Archivi tag: domination

Lug19

First Taste – Final Report – ENGLISH VERSION

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I had promised myself to write as soon as possible and not to let too many days go by because then I would have to face more “backlog”, but in the end I’m back after more than a week. And a lot of things have happened.

A feeling that I was still brooding over was the Defectiveness: as if every single feeling or thought were profoundly wrong, always. If I thought one thing, it’d  have been more appropriate that I didn’t. I shouldn’t hate her; I shouldn’t hold a grudge, I shouldn’t cry; I shouldn’t despair; I shouldn’t hurt myself; I shouldn’t oppose; I shouldn’t be obsessed by it; I shouldn’t be turned on; I shouldn’t submit myself ; I shouldn’t have fun.
My superego prevented me to be able to overcome the impasse, and he was on the other side telling me that I couldn’t go on like that, that I had to react.
In my head constantly coexisted something that shouldn’t be there for my well-being and something that shouldn’t be there for the idea I had of myself. These two groups always included irreconcilable opposites.

The wave of security due to the party where I met her and where I shone just enough to let her know that opening her legs wouldn’t be even worth a thought by him during the day, allowed me to push myself towards experiments designed to overcome my pain.
Because she wasn’t playing on my area (due to lack of character, or because there wasn’t a right way), I started playing on her area, fusing together what was being a Cuckquean with the BDSM. It was an alternative path, where I could put in the BDSM Roleplay details of  Cuckqueaning. On a purely associative level, this thing would make sense, because putting the reality of my Cuckqueaning in the BDSM game would make that reality a game itself during the session. And a game is by definition something that under the right rules can’t harm me.
Anyway I started to experiment with different positions, helped by curiosity, by the desire for revenge, by the challenge of something new and by his involvement that finally could see me ‘in action’ too.

The problem? The problem arose when for the nth time she had a tantrum and we decided to close things. Close in the sense of eliminate her, elide her, delete her, exclude her, disintegrate her, exile her, abandon her and a hundred other particularly colourful adjectives.
The curious thing is that she herself, the same night of our decision, even before we could prepare a speech for dismissing her, sent him a message saying that her boyfriend had found out everything about them and that therefore they couldn’t see each other anymore.
Do I believe her? Absolutely not. The next day they even left for a vacation. He must have taken it quite sportingly, right.

So now it happens that everything with her has come to an end (she might want to try new approaches, but frankly, neither of us is willing), we are at more than half of the summer and our pressing commitments have begun to be felt.
And there’s no time to treat such a relationship. We cannot do it with girls who stick like mussels because they are in love. It’s not the right time for that kind of game, and maybe I’m not even ready for that level.
In light of the experience we had in such a short time, we have reopened the discussion “How should she be”

The first characteristic is: self-sufficient; we can’t keep up with her and comfort her every day when she is in crisis, reassure her when she doubts, cuddle her when she wants attentions etc.
He spoke of the fact that the ideal would be taking a girl that I trust, because I could refine that game which in a different context it’d become reality for me, as it would be reality for her. If she does it for fun and with conscience and respect for my position, then we can all move for the ‘good’ policy. I still think it is quite an impossible opportunity, since there is no one I trust so much to put in her hands a part so delicate and vulnerable of myself.
Alternative: girls / women who are already involved in a relationship AND who aren’t looking for a serious love story. A girl who doesn’t want a substitute for her flabby boyfriend just because she doesn’t want to be alone. For this there would be specialized sites but we will see in due course.

This  month and a half has shocked both of us, and many of my exaggerated and schizophrenic reactions hadn’t been foreseen. There is the need to re-engage the gear, tidying the mess made by the hurricane and learn how to put the shutters in order to create a controlled current rather than a typhoon.
Finally, after more than a month I come to pick up some of my beats: to study, learn, play, watch movies, read, paint, eat and sleep (!) and many other healthy things.
I don’t want to stop everything, of course.
What I learned in this period was a lot, and a part of me is shocked by the sudden interruption of the flow of acid which invested me every day. Almost as if they brought me back in my home after having thrown me for a month in a battlefield. There is the initial reaction of “What the hell am I doing? I should be somewhere else,” but slowly even this will straighten out.

Accepting the possibility of being a Cuckquean was certainly the greatest revolution of 2011, and I won’t quit.
Stubbornness or enlightenment we will see.

Lug9

Humiliation Station – ENGLISH VERSION

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I keep on doing things that surprise me.
I told myself I wasn’t in a sub-position, that I wasn’t searching for humiliation and I didn’t like it. Despite everything, I look at my experiences and I realize that it’s as if I’m looking for situations outside the provided framework just to test me. To see if I can. If I can still breathe with my lungs underwater.
Well, I can.

Lately our dear girl has been capricious like a child, and she changed her mind a dozen times about seeing my boyfriend before or after her vacation. I was irritated because I couldn’t bear to see her dictating us, deciding when doing it was better or worse; that she could dare to push him to choose one way rather than another; that she believed she could influence him in some way, as if I didn’t exist. Probably that’s how it is: for most of the time she is convinced that I don’t exist. It must be one of her ways to escape from her guilt.
She could grow a pair of horns (devil’s horns I mean*) and play the field to spice up the situation, but maybe I’m asking for too much.

