Top Ten Discoveries: A Hotwife and Cuckold’s FLR Year in Review

Hotwife Hubby
18 min readDec 25, 2024

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The end of each year offers the opportunity for reflection on all sorts of matters. Not the least of which is what 2024 had in store for Miranda and my relationship dynamics and adventures. Many advancements and memories were made; most of which will color how 2025 will play out in our lives. And with that, I present the Top 10 experiences of 2024 as seen though the eyes of this cuckold and his Hotwife.

10. Finding a Cuckold Community

Very few of our friends, and zero of our family, know that Miranda and I are in a Hotwife/cuckold/FLR relationship. This, I imagine, is consistent with most other couples who have started down similar roads. Of all our deviances, this is our most closely held secret (heck, my mom knows that were kinky nudists, but this is a bridge too far). The result of that needed secrecy is a bit of isolation. Miranda and I can, and do, celebrate our little victories, but at some point, it’s nice to have a little taste of community to celebrate with us. Enter the world of podcasts.

This year we discovered two podcasts that do a great job of just talking about Hotwifing. Cuck Tales is a British Hotwife and her husband, and Cuck My Life is hosted by four cucks. Miranda and I love both of these podcasts. Cuck Tales allows her to hear firsthand the bravery and insecurities of a fellow Hotwife, while Cuck My Life gives her a glimpse behind the curtain of cuck psychology. For me, I found it empowering to just “hang out” with fellow cucks and listen as they struggle, laugh, and celebrate being cucks. We have our friends, the Diva and her husband, but outside of that, I have never come across other true cucks. Cuck My Life has changed that.

Their podcast not only has created a community for me to be a part of, but Mianda and I never make it through an episode without pausing it endless times to discuss the themes brought up on the show. The show brings up subjects she had never thought to ask me, and permission to dig deeper into the wants, fears, and hopes that I have around our lifestyle. These questions challenge me as well, making me consider how I feel about certain dynamics. That alone is a healthy outcome from listening to the podcasts.

The podcasts have also led to me creating a Twitter account and interacting with other cucks online (@hotwifehubby14). It has proven quite healthy to come out of the shadows and find a lane where I can be public (albeit anonymous) about my sexuality. These are real people, real cucks, that I get to engage with. They encourage each other, answer questions, lift each other up, and never judge. Having a community has proven to be a real game changer. Now we just need to find Miranda a corollary group of Hotwives to interact with. Any leads are appreciated!

9. Naked massages

Miranda decided this year that she deserved regular bodywork and professional massages. She also decided that this is something I should be paying for. I had little room to deny her this, so I pushed for a little negotiation. She would sign up for a monthly massage program with a therapist she had seen a few times, as long as she agreed to do all of her massages fully naked. It seems unexpected for a Hotwife, but she is actually quite shy and demure. Slipping out of purposefully chosen full coverage briefs, and under the sheets of a massage table fully naked, was a challenge for her. Especially since the therapist she chose was a younger, handsome, muscle-bound man that she happens to be attracted to.

Now she initially selected this massage therapist because he was strong enough to do hard pressure and was actually willing to do what needed to be done for the massage to be therapeutic. She had already decided that laying there, helpless, while he showed little mercy in pushing, dragging, and scraping her muscles into conformity had a frotteuristic, nearly masochistic thrill to it. But the day she slid under his table fully naked, after non-verbally communicating that she was an “underwear on” client, was a secret thrill for both of us. I asked if he would notice, and she told me there was zero chance he wouldn’t.

Now we both look forward to her treatments. I drop her off into his hands while I just make busy for 90 minutes imagining how this session will for her. Afterwards, I get to hear, for most of that night, how much she enjoyed her appointment. He is, of course, a professional. Nothing untoward ever happens. But she makes sure to let me know how far up her leg his draping exposed her and just how turned on she was as he pushed her to her pain limits. She describes in detail how she has to fight back orgasms as he painfully drags hard objects across her skin and leans his weight hard onto her. It brings me no lack of thrill to hear how she had to squirm not to cum on his table for fear of leaving a telltale pool of her fluids on his sheets. And how she’s pretty sure that our little secret game isn’t lost on him.

