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. 

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Juggling Kids and Cuckolding

 During Mistress's early days as a cuckoldress we still had two daughters at home, attending a nearby high school.  We were not the sort of couple you might read about in smutty stories on Literotica, where the kids are all in on Mom's "stepping out", and her humiliation and domination of their "sissy" dad.  No, we were always mindful to play the role of devoted and monogamous couple for our girls, family and  vanilla friends.  This required a certain amount of juggling, and matching "cover stories". Mom might have an important business meeting to attend during the dinner hour, or even a "business trip" to cover for an overnight with one of her lovers .hat was consistent with her career at the time, and never drew questions from our girls. Of course, whether they had sneaky suspicions about Mom's mysterious texting or other behaviors we will never know!

I can think of one exception.  Jay was her longest lasting relationship.  We evolved some sort of cover story where he became a close mutual friend. He and his son even came to one of our family Thanksgiving celebrations, one of her birthday parties, etc.  I'm not sure if Jay and Mistress  ever had an opportunity to sneak off to a quiet room in the house for a quicky, but there were never any PDA's in front of the other family members or guests.

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Tender Lady Parts

 The notion that a cuck is supposed to "reclaim" his wife immediately after a date with one of her "side-dishes" sometimes butts up against physical reality in the real world.  At least it did at UCTMW. Slave was always anxious to be sprung free from his cage when Mistress returned from a date. But full blown fucking was rarely in the cards for me so soon after one of her encounters.

"I'm pretty tender down there slave.  But feel free to worship," was the typical response.  And who could blame her? Not her devoted slave.  After an hour or more of a more vigorous brand of sexual engagement than she was used to at home, it was no surprise that she was tender, looking instead to the gentler ministrations of my tongue for solace. 

Thankfully, she was typically game for her husband's work-a-day cock the next morning. 

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Seducing a Friend.

This is a particular kink we have never explored here at UCTMW, i.e., having Molly explore a sexual relationship with one of our mutual friends. Not that there haven't been a few temptations. There is a mountain guide who lives nearby, works on the local ski patrol in the winter.  We've often speculated about how that might go if Molly let it be known that she has a "hall pass".  And another friend who lives not far from here who we ski with and have for dinner from time to time. Both are taller tand larger han her devoted slave, and (one suspects) might be more amply equipped.  But we have never found out. 

Why?  Mistress has always been reluctant to broach the subject for fear of rejection (hard for me to imagine either one would pass on the opportunity).  And She also suspects that if the situation did not work out - either because the "friend" said "no, thanks", or because the encounter was a dud, we'd end up losing the friendship all together. 

But that doesn't prevent us from engaging in a little fantasy speculation about how that might go.
 

Final Daze: Trump Playlist Goes Rogue

As the interminable 2024 election enters its proverbial "final strokes", here at UCTMW, a blog devoted to the glory of strong, indepeondent women, we naturally fit in the Kamala Kamp. If she wins, it no doubt will be on the shoulders of America's women, most of whom  don't like the idea of the profound loss of their reproductive options as a result of the former guy's Judicial appointments. 

We had a laugh over what we saw on CNN over the weekend. A CNN reporter was reporting from a Trump rally in NC, where the crowd was waiting impatiently for their Orange Michelin Man to make one of his increasingly deranged appearances. In the background the music was playing oldies to amuse the impatient crowd.  Playing was Leslie Gore's declaration of female independence from the 1960's.

"You don't own me.  I'm not one of your silly toys."

Leslie telling America's women and girls that they should aspire to be strong, independent and not reliant on guys like the proud "pussy grabber", who claim they will "Protect" women, "whether they like it or not."

"You don't own me. Don't say I can't see other boys".

Was Leslie an early model for America's hot wives and girlfriends, encouraging them  to have a handful of "side-dishes"?

Finally, another line that Beyonce could not improve on:

"I'm free and I love to be free."

Either no one on the Trump train bothered to listen to the lyrics (shades of the Bush campaign back in 1992 adopting "Born in the USA" as a theme song), or there was one sly lady in the sound booth who was jerking the dottering fool's chain.

Either way, we are hoping America's women remind the MAGA patriarchy tomorrow that no one owns them.

VOTE!

Cuckolding in History: The Great War Edition

 Just read a new book by Robert Harris called "Precpice", an historic fiction revolving around a real life  affair (of sorts) between 60-ish British Prime Minister H.H. Asquith, a married father of 7, and 26 yr. old Venetia Stanley, a debutante from a wealthy landed family, during the run-up to  WWI. 

