How did your wife change after starting?

[Long Lurker 34]

Thanks for this brilliant response. Reading through all of those points, I guess the one that stands out, the one that would most test a relationship is point number 5.
Obviously other hotwives will be different, but it sounds like there is always some psychological shift away from the husband, towards the boyfriend (inevitable I suppose). Obviously made worse in your case because she wasn’t sharing the experience with you.
The question for us husbands/cucks is wether we can “enjoy” this change, enjoy watching our wives “blossom” independently from us. It’s always difficult because every hotwife will do it to a different extent i suppose.


Can I ask what your situation is now? Are you able to look back at that period with excitement at all? From a cuckolding point of view?
Thanks!

To answer your question—where are we now? Well, the short answer is, this is just part of our life now. There’s no going back, and I know that with absolute certainty. We both tried at different points to stop, to return to monogamy, but we couldn’t. The feelings, the cravings, the new version of our relationship—it had already evolved too far to reverse. That’s a hard truth I don’t think most people in these forums acknowledge. Once this door is open, you cannot close it.

We’re fully open now. She shares details about her encounters freely, and I believe she tells me everything. But—and this is a big but—once trust is broken initially, even if you rebuild it, there’s always a sliver of doubt that never fully goes away. I had to work through that. The reality is, she has little reason to obscure facts now. She knows I want to know, that I thrive on the details, so she lays it all out for me.

On a few occasions, she’s even called me during the act, leaving her phone on so I could hear everything. I don’t watch her with other men—that’s her preference and, honestly, a core part of her being able to enjoy the experience without feeling like she’s performing for me. But in return, I get very detailed explanations afterward and, once in a while, those in-the-moment phone calls. Let me give you an example from last month, I think it makes the changes more relatable:

She rang me while she was at his place, but never said a word to me. I just heard the rustling of clothes, soft laughter, and a few heavy breaths. It must have been foreplay at first—her moans were subdued, almost teasing, and I could make out the wet sounds of kissing. Between those soft smacks, she whispered something I could barely catch—maybe his name, maybe a breathy “right there,” though I couldn’t be sure. Every few seconds, there was a faint shuffling, like she might be adjusting her position. Then her voice changed pitch, turning breathier—she let out a hushed “Oh, God…” like she was starting to lose herself. That’s when the moans started coming faster, growing more urgent.

I realized it wasn’t just kissing anymore the moment I heard the dull thump of the mattress springs. Her gasps deepened, and I could make out brief, half-formed words—maybe a desperate “yes” or a muffled “like that”—as if she was right on the edge of coherent speech. His breathing grew louder, too, and there was a rhythmic squeak that told me he was thrusting into her with enough force to move the bed.

It went on for a while, intensifying with each passing minute, the mattress creaking picking up pace. Instead of building to a clear release, their pace seemed to linger just on the brink. I distinctly remember her letting out a long, trembling low-pitch moan, then shifting to a series of quick, breathy high-pitch moans. At this point her voice grew thick with desire, and she let out a shaky laugh, almost playful, right before she said, “Don’t stop… oh God, so good, keep going.” It sounded more like a plea than a simple request, and every soft, rustling move of their bodies seemed charged.

A few seconds later, her moans returned, deeper and more drawn-out, and his breathing turned ragged in the background. She started whispering encouragements to him—little phrases like “Yes! Just like that!” and “Don’t stop, fuck me!” but with a heat in her voice I rarely hear at home.

Eventually, there was this unmistakable moment where both of them seemed to lock into a rhythm. The bed was creaking loudly now. Her cries got sharper, his grunts grew louder, and you could practically feel the tension snap when they both hit that final peak. Now, she’s Asian, and I’ve always known her to have a certain stereotypical whimpering moan when she climaxes—soft, high-pitched, almost like what you’d hear in Japanese porn. I always think this is her exaggerating a bit, playing along. But this time, it was anything but gentle whimpering. As she came, her voice rose in pitch and turned into short, desperate inhalations that made it sound like she could barely breathe between gasps. Each inhale felt sharper than the last, like every ounce of self-control had evaporated. Instead of her usual subdued whimper, she gave a raw, unrestrained sound that sent a jolt through me, more powerful and unfiltered than anything I’d heard from her before. And in the background, I heard his rough, urgent grunt, and between her strangled breaths she began to beg, “Please, please,” over and over in a shaky voice that left no doubt how close she was. It was an intensity that left me both mesmerized and hollowed out.

Then silence.

What I remember most is the quiet that followed. They didn’t speak right away—just the sound of them catching their breath, bodies shifting, maybe a soft kiss or two. Then the call ended. She never said a single word to me. But I’d never felt so simultaneously turned on, jealous, and helpless in my life. And believe me, that alone is a mindfuck when I really sit with it. I know exactly what she does, exactly how she enjoys it, exactly how her body responds when she’s with them. Hearing it firsthand, in real time, strips away any illusion I might try to keep. It’s arousing as hell—and also a punch in the gut.