Last night we were at the birthday of our dear friend (see one of the initial posts for clarifications) and she was there too of course, plus the parade of girl friends.
He and I were very well dressed. I had spent more than two hours to get ready, but he in 20 minutes was able to shine more than I would have ever been able to. He was just charming, and I did my best to match up.
At the door I was very nervous to the idea of finally seeing her, talking to her, giving my memories a realer shade.
She opens the door, wearing a mini sheath dress that blows up her forms from all sides. I seriously thought that she might have breathing problems with a dress that tight, but her intention was to show off at least at that juncture.
We exchange two sentences of circumstance and she’s very quick to ignore me. She goes back to her friends and I get to be deliberately put aside. I know that she does it for fear and discomfort, but a part of me thinks that it can also be intentional.

When our friend does the honors and shows us the apartment, I finally see the room where my nightmares have taken place. I had a weight on the chest and clearly heard the pressure drop below my shoes. I forced myself to concentrate on useless things, but I kept noticing details that I had heard or seen in the photos. That is the mirror she used to take her nude photos, that‘s where she masturbates in the shower thinking of him, that‘s the BED where they rubbed on each other. I felt tiny in that room and I was feeling really bad. I noticed the many clothes left out and I guessed her indecision in choosing the dress for the evening.
Finally we go back in the living room with everyone else.

Dinner time: he is very sweet next to me and doesn’t miss half of a chance to kiss me, caress me, hug me, boast about me and look at me with the typical look of the “you charm me even after 5 years, you see?”  I chat with everyone and try to shake off the anxiety. He insists with me to make me recite Hamlet’s soliloquy in English, and though with some reluctance I do it. I notice her eyes always on him, and when hers meet mine they’re sometimes annoyed  and sometimes curious. I finish my acting and they’re all  clapping their hands, I’m still embarrassed by the sudden “performance”.
More time passes and we all begin to feel more comfortable, we can speak seriously about our studies and we are much more friendly. Everyone but her, who doesn’t talk to anyone and with every kind of excuse disappears somewhere.

At the end of the evening 5 of us remain and she still avoids us as if she held a grudge against us.
We sit on the sofa, she is beside me and he is on HER side, but they don’t talk to each other. She decides to go to sleep shortly after with the excuse that she had to wake up early (but she was just begging him through sms to stay for the night a couple of hours ago!) and she does the most pathetic scene of the evening: she greets everyone with kisses and hugs and then turns to him and…. gives him a wave of her hand.

Now, if she really wanted to act like the innocent one and not making me suspect anything, she has really failed. How could I not think there was something suspicious?!
He teases her and gets up to say goodnight, she touches his cheeks with hers but she looks terrified, I have an inquisitorial gaze that was telling a great deal.
After she’s gone, just the time for some befitting and we also go back home.

Result of the evening from the cuckqueaning point of view: disappointment. Disappointed because I was prepared for a battle that didn’t happen. I would rather believe that she is so subtle as to not even having to commit to prove something to me or tease him on these occasions because when I’m gone she can do whatever she wants; but instead she was just so uncomfortable that she didn’t say a word and had to camouflage herself with the furniture.
How can I feel superior to a piece of furniture? C’mon, it’s idiotic, and I’d look like a fool.
I was hoping for some gesture, phrase or attitude that didn’t happen. I found myself hoping that she would try to humiliate me. Anything better than that cowardly silence.
In her place? In her place I would have made sure that I’d wanted to get away from that house and that I could no longer find where I parked the car through my veil of tears. I would have been so mean to me in her place.

