Cuckquean - Free to read
Could she watch her Miss play with another woman?
My real Miss wants me to be her cuckquean. I’m not ready for it yet, but I’m exploring it through writing to understand better how possible it might be for me.
It’s been too long. I haven’t seen Miss for over a week and I’m becoming feral. I’m only allowed to touch myself or cum when she’s with me or watching me by video. She hasn’t let me do anything for five days. I never go this long and it’s messing with my head. I can’t do my work properly. I can’t make decisions. I can’t focus. All I can think about is her cunt rubbing against mine, her lips pressed to mine, her fingers in me, that time she used a strap-on to take my ass, her breasts, fuuuck, her breasts…
The last two nights she’s videocalled me and made me kneel, hands flat on my thighs where she can see them, legs wide apart so she can see how desperately turned on I am, while she fucks herself with toys and her own fingers, getting her swollen clit close to the camera, laughing at me as I lick my lips with longing to suck it, to taste her, to bury my face in her glorious pussy and never leave.
Tonight she has summoned me. I’ve shaved with exquisite care, used the very expensive lotion all over my body, given myself elaborate smoky eyes and dark red lips. She has requested I wear the white dress which doesn’t quite cover my bottom, no panties, no bra. I look at myself in the long mirror. My nipples are clearly visible. I don’t like my breasts so much when they’re out of a bra. I’m self-conscious about the obvious weight of them, but I have to admit they give me a great side profile, and Miss likes them to move freely.
It’s an hour’s drive to Miss’s house. I’m already wet with anticipation and that’s going to show through the dress if I sit on it. I have a horror of breaking down or being stopped while I’m dressed like a slut. I pull on a light jacket and take a hand towel. In my car, I hitch my dress up so I’m naked from the waist down and sit on the towel. From another car I’ll just be a woman in a jacket. I’ll try not to pull up alongside a lorry. I start the engine, my heart suddenly pounding. I need to see Miss, but I never know what to expect. Will she want an impact scene? Am I going to come home tomorrow covered in marks and bruises? Will she want an affectionate night of vanilla sex? Anything might be about to happen to me, and I know I’ll agree to whatever she wants. She’s smart to make me so desperate.
She opens the door and nods approval of my revealing dress, pulling me into her arms and kissing me deeply.
“Good girl. What a beautiful slut you are.”
She shuts the door and I trot after her to her car. Where are we going? I hadn’t expected to be in public dressed like this. I know she won’t let anything bad happen to me, but I’m anxious about people staring. If she hasn’t told me, I know there’s no point asking, so I let her drive in silence. She changes gears and her hand rests on my bare thigh. I look across at her. She’s so beautiful. Her dress reveals every curve, but is much more modest than mine. Her blonde hair is twisted up perfectly and her make-up is impeccable as ever. The desire to kiss her makes my lips tingle. She squeezes my thigh and I feel my wetness soak into my dress.
We arrive at a nice little restaurant we’ve been to before.
“Table for three, booked under Dayton.”
Three?
The walk to our booth is excruciating, imagining every pair of eyes on the wet patch I’ve made and my obviously free range tits and dark nipples. I keep my eyes on Miss, who seems oblivious to my situation. Or, more likely, is enjoying my discomfort.
Miss orders our drinks. I am burning to ask her who else is coming, but I press my lips closed. We wait in silence. Miss leans forward and strokes the stem of her glass. I can see down her cleavage. She’s wearing the red bra, which means she’s also wearing those tiny red panties. I force my eyes away from her chest to her hand. I wish she was stroking me like that. She can touch my pussy so lightly I almost don’t know she’s making contact, but it’s enough to make me wildly horny. I look down at my own glass. Looking at Miss is making the dress problem worse.
A woman is ushered to our booth. Miss stands and hugs her, introduces us. I hug her too, wondering who the hell she is. She’s gorgeous in that impossible willowy way, effortlessly elegant as she sits next to Miss. I don’t like how close they are.
We order food and chat about nothing – the weather, the ridiculous new payment system for parking here. Laura compliments Miss on her dress. I see how she looks at Miss’s chest. I want to slap her. She says nothing about my tarty little dress, which is probably best.
Once we’re eating, Miss lays her hand on mine. I become completely still, instinct telling me she’s about to say something important.
“Sweetheart,”
I love it when she calls me that. I smile, my first since the car. If I’m still her sweetheart, then whatever she says will be fine.
“I wanted you to meet Laura. We’ve been talking about how much fun it would be to play together, just us two, with you watching. I want you to be my cuckquean, darling. I want to tie you in place and have a wonderful time fucking Laura in front if you. I know that will be challenging. That’s the whole point. I want to see your jealousy, your distress, your need. I want you to struggle mentally and physically. And then of course I want to reassure you that you are still my good girl and that I love you. Don’t decide now. This is something for you to think about. It won’t happen if you say No, you know that.”
I’m still frozen, my eyes locked on hers, tears welling as I picture her enjoying Laura’s perfect body while I’m trapped, forced to witness my own redundancy, replaced by this glamorous, new, exciting interloper. I hate the thought of it. Hate it. I hate Laura. I need to leave, but I don’t have my car and anyway I can’t bear to shame myself by letting Laura see the mess I’ve made of my dress.
I nod. Force a brittle laugh.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting that! I’ll think it over, Miss.”
I’ve never called her Miss in front of anyone else before, but I want to claim our relationship in front of Laura and remind Miss of all we have been to each other. She doesn’t even blink.
“Good girl,” she says, and turns back to Laura. They chat easily together while I pick listlessly at my food. I already feel like the cuckquean, shut out of the fun, sat on my own, miserable, jealous, lonely. As soon as we’re alone, I’ll tell Miss I can’t do it. There’s no way I would agree to that level of humiliation and emotional pain.
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