The hotwife hotel room?

Am spending time with a lovely friend this weekend as we tend to do annually and we’re in a new hotel. This hotel is very new, I saw it in construction this summer. And now it’s open! So we check in and it has lovely amenities. A walk in shower (for two), an equipped kitchenette, a big king bed and a pullout sofa.

Now we know that a pullout sofa can be a little weird to have people there and be able to see what’s going on in the other bed, so the hotel has magically added a sliding curtain to the mix so that you can have some measure of privacy! Isn’t that kind of them?

Seems like almost perfect settings for a cuck to be in a hotel with his hotwife and bull

Seems like almost perfect settings for a cuck to be in a hotel with his hotwife and bull

Of course, when I see this curtain next to the big bed my fantasy mind goes more into the world of…

She and He coming in and taking to the bed while I strip myself naked and pour them some wine. Then I kneel patiently next to the bed while they enjoy each others company, make out, drink wine and slowly remove their clothes in stages. A breast is exposed, a blouse and bra removed. Shoes are kicked off, then a pair of pants. Another shirt, a pair of panties. The moans intensify as their hands and mouths wander over each other’s bodies. He lies back on the bed while she gets up and removes the skirt that was bunched up around her waist, then heads into the bathroom. I remove his socks, as I know he prefers that I do this. He lies naked on the bed and sips wine while she takes a moment in the bathroom.

She returns. “That’s all for now, cuck” she indicates as she pulls the curtain to close off the bed. I retreat to the sofa where I wait. Unable to tease my own cock with my hand because I’m locked in chastity, I just lie there listening to them fuck, my cock pressing hard against my cage. After a good while and several intense orgasms on their part, I am ordered back to their side of the curtain where I am ready with warm tongue and warm washcloth as I clean them up and they fall into each other for a nap.

“Cuck, take an Uber home, I’ll call in the morning” and I am dismissed.

That curtain, well, sure, it seems as though the hotel management knows the rising tide of hotwives with bulls and cuckolds. They’ve seized on this opportunity. Or they did it for completely vanilla reasons, but I choose to not think that. It is far less fun than my ideas.

One small thing

There’s one subtle thing that happens in our little house. I’m not sure that the rest of the house notices it, not even Madame. Our core household is Madame, a roommate and I. We sometimes have more or less, but that’s the core of the household. The roommate is a dear friend and we’ve lived together before. In fact, I lived in her place before I ever officially lived with Madame.

In our schedules, I am typically the last person off to work in the morning. I’m the 9 to 5 person. The others tend to leave earlier. A few months ago, I started noticing that they’d leave their coffee cups wherever they last had them. On the dining room table, on the counter, on the butcher block, wherever. And I started gathering them before I leave the house. Just making sure all the coffee cups were either cleaned or in the dishwasher. No, it’s not a big thing, but it’s my way of serving my house. And yes, the other roommate is a woman – but she has not a kinky bone in her body. So while I may be serving the two women in our house by doing this small task, it is so far removed from any kind of female domination thing, but more a token of my caring for my roommates. It’s a token of friendship, affection and love that I quietly share with them. I don’t know if they notice – and they never need to. I’m happy to see their mugs scattered wherever. And I happily take care of them. I have some good people in my life and I happily take care of them.

So very tired

Last night I visited a friend in Boston to watch the game. The record length world series game. That went for 7 hours and 20 minutes in 18 innings. EIGHTEEN! This after a full day of work, then visiting, leaving him in the 14th and finally arriving home at 5:30 am. To wake at 10 and do more work (side hustle). And now I’m home and so tired.

And I feel bad. I’m missing an opportunity. There are four lovely women out in our dining room while I’m almost falling over (the chair is catching me) and missing an opportunity to serve the ladies.

This is normally something I am happy to help with. But my fatigue is making me anti-social and the fatigue is also pushing me closer and closer to the bed. So I’ll miss this chance to serve. And Madame says I have an exemption tonight, which is good and I very much appreciate. But damn, I miss having such opportunities.