Any idea?
– She had the chance to do the honors, and show me in detail her bedroom where he almost fucked her.
– She had the chance to let slip many details of the times he stayed with her all night. Songs, speeches, anecdotes, anything would have worked.
– She had the chance to take advantage of the fact that for the first 20 minutes he had gone into the kitchen and had not yet had the opportunity to be affectionate with me, so she could have reached him and talked to him.
– She had the chance not to wear panties, and after having reached him in the kitchen, making him notice it.
– She had the chance to touch herself and then come to compliment my necklace (a gift from him) by touching it with wet fingers and forcing me to smell it.
– She had the chance to send him some pictures while we were at dinner. He would have received the pictures but wouldn’t have been able to show me anything right then (as he usually does), so I would have known for certain that she had sent them to him and I’d have gone paranoid about the fact that I was excluded.
– She had the chance to find excuses to be alone with him. When he went to the bathroom, for example, she could have reached him and everyone at the party would have done “innocent” jokes about the fact that both of them were gone. I would have been the only one who knew that the rumors had some truth.
– She had the chance to offer to masturbate him so he would have returned from the bathroom with a raging hard on, and I would  have known what had happened.
– She had the chance to ask him to help her with the books that she had to give him back, but oops they were in her room and they’d had to look for them…
– She had the chance to strike up a chat with me and make me a speech about betrayal, about her (fake) bad experiences and how lucky I was to have a boyfriend so in love and faithful.
– She had the chance to sit next to him at the table and play footsie with him.
– She had the chance to be the social one and with the excuse to continue with some conversation with me, follow us when we went to the balcony because he was smoking, in order to not leave us alone.
– When on the balcony he pricked himself twice with the plant that was behind him, the second time she could have tried to protect him, she could have pricked herself or pretended a sprain to make him worry for her and take care of her.
– She had the chance on the couch to put her knees high towards him, so as to show that she had no underwear. Or she could have done it to show her panties. She could have done it even closer to me, but putting her back towards me to speak with him.
– She had the chance to ask him a foot massage and then slyly at me “you don’t mind, do you?”
– She had the chance to send text messages to him throughout the evening.
– She had the chance to talk to him about anecdotes in which I had not been present, to exclude me.
– When she had to say goodbye, she had the chance to bend down to be over him.
– She had the chance to put some music, and very naturally begin to dance staring at him.
– She had the chance to pretend to have received a message for which she was very upset, and could have asked him to talk in private. With a sufficiently convincing face no one would have thought bad of her, because if something serious had happened it was possible that he already knew the circumstances and that therefore she trusted to confide in him.
– She had the chance to bring the dog down for a walk and could have asked him to accompany her, as he was the strongest man present. “So I’m safer.”
– Sha had the chance to make matters worse every time she took him for herself by saying “I’ll steal him a moment” or “I’ll borrow him.”
– Again on the idea of taking off her panties, she could have come to him and put them on his hand on the sly. He would have had to find a way to get rid of them or hide them, and I’d have discovered it later, and then I would have gone into paranoia.
– Moving the general conversation on sex (which is not at all difficult) she could have boasted that she was particularly tight, or that she could control her muscles very well, or she could move very well. Whatever.
– She had the chance to ask me to go with her into the kitchen to help her and then leave me there doing the dishes.
– Clearing the table, she could have bent down over him to show her cleavage.
– She had the chance to stand in front of me and then, having her back to me, lean forward toward him.

…..but she didn’t.

Concentrating I could find other things, millions of other things. She could have made me live the worst night of my life, and instead I’ve been like a porcelain doll: perfect, untouched.

He now tells me that he intends to move with the speech on a more psychological domination, and he wants me a little closer to her in order to “use” me to pile it on. Still don’t know what he has in mind but I like the idea.
Lately I like all the ideas. For some strange reason, when he speaks about what he wants to do I feel a slight burning sensation in the stomach, different from panic or jealousy. It’s as if it warms more than burns.

This is the “more …”-feeling I was talking about.
These days I also played the subdued role much more than usual. We did a bdsm session which he improvised from scratch, I didn’t even have the time to prepare myself and it was very exciting.

I send him photos that technically she should send to him, but I do it for a sort of a small pinch of territory, as if to prove that even on these small things I can do much better than her.
Finally, speaking in general about cuckqueaning, it’s taking a strange tone. In addition to our usual metacommunication, occasionally this different kind of tone makes me point out some humiliating nuances, makes me write on the blog all the things she could have done to show off, tells me that I have to get closer to her almost as if we were friends. It becomes a meta-metacommunication sometimes, but He assumes a voice different even from the one he uses with her. A voice to which I basically can’t say “No” because it makes everything seem exciting. “Excited” in the sense of “Intrigued” (see post 1).

She is a piece of shit, this is already established. But with her used as a weapon to spice things up, he and I are discovering those kind of games that bind us even more.

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The Conspiracy of Silence – ENGLISH VERSION

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This would be so much easier if I were really turned on. I repeat it a million times a day. Every time I look at him and the pit of my stomach closes thinking about him on her, I repeat to myself that I should just push a hand down my pants and force myself to come.
Probably I’d end up vomiting, but maybe that would be the first step to wash my brain.

I am afraid of being chattering with him, and not being able to talk about anything else. Moreover, this is still something that occupies my head completely, from when I wake up to when I fall asleep.
Some time ago I liked this kind of fantasies: having always something to think about in the dead times of the day was reassuring, and I almost waited for my free time to do so. I would fantasize and cradle myself listening to music or staring into space  or a particular detail that I used as a springboard to dive into my mind.
Now it’s as if everything was reversed, and my entire life has locked itself up in dead moments when this thing doesn’t drill my brain.

With the passing of the days I try to understand how I can stop feeling overwhelmed in a corner, choked by dust. I realize that as long as it’s just sex, I don’t win anywhere, I’m just the girlfriend he leaves behind the door in order to be with her. If sex is what she wants, well, she gets exactly that, and satisfied by it she goes on with her life feeling no shame at all.
She is exactly in the position where I used to be in all my other relationships. I was the one “arrived last” and I always had to roll up my sleeves to make sure that I was the only thing the X boy could think of. My task was to oust those who were already there (not  talking about existing relationships necessarily, I hardly took boys already in a love relationship). She’s there. And perhaps for the first time I feel really bumped because I know what her intentions are, because I wasn’t born yesterday and I’ve been there first.
She has no real possibilities, it’s true, but the idea that she DARES still bothers me.

In my fantasies he’s at a party which appear to be like a debutante ball, and talks with this or that girl. If there is one in particular, she’s in love with him and tries in every way to be desired by him. One dance follows another, he’s having fun. I always imagine myself isolated, perhaps in the garden adjacent to the hall. I imagine him noticing my figure under the moonlight for a single moment, and suddenly he can no longer see anything else.
This is the kind of “eclipse” I wish to see. I wish everyone could feel that shadow that suddenly becomes longer, as if he was the spotlight that looks away.

