Saturday, May 31, 2025

The Perfect Holiday

The Perfect Holiday


"Are you seeing him again tonight?"

"Yes! Definitely! It was such luck to find a new Master for me on our first night here, don't you think?"

"Well it wasn't that lucky really. The clue to your success is in the hotel's name. The Mandingo Palms Nudist Black Master Resort for Cuckolds' Wives. Still feeling lucky?"

"Of course! I'm lucky to have a hubby like you. I thought it was very sweet of you to leave the room after you found me and Master together."

"Oh a cuckold instinctively knows when to leave."

"His attentions might have been unwelcome. Did that occur to you?"

"It did cross my mind, and then I heard you say, 'Give it to me big boy,' and then, 'Cum inside me Master,' so I slept in the bedroom next door. Listening to him having you - three times."
"Give it to me big boy".


"Four actually. You missed this morning's session."

"I know. I went to breakfast. But I didn't miss ....

.... the afterglow.

Friday, May 30, 2025

Is my tie straight?

Is my tie straight?


“Now listen! I want you to make a good impression.”

“Isn’t that a little bit arse about face Dear. Me trying to impress your new Boyfriend.”

“He wants to know if my husband is suitable.”

“Suitable? For what may i ask?”

“As a total cuckold. One who gets his Wife ready for dates. Serves them both when they are in bed. Uses his tongue to soothe his Wife’s pussy after her Lover has cum. Wears a little plastic restraint on his tiny penis and relishes the humiliation of being a cuckolded husband.“

"i see! Is my tie straight?”

Thursday, May 29, 2025

i know he will look after you

i know he will look after you


“i know he will look after you My Love. He always does.”

“Was that a bit of a dig at me for wanting to spend the night with my Boyfriend?”

“No! Not at all. Why would i, the husband of a sexy little lady like you, be a little put out that she spends three nights a week in another man’s bed?”

“Then you are having a dig. If you feel that way, why don’t you just go home?”

“I would, but we both know that i like to sit outside the door and listen to him having you.”

“Well okay then! I suppose it’s nice to know that two guys have my best interests to heart.”


Tuesday, May 27, 2025

Cuckold Vignette

Cuckold Vignette

There is nothing unusual about a husband helping his Wife get ready for a date with her Lover. Even more usual, is the fact that so many hubbies do just the same every night.


Sunday, May 25, 2025

Happy Cuckold Moments

Happy Cuckold Moments

 

It's those moments in our lives that make our cuckolding seem so worthwhile:

That happy smile that tells her hubby that she is enjoying her Lover's thrusts, and that very soon his potent seed will flow into her unprotected womb. All Cuckold's dream of such moments
 

..........

Watching as she joins her Black Master In the shower after a long night in bed. She knows that her hubby is looking on as her Lover's strong arms welcome her, but doesn't care. Why would she, he's her cuckold any way.

...........
Understanding that the man she now dates regularly will intimately explore her willing young body with increased familiarity. It's what every cuckold expects when his Wife has a Boyfriend.

..........
Tasting the fruits of another man's loving is the ultimate humiliation for hubby. It is one of those rare pleasures that only a True Cuckold can enjoy.

Saturday, May 24, 2025

Róisín - Ch. 2

 Chapter Two - An Open Mind


I knew better than to raise the subject of John's revelations with Róisín. I could tell that she was still upset by his indiscretion for about a eek after the event; I was patient with her but we both knew that unanswered questions required resolution. And much to her credit it was her who raised the issue, at breakfast.

Normally on Saturday mornings my lovely Wife is full of plans for the weekend and is a bubbly and happy companion for a dull accountant like me; that morning she was contemplative however.

“You deserve an explanation,” she said, putting down her half full cup of tea.

I knew exactly why she had raised the matter, but nevertheless asked, “What for?” 

“You know!”

“Okay!”

“You might not like it.”

I thought about my response. Maybe I wouldn't like her revelations but I have always believed in honesty, so I replied, “That's for me to decide!”

“Okay then!” she said. “But please don't judge me until I have finished. Will you promise me that?”

“Of course,” I replied, “but tell me one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Have you cheated on me? Am I a cuckold? Just like the others.”

“No!”

“Okay! An open mind it is. So please go ahead.”

