What can I say? Monogamy was cute… for a while. And despite my effort, it turns out I am a cuckold phone sex slut. I’m a woman who thrives on attention — the kind that makes you feel like the only spark in a man’s otherwise dim day. My husband? Bless his heart, he used to try to make me happy. Now he exists: predictable, pitiful, always two steps behind whatever thrill I’m chasing. I leave lipstick-stained wine glasses and men’s cologne lingering on my skin, and he pretends not to notice. Or maybe he does — perhaps that’s part of the cruel little game we play.
I don’t outright lie to him. I don’t cushion the truth. “Working late again,” I purr, slipping into something that’s definitely not HR-approved. He knows. Oh, he knows. I see it in the way his jaw tightens when I come home at 2 a.m., heels in hand, hair a little too tousled, positively reeking of a recent deep dicking. Sometimes I look him dead in the eye and ask, “Jealous? You should be. He gave me the fuck fest that I needed.” But here’s the thing — I love being wanted. Craved. Worshiped. I don’t cheat for love. I cheat for the chase, the chaos, the delicious gasp when a younger man realizes I’m not some sweet, neglected housewife. I’m the storm he didn’t see coming. The fuck he is going to tell his friends about.
My husband? He gets what’s left. If he’s lucky. Maybe if he paid half as much attention to me as my lovers do, I wouldn’t be out breaking hearts on a Tuesday afternoon. But honestly? I doubt it. Once you taste freedom laced with mischief, it’s hard to go back to vanilla. Besides, he knew who I was when he married me — a cuckold phone sex queen.
He just thought he could tame me.
Poor thing.
Call me at 1 888 662 6482 and ask for Quinn.