Living Under the New Regime

 Here at our SW Hideaway Mistress and slave have been readjusting to life out of the gloom of northern Germany. Sun screen and shades are critical. The ski hill has beckoned, though it seems the east coast is getting more snow than here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains. 

Mistress has followed up on her threat of more cage time to correct her slave's previously poor attitude. Though some lines have been drawn.  After a day of trying to ski with a cage in place, a pain inducing experience, Mistress adjusted her expectations. 

"You look very stiff skiing with that on, Slave...."

It definitely impacts one's flexibility as it pinches and chafes with each turn.

So the rule now requires cage time whenever we (or I) leave the house, other than for exercise or skiing. 

 Yes, I know. I am a very pampered house slave.  Hard to figure how folks serve long term sentences in chastity.

Over the weekend, we went out with friends, and for some two-step dancing, with slave caged.  It gave me a little buzz to sit next to Mistress - who had worn a short black dress and her "peek-a-boo" black tights - knowing that it would be up to her to decide when (or whether) to use the little key she had sequestered to free her work-a-day cock. Speculating about whether that guy at another table in a cowboy hat and boots might ask Mistress to dance, or whether she might flirt a bit with a tall, dark stranger sent some blood flowing in the wrong direction.  

Ouch.

Mistress also confessed to some perverse delight in knowing that her husband was caged up as we sat with our unknowing friends, or boot scooted across the dance floor. 

When we got home on Saturday night , Mistress headed to bed, and slave did a little kitchen cleanup while  watching the end of a football game. When I finally got back to the bedroom, the lights were out, Mistress was in the early stages of slumber. No way I was going to wake her and bring up the subject of my locked cock. 

So I settled into bed, nodding off, still tightly locked. Some hour or two later I was rudely awakened by our devoted cat, who leaped up onto my prone lap, looking for some middle of the night strokes around her neck and back.  A routine occurrence.  But now she was pacing across my caged crotch.  

Double ouch!

In the morning, after I made her coffee, I reminded Mistress that she had left me locked through the night.

"Oops.  Poor slave. I guess you should have come to bed sooner.  I snooze, you lose."

"Even worse, kitty jumped on me and decided to poke my cage with those little paws."

She just snickered. "That's my kitty!"

A chip off her Mistress's block. 

New Year. New Rules.

 Happy New Year to all of our dozens (at least) of UCTMW followers.  Mistress and slave just returned from 3 weeks "over the pond" visiting our prodigal daughter in the cold, dark and damp of northern Europe.  Thank goodness for those vibrant Christmas markets, which light the darkness and kept us and bundled up the masses  fueled with holiday cheer, including lots of Gluwein and Flammelachs. 

Unfortunately for slave (depending on your point), Mistress was not pleased with her slave, based on some  misfeasance on my part that will not be detailed here. Suffice it to say, one of Mistress's new year's resolutions is a much firmer hand for her devoted but misbehaving slave upon our return to the south west hideaway. 

"You're going back in the cage, slave when we get back." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

In fact, I was faulted for not anticipating her desires, as a long term slave should, by failing to pack one.

The absence of a cage did not deter Mistress from improvising some appropriate discipline on the fly.  "Fortunately" the apartments we spent most of our trip in were suitably equipped. 

What I learned over the last three weeks was that: 1) wooden spoons repeatedly applied to an aging males's naked ass can sting like BeJesus; and 2) the heavier the spoon, the more painful the sting. I suppose I should have known that from my high school physics class, but the scientific method of experimentation  always works best.  Sadly, we have some solid wooden spoons here at our SW hideaway.  Apparently they have more uses than making a creamy risotto.

Those nearly daily thrashings reminded slave of his place in the UCTMW household, and also provided some accelerant for our traditional wake up sex sessions. 

Now that we are finally home, Mistress also has her trusty riding crops to rely upon.  And slave better dust off a cock cage before we head to the ski hill this morning. 

Cuckolding in the News

 Mistress and slave are on another excursion to visit our daughter in perpetually dark and damp northern Germany. Lots of Gluwhein is required to keep us warm! It's amazing to see Germnas out frolicking at their evening Christmas markets ignoring the cold drizzle at bone chilling temperatures barely warm enough to fend off snow. 