Róisín smiled, nodded her head, and said, “Open mind then! Alright! What if I was to tell you that everything ‘Big Gob John’ told you was true. All of those Wives have Masters ..”

“Black Masters,” I interjected.

“Don't interrupt Michael, this is hard enough without that,” she replied, before continuing. “It's a more like a cult thing really. It is called the Natural Order and there are many who live by its philosophy. More than society would admit to; and all of my work colleagues, females especially, are very, very enthusiastic advocates of its pleasurable practices.”

“Which are?”

“Essentially, unsatisfied Wives fucking with Black Masters. For many it is an expression of Love for their Master’s along with the gentle humiliation of their husbands – their cuckolds.”

“I got all this from ‘Piss-Head John’, and Marcie that evening. He said that you would confirm it all, and you have. So what more is there I need to know?”

I would normally have received another reminder from my feisty Wife to not interrupt her again, and I tensed waiting for it – it didn't arrive. Looking up at her I could see she was struggling with how to approach the next part of the conversation.

“Quite a lot more actually.”

“About you?”

“Me.... Yes..... And Megan!”

“Megan? The Receptionist?”

“Yes. We were the Reserves.”

Immediately I felt a sense of our lives changing. I was about to have my smug little life upended – forever. Looking down at my hands, I could see just a small tremor starting – I was now very nervous. But Róisín continued, even though I was some-what unwilling to hear the rest. 

“Reserves? Were you in a team?” It was the question that changed everything.

“In a manner of speaking,” her eyes sparkled with amusement before continuing, “Masters have a very pronounced sexual drive. As well as their prodigious mating equipment, they need regular release of their ....”

“Seed?”

“I said don't interrupt. But yes! They need to orgasm regularly. And their Girlfriends and cuckolds would normally, and very willingly, provide that service. But every one of those Wives, unless for obvious reasons like Penny's big tummy, have a monthly period; as well as the normal ailments of everyday living.”

“And this is where you come in?” 

“Meg and I – Yes.” Róisín replied. “In the basement of the fashion house is a small one bedroomed apartment with a big bed, shower, toilet, and a small kitchen. After work, Meg and I would go down there and party with those Black Masters whose ladies were unavailable on that day.”

 ... party with those
Black Masters ...

“You had sex with them?”

“I used to have sex with them,” she snapped back.

“You stopped?”

“When I met you Michael. From the very day I met you, I knew you were the one, so I have never cheated on you. But before that I was a bit of a slut.”

“A Black Master’s slut?” 

“Yes!”

“But you haven't been with anyone since?”

She looked up from the cup she had been holding. “I told you. No-one, just you. But I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being a slut, and not telling you.”

“How many of these men have you been with?”

“All of those Master’s you saw at the party. Regularly!”

If I had been honest, I would told her that would be my definition of being a slut, but I had a question. It was a loaded question because it would tell me what I needed to know about my lovely Wife, but I had to know the answer. 

“When you were with all of these different men, did you enjoy it?”

Suddenly Róisín was very sweary Irish again. “What kind of ‘forcking’ question is that?”

“A question requiring an honest answer.”

Her face changed from indignation to a very wistful look of pleasant memories as she answered. “Honestly? Okay you asked for it. ......... I loved it. Every time! Every way! As often as possible and whenever they wanted me. Meg too – she loved it. And so did her husband Paul.”

“You had orgies down there?”

“Occasionally, but mostly I would take my clothes off, pour myself a brandy, light up a cigar, and then wander in to either watch Meg go at it or invite one of the boys to join me on the bed.”

... but mostly I would
take my clothes off ...

“It was a nightly orgy then,” I commented.

“I suppose so, but it was fun and ......”

“Wait a minute,” I exclaimed suddenly (and rudely interrupting my Wife). “Did you just say her husband attended?”

“Of course!”

“He's gay? I thought those Black lads were only interested in women.”

Róisín furrowed her eyebrows in consternation. “Paul's not gay. He doesn't have sex with the men. What made you think that?”

“I dunno!” I replied sarcastically. “Maybe because he was going to an an orgy with big Black Men.”

“Paul is a gentle and kind man who loves Megan. And like a good hubby should be, he understands her needs and is prepared to accept her liaisons . In fact he is a very enthusiastic devotee of The Natural Order.”

