Bedroom Confessions: Cuckold’s Cleanup Ritual

The soft, natural lighting filters through the window, casting a gentle glow on the checkered bedding. Her body, partially draped in a yellowish-orange top, lies in a relaxed posture, legs slightly bent, arms close to her chest. The pillow beneath her head offers a comforting support, and a stuffed penguin with a backpack sits nearby, a playful contrast to the intimate scene.

The Ritual of Preparation

I’m the one who shaves her pussy, making it smooth and ready for her dates. It’s a ritual, a way to ensure she’s always perfect for them. The razor glides over her skin, and I can’t help but think about the men who will see it, touch it. I’m the caretaker, the one who keeps her clean and presentable. But it’s a double-edged sword, this role. It’s a kind of torture, knowing that my efforts are for someone else’s pleasure. And then, after she returns, I’m the one who cleans up. I lick her pussy, tasting the remnants of their encounters. It’s a bittersweet act, a mix of devotion and despair. I wash her panties, buy her lingerie, all to make her desirable to them. It’s a cycle, a never-ending loop of preparation and cleanup. But it’s my role, my duty, and I perform it with a mix of pride and pain.

The Ache of Desire

Seeing her like this, bare and exposed, makes me ache. It’s a physical pain, a longing that gnaws at me. I think about all the cocks that have been inside her, and it drives me wild. The thought of them, of their pleasure, fuels my own desire. It’s a strange dynamic, one of submission and service. But it’s who I am, who we are. And in this ache, there’s a strange kind of fulfillment, a perverse satisfaction in being the one who takes care of her, even when she’s with someone else.