Worship Chronicles

I had been following Juliana Garcia for years across social media. I don’t remember exactly how I stumbled onto her profile , the algorithm probably pushed those sculpted thighs onto my timeline and I, weak as I am, clicked. From that moment I became a fan. A chiselled body, stage presence, an energy that blended strength and sensuality in a way I rarely saw. But there was a catch: she wasn’t from Rio. As far as I knew, she lived far away, in another state, and that kept my admiration in the safe realm of fantasy , something beautiful to look at, impossible to touch.

Until one day, scrolling through listings, I came across a profile of hers tagged with a Rio de Janeiro location. At first, I thought it was fake. You know how it goes , scammers love stealing photos of beautiful women to bait people. On top of that, when I tried to save her contact, the messaging app showed a suspicious warning. That only deepened my mistrust, so I let it go.

I have always been physically weak. Not in ambition or in the way I build relationships,those parts of my life are solid. But the structure I was born with refuses to grow much without chemical shortcuts, and the family history of health issues convinced me not to gamble with PEDs. I accepted long ago that, in pure strength, I am fragile.

Back in the late eighties I saw a TV special about women paid to beat up men. The men hired them, desperate to taste that fetish. When the internet finally landed in my home I went looking for that same energy and found the clips that shaped me. These weren’t standard BDSM scenes; they were contests of raw force and humiliation. Male physical supremacy got flipped upside down, and I loved every second.

I have always fallen for women the polite world calls sluts. Maybe the word is crude, but it matches the fever that took hold the day I watched Jan B make her cuckold drink another man’s cum straight from her pussy. She smiled, he swallowed, and my cock got harder than it had any right to be. Ever since, I measure desire by how brazenly a woman flaunts the power of her body.

There is nothing hotter than a woman who knows she is irresistible and wields that fact without apology. Some of them announce it; others dress the part of “respectable,” but the way they walk, the curve of their grin, always betrays them. I crave that unashamed energy because it mirrors what I wish I could be,unfiltered, indulgent, impossible to ignore.

I have always craved for big asses. I mean from the very beginning. As a skinny guy, since my first masturbation was thinking of big asses of chubby women.

I can remember one of the first porn pictures I saw on the Internet where a woman was sitting over a man’s face, which turned me on almost instantly. More than that, she was making him as a throne and as a toilet. Demoting him and magnifying her. I don’t appreciate scat; however, at that time, that scene turned me on. There were many signs there, which I had to decrypt after, and it was confusing to me, too much information.

I had been following Queen Mellzn for about a year. Her curves make me feel small, and every photo turns up the heat. Months earlier we managed a quick call; the geography made a meeting impossible then, but she promised she visited Rio often. I kept watching, hoping it was more than sweet talk.

About a month ago I noticed her tour calendar and saw Rio on the list. I marked the dates, shuffled my own schedule, and crossed my fingers. On the eve of our planned Saturday session everything collapsed,obligations consumed the day. We regrouped, settled on Sunday, and committed to “whatever it takes.”

Over the years I’ve become convinced I’m happiest when I’m nasty and dirty. I’m a forty-year-old man whose favorite thing is being buried in a woman’s ass. I like to imagine myself as the throne for a lust queen.

It didn’t happen overnight. In my twenties it was just a thrill; by my thirties it was an ache. I remember the first time a partner settled fully on my face and refused to budge. The world shrank to weight and heat and the sting of her nails in my scalp. That moment rewired something. I stopped pretending this was a side kink and accepted it as my core.

In my twenties I had time to court women on the Internet, and the fetish market felt like a small town. There was no Tinder, no OnlyFans,just message boards, forums, and late-night chats. It wasn’t easy, but it was viable, and being single meant I could show my face without a second thought.

Two decades later everything feels commercial. Domination slid into the same category as Netflix or Photoshop: a subscription, a service, a product. Findom became a paradigm, and the places that used to feel communal,FetLife, Twitter,turned into billboards. Back then social networks were driven by friendship: add someone and they added you back. Now everything runs on one-way follows. I skim their personas; they never see mine.

Back in my twenties I had time to court women online. Fetish spaces were smaller. There was no Tinder, no OnlyFans, and the market felt intimate. I was also single, so putting my face out there, flirting on message boards, chatting on MSN or ICQ,that was normal. It wasn’t easy, but it was viable.

Two decades later everything is different. Domination became a subscription, a polished service packaged like Netflix, Photoshop, or anything else with a monthly fee. Findom turned into a paradigm and the networks I once used to meet people,FetLife, Twitter,became billboards instead of communities. In the first generation of social media friendship was mutual: if I added you, you added me. Nowadays the follow button is one-directional. I consume the persona, but it doesn’t know me.

Okay, I confess: I am obsessed with big clits. Watching them swell and pulse, splitting lips as they throb, drives me absolutely feral. It is the first place my eyes go, the pulse I feel deep in my chest.

As more women hit the gym and experiment with hormones, those thick little monsters are becoming a regular sight. Testosterone, cycles, peptides,it all adds mass to their bodies and magic to their clits. These days I notice them everywhere: malls, restaurants, street markets. Rich or poor, there is always another muscle girl walking past with a thickened bud tucked into tight shorts.