‘The Natural Order again,’ I thought. ‘Wives being owned by Black Masters. Husbands wearing cages on their equipment. What else is there to shock me?”

“And he’s an excellent ‘Cleaner’.”

“What?” 

But she wasn't finished. “And ‘Restorer'.”

I thought on John's description of cuckold Bernard's duties when Jaqueline and Ruben made love. In fact I had thought of little else since the party and was still trying to acknowledge that a husband would do such things, especially in front of his Wife. But I believed him. Just as I believed Róisín now. I hadn't seen it with my own eyes but I had seen the settled untroubled look on the husband's faces and the contented and happy countenance on their Wives and knew the Natural Order to be a fact, and not someone's wild idea about marriage and sexuality. ‘Love, loyalty, and devotion,’ John had said; maybe he was right.

“You're looking thoughtful Michael,” Róisín commented, looking worried.

“And you are wrong Love,” I said after pondering a while further, “The Natural Order isn't a cult at all. It's much more than that.”

She cocked her head to one side in an expression of doubt and need for further explanation. “And what is it then ‘Smartarse’?”

“It's not even a lifestyle. It's a dedication to an idea. It is a way of life.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then asked me, “Way of life for whom?”

“Hubby ....”

“Cuckold, you mean.”

“Cuckold then. ....  Yes!” I responded, gathering my thoughts together. “Including the lucky Wife and her Lover, I suppose.”

“The correct terminology is Mistress and Master.”

“I guess so.”

Róisín sipped her tea, and grimaced at its coldness. She picked distractedly at an imaginary strand of thread on her blouse, which I knew to be a signal that she had something on her mind. I sat still waiting for her next revelation.

“So!” she exclaimed with a smile on her lips, but with a look of worry in her eyes. “Do you think I am a slut Michael?”

I realised that how I answered this question would make or break our marriage. She hadn't told me about her sexual activities before we had met, and I hadn't been forthcoming about my own but neither of us had been virgins. Since I had met Róisín, she had been the light in my otherwise dull life and I was certain now that she had not cheated in our marriage. So what if she had ‘put it about' before we met; who was I to stand in judgement on her unusual love-life.

“I'm not going to condemn you for doing what comes naturally Róisín. Why should I? I had girlfriends that I haven't told you about before we met ....” I looked up at her eyes watering with emotion, “... so, no! I don't think you are a slut! I think you are an angel.”

Róisín said nothing, but stood up and came to my side of the table and placed herself close before me. Pushing me back in my chair, she straddled my lap and placed a soft and gentle kiss on my lips. With one hand on the back of my head the other went in search of my little man underneath my pyjamas. I gasped in pleasure as she found it.

“Angel am I?” she said as her hand brought me to hardness very quickly. “A little overstated but appreciated nonetheless.”

She released my stiff little pink pencil, pulled the gusset of her thin silk panties to one side and lowered herself down onto my penis. She didn't have far to go as her soft, wet, and delightfully warm vagina engulfed the little upright fleshy tube.

“You are my angel,” I whispered breathlessly into her ear as she started to ride me. Róisín had done this before and always managed to orgasm by pressing hard down and rocking her groin backwards and forwards as my ‘little man’ flailed around loosely inside her. “And I love you,” I continued, as I lifted her t-shirt up to expose her bare breasts. 

It is always a joy for me to kiss her two round tits with their coral pink nipples. Like two small jellies, they trembled and bounced slightly as her thrusting on my willy became more and more frenzied. Her moans of completion grew louder and louder as my mouth closed over her left nipple and I started to suck gently. 

“Oh God! “Oh God!” she screamed as her orgasm ripped through her lithe young body. Shuddering violently in her spending , she wrapped her armed around my neck and with her chin resting on my shoulder, her breath noisily rushed in and out of her open mouth in ecstatic climax. Róisín had enjoyed herself riding my little cock. She had used me to do so, and I knew why.

I had ejaculated with her so it was now ‘clean-up time’. Lifting herself from my floppy penis, she placed her hand over her vagina to prevent my semen from dripping onto the floor and lifted one leg up onto the table to open her legs wide for access. I knew what she wanted, so with practised ease, I dropped to the floor on my knees and pressed my face against the back the hand that was holding back ‘the flood'.

