All the Man I Need Pt. 01

Quick writer's note:

Tags for this story: Cuckolding, Open Marriage

Other subjects touched in this story: Rough Sex, Dominate Male, Submissive Female, Alpha and Beta male comparisons, light bondage, light BDSM, light pain.

I've always enjoyed how people's perspectives on such controversial things as 'What makes a real man', 'How men react to different situations', 'The difference between Alpha and Beta Males'. I hope to explore this concept a little in this story. I also know that this subject will stir some emotional responses in some of the readers of Literotica so I have turned off the public comments.

I want to thank my editors for their collaboration and input in this story. I love to collaborate with people and so I look forward to expanding this editing team. If you are interested in being a part of this collaboration team, please send me your email address through private messaging and I'll shoot you my stories.

This will be a 2-part story, it is written but we are still working through the editing process.

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The standard wooden hotel chair bites into my hips as his right hand is wrapped in my hair, pulling it back harder with each thrust. I stare at the ceiling as his left hand grips the small chain of the cuffs, keeping my arms twisted behind me. He's pushing down on the chain and my lower back causing me to arch up to allow better access as he slams his cock deeper and harder, causing me to gasp and moan as our bare skin slaps against each other, the clapping noise echoing around the room. His condom-covered cock is slick with my wetness as I feel him pull to my opening and then shove back in, as if he's trying to slam his cock head into my cervix. My legs are restrained with leather cuffs, keeping my ankles tightly together, causing my pussy to add more friction to his cock as I remain bent over the chair at his mercy.

"Take my COCK! You worthless SLUT!" he yells at me.

The filthy talk sinks into my soul and gives me a thrill. This is what I'm here for...just another submissive slut bending over for an Alpha male.

He's close: his rhythm is getting erratic; his breathing is labored. My tummy lifts off the chair as he roughly pulls my head back by my hair.

"Knees, BITCH!" he grunts.

This isn't a request--it's a command I'm only too happy to obey. My heart thumps and my breath is ragged from the abuse my body has taken as my knees crash into the cheap hotel carpet. He pulls off the condom I make my Alphas wear. I made a promise that I would not allow myself to get pregnant, that is Rule #1. I prepare myself for his second load down my throat, one of his earlier loads has already dried on my ass and back. He buries his raw cock into my mouth and fucks it, causing me to gag as he hits the back of my throat.

I only wish I could taste my juices on his cock.

He cums, pumping into my oral cavity without concern for my pleasure or need. My makeup is smeared by the tears streaming down my cheeks as I work to swallow each spurt.

At this moment, I'm his.

Nothing more than a set of holes to abuse.

Nothing more than a dirty cockwhore.

Oh, how that turns me on.

He finishes in my mouth and I instinctively milk his cock as it softens. He pushes me away causing me to fall back on the floor, giving my right elbow a slight rug burn. I look at him as he tries to catch his breath, drinking his Jack and Coke.

'Damn.' I think to myself; this man has outdone himself tonight.

"Better than that pussy husband, huh?" he spats down at me. I don't answer. That's rule #4, no demeaning of our spouses. Even if they weren't in the room, it would eventually deteriorate our respect for each other and manifest itself in our daily life. Jim, like all my lovers, knows this. I can't control their testosterone, but I can control my tongue. Most don't push me; they realize that they crossed a line right after.

"Sorry." He mumbles.

I flip over as he unlocks the cuffs. It's 12:30 AM. I've got time for a quick shower to freshen up before heading home. My husband will want me clean, if not fresh.

I stand, grabbing my clothes and bag as I head to the shower, watching Jim spread out on the queen bed.

"Damn, I wish you could stay the night...how I would love another piece of that FIIIINE pussy in the morning," he states, watching me.

"I know, but you know that's rule #5...home by 3 AM," I say with a smile.

"You and those damn rules!" Jim is smiling back at me. I give him a slight smile as I stop at the bathroom door watching him get comfortable on the bed, knowing this is probably the last time I'll see him. "Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, slut." He sleepily replies.

There it is--no truer words have been spoken. I'm just a submissive slut that needs a hard fucking. Regularly.