I decided that if I was going to explore everything I fantasised about, it was time to book my first BBC session. Malu and Michel answered the call,she the orchestrator, he the calm giant. We had hours to spare and the trio chemistry clicked from the moment we met from the very first second.

We started in the shower. Warm water, slippery skin, hands everywhere. The bathroom light filtered through steam and made every body gleam. Malu stood between the two of us, small and commanding, while Michel and I traded knowing glances. She pulled my head to her breasts and his mouth to her neck , orchestrating every move like a conductor with her symphony.

I am in the middle of a personal experiment: say yes to the kinks that refuse to stay quiet. Paid sex has become the palette for those hidden desires, and after weeks craving muscular women I spotted Carol Garcia’s ad. Domination, strength, a teasing smile,it all clicked. A powerful woman sharing the squat rack earlier that day primed me, and by evening I was ready to pay for the fantasy.

We scheduled for 19:30. The plan was simple: once I reached the neighborhood she would drop the exact apartment. I arrived early, nerves humming, and ducked into a greasy spoon for a cold Heineken to calm the pulse. Halfway through the long neck her message blinked,time to come up.

Tuesday in Centro carried the promise of a new adventure, so I headed to Dani D’s address with a plan in mind. I pinged her on WhatsApp as soon as I was nearby, and we locked in a 13h slot. While the clock crept towards the hour, I settled into a café on the esquina, nursing a coffee and watching the building where she waited.

She opened the door with a smile and scarlet lingerie that hugged every curve. Juicy in all the right places,hips, thighs, and those heavy, natural breasts that felt soft and authentic beneath my hands. The apartment mirrored her welcome: clean bathroom, quiet hallways, a space that already felt familiar.

Saturday, 17/05/2025, opened with the lazy hush of downtown Rio. I messaged Mistress Juju before getting out of bed, asking if she had room for me before noon. Her reply arrived almost instantly,“Come at 12.” Tight timing, but when the queen summons you, you run on her clock.

I reached the neighborhood early and hid in a café, jittery and counting down minutes through the rim of an espresso cup. When my phone buzzed with the address a few breaths before midday, I headed out, heartbeat matching the traffic lights. The building stood modest and anonymous. An elevator, a hallway, one knock,she opened the door before the echo faded, smile bright enough to bleach the entryway. “She’s even more stunning in person,” I caught myself thinking, the phrase glowing like a marquee.

I was in a relationship with a Domme for some months when a subject was put on the table. She was literally talking with her friends at a pub’s table about penis sizes when someone subtly complimented black ones, and I noticed my girlfriend unobtrusively agreed in silence. Soon, we will return to this subject. After a while, when I was scouting her at her house, I got the confidence to ask what she thought about and to my surprise, she confessed her taste for black ones, even telling me one of her experiences. At that time, I had erectile problems due to my addiction to femdom movies. I got used to not penetrating a woman but just lick. And in my mind, that was ok at that time. I had bought an idea of femdom that implicitly says, “penis isn’t important”. But It is a matter for another post, so let’s go back to the story. We said goodbye, and returning home, I eagerly searched on the Internet for a kind of porn I had never been interested in before. The tags BBC and cuckold had become frequent in my porn search until then.

Probably, you already know what I found. Some images were permanently imprinted on my mind. Maybe those scenes are common these days. I have noticed that cuckold is becoming one of the more popular tropes in porn, and perhaps in real life too. Some of my classics:

I have always craved for big asses. I mean from the very beginning. As a skinny guy, since my first masturbation was thinking of big asses of chubby women.

I can remember one of the first porn pictures I saw on the Internet where a woman was sitting over a man’s face, which turned me on almost instantly. More than that, she was making him as a throne and as a toilet. Demoting him and magnifying her. I don´t appreciate scat; however, at that time, that scene turned me on. There were many signs there, which I had to decrypt after, and it was confusing to me, too much information.

There is a force pushing men toward women, much stronger than that pushing women towards men. This is given, and it is not up for discussion. I could say that force is called life. Life bounds men and women in that way because this is how we persist on Earth. In a raw sight, males have to provide for female mammals in order to keep their genes on Earth, and their higher libido does it. I am not summarizing the entire human experience; however, it’s impossible to ignore this force in our lives.

At the same time, nature gives males a strength that they use on behalf of females.

It was my birthday. I was home alone on a work-from-home day and decided to give myself a gift I had been putting off for ages , my first time with an escort. I was in an open relationship at the time, which lifted the guilt but not the butterflies of a first-timer. I researched, I chose, and Érica Chocolate’s profile grabbed me instantly: a fit, sculpted mixed-race woman, a wide smile, a body that screamed hours at the gym, and an energy that mixed tenderness with filth in just the right proportion.

We set the time, but I didn’t count on the wildcard: the meeting. She arrived at my apartment while I was still trapped in a call that was dragging way past its scheduled end. I apologised with my eyes, showed her the couch, offered water and coffee. Érica accepted with a calm that already soothed me , you could tell this wasn’t her first nervous client. I explained it was my first time with a professional and she smiled, saying she’d take care of me. The meeting finally wrapped and I could breathe.

