I’m so proud when I make a man cum. Let me explain… [MF]

[Link](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildaudio/comments/arx298/f4m_im_so_proud_when_i_make_a_man_cum_let_me/?) to an audio I recorded of this.

[Link](https://imgur.com/GV7Tqql) to my trophy fuck outfit.

—–

Whenever I’m with a man, I get this sense of pride whenever he cums. I’m not quite sure how to explain it. During the moments leading up to his release, his actual cumming, and immediately afterwards, all of these different emotions overwhelm me. This euphoria of achievement, validation, dignity, self-worth all consume me. This sense of accomplishment is something I seek, yearn for, even fantasize about. Every waking moment, every ounce of energy, is devoted towards achieving this goal.

For me, it is a such an honor to help bring a man to cum. It is because of me, that he was able to experience such an incredible orgasm. It is because of my body, that he was able to satisfy his primal urge to fuck. It is because of my thoughts/actions that he is in this nirvana of happiness. In a way, I feel so humble, so fortunate, so proud that he allowed me to give this gift to him. That he has chosen me to fuck. I dare not squander the opportunity to make another man happy.

I have this sense of responsibility, even duty, to make men sexually content. Everything I do, I do to fulfill this role I have chosen for myself. For years I’ve been a yoga instructor, carefully sculpting and toning my body for men’s visual approval. When I got engaged (I’m a happily married Hotwife), I got breast implants – the perfect balance of size and perkiness. My personality? Sexually submissive, eager and sometimes impatient to learn how I could best please my sexual partner(s). You probably think I’m crazy, such taboo thoughts in such a woman’s empowering world. But I truly believe I was chosen… built… trained… nurtured… disciplined… to fuck.

Often when “date night” arrives, my anxious feeling of validation will often consume me. Leading up to it, I’ll diligently prepare. Extra workouts, a careful diet, meditation. On the day of the date, I’ll pamper and primp myself, eager for his approval. Perhaps a spa day. A manicure/pedicure. I’ll spend hours blowing my hair out and meticulously applying my makeup. And my fuck outfit – only something he would enjoy. It’s not for my comfort, but his appreciation. Push up bra, thong, stockings, suspenders, sky high stilettos. All under a short skimpy dress that barely contains anything. In total, when people sees me all dolled up, dressed like a slut, on his arm, I’d want them to know exactly what my role is. Similar to an athlete training for the Olympics to win the gold medal, I’ll train and prepare in my own way… hoping to wear his glory of cum around my neck.

Later that night, when we’re fucking, my own primal urge to please and submit will supersede any rational logic. I need to fuck him. I need his approval, his validation. Quite literally, my body and mind are at his disposal. Weather it be my feminine hands, salivating mouth, moist pussy, or tight ass… anything is available for his use and pleasure. My sole and humble request of him? To allow me to bring him to the most intense orgasm he has ever experienced. Even now, as I write this, I can picture and feel it now. It resonates throughout my body, like a warm summer day. I’m on all fours, doggystyle. Knees spread, back arched, ass up. I’m dressed in stockings, suspenders, heels, a fitting attire for my role. He is behind me, dominantly fucking my pussy. His rough masculine hands have firm grasp on my yoga sculpted waist, tightening their control over me as he’s getting closer. During his final thrusts, he grabs a fistful of my hair to yank me up. My back is now pressed against his chest, his hands reaching around to fondle my tits. That’s when he whispers in my ear… ordering me to get on my knees on the floor.

At last, my trophy moment. What I’ve been training and hoping for. I’m kneeling in front of him. He’s standing, towering above me. With a few final strokes, he releases my reward, my validation. This warm, sticky glorious cum starts glazing my face. I happily accept it, anyway I can, anyway he wants. It’s my badge of honor, my gold medal. Only with his satisfaction and approval can I find my own peace.

It is ironic, after all the energy and effort I invested preparing, do I find myself so . The years I spend sculpting my body… now sweaty and filthy from fucking. The hours I spend primping… my hair now disheveled, makeup now covered under ropes of cum. My lingerie, now stained. My high heels, a symbol of what I’ve become. A submissive, yoga Hotwife slut. Seeking men’s approval and validation, in the only way I know how, but fucking them. And I could not be more proud.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/au8mf9/im_so_proud_when_i_make_a_man_cum_let_me_explain