Has her attitude toward me stabilized? Yes and no. She’s more self-aware of the shifts in her behavior, but it’s not like she’s the woman she was before she started fucking other men after I urged her to. That version of her? She’s gone. That’s the cost. This is most noticeable when we argue—there’s a confidence, an edge to her that wasn’t there before. Take a recent argument, for example. She was frustrated about how much time I was spending on a particular hobby—something I enjoy, something that used to be a non-issue between us. Before, she might have been annoyed, but she would’ve approached it more softly, maybe with a joke, or just voiced her feelings and let it go. But this time, her tone was different. Sharper. More matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to convince me to change anything—she was telling me that it was an issue for her.

At one point, I said something dismissive, something along the lines of, “It’s not like I’m ignoring you.” She looked at me and, without missing a beat, just said, “I don’t have to wait around for you.” That hit differently, because she was right. If she felt neglected, she didn’t have to just sit at home waiting for me to pay attention to her. She could go out, meet up with one of her regulars, and have a night filled with attention, desire, and sex whenever she wanted. And she wasn’t saying it to threaten me—it wasn’t a warning or an ultimatum. It was just true.

She’s also less likely to compromise or seek reassurance in the little things. For example, if she wants to wear a low-cut top and a short skirt for a night out, she used to ask me if I was cool with it. Now, she’ll just pick whatever makes her feel sexy and say, “I’m heading out,” no follow-up, no second-guessing. For instance last weekend, she made plans to see a bull. Instead of double-checking if I was okay with it, she simply told me, “I’ll be out Saturday; I can meet you on Sunday,” and that was that. She’ll also reference her past choices—like that first time she slept with another man, without telling me upfront—if she’s annoyed or we’re arguing, just to underscore that she made her own path and doesn’t regret it.

And it’s not just about the sex itself—it’s about the role I used to play. Now, in bed, that becomes obvious. She’ll almost always bring up her bulls—sometimes to tease me, sometimes to instruct me. She’ll say things like, “He fingers me like this, you should try it,” or, “He likes it rougher, so maybe push harder here.” She’s so much more direct about her desires—telling me exactly how she wants it, or even setting a tone by describing how one of her men does it. Sometimes she’ll say, “I want you to fuck me like he does,” and I’ll catch myself wavering between intense jealousy and arousal.

In bed, it means she’ll guide my hands or correct me mid-act, referencing how her bull does something. She might say, “He keeps his thumb here,” or “He hits that angle better,” or even just moan in a way that’s clearly imitating a session she had with them. It’s an ego check and a turn-on all at once. I’m learning things I never knew about her preferences, but it’s only because I’m following in another man’s footsteps.

What’s more, over the last year she’s realized that when they cum inside her, it particularly influences her mood—something hormonal, most likely, that leaves her more relaxed and at ease. If she’s had an especially good night, she’ll be in this dreamy, satisfied state for days—patient, affectionate, eager to please in non-sexual ways. But the downside is that during those stretches, she loses all interest in sex at home. She’s so thoroughly satisfied that she genuinely doesn’t crave more, at least not with me. Then, when the glow fades, she’ll circle back around to having interest in me again. I’ll be honest—it’s frustrating. She’ll openly admit, “I’m all fucked out,” and while she’s sweet about it, it’s a real kick to the gut.

She’s also become very aware of how this “post-sex glow” can make bad days vanish. If work has been hellish or she’s just feeling off, she’ll dress up for a date with one of her two bulls, barely talking to me beforehand—almost like she’s in a sour mood she doesn’t want to discuss. Then she’ll come home hours later looking like she’s floating on air, her hair tousled in that way you only get from hard sex, her long locks often tied up in a hasty bun rather than neatly styled as when she left, and her panties bearing the unmistakable marks of a rough, satisfying session—damp, stretched at the sides, carrying that raw scent that tells me exactly what she’s been doing. It’s obvious she got precisely what she needed, and the effects last far longer than any so-called “spa treatment” ever would. Her cheeks glow in that same flushed, radiant way I once attributed to carefully applied makeup—only now I know it’s more primal than that. She used to tidy herself up more before coming home, as if to hide the traces, but over the past few months, she barely bothers. She comes through the door looking disheveled, grumpy mood gone, replaced by a blissful calm.

A few times, she’s been blunt about it, saying things like, “I needed to get fucked by him. You couldn’t have helped,” or, “Don’t worry, I’ll be better after tonight.” There’s a practical tone to it, like she’s solving a problem. But for me, it’s a reminder that someone else is meeting a need I can’t—or at least, that she doesn’t want from me in that moment. And that’s where I get hit with every emotion at once: a twisted cocktail of relief that she’s happier, confusion about my own role, jealousy that he’s the source of her calm, and a lingering sense of inadequacy. It’s not something you can compartmentalize easily—it cuts deep. Part of me is oddly grateful that she can find a fix for her mood, but another part aches knowing I’m not her preferred solution. It’s a strange reality, wanting her to be happy while also feeling a knot in my gut that she seeks that happiness somewhere else.

