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.