8. The Examination Table

We all know consent is more than sexy. It’s imperative. Consent of all involved. Consider this acknowledged and validated. No arguments here. But sometimes, just sometimes, maybe arousal without consent is unavoidable. It doesn’t make it right, but that doesn’t make it not real. As was the case one random Sunday afternoon this past year.

Miranda had a little issue with her…down there. It wasn’t anything that was a big deal. No STI, or anything related to her sex life. But she is serious about her sexual health and had a little skin discomfort which was enough to make her want to get it checked out. We headed out to the walk in clinic that day with a spin of the roulette wheel of physician assistants flashing before us.

The nurse took the notes and then the PA came into the room. There was only one on duty that day. No choosing the gender of the provider. Instead, a man firmly only in his thirties strolled awkwardly into the room. He and Miranda immediately had a comfortable, nearly flirty, repertoire, while my mind immediately recognized what was about to happen. A few questions led to his suggested protocol. He offered to leave the room while she collected a swab of her labia, but she wasn’t biting. Unrelated to being a pervert, Miranda has long been frustrated by the lack of hands on doctoring. She asked a few questions about how to collect the swab, and he mentioned in passing that he could do it.

Now I have to stress here that there was nothing inappropriate or unprofessional about this interaction. She really did want a professional to collect the sample, and she also really wanted a professional to do a physical examination so that she could put her mind at ease. All three of us, Miranda, the doctor, and I went into the exam in fully detached, health professional mode and got done what had to be done.

It wasn’t until, honestly, a few weeks later that I allowed myself to replay the interaction with a…less professional lens. I had positioned myself behind Miranda at the head of the exam table, so she could hold my hand if needed. From my perspective, watching over the top of her head, I could only see her knees lift and open while the PA slid into position. He lifted the gown and it slid up her thighs. He mostly kept a poker face as my wife’s everything was fully open directly before his eyes. They both engaged in a little awkward small talk as I watched his hands slide forward and disappear under the awning of the gown that was blocking my view of the matter at hand. He stared directly at her and made what could only be described as a boo boo face and, with eyes fully on his investigation, sympathetically said something along the lines of “aww, I can see you have an unhappy vagina”.

Honestly, I kept it distant and professional in the moment. When, a few weeks later, I brought it up to Miranda, we both laughed. As much as my candaulism was in full bloom remembering him starting directly at her while offering nearly clinical comments, her frotteurism was also in stoked by the memory. Having to expose herself to an authority figure, as the PA was in that moment, and let him touch her turned out to me a hot memory for her as well. Once we allowed ourselves to go there. We talked and laughed about it. She had bravely asserted her rights as a woman to health care and offered no space for either of the men in the room to disagree, despite how uncomfortable it may have made either of us.

We also wondered if he too thought back on the encounter with some degree of guilty pleasure as well. I mean, I’m sure his recent medical education taught him how to disconnect clinically, but given his age, it was likely that this was the first time an attractive woman his age demanded that he examine her in that manner. Likely not what he expected when he got dressed for work that day!

7. Safer Sex Cream Pie Substitute

The heralded cream pie is held up as the gold standard of cuckold reclaiming. I get it. A sultry combination of absolute, undeniable evidence that another man has been with you wife and a very physical expression of the hubby’s consent and excitement of his Hotwife’s extramarital dalliances. There can be no doubt about a cuck’s obedience and support for this Hotwife’s choices once he worships her with another man’s scent still thick on her body. Only we haven’t gotten to the point of fluid bonding with any of Miranda’s dates, so the condom stays on.

This year, on Mirada’s date with a doctor in Savannah (see past posts for those details), a new discovery was made. She got back to our hotel room to find me a little salty about a few things that happened that night. She wasn’t having it. She threw me on the bed and climbed on my face. She was soaked; her pussy happy and engorged. I had no defense as I instinctively met her with my tongue.