Adding to that sting is the fact that she revealed she’d been luckily using condoms before telling me about any of this, but one of the first things she wanted after she told me was her desire to do away with them. I’d already had a vasectomy, so we hadn’t been using them, and she always hated condoms. By the time I learned about her “recreational activities,” she’d had both bulls for two years. I demanded she get tested, and was negative, so she got an IUD inserted—and now condoms simply aren’t used. She’s admitted the feeling of their cum inside her, literally and chemically, is part of why her mood shifts so profoundly. She stated the post sex glow is much more intense since. It’s a reality that sets off a storm inside me: I’m turned on imagining it and repulsed by my own jealousy, all at once. Knowing that it’s their seed inside her that’s lighting her up, that she wanted it enough to ditch condoms completely, sits in my chest like a lead weight.

Looking back at the early days? Still complicated. The reality is, it’s a tangled mix of intense eroticism, disgust, jealousy, and frustration. Some nights, I’ll lie awake running through the memories, feeling my cock harden at the thought of what she was doing behind my back. Other nights, I feel sick to my stomach. It’s both intoxicating and deeply unsettling.

And once this door is open, you can’t close it. So if you’re wondering whether you’ll enjoy the transformation, the answer is both yes and no. You’ll be turned on by it, probably more than you ever imagined. But you’ll also lose something. And once it’s gone, it’s gone. That’s what most men don’t realize before they open this door. You think you’re just adding a new kink, a new element of excitement to your marriage. But what you’re actually doing is reshaping the foundation of everything you once thought you were. And that’s a change you can never undo.

HK
- I could be thoroughly wrong, I rather get the feeling, based on your tone of writing, your HW is living her life as a married woman as if she were single with a male room mate with benefits.

[hardk]

HK
- I could be thoroughly wrong, I rather get the feeling, based on your tone of writing, your HW is living her life as a married woman as if she were single with a male room mate with benefits.

Hey there—appreciate your perspective, but I have to disagree with the notion that she’s basically a single woman living with a roommate who happens to provide benefits. That oversimplification misses a lot of context about our marriage.

I get how it can look that way from the outside, especially if someone only hears about the hotwife side—the part where she has the freedom to date and have sex with other men. But there’s a whole different dimension to our relationship beyond that. Yes, she meets up with a couple of regular partners, but day-to-day, we share our lives in a very real sense: we raise our kids, juggle responsibilities, plan vacations, laugh over the same silly inside jokes, and yes, we also have our own sexual intimacy.

We’re not just cohabiting. We’re still deeply connected emotionally. We talk through our worries, help each other with problems, dream about our future, and lean on each other when life gets tough. She hasn’t traded her marriage for a boyfriend—she just extended her sexual boundaries in a way that, I’ll admit, I encouraged in the beginning. We still do most things together, whether that’s cooking at home, traveling, or tackling house projects.

I won’t deny that this lifestyle has fundamentally changed us. It’s forced me to confront jealousy and nostalgia for how things used to be. There’s a part of me that sometimes thinks, “Wow, she never used to have this much sexual independence.” And that definitely stings. But it’s not accurate to say she’s living as a single woman—she values our marriage and the life we’ve built. We continue to share finances, responsibilities, and, importantly, emotional intimacy in ways that go far beyond mere roommates.

If anything, our communication has improved since she first came clean about everything. We’re more honest—sometimes painfully so. And when that so-called “post-sex glow” hits, it’s like an instant switch in her demeanor. She’ll come home from a date, hair tousled, cheeks still flushed, often with this airy calm around her. She’ll be humming in the kitchen, cracking jokes at dinner, or spontaneously initiating a family activity like movie night—things that, before, she might’ve brushed off because she was tired or stressed. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the morning and find her already making breakfast with extra care, or playing with the kids more energetically than usual, as if she’s channeling that fresh surge of endorphins into every corner of our routine. It’s a surreal but vivid transformation: she’s affectionate, more engaged, and oddly relaxed about day-to-day problems. She’ll tease me about small stuff and then slip into a heartfelt conversation about our future plans. It’s almost like her post-sex confidence radiates into how she handles everything else around the house.

A perfect example happened just last week. We had dinner together as a family, nothing unusual—she was present, laughing, but got a text message from one of her bulls to see if she wanted to meet up after the kids were in bed. She helps get the kids to bed. Then around 9 pm, she got dressed up: tight jeans, a form-fitting top that showed just enough skin, her hair done effortlessly. You can see for yourself: https://picallow.com/hk-2/. She left the house with a goodbye, a quick peck on the cheek before she was out the door. She estimated being home at 12AM. But it’s usually a bit latter and didn’t come home until nearly 2:30AM. I was still awake when she slipped into bed, her body warm from the night, her skin carrying that faint mix of perfume and sweat. She smelled different—not just like herself, but like him. She was quiet, almost dreamy, sliding beneath the covers with a quick kiss and a “love you”. I didn’t ask questions, it was too late.