But it seems like I’ll get far more opportunities come next year as Madame promises significant changes coming with the first of the year. We’ll talk more about this and she’ll let me know what she has in mind, but my life as her domestic partner will certainly be more service oriented and include much more discipline. That’s what she’s saying I should expect next year. And I’m happy as a clam to hear that.

And now, soon, shortly, I’ll be passing out in the bed, because I’m beyond tired. It’s amazing how tired I am.

Locktober, interrupted

As we have in previous years, we’re celebrating Locktober here in the Exquisite Dungeon. I was locked on the first and secure the entire time. Until an hour ago.

Locktober cock with the key lovingly diplayed.

She enjoys using me as a canvas for her creative gestures of love. Here, the actual chain and key that dangles between her breasts while I am locked.

Unlocked, but straining to get out, the a-ring stayed on through some of the activities of a lazy Sunday morning. Some trimming of the pussy, some trimming of the boy’s dangly bits and finally some time to jump in the shower afterward. She brought me to the edge with soapy hands multiple times, the a-ring causing the cock to swell painfully. She smiled at my discomfort and teasing. I knew it was making her lustful. She’d been talking about her horny state over the past few days and she almost cursed Locktober.

Finally she departed the shower, I finished rinsing, brought the towels to the laundry room wherein I find enough idle seconds to have settled to a flaccid state and able to finally remove the a-ring. My cock free, I returned upstairs to find her on the bed, waiting for me.

I grabbed a handy little item out of the bottom drawer (it’s always the bottom drawer, isn’t it?) and brought her Hitachi up onto the bed from her bedside shelf and followed her directions.

Finally I slid into “the most comfortable sex position ever” and put the tip of my cock at her entrance while she used the Hitachi on herself. She said it would not take her long and she was already well on her way to her orgasm. My cock slipped in very slowly, gradually, gently. And I knew what was going to happen. I knew exactly what would happen if I were to thrust. She lay there, bathed in sunlight on naked skin, expecting to be fucked. And I was unable to.

I was unable to fuck. She could feel the tightness of my body, struggling to maintain control of something that desperately wanted to lose control. But she would not permit it. I was her fucktoy, and if I was unable to perform, I would be ignored.

I took the handy little toy that had been warming up in my hand and gave it a very good and deep suck, making it wet and at the same time, withdrew my cock. She was startled by sudden emptiness, but soon saw what I was doing. “Oh, yes, get it in there.” she breathed. I did and immediately started fucking her vigorously with it. That is what she needed. Now quite near the top she ran headlong into her orgasm. The Hitachi grinding into her pubis, the dildo being driven by my hand deeply and quickly into her pussy. My useless cock pulsed between my legs.

She took her orgasm and grabbed my free hand with hers. Holding hands she came, I held the cock steady, she panted, I continued to simply throb.

Coming down she spoke about how she felt. About all the build up that morning. How she knew she was going to be fucking me, using me, all along, she knew she was going to use her sex toy (me) but in the end, she didn’t even need my cock. She got off while I was there feeding her pussy with the dildo, with the Hitachi on her mons and with no need to have worried about my cock even being part of it. She indeed wanted me there, but she proved that she didn’t need me there. She said that it made her feel more sadistic to have me be so useless in that way, to have her cum without actually needing my cock, but to just have her pleasure.

I can only think that this cements in her idea that while it might be fun to release me during Locktober and tease me, she certainly won’t need to release me for being able to get her off. She’s got that well in hand. And my cock can throb inside a cage or not.

I’m very happy she had a big beautiful late Sunday morning cum. It really does make a lazy Sunday that much more enjoyable. So, now I sit here, plugged, naked on the chair writing while she is clothed and preparing a bit of a noon time snack.

Sundays are pretty awesome in October and in Locktober too. Now, I wonder if it’s too late for that Bloody Mary… Might as well have a drink to celebrate an hour or three of freedom.

Documentation

Madame and I have loved being together the way we are. We’ve both been married before. We’re both divorced. We both still love our previous spouses, but the marriages in those instances were at their end. We still get along with our ex’s. In our own relationship, we’ve never felt a “need” to be married or officially coupled to each other.