Most of her taste was familiar. The sweet muskiness I know so well was in full fragrance. But there was something new. New, and obvious. I could taste the traces of a condom. His condom. An artificial, rubbery taste lurking behind her familiar scents. My first reaction was to recoil from the sharp flavor, only the downward thrust of her hips made retreat impossible. I had no choice but to meet her thrust with my mouth and, at first, endure the residual traces of his condom on my wife.

But then something happened. Enduring became curiosity; curiosity became arousal. In a flash, I was in his hotel room with her. Undeniable evidence of my Hotwife’s evening activities. I let my mind accept what was happening. I opened my tongue wider and inhaled deeply. It was my own, personal safer sex cream pie. All the excitement, all the validation, all the devotion, with none of the pregnancies and other risks. There was a new brand of arousal that, up to that point, was unknown to me. It was primal. It was dirty. It was naughty. It was truly unreal. It was intoxicating.

I think I managed to murmur something along the lines of “I can taste his condom” between long, deep, dragging licks of where he had just been. Miranda responded by pushing harder on my face and reaching down to stroke me. I came immediately. New thrill unlocked.

6. Choosing the Right Identity

A big step for me this past year was finding a new identity as a cuckold. Miranda and I had been circling a dynamic for quite a while. We just weren’t sure where we landed in the panoply of open marriages. We had known for a while that the label “swinger” didn’t fit us. And we had settled on Hotwife for Miranda, as both her and I preferred to double down on my commitment to monogamy. But still, taking the leap from stag, or hubby to a Hotwife, to owning the label “cuckold” was an important step.

I tried it on. Did some mental exercises with the word. In the end, I was surprised by how well the word fit. More surprising was the freedom the label gave me. There was no more guessing. No more trying to fit myself into a square hole. No more struggles with playing an active role with my permission of her choices. I remember clearly, while flying home from Savannah after her date with the doctor, finding great comfort in the word. The word offered both peace and freedom. That night, I told Miranda about my realization. She asked some questions. She pushed a bit for clarity. She, in the end, accepted my explanations for this descriptor of my sexuality and embraced it with me.

In the end, it turned out that we both felt good about the identity. She is a Hotwife and I am her cuckold. That mental clarity of what we are was a lightbulb for both of us that will surely guide us into the new year.

5. Sex Clubs with New Identity

We are not sex club regulars. That said, we do enjoy the occasional sexy date night out at our favorite club in Portland. We experimented with sex clubs more as we were homing in on our dynamic. It was there that it became clear that neither of us had an interest in seeing me with other women, while we both were drawn to the idea of her being with other men. Even then, visits to these clubs were usually heavy with hesitation and conversation. One thing we haven’t truly done yet is visit as sex club after our discovery of a true cuckold dynamic.

We will be attending our favorite club on New Years Eve. It will be the first visit since I confessed to her that all of this feels most right when she is in complete control of her sexual choices. We did attend the Halloween party there, but we went with friends and the dynamic was different. This time we are going alone. And this visit may not turn out any different than other nights, but one thing will be different for sure. We will both know that if she meets someone, what happens will be fully in her discretion. No conversation. No debate. No safe harbor for angst to create cold feet. There will be an erotic fear within me that anything could happen, and my sole role will be to support. I have to be prepared that she may push my limits, and even the specter of that possibility adds an erotic charge to the night. And hopefully, for her, there will be intoxication in her freedom of her own choices. A woman unbridled is a powerful and scary thing, and even if nothing happens, I will be bathing in the fear and eroticism of her power.

4. Chastity Cages

Miranda decided to experiment with chastity cages this year. This was one of those curious things we had played with in the past, but it had been years, and long before there was any power exchange in our dynamic. As chastity enthusiasts always say, finding the correct fit is a challenge. And that proved to be true. We are ending the year with a small collection, all of which work to some degree, but none proving to be Cinderella’s slipper. We are starting the new year with my commitment to revisit the topic and invest in new cages. It may be that we end up with a collection of cages that can be used in various settings. The smallest one for short-term use, the biggest one day use (as it tends to fall off at night), the uncomfortable one for punishment, and the elusive perfect fit for long-term confinement.