A short black woman I met on FetLife. Her profile said domme, but cuckoldry was what truly moved her, and that was what I was looking for at the time. Still, I felt, and still feel, that she wanted more than I was willing to give. She talked about us travelling together and rehearsed an intimacy that, from where I stood, had no room inside her marriage. The discomfort grew with every message, because I feared walking into a ground that wasn’t ours alone. I had just come out of the relationship with Luana, and the weight of it still followed me around.

I met her on Tinder during my relationship with Luana. With her I had my first threesome in which everyone was involved purely for the filth. My profile didn’t expose my identity or Luana’s, and it made clear what we wanted. I met her while Luana was traveling, and I believe it was better that way than escalating too fast. Right away I noticed she was extremely politically polarized. To me it made no difference, but I noticed she kept drifting away the more I voiced my beliefs.

I met her on Sexlog. I was convinced I was a person with broken desires and that I should go looking for someone who understood that and was at peace with it, someone with whom we could live the cuckold and hotwife lifestyle. Sexlog seemed perfect for that. It happened a little after Rafaela, and this time I made sure the idea was not a professional relationship.

Months after the first encounter, Rafaela and I met again. This time I would discover she had a boyfriend — and that maybe, after all, she really was a professional.

It was around 2016, maybe 2017. Back then swingers’ social networks still had some innocence to them, and it was on one of those sites that I stumbled onto Rafaela’s profile. The cover photo said everything: skinny thing, ass disproportionate to the rest of her body, a look that knew you’d click. And I clicked.

We traded messages. First the usual internet banter, then things got more direct. She opened up fast: she liked getting gifts. I returned the honesty: I liked being dominated, the whole cuckold thing, that grey zone between submission and voyeurism I was still learning to name. Neither of us seemed scared. If anything, that sealed the deal faster than any pickup line could.

I had already spotted this redhead, back then, at BDSM parties, but never found an opening. Around 2012, on my way to an adventure in Madureira, I stopped outside a shabby little place where a rock show was happening. That would turn out to be one of the craziest nights of my life.

I met P. Liz on Tinder, at a time when I was looking for exactly what her profile announced: no-strings sex, no beating around the bush. She was black, a PhD student, and liked to smoke a joint before anything else. Her beauty was the kind that disarms you, and beneath that innocent face was a body that knew what it wanted. Her blowjob was delicious, and she had a tattoo on her back I loved to kiss. She loved sitting on my face, and between us there was no fixed role: I dominated and was dominated, we did everything. We had several encounters, all of them good. And then, out of nowhere, she drifted away in a way that still feels bizarre to me today.

I met Érica on Orkut too, back when I was an intern. I started following her and charming the passista on social media, and she was always receptive to compliments in the DM. I adored her like a Goddess, and she accepted. Some time later I recognized her downtown, approached her and sent a message. That was the hook for us to meet and have a lightning-fast adventure.

Nicole was a gothic redhead I dated, I think I dated, for about 8 months. We swapped inversion porn, and she was the first woman who talked openly about cuckoldry, big dicks and BBC with me. We even made a profile on UOL Friends, something like that, trying to find someone. We went to BDSM and gothic parties together. And she had a stunning body, an hourglass with an incredible ass.

A tall, dark-skinned mulata with big tits and a big ass. We met a few times over the years, always in motels, and our games were mixed wrestling and taunting. In our roleplay, she dared me to touch her without her consent while she provoked me and pinned me down. It was always a battle of strength: she’d hold me, I’d try to break free, and the tension would build until nobody knew who was in control.

A naughty one too, and a civilian. I think I met her on Orkut, in a group for people who enjoy being cuckolds, something like that. We talked a lot online and had a single meeting, where I went down on her a great deal, but I couldn’t get hard until she gave me a “ground wire”, a finger up my ass. Something was breaking inside me.

She was my first. A married domme with two kids, older than me, whom I met online on FetLife. She loved poking at my masculinity. We met twice: in one she took me to a motel, in the other she invited me to her house, as a friend, with her husband and children around. It was creepy, and I was barely 22.

Everything she lacked in her face she made up for in her body. We walked around downtown Rio and everyone stared, maybe at the contrast between the tall black woman and the skinny white guy next to her. She was a swinger, insanely hot, and possibly the first time I toyed with the idea of having something broken in me. It happened before Dona Olga. Money was tight back then, and that bothered me: I couldn’t afford to go out with her, not because she was expensive, but because I was broke.

An incredibly delicious mulatinha I met when I was very young, around 22 I believe, and our relationship kept changing over time. I think it may have been one of her first sexual experiences. I met her at a birthday party of a friend I never saw again; back then I was crazy about that other friend. I saw big transformations in her body: she went from super fit to a bit chubby, right at the edge of deliciousness. She gained big tits and tattoos along the way. There were so many encounters that I can’t remember each one, but we did interesting things, and we could still be doing them today, weren’t it for life’s complications. With her I got to try the “bull” role, eating her out while she was in an open relationship.