But now life comes up and presents us an opportunity that is only available to domestic partners or spouses. And I find myself navigating the state website, downloading and filling out forms and having them available to present to my owner for our collective signatures before a notary.

And I find myself annoyed by the form, although I’m sure it’s less annoying than a marriage form, though it’s been a while since I filled out one of those. The form says “Domestic Partnera A:” and “Domestic Partner B:”. And it’s a fillable PDF. So I can add more words to the right of those words. But I wonder what happens if I do that and submit it. I want to write “Owner” and “Owned”. Or perhaps something else. But then I’m up against involving other (vanilla) people in our kink. But… our kink is more than kink. It really is how we live. It really is who we are. We wouldn’t be lying by adding text to it. But how would the state react? Would they refuse? And how would history judge this? I imagine that all forms will eventually be digital and somewhere in the future anyone will be able to look up this particular form and see that “Great-great-great-grandpa was an owned partner!”. It’s exciting as well as scary.

I’m pretty sure I know how this goes. We’ll leave it as it is. We’ll know what we really mean with it. And we’ll celebrate our happy selves as we want to celebrate our happy selves outside the scope of the rest of history and government bureaucracy in this matter.

On the shorter cage…

So, this weekend I locked myself Friday morning, as she is just starting a crazy three weeks of two jobs. So, while she indicated she felt bad about forgetting, I let her know it was no big deal and that it was fine for me to self lock and leave her the key. I’m away from home for the weekend and typically lock up when I’m more than a few miles away from her. This time, to test some theories, I used the shortest cage we have.

Continue reading

Hooked

My boy left last night to head north for the weekend. He is off to spend time with his family- his boys and their mom. For the sake of this post, and privacy, I’ll call her Adina. Pup left when the rest of the housemates were all home, enjoying a make shift happy hour, celebrating the return of our roommate. He made us a round of Manhattans and then hit the road. We all stayed in last night, ordered take out and placed dice games until bedtime.

I happily leapt into bed, sleepy and satiated. I took a moment to look at our nest before settling in. One of the requirements of my pet is that he makes the bed every day which he does. Without fail. Lovingly, carefully, nicely. It takes a few moments to pull off all of the pillows we don’t use, to arrange all of the sleeping things I like and love.

I got into bed and noticed right away that my boy had left behind his favorite pillow, his pajama bottoms, his collar. The biggest thing that was still here was his steel cage that he is typically locked into when he leaves. The other things he left behind were over-sites on his part.  The cage, however, was my bad. I had had a really intense day at work- the kind of day that leaves your brain going, “Wow. W O W ! ! !  Did that really just happen??!!”. Admittedly, I was distracted and my boy left without being locked up. After a decade of being together, stuff like that is going to happen from time to time.

It felt very strange to me to have all of his things here and him gone. It felt to me as though he was sent away naked. I didn’t send him away, and he certainly didn’t pull out of the driveway with no clothes on, but that is how it felt. I don’t know why, but when I conjured up thoughts of him, I saw him in my mind as naked slave, which goes beyond collared boy.

I am able to separate him in my mind. I know he headed north to be dad and ex partner to his awesome ex partner. And this brings me joy. He is an awesome dad, and I know how much he loves to be around his boys. His ex wife is a bit different for me, thought. And what I’m about to share is very personal. No matter where he goes in life, he is my property, my boy, my possession. This we know. But for some reason, when he heads north to be with his family (and yes, his ex is very much his family), I picture him being two things at once: the dad that he is, and a slave when he is  up there. Why do I view it that way? Because I want him to work hard when he is up there. Because Adina works her ass off and probably needs and appreciates the help. Here’s where it could feel sticky if I let it (which I don’t, to be honest):

