So, I know probably more than any other owner of the club when it comes to kinks.
Which means I know exactly what cuckolding is—known more recently as hotwifing. Not something I knew existed seven years ago, but apparently, there are a whole lot of people out there who want to watch someone fuck their significant other. It’s grown in popularity over the last few years and was ranked in the top five of our categories, which meant our members were more into cuckolding than being whipped and paddled—which came in at number seven.
Number one was submission, for what it’s worth. Turns out a good Dom is hard to find.
What’s really weird to me is all that time, when I was helping the team develop the algorithm and putting together the entire Find Your Kink quiz new members had to take, I had no clue that I had one myself.
But cuckolding is based on humiliation and degradation, and I sure as fuck don’t want to be humiliated. I want to be aroused. Does that make my kink more hotwife—just a guy who wants to share his beautiful woman with someone else? Who the fuck knows and who cares about terms? The point is…the idea of them gets me aroused and I want to know why.
The idea of being turned on by watching someone else touch Isabel never crossed my mind. Not until I saw the way Drake hoisted her into his arms, one hand planted firmly on her ass and the other holding the harness wrapped around her torso. And my body immediately reacted with a visceral response screaming mine.
But it was that instinctive possessiveness that turned me on in the first place. Because she’s mine, I wanted to see him touch her. Because she’s mine, I wanted to watch him experience just how perfect she is. And seeing him touch what is mine only made me more desperate to claim her again.
It awoke something primal and territorial in me.
So powerful, in fact, that I want to see them touching again. I know that’s insane, but I can’t help it. Even now, with her head resting on my leg, just thinking about her on Drake’s cock has mine stirring.
I glance up at the rearview mirror, but Drake’s eyes are focused on the road as he bops his head to the classic rock blasting through the speakers. Watching him, I briefly wonder…is it only Drake I want to see with Isabel?
What if it were Garrett? Or Emerson?
The image is uncomfortable and ill-fitting. It doesn’t have nearly the same effect that picturing my best friend does.
But would he do it? No. I know that answer without a second thought. There is no one on earth more loyal than Drake, and from the moment I claimed Isabel as mine, he threw his hands up in surrender, never bringing up how beautiful he thought she was that day we saw her walking by.
Drake and I don’t have an origin story. I don’t remember a moment in my life he wasn’t there. We grew up as neighbors on a completely different side of the tracks than Isabel did, and when the world gave us less than nothing, we always had each other.
When my dad laid into me on his extra drunk and angry days, it was Drake’s basement I hid in. When his mother brought home yet another faceless, nameless boyfriend, with no sense of respect for her own son, it was my room he escaped to. Through the years, we had each other’s backs through it all, which meant some less than questionable decisions in our teens, but when I decided to clean up my future for Isabel, I brought Drake with me. Lent him the money he needed to get his contracting license, and the startup for his own company, never giving him a choice about it either. I wasn’t leaving him behind. Not ever.
So, would he do this if I asked him to? Without question, no. And not because he has trouble refusing me, but because he’s just that loyal.
Would she?
That one is a little more of a tricky question. And it’s one I don’t like thinking about too much. She would if I asked her because that’s what Isabel does. She makes me happy, no matter the personal cost. But would she want to? That’s the real question.
I’m not blind. I know Drake is more attractive than me. Taller, more built, less tattoos, and a face created for smiles instead of scowls. If anything, he’s a better fit for my demure Isabel, if not for his relentless promiscuity.
Of course, all of these thoughts are purely hypothetical. I couldn’t bring myself to actually ask for this—could I?
No, it’s ridiculous. Asking two people to forfeit their own values for my personal pleasure. I couldn’t do that to them. What on earth would they get out of it? Aside from sex, of course.
And if I could tell anything by that little display on the stage, it’s that these two clearly have some chemistry and want each other. If I ask them to have sex and let me watch, isn’t that just me giving them permission to do what they already want?