Meanwhile it was amusing to notice some US press that taunted those of us turned on by the cuckold dynamic.  This comes from the Social Q column that appears weekly in the NY Times on Sundays, in which an empathetic gay guy responds to his readers questions on how to handle sticky social matters:

Dear Social Q: 

A friend of mine saw my daughter-in-law in a hotel bar with a man who is not my son. As my friend reported it, my daughter-in-law was dressed to the nines, draped all over the man and feeding him with her fingers. My friend walked over to her and asked, “Where are your husband and the kids?” My daughter-in-law answered calmly, and my friend walked away. This information is making me quite angry and sad. Do I tell my son about it, ask my daughter-in-law or keep it to myself?

MOM

Of course, if you are a fan of cuckolding your mind quickly jumps to the possibility that this unlucky daughter in law was just hot wifing with her cuck hubbie's consent, or at least forebearance. And it turns out that Phillip Galanes, the Social Q. author considered that possibility in his tasteful and delicate response to the angry mother-in-law:

Let’s start with the loving heart of your question: You feel protective of your son and want good things for him. Nothing wrong with that! Now, your friend’s account — though it may be totally accurate — strikes me as the stuff of romance novels: a steamy seduction in a hotel bar. But your daughter-in-law’s nonchalance with your friend tells a different story: Wouldn’t she be flustered if she were caught doing something wrong? Things aren’t adding up here!

So, is your friend trustworthy? If you have doubts, put this matter on hold (for now). If not, and you want your son to know the story, report it to him in a more measured way. Be sure to tell him that you did not witness any of it personally. I would not talk to your daughter-in-law about this. Your relationship with her, even if it’s close, is based on her marriage — the intimate workings of which are none of your business.

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Now, I know that I am threading a dubious needle here: sanctioning meddlesome behavior for the sake of (possibly) mitigating harm. Your son and daughter-in-law may have an arrangement that could explain what your friend saw, and reporting the story may strain your relationship with the couple. Still, if you decide to speak up, try to put aside your own feelings. Your anger and sadness — which I sympathize with — are not the point here.

The author clearly ID'ed the potential scenario here: Was the wife engaging in PDA's with her husband's eager consent?  Was hubby back at home, maybe caged, both anxious and excited about what his hot wife was up to?  Was she (or her companion) sending salacious text messages back to hubby stoking his fire about what was to come?

That's sure where my twisted imagination went.

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Forced to Listen

 Mistress and slave have been traveling of late: first to visit family back in River City for Thanksgiving.  We stayed at the Dowager Domme's house. Sadly she did not wear any of those Dommy shoes or boots featured here over the years.  I guess she's off her game at 85.  Though she still roasts a mean turkey.

We road tripped back to our mountain getaway, got in a few days of early season skiing, and will head 
"across the pond" later this week to visit our youngest in the dark and damp of northern Europe. 

Fortunately, we've been able to sustain our daily diet of wake up sex and afternoon worship despite the challenges of all that travel.  Though the agonizingly thin mattress on the ancient convertible couch in the DD's "dungeon". (aka basement) definitely added to the degree of difficulty while we were in residence there. Fortunately, we are still spry enough to rise to the challenge. 

But no chance for any cuckolding while in the road, not that a few truck drivers didn't ogle Mistress at the endless chain of truck stops and diners we frequented on our long cross country road trip. "Creepy" was Mistress's blunt response. She needs to be wine, dined and seduced, not manhandled. 

Which brings us to today's illustration.  There was only one instance when slave actually witnessed one of her lovers take her on. More typically, she entertained when I was out, or visited her lovers' homes. Then there were the occasional sleep overs at our house, when she took her lover (most often Jay) to our marital bed, and I slept in the guest or a daughter's room next door.  

There I was treated to the sounds of their vigorous love making - typically in multiple rounds interrupted by undecipherable murmuring and giggling. And even sounds of silence, all to be interrupted by another round of loud and physical coupling. 

 It left much to the imagination. And old mick has a very wild imagination.  Was Mistress providing oral services during those moments of relative silence.  What sort of pillow talk were they sharing? How many orgasms was Mistress enjoying.  It sure sounded like a lot, and typically at a volume slave's own efforts rarely, if ever, produced.

With my cage securely in place the "agony" was all the sweeter. 

So don't let anyone tell you that cuckolding requires the sad cuck to sit quietly in a chair and watch.