The next morning, it was like a different person had woken up beside me. She was radiant, stretching out in bed like she had all the time in the world. She rolled over, kissed my shoulder, and hummed some song absentmindedly. Got up before me. On the floor next to the bed I saw her jeans cast casually over a chair, her sweater next to it, with her panties on the floor with clear evidence of her night (see: https://picallow.com/hk-3/). Her bra was missing. I got downstairs, she had made coffee, lingered in the kitchen, actually sat down at the table with me instead of scrolling through her phone like she sometimes does when restless. She chatted, effortlessly lighthearted, like a weight had been lifted. That entire day, she was more patient, more affectionate, more present. It was clear—whatever she’d gotten from her night out had completely reset her.

Contrast that to earlier that same week, when she hadn’t seen either of her bulls in nearly two weeks. Which is pretty much the longest she goes. That was a very different version of her. She was more irritable, snapping at little things. Seemed restless, scrolling on her phone, zoning out mid-conversation. She wasn’t mean, but there was an edge to her—a sense of tension, like she was waiting for something she couldn’t quite articulate. That entire week, she felt increasingly distant, distracted, easily frustrated with me, with the kids, with the general annoyances of daily life.

That difference—the shift between before and after—is something I’ve come to recognize well. And it’s not something I can ignore.

Of course, for me, it’s a weird and often conflicting mix of emotions. On one hand, I love seeing her in that breezy, content mood. On the other, it’s a reminder that her satisfaction didn’t originate with me. Still, it doesn’t look anything like someone who’s “checked out” of the marriage. If anything, she seems more present—though that presence can carry its own sting when I consider the source.

At the same time, it’s ironic how our own sex life has improved in some ways—she’s more open-minded, more adventurous, and eager to bring new ideas to bed. But there’s a definite cost to that excitement: the emotional simplicity we once had is gone. Now, every intimate moment can stir up comparisons or triggers, leaving me flipping between intense arousal and gnawing jealousy. Sometimes I’m more turned on than ever, and other times I’m wrestling with the fact that our dynamic has changed so drastically.

So, no, we’re not two ships passing in the night. We’re partners who chose a path that has benefits and consequences, and there’s no denying it’s complicated. It’s not as simple as her living a single life while I stand by obliviously—her independence is real, but so is the foundation of our marriage.

I understand where your concern comes from—seeing the sexual independence and perhaps not seeing the deeper layers might create that impression. But from the inside, it’s more complex, more entwined, and ultimately more of a marriage than it might appear in a quick snapshot. We have our challenges, and some days I do wonder if the cost is too high. But a “male roommate with benefits” doesn’t capture the heart of our relationship. There’s still real love, real commitment, and a mutual investment in this life we’ve built together, even if her freedoms extend beyond what many consider typical.

Anyway, thanks for sharing your thoughts. I do appreciate different perspectives; this lifestyle isn’t straightforward, and I’m not blind to its pitfalls. But I wanted to clarify that there’s a genuine marital core holding us together—it’s just undergone an evolution neither of us predicted when we started down this road.

I also want to give a realistic perspective here. That’s why I don’t just talk about the hot pornographic stuff. Yeah we all like that stuff, and the dopamine hit it provides. It’s why we become cuckolds, stags, whatever. But as these dopamine hits gradually rewire one’s brain, and that of the hotwife, there is more going on. Bering married to a hotwife, or being a hotwife, is far from simple fantasy. People often simplify it or think with the wrong head, assuming it’s just a hot scenario with no real downsides. But once you cross that threshold from fantasy to reality, you can’t truly reverse it. My wife’s transformation is permanent—it’s not like she can “unlearn” the fulfillment she gets from these experiences. And while I can see why she enjoys it, that same enjoyment can leave me reeling with conflicted feelings. This life comes with emotional costs and complications, and I think a lot of folks in these forums underestimate just how hard it can be once the door is open for good.

[Tank Turner]

How could we isolate cause and effect? If a wife considered expanding her sexual boundaries years before she fulfilled that fantasy, would she have developed confidence to experience her latent sexual desires prior to fucking other men? Or would her sexually submitting to men's sexual desires increase women's sexual confidence.

Medical science confirmed that ovulating women subconsciously convey innate desire to copulate. Ovulating women are more flirtatious, and wear more revealing clothing. Which preceded which?

I believe it's universally true that the more sex women have the more sex women want to have. Does their sexual confidence precede sex or does sex enhance their sexual confidence? I have no clue of that the right answer is.

I do know as factual my wife demonstrated them most irresistible sexual confidence the first time we had sex which was on the evening of our first date. Her erotic sexual confidence subconsciously repeatedly drew me to her.

[a51anh0tw1fe]

Mine used to be lethargic, boring, sticking to her routine of work, eat, tv or phone, sleep. Repeat. Her sense of dressing ranges from work clothes to lounge attire and her dressing was rather boring and conservative. She feels that dressing sexily was something for the teens or twenties.