My private thoughts are that my boy is a slave to all women. Her especially included. I think it feels sticky because she doesn’t know that I feel this way, and because I involve her in the private wanderings of my overactive mind, I almost feel that my thinking violates her consent. I know that thoughts are okay and that behaviors are limited, which is why I allow my thoughts to wander in these ways. And I do. I allow them.  I want him to be up there and I want him to do all sorts of things and stuff for her. For them. I want him working hard for a woman who works hard. I want him to quietly and diligently go about his days and hours in silent service. I want him to do tasks. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, heavy lifting, organizing. If he was wearing a collar, even discreetly, it would feel as though he was wearing MY collar, and therefore, I would be marking MY property. But when he heads up there with nothing…..no collar, no cage, no trappings, he becomes universal slave. Because, the point is, he is always slave. I use the word ‘boy’ more often than not, but truly, we live this way 24/7 with a range of volume associated with it, but he never gets to ‘take off’ the invisible collar that marks him as property. He is tattooed with my mark and wears a 24/7 collar (bracelet) that he never takes off.  This is enough at time. And this weekend, as he spends time with his family, it is plenty.

The image below is the every day collar my boy wears. I have spend consistent time throughout my life in the Caribbean, and I love it there. By wearing this as he does, with the hook pointed towards his heart, it means he is taken. It represents that I am his owner. It represents that he is taken. It is a part of me and my past and love of the sea, and I gave it to him. I have one too. We have hooked each other. :-)

bracelet

Some folklore states, with the open end of the hook pointed up toward your heart, you are taken. With the open end of the hook worn down, away from your heart, your love is free or a subtle sign that you are unattached or single. Other folklore, with the hook worn up, keeps your luck with you, worn down you will bring in good luck when in need. One of the most accurate accounts of folklore that  was when the men of a village would set out to sea, the men would leave to fish or deliver goods to other islands sometimes for weeks on end in order to make a living for their families. Their wives would wear the hook down with the open end of the hook pointed away from their heart, down their out stretched arms sending love and faith as they waved good bye to their men embarking on a long and dangerous journey on the high seas. When the men were due to return and their ship was spotted their wives would turn the hook up toward their heart symbolizing the safe return of their men from the dangers of the Caribbean.

 

 

Locked in Regret

 

IMG_7036-1My boy had a rough evening this past Sunday. Nothing to do with us, nothing that he won’t get past, but it was an incident that left him feeling shaky and uncertain, one where in the aftermath, he was left with the uncomfortable consequence of questioning himself and his decisions. I know that feeling, because I have been there too. It was the kind of thing where self comfort and self care can be hard to administer because you’re engaged in a private, temporary war with the inner parts of self.

I had mild cause to be upset with my boy because he made a brief but poor decision. This is not his standard fare, and I knew that he needed no tongue lashing from me. I wanted to be a place of support and encouragement, but I also knew he needed to sit with himself and assess. We didn’t talk much that Sunday night, but cocooned ourselves in our nest of bed and blankets. It was the exact womb he wanted and needed to crawl into this night.

The next morning I was at work early, gone before he had risen for the day. I got a text message from him. He was asking permission to lock himself in chastity. It was a simple text, yet I could feel the intensity about it. “May I lock up your cock today? I feel the urge to  locked…..please”.

What I felt most immediately grateful for was the realization that I didn’t feel mildly irritated by this request. At no point did I think, “Wow…..you just made a regrettable mistake, and you’re thinking about sex??”. This feels important to me because it is my belief is that a lot of partners could have taken this approach. It would be understandable. But I knew immediately that is was nothing sexual. It was purely emotional.

My boy has asked to be locked up many, many times in the past because he simply likes it. Because it is part of his submission to me. Because it is kinky. Because he is owned by me and this is what we do. But this time, I immediately sensed it was different. His cage is another cocoon. It is a place….a thing….that can act as a barrier to outside touches and influences. It can be used as punishment and pleasure as the two are often synonymous and interchangeable. I think he just simply wanted to feel it on his skin. We have talked often how his chastity device is a fist of sorts, how he can feel me squeezing him throughout the day and night. It is pleasurable for him. I think this time is was for the sake of comfort and proximity. He needs to feel close. I am sensing this. I am grateful that he is not the sort of guy who withdraws completely when he experiences trouble with self. And again, in the scope of all things related, this is a hiccup. Just a disappointing one.

