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. 

Happy Birthday from the Dowager Domme!

Over the years, we've made some joking references to Mistress's Mother, the "
Dowager Domme".  She's known here for her kinky shoe collection and severe dressing style, which are evocative of a "she who must be obeyed" self-image. The DD is now past 80, and still working full time.  She can also drive Mistress a little batty, because, as many controlling mother's can do, she knows all the bad buttons to push.

So I had some trepidations when Mistress called me on her way home from his weekly Saturday lunch with the DD.

"Slave, you won't believe the birthday present my mother gave me to give you! "

"Really?"

The DD doesn't usually give her seemingly useless son-in-law  a birthday gift.

Soon Mistress was home, brandishing the DD's birthday gift.  It's a braided leather lasso, no doubt some sort of antique from an exotic journey, that I had seen hanging on the wall of her den (along with some penis gourds of various impressive dimensions, that she had persuaded some New Guinea natives to sell her).

"She said she saw you admiring it when we were over for dinner a few weeks ago.....She figured it would make a great gift...."

I wonder how we can put this to something more than a decorative use?

The Dowager Domme Goes Full "Dragon Lady".

Mistress and slave have had a few days now to recover from the big wedding that Mistress had perfectly planned and executed for our daughter and her new husband.

Of course, the weekend was a forced march through a Friday brunch, rehearsal, rehearsal dinner hosted by Mistress's mother -- the Dowager Domme; then a long Saturday of preparing the room (an old retired Catholic Church) organizing photographs, and, finally a very big long night.  It wasn't until past midnight that the two of us finally made it home, exhausted but satisfied that, despite all odds, things had gone off without a hitch.

Excellent planning, Mistress!

But there was still a Sunday of visiting with family before they left town, and a dinner with our two daughters, the new son-in-law and some friends from our Florida days. By Monday morning we were running on fumes.

"I  should use the crop on you today, slave.....but I'm too tired."  There had been a cropping hiatus with our two daughters in the house since Wednesday, because the sounds might be a tad disturbing to the two Dommes in training.

Fortunately (or not, depending on your perspective) Mistress recovered her energy level by Tuesday, and reminded my bottom of what it had been missing.

The only amusing note from the weekend was the Dowager Domme's choice of a wedding outfit.  Of course, one might have expected the grandma of the bride to wear something elegant but unobtrusive so as not to eclipse either the bride or her daughter, the "MOB".

But that would not be in character for the Dowager Domme, would it.

Instead she showed up in a rather severe looking black dress accented with large red flowers. (a bit like the one on the left, but with a shorter hemline and a broader collar).

I decided to address the elephant in the room.

"So J, that's quite a dress. Where did you get that?"

"Thanks, Mick. It's Vietnamese...."

"Ahhhh..... the Madame Nhu look."

She just smiled to my reference to someone those of us who recall the Vietnam War would remember.

Madame Nhu: the so called "Dragon Lady",  who was part of the ruling family of South Vietnam who
LBJ and Nixon propped up at the cost of thousands of young American lives.  Didn't she have her own torture chamber, where political dissidents met a cruel fate?

Of course, Mistress was a little annoyed at her mother's attempt to "upstage" her daughter and granddaughter at the big wedding.

 But then what would one expect of a true "Dowager Domme".   In fact, maybe we should start referring to her as the "Dragon Lady" from now on.   I just don't want to end up in her cross-hairs.

Photo Op(s)

Mistress and slave are headed on a little hiking expedition this weekend.  This has the Dowager Domme's nose out of joint. She's used to Mistress taking her out to lunch on Saturdays. There was a whiney phone call from the DD last evening at around 5:45 pm, as we snuggled in bed, fresh from some post-nap worship. The DD was driving home from her office, and at age 78  still goes to work everyday. She looks down on those of us who don't have an office to go to, who she perceives as kind of lazy and a little too laid back.  Maybe she needs to find some poor sap to flog on a regular basis to get the bad vibes out of her system.