With her craving his body, whatever she wants is in her ability to get. With or without me making noises and scalping. This is the impasse.
She’s attacking something close enough (the physical side) to put me on alert, but far enough away to have it without me complaining about something real. If she was in love and craved a deeper relationship, there she would receive all the walls on the face that I would like. But perhaps not even those, because for the sake of “We must keep her so I can’t say something that could make her go away,” she would receive ambiguous and inconclusive answers that would raise her hope of having time to try, and from my point of view they would reduce my figure to a poster that anyone can choose not to look at.

The day before yesterday there was their call and I asked him to be able to listen through earphones. She had such a flirtatious voice that I wanted to shout to put off that beautiful mask, because her sluttiness was already clear to the world. After a few befitting and some openly horny answers from her (are you really drooling over MY boyfriend?) He orders her to start masturbating and then goes away for another phone call, leaving me with her, groaning in Dolby Surround.
After he returned the call didn’t last long, and I spent the time in my usual apathy,  the perfect barrier for when I have “sessions” to bear.

Friday there will be a party, and she -sassy as ever- initially asked him for me to be there, so she could thank me for helping her with the paper (see initial posts) and then confessed that she was “curious.” She later recanted because she realized that she should pretend nothing happened with him, and after asking him to remain with her the whole night (has she already forgotten that I should be there too? What the fuck) she began to ask him to see each other in private early next week.
So, probably next week there will be a meeting, and I begin to do mental gymnastics.

In the meantime I try to get rid of the guilt that I feel every time I try to keep those wonderful daily routines that he and I had for months. Was it watching a movie, an anime, reading a book, learning a new thing, taking a walk, visiting a church … whatever it is, as soon as I feel relaxed, a part of my brain makes me alert and yells at me because I shouldn’t sit so much at ease while there’s an intruder in my house. It’s like having thieves in the house and continuing watching TV while they empty the safe.
My tears have passed the phase of Shock, Anger, Injustice, Abandonment, and now land on Nostalgia, where I miss the good times that I can’t touch, now that there’s this twig stuck in my rib.

How dare I be happy? If I’m quiet and composed how can she notice me? How can I scare her and make her understand the danger if I don’t wake up and growl? How can I make her feel a worm If I go on with my life exactly as if she wasn’t there?
If I were in her place I would have hundreds of ways to take advantage of my conspiratorial condescension.
Am I giving her more cunning than she really has?

Lug1

Eagle and Phoenix – ENGLISH VERSION

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There are things I can’t stand.
Things like the seizure of power. Like the fact that she’s getting too full of herself. That he doesn’t agree with my will to kill her.
I was doing well, I was polite and patient, accommodating and creative. All this in favour of that girl. Half of the things with which she got wet during this week came from ideas I had and that he approved. The fact that he is with her is thanks to MY request. She should kiss the ground I walk on.

Instead, she asked about the type of sex that we do and she is all like “I will make you do what she doesn’t do.”
It can’t go on like this. She wants to feel special. And he didn’t smash her face against a wall as I wished. He told her that she has a long way to go to be special. Some may think that it’s a way to discourage her, however, I believe it’s just a way to say “Do your best, because you can succeed if you really want to.”

There have been arguments due to my chaotic mood swings, to my fear after perceiving her intentions as the most malevolent towards me, to my claim to understand what she might think of this or that sentence just because “I’m also a woman.”

I probably don’t know anything. I probably shouldn’t even put my nose in it. The fact that I can read what he wants to write to her is already a lot, and I have veto power on this. When I insist on some sentence because it hurts me, I no longer think that those words would be the most useful in that moment, and he feels like I don’t trust him. Closing my mouth, however, is something I can’t do, although I must admit that at least half of my complaints are based upon the pain of an open wound. There should be guns shooting at lungs just when anyone even considers the idea of putting me in a threatening situation. But this time there is a “Do your best.” It’s not exactly the most deadly blow I have ever seen inflicted to my “enemies.”

The other day I was saying that my intolerance towards her (more than understandable) moves for independence are unbearable because it’s my entire life that women whom I love put their feet on my head, and I can’t accept this treatment from a unknown girl. I accepted things that would have required a clear cut of the relationship, I have endured, humiliating myself, far too many damages, and now there’s this Jane Do popped out of nowhere that happy as a flower wants to feel special. I was patient because I loved those people, but I don’t feel the least affection for her. I feel hurt because I wished that armies would have been raised to stop her. Or rather, I wished that HE would have stopped her, but we disable the alarms waiting for a “real” faux pas. By that point I’ll be already full of scratches, and hers will be the coup de grace. It won’t kill me, that’s for sure, but I can’t stand that we have to wait the 100th attack just because the other ones were ambiguous.

Oddly, yesterday I overreacted even listening to the him of the past, someone I’m already used to. I know that during the period we didn’t keep in touch he went with several girls, but yesterday hearing him talking about them had a different effect, as if their ghosts were part of the “game” and I could feel pain because of them. I yelled at him “I jump continuously from 1 to 100 women and my brain doesn’t have enough plugs of Guess Who* [italian table game: Indovina Chi] for all those you name” as if they were all girls that I still had to bear as I was tolerating her. It took hours for me to calm down and embrace what I already know: that is, I’m all that he needs. He has the patience to say the same things hundreds of times a day, I read the concern on his face and the pain every time I cry or I sigh, resigned.

