A Guide To Your First Cuckolding Experience: Lending Your Wife Out

Detail Tonight is the night. Your wife is about to meet the bull, and you are left at home to wait. The tension in the air is thick as she finishes preparing herself. You help her get ready, adjusting the straps of her dress, running your hands over her smooth skin as she slips into something revealing.

Her skin is flawless, hairless everywhere except for one area. Her intimate region has been shaved, perfectly groomed for the bull. It’s not just any casual shave; it’s a meticulous effort to make herself more desirable to him. You can’t help but wonder if she did this with him specifically in mind.

You help her get dressed, your hands trembling slightly as you adjust the final touches. You try to suppress the jealousy bubbling up inside, but it’s hard to ignore. You’ve seen the way she looks, how perfect her body is, and now it’s not for you—it’s for him. Every inch of her, from her smooth legs and arms to her freshly shaved intimate area, is prepared for tonight.

“You look amazing,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

She smiles, a hint of power in her expression. “I know.”

It stings, but you try to hide your feelings. This is what you agreed to. But it doesn’t stop the jealousy from twisting your stomach.

She leaves the house alone, and you’re left standing in the doorway, watching her walk out. You hear the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. Your pulse quickens as you hear the bull’s car door slam. She walks toward the car, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Your eyes follow her as she climbs into the car with him. He drives away, leaving you standing there, helpless. You wonder what she’s going to do with him. What will he do to her? How will he touch her?

You try to control the jealousy that surges through you. She’s his now, you remind yourself, even though it hurts. You wait, but the clock moves slowly. You wish you could be there, feel the way he touches her skin, the way he explores her body. But tonight, you're powerless.

A text comes in: “Just arrived.” That’s it. No more information. You can’t help but wonder, What are they doing right now?

She’s already with him, and you’re left with nothing but the sound of your thoughts running wild. Will he appreciate her smoothness? Will he be rough with her? What will she feel with him?

Hours pass, and you’re left with nothing but your thoughts and your growing sense of jealousy. The waiting is unbearable. You begin to wonder if she’s doing more with him than she’s ever done with you. The questions fill your mind: What happened in that car? What happened when they got to his place?

You get a text. “On my way back now.” You feel your chest tighten. She’s coming home, but she’s not coming home to you in the way she once did. She’s coming home after being with the bull.

When the car finally pulls into the driveway, your heart races. You hear the door open, and you know she’s back. But as she enters the house, you notice something—her energy is different. She’s glowing, her posture more confident, almost too much so. Her makeup is slightly smudged, and her hair is a little messier than when she left.

There’s a look in her eyes—something you can’t quite place. It’s a satisfaction, but there’s something more to it. Something that says she’s been with him, and that she’s not about to share all the details with you.

“You’re back,” you say, your voice a little strained as you try to sound casual.

She looks at you with a sly smile. “I had a great time,” she says. There’s a pause, and then she adds, “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything later.” But you know she won’t. She’s playing with you. The power she has over you is palpable.

As she walks past you, you can’t help but notice how she carries herself differently. There’s a quiet confidence to her now, a sense of satisfaction that wasn’t there before. You wonder what she’s hiding, but you already know. She’s holding back the details, playing mind games with you. You want to know what happened, but she’s not about to tell you.

You helped her get ready, watched her leave, and now you’re left wondering. Did she really have sex with him? Did he make her feel things you never could? How did he touch her, how did he kiss her, how did he fuck her? But she won’t tell you. She keeps the answers just out of reach, leaving you to imagine everything.

You wonder, Did the neighbors see her leave? Did they see her leave with him, dressed the way she was? The thought of it makes your jealousy flare up again. You can’t escape it. She’s his now, and you’ll never truly know what happened when they were alone. She’s holding onto that power, and you’re left powerless, unable to stop it.

As she settles in after her return, she avoids talking about the specifics of what happened. The silence is deafening. You’re left questioning everything—Did he fuck her hard? Did she beg him for more? Did she enjoy herself more than she ever has with you?

But she doesn’t give you any more details. She smiles, a secretive little smile that tortures you. The power she holds over you is unbearable. You wish she’d just tell you everything, but you already know she won’t. She enjoys this—seeing you squirm, knowing that you’re left with nothing but questions, with nothing but your own jealous thoughts to torment you.

You helped her get ready, helped her prepare for the bull, and now you’re left with the aftermath. She’s his. And you will never know the full extent of what happened.