After opening up, she started exercising, wanting to look young and good. Showing off a lot of skin, legs, tits, ass. Taking a lot of pictures and selfies as she loves to show off to her bf or simps. She enjoys their compliments and adoration.

[Tryagain]

In your posts you do seem rather upset about some of the changes in her behavior. Sometimes written descriptions cannot capture what is really going on in a relationship. But she seems mean and uncaring at times, which is not a usual result of hot-wifing. Based on my perceptions, I hope you do not allow - (yes...I said it - allow) her to see one guy too often because she seems like she could allow herself go head over heals with someone and then...it is too late to reverse that course.

[funkyfitter]

Two days after returning from an out of state wedding where my wife fucked her first guy multiple times throughout the long weekend, she wanted me to fuck her ! This was my chance to redeem myself and prove that I could get and maintain an erection by being turned on by just her, without hearing about how she wanted to fuck someone else. I failed miserably. My cock went from hard to limp after she wouldn't talk about the weekend. She just looked down at me with a look that was full of disappointment and I knew that I had failed her as she rolled off, put her panties back on and left the bedroom. I laid there for a couple of minutes, feeling like a failure before I got up and went to find her.
She was in the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand and she shot me a look as I turned the corner. I went to hug her, but she was having none of that and I just took a seat at the table and we looked at each other for a minute before she said, "I'm going to continue to fuck other men." A twinge of excitement raced through me until she laughed and said rather sternly, "Don't get so excited. This isn't about you. I want a man who wants to fuck me and gets excited about it. This weekend was wonderful ! I haven't been fucked like that in over two years !"
I couldn't say anything because I knew that it was true, so I just sat there taking it.
"I'm not going to embarass you and I'm certainly not going to embarass myself, BUT I'm going to fuck who I want, when I want. Is that clear ?"
I just nodded my head and said. "Yes."
She then gave me a kiss and told me. "I love you, but things are going to change around here."
That was almost nine years ago.
I love her with all my heart.

[chard]

My wife always had a high sex drive as did I, we had sex several times a week both before and after we married. Before she had her first extra marital fuck, she was a demure wife and mother. When I gave her the go ahead to go out and fuck other guys, she took to it like a duck to water. When she returned home after her first fling, I was eager for the details. First she asked me if I could handle it, then unashamedly went on to tell me that she had just fucked two guys. They were flatmates in the same apartment and they took turns fucking her.

From there on My wife (Hannah) became a sex vampire. She became a complete new woman and I was loving it. When she went out with her friends her skirts were getting shorter and her neckline was getting lower. She paid far more attention to her appearance and even began trimming her pussy hair. Her self confidence increased ten fold, to the point that she found it easy to attract and snare almost any man she took a fancy to.

[Parsifal]

If I were to answer this Q comprehensively, it would be 98 percent "me too" of the other detailed, insightful responses here already. The two word answer is "more confidence." But I can't resist adding something case specific. I would say the change in lifestyle did my wife a complete makeover. Gala became Gala. She's completely different than the woman I married. To be sure, it's an organic change - as in from tiny acorn the mighty oak doeth grow. She grew into who she is. But sexual availability, opening her legs to the world, opened all of her to the world.

[Johnann2227]

If I were to answer this Q comprehensively, it would be 98 percent "me too" of the other detailed, insightful responses here already. The two word answer is "more confidence." But I can't resist adding something case specific. I would say the change in lifestyle did my wife a complete makeover. Gala became Gala. She's completely different than the woman I married. To be sure, it's an organic change - as in from tiny acorn the mighty oak doeth grow. She grew into who she is. But sexual availability, opening her legs to the world, opened all of her to the world.

I agree. Self confidence is the biggest change. Self confidence to wear tighter, more revealing clothes. Self confidence to show her body off more. Self confidence to publicly display her sexuality. Self confidence to take someone she wants.

Ann changed massively when she actually started dating men rather than one night stands and weekly swinging parties. I think the support I gave her to do this helped her blossom.

[LawyerWouldbeCuckold]

test

[CuckedbyNikki]

Her confidence has got a great boost, she knows what she wants and what she does not. She has become somewhat of a bosslady, the fact i love the most is though she is all submissive to her bulls/lovers she has an authority over them and command their dynamics outside the bedroom.

[bradisalpha]

In my experience as a BF, what I see is a wife with more self confidence, comfortable with herself and her body, much higher sexual arousal and willingness to do things sexually that she would not do before, very happy with the freedom her cuckold husband has given her to experiment and be herself with no explanations, heightened love and respect for her cuckold husband submitting to her and her BF, and a much more outgoing, happier personality.