I look in the mirror and see myself passing through the 5 stages of grief at random, sometimes all 5 simultaneously, sometimes one per second, sometimes one for each day of the week and the last two days in complete apathy.
I think I’m improving, because I can already subdue the panic attacks and crying. Those of anger are much more frequent and uncontrollable, the sense of injustice sometimes makes me say things like “I didn’t want it, I would have done differently if I had been given the opportunity.” Sometimes I let myself go for a second to the morbid sense of abandonment, that rapture that when you’re hurting yourself pushes you to go even further with closed eyes. Like notching oneself’s flesh, arching towards a whip, or imagining your boyfriend while he puts his cock inside her little lover and you think “More…” Because of these excesses of my mind I have incredible feelings of shame. Like I’m accepting a fate I should fight. But what will I lose if I convince myself to accept it and enjoy it? What part of my fighting spirit dies under this apparent submissiveness? How much ground does she gain if I give her the freedom to enjoy something that is only mine?
I try to force myself to embrace something that I asked for myself, but part of me is still screaming that I’d be crawling like a worm if I granted myself the luxury of letting it be. That I’d be handing my head on a platter even while knowing that she wouldn’t have the slightest hope of marking me.

I’m beginning to think that they will have to see each other, otherwise we’ll risk to ruin everything. And how will it be to face their meeting again? That silence stretched over hours, my desperate waiting, the insomnia and the wide-awake nightmares? Will I have new weapons? Will I have more self confidence? Will I have to take refuge in invectives trusted to an ally to taunt the dog to which I offered a juicy dish of mine?
They will have to fuck. He will have to touch her, he will go inside her, caress her, welcome her moans, he will have to think about her pleasure in order to get into her head and make her his slave. He will have to crawl under her skin, he will have his hands and his eyes busy and I will be a lifetime away.
While she will have her legs spread waiting for him, what will I be able to offer to him? What will I do to not let him deny me? How can he get off and satisfy her even while having me in his mind? Having me locked in a house in another universe? Will it be easier for him to think only about what he has to do? And what will remain to me if his head will be emptied? Can I say that another him will be born, functional to the act, ignorant of me? What will he do in order to get off knowing that I’m locked in a cage waiting for him? And if he succeeds even thinking about me, will I really be so small and so helpless to let my boyfriend that says he loves me and only me to fuck someone else? Will I be a thought so small and useless not to influence him at all for real?
Let’s change the cards on the table: if I were into it completely, it would be as if he was driven by my desire, and he’d think he would satisfy me by satisfying her. But things aren’t like that yet. I really have nothing in my hands with her panting on a bed. I would be just myself, I wouldn’t have changed in anything, but he’d be a man who has shared a bed with another woman. What is the passage in order to have my power recognized?

How is it that from a worm I can turn into an eagle?

Giu26

Peace? – ENGLISH VERSION

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Here it is another update, in order not to accumulate too much to say or risk mixing emotions and losing characteristic shades of each step.

A few days ago, the next night after the call, I crashed down for the umpteenth time. At the feeling of being totally alone and bearing so much pain I panicked again. Because I speak of instinctive emotions and he of stable rationality; I speak of moments of madness and he of rooted convictions. It seemed to me we were speaking different languages, that I couldn’t be comforted because we weren’t at the same level, it seemed that we weren’t even talking about the same thing. I cried and the tears had a much more modest taste, as a completely worn out person who has no longer much energy to squirm. Maybe it will be one of the last weeping that I will have towards the cuckqueaning, as if I were running out of tears.

These days He and I are strengthening their virtual relationship, to make sure that she won’t go away since he promised me a little vacation from their physical sessions. Curiously, I am full of ideas for them: sometimes without even meaning it I let slip some ‘advice’ and I’ve just found out that he doesn’t dislike these involvement of mine. I wouldn’t like to be there in the middle, but from a certain point of view it’s as if I controlled the situation with him. Yes, I control it anyway because that’s how we organized the dynamic, but now it’s as if I could feel it “physically.”

I asked to read the text messages they sent each other and I was shocked by the person that I found. I wasn’t able to recognize him even for a moment. He spoke in a different way, even the grammar of his sentences was different, the punctuation was set in a completely different way. I was shocked because that is a man I don’t know and I’m scared. I had to ask him if he really meant all those flirting lines, all that he wrote he wanted to do to her and all those explicit messages which I’m not used to. He strongly denied, saying it’s only a helpful dress to our game and I calmed down a bit, but I’m terribly paranoid when I ask him to read what they write. For me it’s like being a child who sees something new and wants to study it better, even if it is the most horrible thing ever.

She sends him photos every night, I stubbornly keep on insulting her body. Then I get pissed at myself because I know that I am not addressing really existing defects. I can’t find nothing wrong in reality, and it disarms me. She has nothing wrong.