With one hand pressed onto the back of my head she pressed my face into her labia whilst instantaneously removing her hand to allow my lips to meet the sticky flesh that now oozed my seamen. Immediately, my tongue went to work to clean my own ejaculated salty fluid that trickled into my mouth and down my throat. I was serving the woman I love by making her happy, and thereby making myself happy.

... I was serving the woman I love ...

“You know you're just like Paul, don't you,” she said breathlessly as my succour gave her yet another build up of pleasure. 

I knew what she meant, and pulling my head away from her very appealing groin , I said, “ Do you mean Cleaner Paul?”

Róisín chuckled and then replied, “The one and the same.”

“Like John, Bernard, and Mark too?”

“So their Wives tell me.”

I took yet another globule of musty jism down my throat before I answered, “Then I am in good company.”

“Well, they are cuckolds, and you are not,” she responded.

It was later in the day when I asked the question that had been on my mind since that morning when I had realised one thing about my beautiful Wife. We had been to the Brent Cross Shopping Centre and were putting our shopping bags onto the kitchen table when Róisín looked thoughtfully at me. 

“There's something on your mind Michael. Out with it please!”

She was right. There was something on my mind, and it was time to bring it out into the open.

“Do you miss it?”

Her face paled, she pursed her lips, and she looked defensive. Róisín knew exactly what I was asking.

I had already guessed that she reminisced over her times in that apartment (who wouldn't) but our happy little session at the breakfast table had confirmed it. Her confession that morning had aroused her more that I had ever known or felt and I knew the answer to my question before she even spoke. All I wanted was an honest answer.

“Yes!”

Róisín's eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked back at me. She was expecting condemnation, or criticism, or maybe that horrible word – ‘slut'.

“I thought so,” was my comment to a now anxious Wife. 

She continued to stare at me for about a minute (it felt like an hour) and I stared her down. I knew that behind those beautiful eyes, she was thinking really hard about what to say next; so I patiently waited.

“You haven't thought about anything else since this morning. Have you Michael.”

“How could you tell?”

Róisín snorted as she laughed. “You've been hiding your little ‘stiffy’ under those tight pants and long jumper all the way around that shopping centre. Do you think I didn't notice you holding the shopping bags in front of you to hide your little fucking bump?”

“What did you expect?”

She stopped packing the groceries away into a kitchen cupboard, and turned to look directly at me. “What has gotten you so ...” she struggled for the word, “.... excited?”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks as my face turned red in embarrassment; but as she had been honest with me, it was time for some sincerity from me. Since Róisín had told me that she invited ‘one of the boys to join her on the bed', all I could see in my imagination was her in the arms of a strong and well-hung Black Master.

... in my imagination ...

The words spilled out of my mouth in my nervous confession of depravity. “I keep thinking of you, naked, being taken by a handsome Black Man; spreading your legs for him and inviting his big dark member deep into your body.” 

“That's a bit weird, isn't it?”

“Well, not really,” was my weak response. “You did drop all of your past on me this morning after all.”

“True!” she exclaimed. “But my future is with you Michael. The past is the past!”

A year and a half later, the sausages and eggs had been eaten, the plate was in the dishwasher and I was sat down relaxing with a glass of Chardonnay watching television. And then my phone pinged.

It was a text from John. ‘Hi Mike. Just to let you know that we are all proud of Róisín. Her presentation to our prospective partner in the business was especially good. She must have worked very hard on the financial opportunities and I can tell you that Mr Samuel Jerome was very impressed with her. I have included picture of them both chatting after the talk, so I guess she might be late home. When she's finished chatting, I'll order a taxi for her. Congratulations mate, for having a clever Missus.’

Congratulations mate, ...

I looked intently at the picture (slightly grainy and colourless due to the lack of light) that John had sent, and there was no doubt that Róisín was chatting with a big Black Guy in the corner of the roof, where the fashion house held their parties. They were standing close together, alone, and in deep conversation but there was something worrying me about the picture. I looked at it carefully and then realised what was concerning me; the man had his hand on her arse and he appeared to be kissing her forehead.

Was the love of my life cucking me? Was Róisín being unfaithful? I felt tears fill my eyes at the reality of her being with another man. Waves of hot and cold sweats coursed through my body as I stared at my phone that I gripped in my trembling hand. 