Seems Asquith's long suffering wife had been told by her MD that sex was out-of-bounds for her after child birth complications. That left the PM, who had an eye for younger ladies, on the lookout for someone to provide some much needed comfort and companionship as he juggled the demands of mobilizing his country for war. I mean, if you're sending a few hundred thousand young men off to the trenches, shouldn't you be entitled to a little nookie on the side?

He and his much young crush would get together for long Friday afternoon drives in his Limo, apparently with a privacy window shades that would protect them from the eyes of his devoted driver and curious  pedestrians.  There were also weekends at her family's lavish country homes, often  with his jealous "Cuckqueen"  wife in tow, where they might escape for a rendezvous in the gardens. The author speculates that their sexual interactions were limited to "frottage" (i.e. non-penetrative sex) in an age when "unprotected sex" came with far greater risks to a woman of the aristocracy. One can imagine lots of blow jobs and finger fucking in the back of that spacious limo as it meandered through Covent Gardens. 

The aging PM was obsessed with Venetia, to the point of crazy. Over the approximately 24 months of their affair he sent her 560 letters, all of which have survived and which the author quotes in his novel. Apparently there were multiple mail deliveries / day in those days, so 2-3 letters might arrive from him each day. Still living at home, Venitia had to stealthily intercept the post man throughout the day to avoid raised eyebrows from Mom, Dad and her siblings. The PM, between odes of his lust for her, also shared classified  war plans and intelligence, seeking her advice on how to handle the likes of war hawks like the young Winston Churchill, then in charge of the Admiralty. The "Official Secrets Act" was breached on a daily basis. 

Sadly, Venetia's letters were lost to history. Apparently Asquith or his family disposed of them, something Venetia did not do.

The affair petered out as Venetia trained to nurse war wounded "Tommies". She went to France to work at a field hospital.  Ultimately, Venetia  grew impatient with all those cloyingly pathetic  letters from her "Prime" and the pressure to keep up the correspondence.  To pull the plug, she finally accepted the multiple proposals of marriage from a less than macho suitor, Edwin Montagu, one of her contemporaries. He  was a Junior member of Asquith's cabinet.

Mantagu was also fabulously wealthy, which probably helped the PM's young mistress turn the page.  Though she had to convert to Judaism in order to assure that her new husband inherited his Jewish father's wealth.  Whatever. 

Sadly, Asquith did not take the news of this betrothal well.  He had been hopelessly distracted from his governmental duties as Venetia slipped away from his grasp. His government lasted only a few more months after she dumped him, replaced by the uber ambitious Lloyd George. Asquith was the last Liberal PM, as the Tories rose to power. 

Venetia was married to Montagu, but apparently her terms in accepting the proposal included an ongoing hall pass", which gives her something in common with today's "Hot Wives". History says  that Venetia made her new husband a cuck with multiple lovers.  DNA evidence later revealed that  their daughter was actually fathered by some other upper-crust dude titled the "Earle of Dudley".  No Do-Right he!

 

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Post Date Clean-Up

 Slave is back after a short weekend trip to the nation's capitol to visit a daughter.  Mistress was left to her own devices here, a rarity. Sounds like she had a good enough time with friends, including two nights out at local watering holes for music. Sadly, and despite her permanent "hall pass", she had no interactions with tall and potent strangers to share with me when I got home. As I've said before, this is a small town with limited options and also the risk of wagging tongues about a married lady flaunting her infidelities. 

Ah well.

The above photo reminds me of days some years back when Mistress had some early morning or mid-day encounters with a tall buff dude, 5-6 years her junior, who played hockey in college and in an adult league in River City.  He'd sometimes stop by for a "quicky" on his way to work, and as I was leaving for my own office. It was like a tag team for us. I'd greet him as he came in and I headed out.  Mistress could just stay in bed and enjoy.  And when I came home, my afternoon worship might include a little treat.

"I haven't showered yet, Slave."

Fine by me. 

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Sharing a Taste.

 Sure it's a cliche. But whenever Mistress returned from a date I was always happy, even anxious, to "reclaim" her clean shaven folds with my well trained tongue.  Mistress was never fond of condoms, typically graduating to "bare back" once a lover became something more than a one-off. So Slave was able to enjoy not only the taste of her stretched and well used lady parts, but also the residue of whatever her lover du jour left behind. 