When the water is warm enough, I step into the shower to clean myself off, letting my mind wander.

"Slut." How did I get here?

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A lot has changed in the past year and a half where I have been seeking my rough sex from men other than my husband.

I met Taylor when I was 21, during my college internship at his company. I was taken with him immediately. Six foot even, broad shoulders, and smoldering eyes that make me wet just by looking at me. He was just discharged from the Navy and working as a corporate trainer on the same floor where I was interning. He asked me to lunch on my second day and dinner that first weekend. That boy did not let any grass grow under his feet. I was overwhelmed with the immediate attention but liked it and knew it would be a huge mistake to turn him down. I learned later that this was extremely out of character for him. There were women at the company who had been waiting months for this shy, bearded hunk to ask them out or to catch onto their flirting. He never did, though. Or maybe he just wasn't interested.

I never complained.

We dated my entire senior year and fucked like rabbits every chance we got. He was a gentle lover, never man-handled me or pushed my boundaries. He never asked for anal, which I like when I'm really horny and desperate, and it took several times from me giving him head and telling him it was okay to cum in my mouth for him to do so. Even now, he only does it occasionally when I have him so worked up that he can't control himself...or I just won't let him pull out.

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I step into the hotel shower, pour my bodywash into the loofa as the warm water lands just below my neck, launching off my upturned breasts--nipples hardening with the attention. I massage my neck and shoulders, closing my eyes to enjoy the scrubbing of my skin as the vanilla scent wafts from the scrubby. My hands lower to my breasts, as I scrub, I look for any marks left from my lover. Rule #14, no marks. My husband became adamant about this after one of my first hook-ups left bruises and hickeys all over my tits for him to find. I tried to stop him, but I was tied down and gagged. I knew the marks were going to be a problem, and they were.

Rule #15 manifested that night as well. The spouse has veto rights to cancel out the other's fuck buddy, with reasonable cause. I felt he had reasonable cause, so I never saw that ass again.

I let my fingers linger a little on my clit as I separate the lips making sure I flush myself of any lubricants while I inspect for signs of use. My sex is a little red and puffy, but no apparent damage. I feel myself becoming a little more aroused as I think of what's coming when I get home.

Rule #9 only allowed me two extracurricular get togethers each month, though I originally suggested once a month. I also agreed to see different people each time, that was Rule #16, but I see Jim almost monthly. My husband's concern stemmed from how a sexual relationship can turn to an emotional one if allowed to go unchecked. The hope of limiting the frequency of dates was that I stood less of a chance of making a deep connection with another man. I have always tried to put my marriage first and to keep that connection my primary bond, though there was a time when I struggled. We both agreed that my dating is only a sexual release, we are partners in life and in the decisions each of us make. I would never want that to change.

Even though I see Jim the most I would never leave Taylor for him. Mainly because what made him hot in the bedroom was also the same personality flaw, I despised outside of it: he was an asshole, when he wasn't fucking me stupid. My friend, husband, and lover is Taylor. I developed the ability to separate my love for Taylor from my sexual desires that Jim fulfilled. I've come to realize that Jim, or any other man, could not fill my emotional desires.

Around 1:35 AM I text Taylor: [On my way home honey, see you in 25 minutes or so.]

He replied: [Drive safely.]

Damn, I love that man.

Rule #6 was a safety rule, I had to text him when I arrived with the name of the hotel and room number. He wanted to make sure I had an out if I needed it. I also had to keep my phone on with my phone finder and tracking apps turned on, in case I missed my 10 PM check in. Taylor didn't like me being alone with a guy, especially if it was our first meeting, though I told him many times, "Honey, they just want to fuck me, not rob me!" I know it gives Taylor some relief, that alone is why I have never missed a text check-in.

Taylor also made it very clear that we couldn't meet our lovers at our home, Rule #10. I preferred hotel rooms since I felt it was more neutral territory, I never like going to a guy's house. I feel much safer if we had some prying eyes on our activities.