The power of a cage can be mighty, and I do appreciate how this event has expanded the use, purpose and function of a steel cage. I gave him permission to lock up and get to work. He was instructed to place the key in my panty drawer, which he did. We had a quiet but good night last night and slept entangled as we do.

And, as is often the case,  I woke early and fumbled through the dark to put on pajamas and start the coffee. As I was quietly getting dressed in the dark, I could see my shadowy boy slip out of bed to the floor, where he knelt as he draped the upper part of his body against the bed.  I know for certain he is not even close to fully awake when this happens. He does this in order to subdued his erection. It was morning wood, which is a part of his natural state.

And it struck me that seeking comfort through a steel cage is part of his natural state too. It grounds and centers him. I know it is not needed, but it is desired. It is something that helps him. It is something he can and does use to help himself.

I am appreciative. Of him, of the devise, of the experience. His cage will accompany him on this personal journey, I think. It is the exact right companion.

 

In the late night, a plausible fantasy

Last night we had some lovely sex. We had just watched a movie and while she snoozed through some of it, she was restless throughout. She’d already seen it, I had not. She came back from the bathroom at the end of the movie and we coupled, kissing, touching, groping. She allowed me inside her and then teased me verbally the entire time. Well, except for the moments where I was able to silence her with hard thrusting, but that didn’t last long. It can’t last too long when she whispers and I’ve been denied over 70 days. But we settled into some lovely fun playful sex and she grinned at torturing and teasing me, watching me struggle to stave off the cumming that was so very close several times.

Eventually I was able to withstand even most of her whispering and was able to really fuck well, which kind of puts her off her game of teasing and she had enough. She told me so. “Enough” she said. “Down!” she said. Finally she got the right word for her dog “HEEL!” she giggled. And I withdrew. “Damn you, dog… ” she smiled at me.

We settled into bed. The two of us together, tangled, pillow, body, pillows, body, tangles of arms and legs. I was able to pet her and did so. She snoozed, I heard her breathing change, the ragged noises of sleep now coming from her. And despite ourselves having stopped fucking, I was still quite horny. I rolled onto my back, able to still pet her. With my left hand I pet her, with my right, I pet myself. My hand grasped around my cock, still wet from being inside her, still hard from our love making. I pumped it, I stroked it. I remembered her whispers and words. Soon I was near the edge and pumping harder, my balls slapping and making the quintessential jerking off noises. She stirred as I paused from my stroking.

†”Are you touching?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Not enough for you, pup?”

“Still horny, Ma’am”

I could hear her smile. “Good, pup. Good. I like you torturing yourself while I sleep. Pet me to sleep again and tease yourself for ten more minutes. Then sleep.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” And so I pet her, waited for her sleeping noises again and spent another ten minutes teasing myself to the edge multiple times while she slept next to me.

When I snuggled in behind her spooning her, my hard cock nestled between her cheeks. She roused again as I so very gently humped against her. “Keep petting me. Keep humping too.” which I did until we both fell asleep tangled with each other. Another lovely night in our big beautiful bed. Another night with my lovely Mistress still holding her virtual leash close while we slept.


†This is the point where the fantasy happens. She didn’t really tell me this, but I was stroking next to her while she slept. And I’m sure she’d be okay with my torturing myself. She’s mentioned it before. A charmed life we lead.

Snippets

This morning we are preparing the house for yet another lost puppy. I mean, another house guest. A friend who is recovering from surgery has asked for a different venue of recovery – within an eight week recovery of “don’t you dare do X or you’ll screw up the recovery.”

In an ideal world, I’d have helped Madame around the house naked and collared. But in our current situation it’s a case of just running around the house in jammies and getting things done.

But we took a moment at the end of the cleanup and moving of things to settle into the dining room. She in the comfy dining room chair, me kneeling at her feet.

“Get on your hands knees facing the plant” I did so, puzzled. “Closer” she added. I moved closer. “I like footstools closer.”

And so I was her footstool for a few minutes until the tea kettle whistled and I was directed to handle the kettle.

Just snippets of how I serve her and a glimpse at how I’d sometimes like to serve her as well. But that’s how we do it in our world. And we’re good with that.