She writes about their meetings (by a request of him) and I read more emotional and involved perspectives, which also change the image of him than he had given me. She mentions other gestures, other behaviours, it’s like hearing a different story, and knowing that she is talking about him scares me even more. I’m terrorized of hearing events that he may have omitted for one reason or another; gestures which mean nothing for him but that could make the difference for me.

He wants to hear her masturbating on the phone (an idea of mine, what the fuck…) and I already think that I must find something to do in the meantime because I don’t know if I can stand her sighing to him and saying who knows what on the other side of the phone. That he could say something. I absolutely don’t want to stare at his face and look for the slightest trace of excitement or interest in a FEMALE that tells him she’s ready for him. Sure of his human side, I get scared of his animal one. He says that he won’t be on the phone more than 10 minutes, whether she comes or not, and I want to do something else because otherwise I know I will check every minute that passes. And what if it’ll last more?

What if everything will last longer?

The other day we talked about the fact that we had decided to make this game last the time it actually ‘lived’, but for me it’s something that occupies my mind 24/7. I was naive to think that it might be a hobby I could just ignore when I wanted. It constantly occupies my mind, day and night, when I try to fantasize it creeps inside my head to paint everything with acid, and when I dream it stains me with nightmares.

These days it’s going a little better, I must admit it. The attacks of despair are less acute, jealousy stays under my skin without corroding me, but I still want to be careful.

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Last night I asked him to call her to hear her masturbating, I wanted to try to ‘take away the thought’ in order to be more quiet in the coming days. I told him I couldn’t bear more than 15 minutes (plus 5 minute of margin if she wasn’t alone yet), and I put myself aside. Immediately I felt terrible, I felt the usual anxiety and I wondered  how I could spend those 15 minutes of hell.
Then I got the idea.

I got up, went near him and I listened to the phone. He continued to speak in a tone that he doesn’t use with me (a pitched tone that I’d never want him to use with me if not in a jokingly manner) and I clang to his shirt trying to calm down. I made it, oddly enough. I heard him speak, from a distance I heard her sighs while masturbating and I was surprised by myself because I wasn’t upset anymore. No anxiety, no agitation. I felt sorry only because I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying; I heard myself telling him that the next time I’d want earphones and he asked me “The next time?” It makes me laugh.

I gave some other ideas for her duties, he was enthusiastic and I was glad. I asked him to read what he wrote BEFORE sending the message, and he agreed, smiling.

I find that a kind of controlled closeness makes me feel better, I feel I have power over her just like him, I feel that we are playing together in a way that before I couldn’t notice.

Maybe (and I say MAYBE) I’m menaging to find my dimension.

Giu22

Lull or storm centre – ENGLISH VERSION

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Another 10 days have passed.
Despite they didn’t pass as I had hoped, at least I know that they have passed. The days go by and I always feel like it’s a victory, renewed every 24 hours.

Unexpectedly when we got back to our house we had for a week as a guest a dear friend who unwittingly prevented me to speak freely and settle unfinished accounts, so I have accumulated more anxiety.

Our Mare, Cuckmare, Toyslut or however you like to call her, in these 10 days has continued with her policy of asking for reassurances and attentions.
As I mentioned earlier she had been told to do two videos, which I’ve seen actually. I must admit that feeling jealous for such a thing is offensive towards me because I’ve rarely seen anything so boring, though I admit that with her being totally inexperienced a similar result was predictable. That said, I was jealous though, because I could see her face.
Hers was an expression that doesn’t need an expert in kinesics to understand. Her excitement for being in front of a camera, the fact that that video was for him, the fact that she was told to do so, the fact that she was imagining HIM touching her; it was as if her entire face was talking loudly. It’s almost useless saying that I wanted to choke her with the pillow, but I confess that I like being able to talk almost completely freely.

I even talked to her on the phone. Yes, because my boyfriend and our friend were helping her with the maturity exam, and at some point she took this absurd initiative (at least once in her life she has chosen to do something) to ask my opinion. Opinion, of course.
So I picked up the phone and talked to her about absolutely irrelevant things. She was polite, she implicitly stressed that she would follow what I recommended, she shouted between the lines “I don’t want to be a bother to you”, and of course listened to the voice of her rival: she studied my attitude toward her, she checked if I suspected something.
I hate these falsely furtive movements .

As if all this was not enough, just when he and I were finally able to be alone she has taken this tune that she wants to be convinced. The “I don’t want a one night stand” so she can get the answer “this is not a one night stand.”

During all these days I continued to keep quiet about everything, the only confessions that I couldn’t hold were outbursts against her which were regularly clipped from him telling me that I shouldn’t blame her, that she has her good points, that I should see this situation differently, take the positive things.

Yesterday I drew on my skin with graphite (old masochistic habit), and as I scratched with the tip of the pencil he took the place of my hand and started writing on me. The physical pain has played the role of safety valve, and I felt better. Then he took two photos of the final result which he sent to her by email  because “do you know how jealous she will be?”. I also have agreed to it, of course.
She was excited about it, and I, irritated, kept on writing on myself.