Like so much in the Hotwife and FLR dynamic, there is a “be careful what you ask for” aspect to all of this. I let on chastity could be fun, so she went along with it. Now, after experiencing the feel of a key around her neck, it is Miranda that now is demanding the use of the tool in our marriage. I have learned that wearing a cage can be inconvenient and uncomfortable, and a little vulnerable and even embarrassing to stand naked before her with it on. All of which are features in her mind, not glitches. The question I’m left with going into the new year is whether she likes the tool a little too much!

3. Denial

As I’ve documented in this space, Miranda and I took a deeper dive into the formalization of her control over my genitals and orgasmic releases this year. It’s not that it hadn’t always been like that, but this last year saw us discover the use of a tracker app to keep track of my orgasms. Or lack thereof.

In a fun twist, it turns out that there isn’t much more of a bigger turn on than not being able to be turned on. Or, at least, not being able to do anything about the fact that I’m turned on. Just knowing that nearly all men, all around the world, ejaculate freely whenever they like, while I can only watch the day counter climb higher on the tracking app makes me only want to cum all the more. I get rock hard thinking about all of the orgasms I don’t get to have just because Miranda, on her whims, has decided to carefully regulate and budget my ejaculations.

Giving that level of control to her and experiencing her wielding it as if each of my releases were precious drops of fresh water on a deserted island, makes me want to erupt. Thinking about it too long draws my attention to the omnipresent weight of my testicles and the pent up energy raging in my pelvis. I can feel the potential energy, kicking in its stable, desperate to escape. There is a heat palpable at the tip of my penis and a pressure that radiates from my groin, across my hips, and down into my thighs. Meanwhile, I can only look over at the seemingly indifferent Miranda. The stable doors locked just because she said so. It turns out, its just so fucking arousing to have my arousal under her quite stingy constraints. Nothing makes me want to cum more!

As for Miranda, it seems what started as a game is evolving into a lifestyle. She has long quipped, almost since we met, that she sees little utility in the male orgasm. She goes as far as saying that male orgasms are “gross” and “unnecessary” and “selfish”. There is certainly devotion to be found in giving another authority of one’s orgasms. There is a little hesitancy inherent in having that authority claimed by someone who feels as Miranda does about male orgasms. Hesitancy, fear, and a lot of elation in knowing that she would prefer to live in a world with the presumption of zero ejaculations. Yet here I am. I don’t see her giving that authority back to me anytime soon.

Hearing the words “just so we’re clear, you are not cumming tonight” as Miranda lays back and allows me to pleasure her, for as long or quickly as she pleases, is the sort of memory from this year that will last into my eternity. Her indifference as she, fresh from a stream of orgasms, puts me to bed hard and throbbing is the sort of devotional challenge that only makes me desperate to cum all the more.

2. Penance for Other Men

I like to think that the FLR dynamic is a little more than just a kink. It feels on some level as if we are connecting to the vibrations of some sort of ancient Goddess worship. There is something that just feels right about a matriarchy or gynarchy. It’s a concept that both Miranda and I have been exploring. It’s from this concept that Miranda developed a realm to explore: my payment of penance for the misdeeds of other men.

It’s one thing to be punished for my own missteps, but Miranda took that idea to the next level this year. As I offered myself as a willing subject to a matriarchy, and she grew in her comfort with her natural feminine authority, the idea of me standing in for others began to appear. Whether its actual men who had hurt her in the past, or just the general damage done to women by the patriarchy, Miranda has found an appropriateness in having a stand in for the concept of men.