But yesterday, Mistress actually was pretty busy, working through the morning to serve her biggest client. But she did have to slip away at lunch time.  There was a romantic lunch set up with her lover Jay.  I came upstairs around noon to see her primping for her luncheon engagement. Nothing fancy: jeans and a sexy top. But her shoes and toes on a rainy chilly day were worth a photo, don't you think.  What makes a woman show off all that toe cleavage even when the weather is nasty?  The goal of attracting male attention must me at the top of the list.  And that always gets a cuck's motor running.

As I was retrieving this photo for publication, I came across one from a few weeks ago that is also worth sharing.  Here is Mistress relaxing at a bizarre arts venue in Santa Fe called Meow Wolf. Don't you like those cowboy boots?


 It's hard to explain, but it's a fantasy warren of phantasmagorical rooms constructed in an old warehouse.
On a typical day it was clogged with tourists, kids and stoners all getting lost in its various nooks and crannies. But one can imagine what a kinkcter night would be like there.... lots of slaves, masters and mistresses wandering about in various states of restraint and dress (or undress).  I wonder if there is a local kink community in town that might take up the challenge.

The Dowager Domme Strikes Back

Mistress and slave have been quietly enjoying our extended getaway here in the High Desert. A big snow storm swept through on Thursday night and Friday morning. We were too lazy to fight the crowds and slippery roads on a "powder day". Instead, we hunkered down at home on Friday, walking in the snow, lazing in bed, and enjoying the privacy of our hideaway.

But our extended absence has her mother, "The Dowager Domme" in a manipulative funk.

Like a good daughter, Mistress called her on Saturday afternoon, after we returned from the ski mountain (we couldn't justify another lazy day!).  After the call I heard the fall out:

"It clear she's pissed we are gone for so long, slave....all her friends are sick or dying, it could happen to us (i.e. her) anytime....a friend got shot in an unsafe neighborhood, she goes to work everyday in an unsafe neighborhood, we may all be healthy for  now but that just means our luck will change sooner rather than later.... blah, blah, blah....."

I can see her now, sitting on her throne, pissed that I've stolen her little girl away to a remote time zone where she can't dote on her mommy.

Why can't she take it out on her husband, Mistress's step father, rather than put her daughter on such a passive aggressive  guilt trip?

"You spend more time with her than your sister does, Mistress, even though we go away from time to time. Why doesn't she take it out on her?"

"She claims [Molly's sister, who lives out of town] calls her multiple times a day....whereas I only call her once a week or so...."

"Do you believe that?"

"My sister says it isn't so...."

We had dinner last night with some friends who live in Oklahoma, and travel here often.  Mistress was recounting these stories of Motherly manipulation. Our dinner companions shared some of their own.

"When my mother died I had to clean out her house.... I found two vibrators, a couple of pistols and an assault rifle", Jane recounted.

"The guns were loaded.  I had to call for help from the Sheriff's office to make sure they were unloaded and safe", her husband added.

Well I guess it could be worse.  The Dowager Domme could start packing heat.  Although maybe it wouldn't hurt to buy her an Hitachi (if she doesn't have one already) to atone for Mistress's sins.

Fiancee Gets the Dowager Domme Once Over

Mistress and slave are speeding as fast as we can across the great vast American heartland .... aka "Trump Country". We are  on our way to the sheltering arms of the Blue State where our SW hideaway is located.  With no obligation to return to an office, we have no scheduled date of return to River City.  Now that's a good feeling!

We did spend Christmas evening with family -- our daughter and her fiancee accompanied us to the Dowager Domme's home where she prepared a filling Holiday feast.  But first there was a certain hazing of the young, innocent fiancee that was required.

You see, the DD has an "interesting" collection of various artifacts collected from around the world to complement her world class collection of kinky shoes and boots. (I was unable to discretely photograph the spikey 4 inch pumps shoes she was wearing for a holiday meal at home, which surely would have impressed our readers).

One "conversation starter" was the penis gourd hanging on her wall..... a souvenir brought back from a trip to New Guinea.  Over hor' dourves, She explained to our slack jawed future son in law that the guys in the tribe she visited wore penis gourds and nothing more during their visit.