This typically happened before, not after her slave's cage was unlocked. Not sure what it is about this little ritual, but it always seemed to be a turn on for both of us.  And while I suspect there were some nights when Mistress would have been happy to simply nod off after a long night of hot sex, I think she knew she had some obligation to share her experience with my in a physical way that transcended the narrative of her evening that typically came as I laved her with my tongue.  While the resulting orgasm hardly overshadowed those she had experienced with her lover, it was a her way of showing me that I remained an important part of the game.

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Sleepovers.

 It's been quite a while since Mistress spent the night away from home with one of her lovers.  Back in the day it happened quite often.  There was that guy who lived in the small college town where our daughter attended college.  That was always a trick: might they run onto one another?  What would Mom's alibi be?

Mistress usually came home before noon the next day, having enjoyed sexy times with her younger (by 10 years) lover. Untimately he wanted more of her time than she could provide - weekends away as an example. And she drifted away from him.

Then there was Jay - her longest term lover.  There typical date night involved dinner out, always a risk they might run into someone we knew, but never seemed to happen. Then they'd adjourn to his small home out in a tony suburb.  His young son would spend the night at his grandmother's house to allow Jay and Mistress a night of fun.  Slave was home, caged, pondering what the two might be up to in his bed.

Hot times!

Cuckolding in History: WW2 Edition

 For those who think this whole "cuckold" thing is some new twist in the world of sexual gamesmanship, I would refer you to a new book recently reviewed in the New Yorker titled "Kingmaker: Pamela Harriman's Astonishing Life of Power, Seduction and Intrigue".  The book documents the remarkable  life of a woman who grew up in one of those posh Downton Abbey style households then married Randolph Churchill, son of England's pugnacious Prime Minister on the cusp of World War II. 

Here's where it got interesting: With the blitz in progress, a new born little Winston (jr.) Churchill on the scene, her husband, in uniform, was shipped off to Egypt. But Pamela had a more important role in the Britts' war effort.  Clementine, her mother-in-law,  "noticed Pamela's power over older men (including her husband) through a rare cocktail of flattering attention, smoldering sex appeal and an impressive grasp of geopolitics". 

Little Winston and her nanny were shipped off to the "safer" confines of the country estate of "Lord" Beaverbrook, the Rupert Murdock of his time, who had taken on a job in the war effort to maximize airplane production.  The child care arrangement allowed "an unencumbered Pamela to move into the Dorchester Hotel, in London, and work her magic on influential Americans", who Churchill needed to provide US support for the struggle against Hitler. Beaverbrook "would outfit her for her mission . . . with a wardrobe of 'tight fitting evening frocks, high heals and natty tailored suits to help her in her new role in Britain's desperate struggle to survive."

US President Roosevelt sent W. Averell Harriman, 49,  to London to monitor the use of US "lend lease" aid by our ally. Harriman "would require some tender persuasion and Pamela, now barely in her 20's, was up for the job. "At a dinner at the Dorchester soon after [Harriman's] arrival, Pamela, wearing a 'skin tight shoulderless gold lame dress bought specially for the occasion by Beaverbrook and dazzilingly conversant in matters military and political."  That evening, a fortuitous Luftwaffe bombing had Pamela and Averell 'sheltering in place' in his hotel suite.  The rest was history. Soon Pamela moved in with FDR's envy.  Both were married to others. 

As in some of the hotter cuckold fiction of our day, the cuckoldress's in-laws seemed to encourage her dalliance to the deterrent of their pathetic son.  "The Churchill's seem to have known and tacitly encouraged their daughter-in-law's useful affair. Years later, in a divorce proceeding, Randolph accused his parents of encouraging her infidelity for the sake of the war effort. Ouch!

Was Churchill "pimping out" the mother of his grandson, as some have accused?  During the war years, Pamela   juggled multiple relationships with US military big wigs and media personalities like Edward R. Murrow. But despite all these suitors, Pamela made her own decisions on her sexual partners. "Pamela said no when she wanted to, and it appears she she never had her heart broken. She seemed to feel completely free to sleep with whomever she was drawn to or deemed useful. . . . By her own account, she relished her London life, supercharged as it was with danger, sex and political urgency."

After the war and her divorce, Pamela moved to Paris and was involved with an Italian auto magnate. Later she 
married a US movie mogul. When her husband died, she and Harriman hooked up again, and married, She moved to the US and, later in life, became a power broker in DC's Democratic establishment.  She died as US Ambassador to France in the Clinton years. 

But for those of us intrigued by the cuckold dynamic, her WW2 exploits standout. One can only wonder whether "poor" Randolph secretly got off on it all.  Let's hope.

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. 

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Required Grooming

 One of Mistress's first cuckold outings was with a guy we found on line -- maybe via Ashley Madison?