The concept of generalized penance has silently infiltrated our dynamic. Perhaps a potential date ghosted or otherwise disappointed her. That could translate to her being a little more bitey around the house or more demanding of me. But it doesn’t have to be that direct. Miranda is a woman, which means she was once a girl entering the dating world with young boys. Every boy who stated, with youthful confidence, that they “have to cum regularly” or that “blue balls are dangerous so you have to make me cum”, translate today in her lack of mercy around my own denial. Every man who thoughtlessly urinates wherever and as carelessly as he pleases, or leaves toilet seats raised, results in demanding that I sit to pee. Every man who has used his masculinity to suppress a woman’s sexuality fuels her desire for me to recognize her claim to her own sexual agency. And I’m under no illusions that her growing demands around my use of chastity cages is not connected, on some level, to her distaste of men who endlessly play with their junk just because they can and walk through the world penis first.

Sitting to pee. A stingy orgasm budget. The inconvenience of a chastity cage. Being responsible for household chores. These directions are not a result of something that I did or deserve specifically. They are my penance to bear because I have walked through the world with male privilege. Until a widespread gynarchy can order mass implementation of these policies, I do so as a symbolic gesture to my own personal matriarch. And the funny thing is that it feels right to do so. In fact, I find it much more fulfilling to bear the burden of all men than I do accepting punishment for my own missteps.

As the new year dawns, I know full well that the damage men do with their dicks and orgasms is unlikely to subside anytime soon. I understand what that means for me in Miranda’s eyes, and I find myself ready to serve any symbolic purpose Miranda finds appropriate.

1. My Role in Her Dating

The change to a true cuckold dynamic means that Miranda gets to date who she wants. I voluntarily handed over my veto card to her and watched as she slowly fed it into the shredder. That is a profound step to take and is one that is right for both of us. However, there is still a void in the space where the veto card once occupied. Not having a veto is not the same as not having a role to play. This became clear this past year.

We visited coastal Alabama this past September. It was a work trip for me. Her favorite time to hit Tinder. We were in a faraway city where nobody knows us and discretion is much less important. She can invent whoever she wants to be when in another city and enjoys the freedom that being away from home offers. This trip found her connecting with someone on Tinder who almost hit all of the right boxes. He was handsome. The right age. Said the right things about understanding what a Hotwife is and what she expected. Only something was missing. She enjoys the pre-date text banter. Chances to know a little about someone before a date begins. That was missing. It started feeling like the encounter would be more physical and mental, and that is not the game she enjoys playing.

She found a great place to take him for the date. There was a nice restaurant not too far from the hotel, and right next door was a sexy little speakeasy. It had a non-descript door and required the knowledge of a password only found on the bar’s Facebook page. Inside were fancy cocktails served in darkened corners under heavy, satin fabrics. Her and I went to scout out the location, and we both taken by the weight of the sexy ambiance they created. It was the perfect place for a Hotwife to bring her prey.

Only I could see that something wasn’t quite right. She was obviously excited about the idea of the date. Just not the person the date would be with. It became clear that she was thinking things more along the line of “well, I might as well do it” rather than “OMG, I am so excited to meet him”. This was an awkward place for me to be. It was the first trip after we reaffirmed her full authority to choose whomever she wishes as sexual partners. Yet I could see something wasn’t quite right. She appeared to be forgetting her value, and “settling for” someone was not the Miranda I knew. But what do I say? Would she think I was passively resorting to old ways and trying to veto her choice? If I did that, our dynamic could be marred for years.

In the end, we just talked about it. All of it. I asked her some targeted questions that she had avoided asking herself and helped her draw her own conclusions. My role wasn’t to veto or influence, but to offer counsel to her. True counsel. My thoughts for her to consider with no consequences if she decided a different path. It was tricky, but it was the right course of action. In the end, she was very disappointed that she didn’t get to go on a date at the sexy speakeasy. But she was happy that she didn’t go on the date with the guy she was considering. Along the way, we found the proper role that she wants her cuckold to fulfill. I am entering the new year more certain than ever that I can fill the role of trusted wing man more than ever.

Counting my year end blessings with Miranda.

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Hotwife Hubby
Hotwife Hubby

Written by Hotwife Hubby

Monogamous man happily married to his perfect Hotwife. Living in the Pacific Northwest and documenting his journey through a female-led one-way open marriage.

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