Cuckold Meme of the Day: Oral Service

 Last post I mentioned one of Mistress's first cuckolding bootie calls.  The one where she was asked to do a little extra grooming.  She got carried away, and has sported clean shaven folds ever since. 

His other directive?

"He wants me to bring a pair of handcuffs, slave."

Hmmm.  We had long dabbled in bondage.  We had some equipment of our own.  Still do.  Cuffs, collars, crops. In our pre-cuckolding days, Mistress was usually the "victim" of such toys.  And though we've shifted the axis of our relationship since then, the bdsm toys have remained in a duffel bag tucked into a corner of our closet.  I suppose we should find an excuse to dust them off. 

Going back to that "directive". . . we stopped by a local army / navy store and picked up a simple pair of handcuffs before Mistress went to her first meet up with this gentleman.

She had made clear to me, and to him, that during this first get together, at his home in the 'burbs, there would be no sex.  This was a "get to know you" arrangement, she said, and clearly intended.

To set the right tone, Mistress did not overdue her outfit. Sure she had sexy, silky undies.  But it was jeans and a less revealing top. Nothing too provocative, it seemed as she set out early on a Friday evening. 

Mistress was off the radar for several hours.  I stayed busy at home, caged of course, probably making dinner for at least one of our daughters, who were in high school at the time. 

It was around 11:30, maybe midnight, when Mistress came home. A tad disheveled. Of course, I was curious. But resisted my lawerly urge to cross examine.

"Long evening, slave."

"And how did it go. Did you use those handcuffs?"

She was undressing, using our bathroom to go through her re-sleep routines. 

"Definitely", she remarked, focused on her image in the bathroom mirror, then sliding into a slinky nightie.

As she settled into bed, I offered to provide some post-date worship. 

"Are you sure?  It's a little sticky down there, slave."

"Oh?"

"Yeah.  We got a little carried away."

As she spread her legs in our bed, and I dipped ian eager tongue into what was clearly  well used if cleanly groomed folds, she provided the following narrative:

After sharing a beverage on his patio, they adjourned to his bedroom. So much for a simple getting to know you first meeting.

"He told me to strip, slave."

"And you did?"

"I did.  He just sat there on the bed, and watched me."

"Sounds hot."

"It was."  She let out a slight moan, possibly from my gentle oral ministrations. But also, maybe, from the recall of being inspected for the first time by a new partner as she did her slow reveal.

"Then?"

He stood, walked to me, cuffs in his hands. He touched me. gently. Somehow I ended up with my hands cuffed, behind my back."

As I slowly brought Mistress to a gentle cum, I could taste the residue of what her new lover had left behind. The story got a little disjointed, and my memory has faded over the years about all the details.  But she "submitted" to some robust sex in his bed that evening. And before she left, after she was dressed to leave, a  chaser back out on his patio. 

"I was on my knees, slave. He was ready to go again. He wanted my mouth."

Apparently he got it.

My work done, Mistress was soon sound asleep.

As for me, I recall that it wasn't until morning that Mistress found the key to my cage.