"when they danced sometimes their scrotums popped loose!", the DD's more typically submissive husband, and Mistress's stepfather interjected.

Oops.

I tried to be helpful, suggesting that he and his groomsman might want to consider penis gourds in lieu of tuxes for the wedding.

"They're actually hard to come by....it's a long trip to New Guinea.", the DD countered.

"You mean you can't find some on E - Bay? ", slave helpfully rejoined.

As the family chatted on I took my own little tour around the room, noting the very useful antique lariat on the wall.  I didn't ask the DD for the story of how this keepsake was acquired, or how she had put it to good use since then.

Hopefully the fiancee was not taken aback by this pre-dinner chit chat, or the DD's rather peculiar collection of items which could be put to use in more ways than one.

Nothing worse than a runaway groom who must be brought to heel.  Though the DD might consider than a challenge.

Cyber Security Breach

Mistress and slave had a pretty laid back weekend here in River City. We had plenty of sex - two a day Saturday, and the deployment of Mistress's favorite power tool Sunday morning as a special sexual condiment.

Mistress indulged her slave on Saturday night.

Rather than a night on the town, Mistress allowed her slave to stay home and watch his alma mater take on the college basketball equivalent of the DeathStar. Sadly, my team sputtered out in the final seconds, succumbing to the superior height and athletic skills of "student athletes" who will be headed to the NBA rather than calculus class once the tournament ends. The consolation prize for my guys is that they will at least end up with college degrees. 

Our idyllic weekend ran into a wrinkle Sunday afternoon, when Mistress's mother - the Dowager Domme - mentioned in a phone call that she was "getting your emails".

Huh?

She even quoted a few emails between Mistress and her sister, and another friend, which contained some not un-typical grumbling about the Dowager Domme's indulgent shopping habits and sometimes authoritarian familial management style.

Mistress immediately wondered who else was getting her emails, which involve both her business and (very) personal stuff.

As the UCTMW Chief Technology Officer, I immediately went into trouble shooting mode.

"What device was she using?"

"Her Apple laptop...."

'Where is she accessing your emails on her computer...."

"She says there is a little icon on her screen, and when she clicks on it my emails show up....."

"Hmmmm..... Have you ever used her computer to log into your emails account?"

"....Oh Shit....yes..... at her office once. She needed me to check on something....so I used her computer...."

I suggested that Mistress tell her nosy Mom to slide said icon into her trash, and then delete her trash.

She said she would.  But .... would she really do it, or keep her "back door" open into her daughter's world?

And what else might she have seen?

Thus began Mistress's damage control phase of this operation.

First she checked to see if any of those smutty emails between her and an MD who works with her Mother were still in her account.

"Thank God, slave. I must have deleted those."

"Good. But what about the WC? Or your other lovers?"

She went back to her account. Sure enough lots of smutty exchanges between her and the WC from a few years back. She clicked on one. A photo of a certain cock in its cage pops up....I didn't bother to ask why Mistress was sharing my caged cock with the WC.....Oops.  Did Dowager Domme nose her way into that? Or to those photos of Mistress clean shaven folds and special occasion cocks that she and the WC were known to exchange, back in the days of their cyber taunts and teasing?

"Let's hope she wasn't that curious, Mistress....."

Her CTO quickly suggested another remedy.

"Let's change your password..... then even if she doesn't delete her back door, she won't be able to pry it open again....

After some more scrambling, we successfully altered the keys to Mistress's secret stash of cock shots de jour.

In the meantime, Mistress was contemplating whether to tell her sister that the Dowager Domme was now privy to their sibling grumblings. And Slave was wondering whether to send a letter to some advice columnist about what you do when your Mother-in-law snoops into your wife's email account.

For once, Mistress was feeling a little sisterhood with Hillary Clinton.

"Maybe you need your own private server like her and Bill, Mistress."

In my day, all I had to worry about was whether my mom was picking up the phone and listening to my romantic discourse with a home town honey.

Now you have to worry about Mom hijacking your email account?

Where will it end?