He was very directive prior to their first encounter, which was to be at his home out in the 'burbs.

"He wants me to do some extra grooming, slave."

"Hmmm.....like what?"

"What he called a 'landing strip'". 

Of course, I was intrigued.  Until then Mistress had a fuller patch of fur down there. The issue of hair in the teeth when I serviced her was always an issue.  But I had no complaints, and preceived it as just 'part of the deal'.  I'd never been with a woman who aggressively trimmed.

When I returned from work late that night, she had an intriguing disclosure.

"I got a little carried away, slave."

She pulled up her silkie black nightie. Show and tell time. 

That was my first introduction to her 'clean shaven folds'.   WOW!

I can't remember what that guy's name was.  It was a one off as I recall.  But I will be eternally grateful. As were her subsequent lovers. 

More on that first encounter to follow.

Back from the Trail

 Mistress and slave are back at their SW hideaway after nearly a month trekking along foreign coastlines.  There was plenty of great sea food, some interesting encounters with fellow trekkers, satisfying wake up sex along the way, and only a few blisters as we added about 200 miles to our hiking boots.

Sadly, no threesomes, even of the type where slave gets to clean up the mess. But what else is new?

Hope all of you are well! Will try to get more content out here in the weeks to come.  In the meantime, it was great to see Sara posting so much enticing cuckold content in our absence. 

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Listen but No Watching?

 With a single exception this was the game plan at the Molly and mick manse in River City: Mistress would sometimes have a sleepover "guest".  Her devoted slave would occupy our daughter's room next door (by then the  daughters had flown the nest). The walls were thin.  I was typically caged, to avoid any unsanctioned self abuse as I listened in to their enthusiastic coupling.  One thing became all too obvious: Jay (and the occasional "other") could induce much more enthusiastic sounds from Mistress than I could with my "work-a-day" cock. Was she exaggerating her responses for my benefit? Could be, but I doubt it. 

Our typical husband / wife sex, still a daily morning ritual, was more gentle and loving. Yes, Mistress would be lavished with a few cums/session.  Still is.  But there was/is no athleticism involved. No rhythmic slaps of flesh on flesh, and endless moans from Mistress. Of course, all of this listening in could be enticing, exciting and frustrating for a caged slave.  

But once the lover de jour went on his way - typically after I served him coffee in the morning - slave always got his turn, even though Mistress was frequently tuckered out and tender.  

She was and always has been an indulgent Mistress. 

Summer's End

 After a long and restful summer here at our SW hideaway, Mistress and slave took a trip back to River City over the Labor Day Weekend.  Now we're back for a few days before heading over "the pond" for a long trek.  Our living room is filled with back packs and the clothes and gear we need to organize for our next adventure.

Last night we spent the evening at a local haunt for what will likely be our last out door music event of this fading summer.  Mistress got all gussied up in her boots and a short black shirt, as you can see from this photo. It's a shame the bar / restaurant was only populated by the usual Tuesday night suspects. Sadly,  no one was there worth Mistress exercising her flirtation chops. 

But all that alluring leg was not wasted on me!

Cuckold Meme of the Day: Flirting.

 Mistress knows she's entitled to flirt with whomever, whenever.  Here in our small town there aren't the same opportunities available to her to meet and flirt with a stranger, let alone an attractive, well endowed  one worthy of her charms. 

Day at the Hot Springs

 Mistress and her devoted slave spent the day yesterday at a nearby hot springs resort, perched beneath a ridge once populated by hundreds of native people, who have only left behind thousands of shards of their colorful pottery.

It seems Mistress will never outgrow her desire to bask in the sun, something her Mediterranean complexion accepts with tolerance.  Me, not so much.  But I am happy to indulge her desires in this and so many other ways.

The hot springs excludes kids, but always has a robust crowd of mostly middle age to older customers, many covered in exotic tattoos.  I had to smile as a few heavily inked guys in the their 30's and 40's wandered past Mistress, their eyes unsubtly lingering on Mistress's delicious legs and bottom.  Not bad for someone getting closer to her Medicare years! 

It reminded me of a story Mistress told me from a trip to the Springs last summer, with her Mom (the Dowager Domme) and her sister.  They spent the night in a cozy cottage, and She got up early for some lap swimming. At pool side she was chatted up by a younger man - cute she reported - who seemed interested in learning more about her "situation".  Sparks were beginning to fly, she said. Then . . . her mother and sister arrived, impatient, wanting to get their breakfast.  Sadly, contact info was not exchanged and she never spotted him there before they departed.

But at least she was willing to explore.