I woke with a mix of nerves and excitement. Mistress dressed me again, this time walking me out to her car and driving to a nearby hotel—right by the airport. My heart pounded as she led me to the front desk, still gagged and fully dressed in my humiliating outfit. “Here’s your maid for the day,” she announced, barely acknowledging the horror in my eyes.
The front desk clerk led me upstairs, all the way to the executive floor, where the richest guests stayed. We entered the maid’s closet, and he wasted no time pulling off my skirt and shirt, leaving me standing there in just the pantyhose, bra, and panties. He handed me a French maid outfit. I slipped into it, and he shoved me out into the hallway, handing me a bucket of cleaning supplies.
“This is the deal,” he said in a low voice. “You’ll clean the rooms, and if the guests aren’t completely satisfied, you’ll find yourself back on that cross, naked and whipped until you pass out.”
Shivers crawled down my spine. I moved toward the first door and knocked. My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear myself think. The door swung open, and there stood the guest, looking me up and down with a smirk. I stepped inside, setting down the supplies, and began cleaning the room like my life depended on it. Bending over to tuck in the bed, I suddenly felt him behind me. His hand lifted my dress, and before I could react, my pantyhose and thong were pulled down. His cock, hard and throbbing, slapped against my ass, and I knew this was only the beginning of what was in store for me.
Watch Full Recorded Video: They Use Me Like A Slave
Last Words
“Wow, life really is something else, isn’t it?” 😅 I hope they’ve given you something to think about—or at least made your day a little more interesting.
If you’ve got a story of your own (and let’s be honest, we all do), don’t be shy. Drop it in my inbox! 📩 You never know—your experience might inspire or resonate with someone out there in ways you can’t imagine.
Until next time, stay curious, stay kind, and don’t forget to embrace the parts of life that make it uniquely yours. After all, the best stories are the ones we live. Catch you soon! ✌️
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