In the evening he had to chat with her, because he wanted her to draw on herself like I did. In the end I asked him to call her directly, because he would have been able to conclude the matter more quickly, and I wanted him to be in front of me because I didn’t want him to hide anything from me. I smiled at the “Look, you may hear unpleasant things, are you sure?”, But then “Ssssh now, hush.”
The call lasted about an hour. I barely recognized his voice: I happen to hear that stiff tone when he’s reading, whereas in that moment it was a voice of flirtation and maliciously authoritarian.
I tried to spend time keeping up with my drawings (which were a bit more violent), distracting him by moving my panties aside (action interrupted by my disgust for having tried desperately to get his attention), walking around the room without a precise destination, adjusting the quality of the 3 more photos that were about to be sent to her.
Finally they ended the call, he repeated that he wanted pictures of her drawings like the ones I did. In all that time my mood had fallen.

Today she did another mini drama, writing that she just can’t use a pencil because she is not able and she’s willing to wait for him to make it on her body by himself. She’s a poor little clumsy girl you must pay attention to because she is “still too small and cannot be trusted alone” [[see post number 1 of this blog]]. Then he told her to take ‘interesting’ photos.

Now, I am perfectly aware that this post is aseptic. I could have written a chronological list of events and it would have had the same effect. But it’s hard to say how I feel.
If in the early days my state of despair was constant, during these 10 days I’ve had mood swings worthy of a schizophrenic. One moment I was happy and relieved and the next moment I was thinking that sooner or later he would have had to go away again. One moment I was excited because he was touching me and the next moment I was thinking he had touched her in the same way.
Really, I had a roller coaster in my head, and I still have. Seriously unnerving.

The paranoia is catching on, and every time the phone rings I think it’s her. I’d want to ask every second what she wrote, if they said something relevant, if she has sent an email etc.. Between the two of us I’m the one who thinks about it all the time. Besides, I could never stop monitoring “the enemy”.
I should not consider her in this way, OK. But I shouldn’t also belittle her so I don’t consider her as an enemy. What should I do? Appreciate her good points and ask her to be best friends forever?!

For example, he is now fixing her PC (through PC. Tautological, I know) and hearing him calling her name fills my mouth with insults. At any time of the day I could dissect whole poems to belittle her person, her life, her usefulness in animal and human society and much more.
I don’t know exactly if this mad rage is actually part of the ladder. I don’t know if this sense of “ther’s something wrong in here” is justified (as if being with him wasn’t enough to solve the problem and it’s still surprising me).

I still happen to cry, as I happen to laugh, to get pissed, to hurt myself and try to hurt others, to destroy something, to create, to harm and cure myself.
It’s as if I’ve been trying anything to erase the feeling of the knife in my stomach.
He says that I must be proud of myself, since I’m facing so much. Everything that happens to me I reinterpret it as something that I would really like if I were in a position of a total sub and I could get turned on with these kind of things. Many of these kind of dynamics are probably reminiscent of humiliation’s patterns  that many cuckqueans use successfully. The problem is that I don’t want to be humiliated and I want even less to be turned on. I want to be proud to be winning.
But I don’t feel like I’m winning, I feel that everything around me is trying to convince me to lower my head and accept this situation. I am told that I shouldn’t get angry because this thing has no importance, but when I attack her I’m told that I should learn to accept it. If it’s so unimportant why can’t I do what I want? Why can’t I insult her and scream a million ways to make her regret being born? And above all: why can’t I ask for a second voice that supports my hatred?
How can I feel successful? And above all: what is it that makes me feel like a loser?
If I try to think more carefully, there were single episodes where I felt superior and she was like a little worm. For example, when I heard her on the phone: her tone of voice, my position towards the help she was asking me, everything agreed that she was tiny compared to me. Or even when he told me that he had failed to fuck her because he couldn’t get hard with her. When I had the certainty of having fucked better than usual and having renovated the enormous gulf that should exist between me and her. When I saw the results of my studies, works, and all the creations I did to sublimate the pain and show him what I could do in just a few hours.
But all these events produced something that lasted a few seconds and it has always been immediately replaced by a deep sense of injustice. For example: if I scratched myself with a pencil and I have engraved this beautiful drawing almost as if my veins follow an Art Nouveau pattern, why the fuck should she do the same? Why should she imitate me? That’s one thing that pisses me off: the feeling that she is trying to imitate me.
I do drawings? She does the same. I take pictures on the phone to flirt with him? She does the same. I ask for reassurance? She gets as many as me. I feel like I’m on the cross? She will build one higher than mine. I develop naturally sub shades? She is learning how to be a slave.
Not to sound like a little child, but this pisses me off.

Could there be times when I wouldn’t feel like this? I have no idea. Besides, I have confirmed that any girl he had chosen I would have considered her a bitch as well (in a relationship or not she’d choose to open her legs knowing that he is engaged, and that to me is being 100% whores). The only time I couldn’t say the same would have been if the girl in question had been a cuckoldress; that is, if she did it with absolute knowledge of the whole situation.
But finding such a woman would have taken a lot of time, and even now I feel I have been thrown into this world before I could have time to get some air.

Final report of this long speech: after another 10 days I’m confused. No longer desperate, but certainly hurt.

Giu11

First Taste – part IV – ENGLISH VERSION

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It’s been almost a week since the beginning of everything. I can say with certainty that it was the longest week of my life, and perhaps one of the most difficult.

