Ten years ago, I wrote a post called Impotent Power, about an evening on which I produced and collected some 50 orgasms from Charlotte — an evening on which my cock was not a particularly prominent or even salient part of the story. Today, I find myself thinking once again about my impotence and about my power.
A couple of years ago, I staged a fantasy for a friend of mine, about which I didn’t really write here — because reasons. The evening was, for her, incredibly hot. For me, not so much. Although, at the same time, I had a blast. I enjoyed the intellectual and social aspects of planning the evening, even if it didn’t actually turn me on. And at the end of it all, she owed me, and she thanked me, in currency that I valued. So the whole thing was a big win-win.
In the wake of that, I found myself fantasizing about doing something similar for others in my life — conjuring fantasies I might otherwise be powerless to fulfill, and making them happen in a zone of safety, protection, hotness, communication, and respect. While I imagined this quite a bit over the last couple of years, for whatever reason it hasn’t come to be. Whether because the right woman or the right fantasy hasn’t materialized, or simply because life has a way of passing by.
But in recent days, I’ve been conjuring a gangbang for Margot.
Gangbangs don’t turn me on. Seeing Margot fucked by others wouldn’t make me hard. But for the first time, I feel like I have a little bit of a hint of how it is that at least some cuck fantasies might work. I always imagined that a cuck fantasy was about humiliation and degradation. But at least in my instance, as I flesh out what would make Margot’s gangbang fantasy hot for me, I realize that it’s quite the opposite.
When I imagine bringing it to fruition, a central element of it — if it is to be hot for me — is that I must occupy an utterly central and special, honored and privileged role. While I don’t need to, or want to, be part of the sexual proceedings once all the other men are in the room, it turns out, as I think about it, that it’s important to me that Margot suck my cock alone first. That she deliver to me palpable physical, sexual, sensual evidence of her gratitude, appreciation, and trust.
Two: I need to be present throughout. Again, not so much because it would or will turn me on to witness, but because I want the role of protector. I want all the men in the room to know that I am the protector. Which points to, at least, some sort of homosexual, disavowed, either aggression or desire — or both.
An essential element of the evening for me is not just that I protect Margot, but that the men know that in some special and significant way, Margot is mine and not theirs.
And then, finally, I want a thank you in currency I value. Ideally, by Margot’s once again sucking my cock. Although I suppose, if she were to propose splitting any money that might be generated with me, I would think about that. My instinct, though, is that wouldn’t please me. What I want is her mouth, not her money.
Header image prompt (openai): Large-format color photograph, interior, artificial light. A hotel suite or rented apartment, evening: heavy curtains three-quarters drawn against city dark, a single floor lamp throwing amber light across a bed made and undisturbed, its white duvet taut, a pillow slightly displaced — the only evidence of arrangement, of preparation. On the nightstand, a glass of water and three or four folded white towels, precise as a staging. In the far left corner, small and slightly out of focus, a woman in a dark dress stands with her back to the camera, one hand resting on the closed door, her weight forward as if she has just arrived or is about to leave — the direction is impossible to read. The lamp’s cone of light ends just before her. The room is too neat, too ready, and the wrongness is exactly that: nothing has happened yet, and everything already has.