Just my experiences…

Brad

[BD8280]

Thanks for this brilliant response. Reading through all of those points, I guess the one that stands out, the one that would most test a relationship is point number 5.
Obviously other hotwives will be different, but it sounds like there is always some psychological shift away from the husband, towards the boyfriend (inevitable I suppose). Obviously made worse in your case because she wasn’t sharing the experience with you.
The question for us husbands/cucks is wether we can “enjoy” this change, enjoy watching our wives “blossom” independently from us. It’s always difficult because every hotwife will do it to a different extent i suppose.


Can I ask what your situation is now? Are you able to look back at that period with excitement at all? From a cuckolding point of view?
Thanks!

To answer your question—where are we now? Well, the short answer is, this is just part of our life now. There’s no going back, and I know that with absolute certainty. We both tried at different points to stop, to return to monogamy, but we couldn’t. The feelings, the cravings, the new version of our relationship—it had already evolved too far to reverse. That’s a hard truth I don’t think most people in these forums acknowledge. Once this door is open, you cannot close it.

We’re fully open now. She shares details about her encounters freely, and I believe she tells me everything. But—and this is a big but—once trust is broken initially, even if you rebuild it, there’s always a sliver of doubt that never fully goes away. I had to work through that. The reality is, she has little reason to obscure facts now. She knows I want to know, that I thrive on the details, so she lays it all out for me.

On a few occasions, she’s even called me during the act, leaving her phone on so I could hear everything. I don’t watch her with other men—that’s her preference and, honestly, a core part of her being able to enjoy the experience without feeling like she’s performing for me. But in return, I get very detailed explanations afterward and, once in a while, those in-the-moment phone calls. Let me give you an example from last month, I think it makes the changes more relatable:

She rang me while she was at his place, but never said a word to me. I just heard the rustling of clothes, soft laughter, and a few heavy breaths. It must have been foreplay at first—her moans were subdued, almost teasing, and I could make out the wet sounds of kissing. Between those soft smacks, she whispered something I could barely catch—maybe his name, maybe a breathy “right there,” though I couldn’t be sure. Every few seconds, there was a faint shuffling, like she might be adjusting her position. Then her voice changed pitch, turning breathier—she let out a hushed “Oh, God…” like she was starting to lose herself. That’s when the moans started coming faster, growing more urgent.

I realized it wasn’t just kissing anymore the moment I heard the dull thump of the mattress springs. Her gasps deepened, and I could make out brief, half-formed words—maybe a desperate “yes” or a muffled “like that”—as if she was right on the edge of coherent speech. His breathing grew louder, too, and there was a rhythmic squeak that told me he was thrusting into her with enough force to move the bed.

It went on for a while, intensifying with each passing minute, the mattress creaking picking up pace. Instead of building to a clear release, their pace seemed to linger just on the brink. I distinctly remember her letting out a long, trembling low-pitch moan, then shifting to a series of quick, breathy high-pitch moans. At this point her voice grew thick with desire, and she let out a shaky laugh, almost playful, right before she said, “Don’t stop… oh God, so good, keep going.” It sounded more like a plea than a simple request, and every soft, rustling move of their bodies seemed charged.

A few seconds later, her moans returned, deeper and more drawn-out, and his breathing turned ragged in the background. She started whispering encouragements to him—little phrases like “Yes! Just like that!” and “Don’t stop, fuck me!” but with a heat in her voice I rarely hear at home.

Eventually, there was this unmistakable moment where both of them seemed to lock into a rhythm. The bed was creaking loudly now. Her cries got sharper, his grunts grew louder, and you could practically feel the tension snap when they both hit that final peak. Now, she’s Asian, and I’ve always known her to have a certain stereotypical whimpering moan when she climaxes—soft, high-pitched, almost like what you’d hear in Japanese porn. I always think this is her exaggerating a bit, playing along. But this time, it was anything but gentle whimpering. As she came, her voice rose in pitch and turned into short, desperate inhalations that made it sound like she could barely breathe between gasps. Each inhale felt sharper than the last, like every ounce of self-control had evaporated. Instead of her usual subdued whimper, she gave a raw, unrestrained sound that sent a jolt through me, more powerful and unfiltered than anything I’d heard from her before. And in the background, I heard his rough, urgent grunt, and between her strangled breaths she began to beg, “Please, please,” over and over in a shaky voice that left no doubt how close she was. It was an intensity that left me both mesmerized and hollowed out.

Then silence.

What I remember most is the quiet that followed. They didn’t speak right away—just the sound of them catching their breath, bodies shifting, maybe a soft kiss or two. Then the call ended. She never said a single word to me. But I’d never felt so simultaneously turned on, jealous, and helpless in my life. And believe me, that alone is a mindfuck when I really sit with it. I know exactly what she does, exactly how she enjoys it, exactly how her body responds when she’s with them. Hearing it firsthand, in real time, strips away any illusion I might try to keep. It’s arousing as hell—and also a punch in the gut.