I have not reached yet the most ‘important’ point, their first time, because I went extensively into panic. The night before the date I was already very depressed, both physically and emotionally, the idea that I had to face 48 endless hours with that anxiety it was destroying me. I knew that I couldn’t take it anymore.
Every time they had physical contact I felt that a piece of my relationship with him was being ripped off, a piece of that implied agreement that ensures you that he is only yours.

The night he called me to tell me the plans he had for the next day (hotel and bdsm session), and I stopped being quiet. I completely stopped accepting the situation, which I helped to create myself, and I asked him to blow her off and see each other instead. It may have been the most selfish request of the month, but I said it with despair in my throat. I needed to get him back, I was ready to say “That’s enough” to everything, I just wanted to stop being so hurt, to sleep badly, to eat badly, breathe badly. All my life during the last week seemed to have taken an acid tone, and I had enough.

He understood immediately how important it was for me, and didn’t hesitate in saying yes. But then he introduced some…extenuating circumstances, let’s say, that made me feel more and more selfish and more and more choked.
First of all, she had lied to her parents to stay out the whole night; he was involved in first person and didn’t want to risk ruining the situation; there was a risk that after this huge blow out she would be gone and he didn’t want to repeat the whole process to find another girl; for the group he goes out with, avoiding her would be impossible and would create a bad atmosphere.
The fact that he was the one who was actually exposed himself in order to get her put me in the corner; my desire was putting him in a bad position.

My head began to swirl as the awareness that I’d have to endure the idea of him in that hotel in order to not ruin everything grew in me. I received constant reassurances, but they were nowhere near enough because his tone had already changed, had become thoughtful, and I knew that my request had come at the worst time.
He told me that we would put a pause months or years long to all this, because it was obvious that I wasn’t ready yet, that he would think 40 times before satisfying me with such requests in the future, and that he could no longer see me so hurt. But again, it slipped out of him this flat tone of voice saying it was a hassle because he had exposed himself in first person.

It didn’t take much till I was crying for the second time. But this time it was not for release because I was in his arms, this was total despair because I expressed my strongest desire -to cancel their meeting- and I realized it was not wise to satisfy it. I felt on the edge, I had bile in my throat and the next day he would be locked in a hotel room with her.
It was more than I could bear.

I cried for an infinite time, until I was no longer able to swallow. I didn’t want my tears to move him to please me, but in the end it was what he did. He would probably say that he had decided immediately after my request, but after his “ok” there were 3 hours of his monologue about why it would be a hassle, knowing that she would be gone, the reasons why it was going that bad etc. I kept apologizing for the situation I had caused, and I began to annoy even myself for my compliance. I had to give myself a tone and decide to go on firmly, because if he was putting himself at risk to give me the opportunity to do what I wanted, the least I could do was being sure.
In the calm following the crying I suggested to go if it was so uncomfortable for him to blow her off, that I would be comforted by the fact that it would be the last time I had to be without him. In the end he met me instead.

I had to agree to them meeting before I arrived because he had to explain the reasons for his absence (totally invented); again she moved to ask for reassurances, she begins to follow the roadmap of all the lovers that the more time passes and the more they want to gain ground on the girlfriend. I am almost certain that she will want to be his, and will try to show off in front of me. It’s still a very weak attitude, but the safety of the time spent together that will come will give her a hand and I know she will try to increase the distance between what THEY do and what WE do. She is already walking towards what will be the race track, now it’s my turn.

I speak of the time that will come because after my desperate outburst we pressed the button ‘pause’, not the button ‘stop’. I am too aware that things were so much worse because of my distance from him. If I could see him every day, if we were at our house I am sure that I could stay on my feet. Instead I was totally alone, in a hell with him hundreds of miles away, with the only hope to hear him on the phone when he had a little time. Casting out nines were our brief encounters, where the excited states were limited and easier to expel.
Now we expect at least 15 days of vacation from the physical sessions of cuckqueaning, and frankly I can’t wait. Seeing him last night was like coming home after the first day of school. We seemed a couple on the third day together, I missed him like crazy and I finally could say “see you tomorrow” and “I want to sleep” without destroying my stomach. I slept so well, and I woke up rested and the day passed without low tones and acids. Tonight I’m gonna see him again and tomorrow we’ll finally return to our home.
We talked about how to keep her in these days of rest, and although it is something that bores him, we decided to keep her busy with a ‘virtual’ relationship . He will give her tasks from the phone and she will respond with photos and videos (the first one has already been sent, and I am very curious to see it). I talk about it and do it much more easily, because for me a relationship of this type is still totally affordable, despite the jealousy. Enclosed within a cellphone she is so small that I can hold her in my hand and I can stay with him while she does her ‘homework’. I can even give them to her without her knowing it. When they see each other it’s as if they tie me to a wall in an impossible position and they say “we will release you when we’re done.”

In summary: The first week was hell because of the distance, after 15 days of virtual relationship we’ll decide what to do for the rest of the summer, and we will be careful to ensure that those circumstances won’t happen again.
The good news is that now we know what is the limit beyond which we must not go, what are the factors that make me fall.
Without the time of despair, the idea that we would have stopped with the cuckqueaning made me sad, because I’m still convinced that it can be my own way (although I still have doubts about the form that it should have). We will see.