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As I drove home my mind started to think back, I graduated at 22 and married Taylor that summer. We were young, but so damn in love. It was about our 6-month anniversary when I started to miss the rough and domineering sex, I had with my first long-term boyfriend.

Sammy was an intelligent, dominant man who loved making me beg for his cock on a regular basis. We both got off on him degrading and controlling me. We had some awesome all-night fuck sessions that would leave me desperate for more and proud to be a woman. It's difficult for me to put into words how alive and vibrant I felt after a session with Sammy. Though I was the submissive, I felt empowered. Watching the joy and pleasure he took from my body made it that much more exciting for me. My body would quiver with the raw sexual energy Sammy drew from me.

I started to think about Sammy when I masturbated to fill that dark void I had. I wanted to feel that power again, I needed to feel that dormant desire. As I came down from my exprobrated high, I remembered why I could have never stayed with Sammy. He wanted a traditional BDSM relationship--to make me his subservient slave. I tried it for a while and found that the whips and chains scene didn't do it for me, though I do love some light bondage and pain. The last straw was when he gagged and bound me to a fuck stool, then invited some friends to share me. Fortunately, one of the guys, who was a little older and had been in the scene for a while, picked up on my body language and realized I was not enjoying what was about to happen.

"She didn't agree to this, did she! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" he screamed at Sammy as he started to untie me.

He waited for me to get dressed and walked me to my car, apologizing profusely, reassuring me this wasn't how the lifestyle was supposed to go. I broke up with Sammy two days later. I like to be treated like a slut and humiliated while being fucked. Good, raw sex is breathtaking, but I also need someone that would respect me and treat me as a partner, not a possession. Sammy wanted to possess me. Taylor wants me to be his equal.

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Taylor and I have always been able to communicate and be open to the needs of the other. I felt comfortable bringing up just about anything, so I approached him over a couple of after-dinner drinks one night.

"Baby, can we talk?" I was nervous and excited over where our conversation could take us.

He was hesitant. "Ahhh, ok Rach. What about?"

"You know I love the way you love me." I started, "You are so gentle and loving, I mean ... I can feel your warmth hours after we make love. But you know...sometimes, ahhh, you could just take me." I almost whispered that last part, his face changed from a worried look to a sly smile.

"I do baby, you hardly refuse me. I love that about you, and you are always so hot when I push your buttons, just right." I hear his pride coming through in his tone.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know, and I love that, but sometimes ya ... you ... you could just take me without asking." I was looking down at my drink trying to find my next words. "Taylor, why haven't you just bent me over the couch and pulled my pants down?" It came out all in one breath.

"What do you mean? That sounds. Kind of sounds like rape." He paused, "I could never do that to you! ... I love you too much to disrespect you that way!" his voice raised a couple of octaves as if the idea was repulsive to him.

"Taylor, sometimes I just need you to fuck me, just take me, I'm your woman and I want to feel you take control." I tried to explain, "Baby, sometimes I like really rough sex. Like, just totally own me. Maybe, just don't give me an option."

"Where is this coming from?" His shocked showed, I knew I might just be in a little bit of trouble here.

I sipped my drink for courage, "I've told you about Sammy and some of the things we did. I ... I sometimes miss that kind of sex." I stuttered out.

He pulled back from me some and spat out towards me, "You want to go fuck SAMMY?"

"Oh, hell no baby, I want you to fuck me that way!" I could see him relax and sink back into the couch, with a look of relief. "Ok baby, I don't know why, but it really thrills me and is a huge turn on to be called names and to be degraded during sex. I mean, making love with you is the best sex I've ever had. Sometimes I just want that raw, visceral sex. You are a sexy man and I know if you would just take complete control of me I would cum so much!" I almost purred to him.

He sat quietly for some time before looking back at me, "Rachelle, I know sometimes you want more from me, and I promise I'll try ... ok?"

I let my mind wonder to how exciting this next kinky step will be with the man I love.