Has her attitude toward me stabilized? Yes and no. She’s more self-aware of the shifts in her behavior, but it’s not like she’s the woman she was before she started fucking other men after I urged her to. That version of her? She’s gone. That’s the cost. This is most noticeable when we argue—there’s a confidence, an edge to her that wasn’t there before. Take a recent argument, for example. She was frustrated about how much time I was spending on a particular hobby—something I enjoy, something that used to be a non-issue between us. Before, she might have been annoyed, but she would’ve approached it more softly, maybe with a joke, or just voiced her feelings and let it go. But this time, her tone was different. Sharper. More matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to convince me to change anything—she was telling me that it was an issue for her.

At one point, I said something dismissive, something along the lines of, “It’s not like I’m ignoring you.” She looked at me and, without missing a beat, just said, “I don’t have to wait around for you.” That hit differently, because she was right. If she felt neglected, she didn’t have to just sit at home waiting for me to pay attention to her. She could go out, meet up with one of her regulars, and have a night filled with attention, desire, and sex whenever she wanted. And she wasn’t saying it to threaten me—it wasn’t a warning or an ultimatum. It was just true.

She’s also less likely to compromise or seek reassurance in the little things. For example, if she wants to wear a low-cut top and a short skirt for a night out, she used to ask me if I was cool with it. Now, she’ll just pick whatever makes her feel sexy and say, “I’m heading out,” no follow-up, no second-guessing. For instance last weekend, she made plans to see a bull. Instead of double-checking if I was okay with it, she simply told me, “I’ll be out Saturday; I can meet you on Sunday,” and that was that. She’ll also reference her past choices—like that first time she slept with another man, without telling me upfront—if she’s annoyed or we’re arguing, just to underscore that she made her own path and doesn’t regret it.

And it’s not just about the sex itself—it’s about the role I used to play. Now, in bed, that becomes obvious. She’ll almost always bring up her bulls—sometimes to tease me, sometimes to instruct me. She’ll say things like, “He fingers me like this, you should try it,” or, “He likes it rougher, so maybe push harder here.” She’s so much more direct about her desires—telling me exactly how she wants it, or even setting a tone by describing how one of her men does it. Sometimes she’ll say, “I want you to fuck me like he does,” and I’ll catch myself wavering between intense jealousy and arousal.

In bed, it means she’ll guide my hands or correct me mid-act, referencing how her bull does something. She might say, “He keeps his thumb here,” or “He hits that angle better,” or even just moan in a way that’s clearly imitating a session she had with them. It’s an ego check and a turn-on all at once. I’m learning things I never knew about her preferences, but it’s only because I’m following in another man’s footsteps.

What’s more, over the last year she’s realized that when they cum inside her, it particularly influences her mood—something hormonal, most likely, that leaves her more relaxed and at ease. If she’s had an especially good night, she’ll be in this dreamy, satisfied state for days—patient, affectionate, eager to please in non-sexual ways. But the downside is that during those stretches, she loses all interest in sex at home. She’s so thoroughly satisfied that she genuinely doesn’t crave more, at least not with me. Then, when the glow fades, she’ll circle back around to having interest in me again. I’ll be honest—it’s frustrating. She’ll openly admit, “I’m all fucked out,” and while she’s sweet about it, it’s a real kick to the gut.

She’s also become very aware of how this “post-sex glow” can make bad days vanish. If work has been hellish or she’s just feeling off, she’ll dress up for a date with one of her two bulls, barely talking to me beforehand—almost like she’s in a sour mood she doesn’t want to discuss. Then she’ll come home hours later looking like she’s floating on air, her hair tousled in that way you only get from hard sex, her long locks often tied up in a hasty bun rather than neatly styled as when she left, and her panties bearing the unmistakable marks of a rough, satisfying session—damp, stretched at the sides, carrying that raw scent that tells me exactly what she’s been doing. It’s obvious she got precisely what she needed, and the effects last far longer than any so-called “spa treatment” ever would. Her cheeks glow in that same flushed, radiant way I once attributed to carefully applied makeup—only now I know it’s more primal than that. She used to tidy herself up more before coming home, as if to hide the traces, but over the past few months, she barely bothers. She comes through the door looking disheveled, grumpy mood gone, replaced by a blissful calm.

A few times, she’s been blunt about it, saying things like, “I needed to get fucked by him. You couldn’t have helped,” or, “Don’t worry, I’ll be better after tonight.” There’s a practical tone to it, like she’s solving a problem. But for me, it’s a reminder that someone else is meeting a need I can’t—or at least, that she doesn’t want from me in that moment. And that’s where I get hit with every emotion at once: a twisted cocktail of relief that she’s happier, confusion about my own role, jealousy that he’s the source of her calm, and a lingering sense of inadequacy. It’s not something you can compartmentalize easily—it cuts deep. Part of me is oddly grateful that she can find a fix for her mood, but another part aches knowing I’m not her preferred solution. It’s a strange reality, wanting her to be happy while also feeling a knot in my gut that she seeks that happiness somewhere else.