We discussed what I envisioned for these dominating sex sessions and we tried on several occasions, he was never comfortable with calling me names or would stop in the middle of a good scene and ask if I was okay. Then, neither of us was able to get back into the groove and we would end up with just an ok fuck session. Afterwards, he'd spend an inordinate amount of time apologizing and trying to make up for those degrading things he said to me. The whole scene didn't seem to sit well with his chivalrous personality. I even started to fantasize about finding someone who could meet my needs, but every time that thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away as quickly as it entered.

A few months later, after a disappointing Friday night session, I approached him the next morning, "Baby, I want to thank you and tell you how much I love you for trying, uhh, my kinky sex idea. But ahhh, I'm afraid it isn't really working like I had hoped." I didn't know what to expect from Taylor, his eyes got a little wider and then he let a long breath.

"Oh god Rach, am I not satisfying you?" fear racked his voice.

'N ... no baby, it really isn't working. Do you like it?"

"No." His response was simple and quick, "I really hate calling you names honey, it kills me to say those nasty things to you. Ahhh, I don't want you to hate me." He confessed to me. "Do you want to stop trying?"

"I could never hate you for doing what I asked baby. No, not really. I don't want to stop, but could you, ahh maybe not stop in the middle? You know, maybe just keep fucking me and saying those things." I stopped to watch his expression, then continued, "And then after, maybe we could talk about it?"

"Well, I guess, maybe, I could watch some porn and try the things in there. Would that be ok?"

"Oh my god YES! I don't care if you watch porn, especially if you get some good ideas!" I was excited again, "I love that you would be willing to try something new."

Taylor did as he said, and occasionally I would watch with him and point out things I liked. He tried so hard and to my surprise, he did get a lot better. He had to prep himself a little beforehand but damn if he didn't pull it off. Spanking my ass and calling me dirty foul names. Stuffing his cock down my throat, making me choke, and sputter like a 2-dollar whore. It got to the point, just shy of three months later, that he was scaring me a little. His eyes would darken, and he was a totally different person. I was sexually sated but started to fear my husband and it was taking him longer and longer after each session to get back to normal. He would sulk and be distant most of the following day, after our session.

Finally, he told me, "Rach, we need to talk."

We sat together at the table. He was scaring the hell out of me. The we need to talk talk very seldom leads to anything good. He explained that he couldn't be that way with me anymore. He said that he had to go to a really dark place inside of himself to be able to perform the way I needed him to. He was feeling himself getting lost there and was afraid if he kept going down this road, that he was either going to hurt me physically or damage our relationship beyond repair.

I was also getting a glimpse inside of my man's brain and the dark secrets he kept hidden from the world. There was something truly dark and frightening within my husband. I really didn't want to be the reason that this darkness escaped and changed the man I loved. So, I told him that it was alright, and we would figure it out.

That's when he surprised me with some old soul philosophy. He knew that I craved and needed this treatment to be satisfied sexually and was afraid that if he couldn't do it that I would find it elsewhere. He told me that cheating was non-negotiable. For him, it had everything to do with being truthful and respecting each other. He went on to explain that he did some research and found some options that might help. The first option was swinging. We talked in great detail about it and I told him I wasn't sure that I would find what I needed in that type of relationship, but we could try it. He also explained that he really didn't want to have sex with anyone else. He would try it with me but wasn't sure it was a solution either.

Then, he brought up cuckoldry and open marriage. He told me in no uncertain terms that traditional cuckolding, as he researched, was not going to happen. He told me he would never want to watch me have sex or did he want to hear about it or clean me afterward.

His suggestion: a hybrid of cuckolding and an open marriage. We would set hard and fast rules and we would both participate in the open relationship, at least in spirit if not reality so it didn't feel like cheating. We agreed to research these ideas and to come back with suggestions for a structure or frame to operate within.

How fucked up am I to want to sleep with other guys when I'm one of the few women who had a husband who respected her and only wanted her forever? I truly don't deserve this man. I'm so fucked up!

"Rach, my biggest fear is that if we let other people inside of our marriage...I will lose you and that isn't something I can live with." He spoke despondently. "So please, keep that in mind when making these rules for us. When we have settled on them, we will have them transcribed into a postnuptial contract that will be fair to us both. If this goes sideways ..." he trailed off