Adding to that sting is the fact that she revealed she’d been luckily using condoms before telling me about any of this, but one of the first things she wanted after she told me was her desire to do away with them. I’d already had a vasectomy, so we hadn’t been using them, and she always hated condoms. By the time I learned about her “recreational activities,” she’d had both bulls for two years. I demanded she get tested, and was negative, so she got an IUD inserted—and now condoms simply aren’t used. She’s admitted the feeling of their cum inside her, literally and chemically, is part of why her mood shifts so profoundly. She stated the post sex glow is much more intense since. It’s a reality that sets off a storm inside me: I’m turned on imagining it and repulsed by my own jealousy, all at once. Knowing that it’s their seed inside her that’s lighting her up, that she wanted it enough to ditch condoms completely, sits in my chest like a lead weight.

Looking back at the early days? Still complicated. The reality is, it’s a tangled mix of intense eroticism, disgust, jealousy, and frustration. Some nights, I’ll lie awake running through the memories, feeling my cock harden at the thought of what she was doing behind my back. Other nights, I feel sick to my stomach. It’s both intoxicating and deeply unsettling.

And once this door is open, you can’t close it. So if you’re wondering whether you’ll enjoy the transformation, the answer is both yes and no. You’ll be turned on by it, probably more than you ever imagined. But you’ll also lose something. And once it’s gone, it’s gone. That’s what most men don’t realize before they open this door. You think you’re just adding a new kink, a new element of excitement to your marriage. But what you’re actually doing is reshaping the foundation of everything you once thought you were. And that’s a change you can never undo.

Thanks for your incredible responses again. These are definitely the some of the most insightful comments I’ve seen on here about the realities of hotwifing/cuckolding and I love reading about your experiences.
There’s no doubt that us husbands are all different too, and respond differently to the way our wifes and our lives change when it becomes real. There are some husbands that absolutely love it instantly. I think more are in the middle loving it and struggling with it at times, there must also be plenty of husbands who have not been able to cope when things became real and are no longer on this site, maybe they managed to stop their wives from continuing, maybe they didn’t, maybe their relationships broke down, but you story is fascinating and I think very important for all the budding wannabe husbands out there.
I am pleased to hear that you are still active in hotwifing and that you do love many aspects of it. I will say (if its ok) that I think you are perhaps someone who has found it more difficult than many of the husbands on here, but this makes your comments even more important for people like me to hear because otherwise we read so much about awesome juicy stuff that we get blinded by the dopamine, of course this is much more fun but it’s also important to talk about the other side of the lifestyle which affects everyone to varying degrees. To Put it bluntly I believe there are many more men out there who feel the same way you do, but are no longer active on this site.

I also wonder in your situation if you have been affected by your wife’s initial “betrayal” and wonder how much this has made things more difficult for you? Would you feel better about things if she had been honest from the start?

On a personal note, I have left my wife alone for awhile. She has deleted the app on her phone saying she doesn’t feel comfortable which of course is absolutely fine. I have calmed down myself and forgotten about things, but of course it always comes back. The good news is everything you say, even the most difficult parts of your changed life make me feel excited and turned on, the thought of my wife having a new life for herself, with confidence, independence and sexual freedom, even the idea of her having more power in argument or being tougher on me I like this from a cuckold perspective. But of course a bit like having children, you can read books and listen to advice from friends forever, but it’s impossible for you to know how it will be until happens for real. I would say one of the main driving forces in my head is the fact that we only live once and life is short. I’m extremely happy with my wife and family and life that we have created, but I do have this burning desire for her to be sexually free and turn into a different person and us both us both experience that.

One of the issues that I am aware of is that When my wife is not seeming to move forward in this direction at all, I find myself confidently saying I want her to be a hot wife and I want to be cuckolded. But when for example, I download the dating app on her phone, and give her the phone and she starts scrolling, I do suddenly get a feeling of “oh shit” and “omg what have i done” this is of course mixed in with angst and excitement at the same time. I am aware of this. But reading your posts I also feel a little jealous of your situation with your wife wishing and hoping one day we could have the same arrangement. Who knows what is right or wrong.

The reality is, I do currently have the innocent wife who does give everything to me and wants her whole self to be for me and then there’s me who in some ways wants her to give herself to someone else and get what she needs sexually from someone else. And yes, I do think about her living her life with another man’s cum inside her.

Thanks again:)

[Bryce 69]

more sexually confident

[sana9889]

I generally feel more confident.
I do still find myself gravitating more towards the man I am more sexually active with.

I don't respect the other partners as much. Especially true for my husband who I only have strapon sex with. (I wear the cock)
I still love him and care about him. But he has absolutely no power over me.

[D_Lited_HubWife]

My wife changed and in some ways, but hasn't changed at all in others.

She has opened up more to her sexual side. She has gone from being totally repressed to free to express herself sexually. She has become more open to going out, whether with a guy or just with her friends. She is more open about flirting. She has become a more open person all around.

She is still the same loving and caring woman I've always known. She is always wanting to inspire and help whoever she can. A fantastic mother, and an amazing wife. She doesn't sacrifice her family's well being for anything else in the world.