‘Wait a minute,’ I thought, ‘John is going to put her in a taxi and send her home. Would he do that if my Wife was going to join Samuel Jerome in his bed? Maybe I am reading more into this than I should.’

She had told me that she missed going with Black Men at the apartment located in the building basement, but on the other hand Megan, Deven, and even Jonah, had let me know in their own individual way, that they had missed her particular intimate skills. Since then I had made it my business to get off the train at Tottenham Court Road, walk to the fashion house, and meet her after work. In the intervening eighteen months since her confession of being their ‘pleasure lady' she had never commented about my new travel arrangements. It wasn't that I distrusted her, but I passed it off as the actions of a caring young husband, which seemed to please her; and amuse her.

I was still awake in bed when the taxi arrived. I heard Róisín thank the driver and enter our front door; it was a quarter to one in the morning.

“You're still awake then?” said Róisín (stating the obvious because the light was on and I was sitting up) as she stepped into the bedroom and unclipped the strap to her backless cocktail dress. Her pretty, and bare, white breasts trembled delightfully as she squirmed out of the remainder of her dress to stand naked except for a tiny black pair of panties.

“Yeah!” I replied lightly. “I thought I would wait up and ask you how your presentation went.”

She had her pyjama shorts and tee shirt on and was in bed beside me before answering. “It went well. Samuel was very well read and knew what all the issues were, so we were over and done with by ten o'clock.”

“What was he like?” I asked the question because I had seen the photograph of her being very much within his personal space – and happy to be so. Likewise, he seemed very comfortable with her close proximity, as the position of his left hand could testify.

“Oh he was very nice,” was her noncommittal reply.

“He was black, wasn't he?”

Róisín spun around in the bed to face me. “How did you know that?”

“John sent me a photo of the pair of you.”

“That's nice! Can I see?”

I reached for my phone on the bedside table, opened up the photo gallery, and passed it to her to see. She looked at the image and bit her lip in thought.

“Is he kissing you, and is that his hand on your bottom?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible. 

Her face coloured in embarrassment. “I think the camera gives a wrong impression. This was taken just as one of the caterers was pushing a trolley towards us so he pulled me towards him to get out of the way. And yes! He did kiss me. On the forehead as it happens for getting him that drink he’s holding.”

I was aware the man in the photograph was an older Black Man who was well dressed and powerful, and given Róisín's previous penchant for Black Lovers, my next question was, in my view, perfectly justified. 

“And did you like him?”

I had expected a sharp level of indignation from my Wife as we lay side by side in bed, with her still gazing at my phone. But I was wrong. 

“Yes! He was nice.”

“Well he must have liked you too,” I replied sarcastically, “especially your pretty arse.”

Again I was wrong, I had expected a short reply to my impudent rejoinder; but what she said shook me to the core.

“I know he liked me,” she said, as she handed my phone back to me, “because he has asked me to go on a date with him.”

“What !!!!”

“He's a Master, and he wants to date me.”

“I heard what you said,” I snapped back. 

It took at least twenty seconds silence between us before I asked the obvious follow-up question. I didn't want to ask it, but as her husband I was obliged.

“What was your reply?”

“I told him I was married.”

“And?” 

“That's it really. I told him that I have a nice hubby, and we parted on good terms.” 

And with that response, my lovely red-haired angel of a Wife, rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. But not before asking, “Do you want me to do something about your little stiffy Dear?”

“No I'm good thanks. Good night.” 


Friday, May 23, 2025

I have something to ask you

I have something to ask you

"Can I disturb you for a second My Love?"

"Well Denzil is spending the night here tonight, but I can spare you a moment or two before he wants to mount me."

"You know that I have been your boyfriend for the last five years and in that time I have always been happy that I share you with big, well-hung, Black Lovers."

"Yes my sweet little cuckold. But what is it you want to ask me while Denzil has his tongue lubricating my pussy."

"Will you marry me?"

"Oh I thought you'd never ask. You old romantic you!"

Thursday, May 22, 2025

Happy ‘Cuckold’s Day’!

Happy ‘Cuckold’s Day’!



“I think you should. It’s about time don’t you think?”

“Are you saying that you will be okay with me joining another man in his hotel room and staying the night with him.”

“Okay is not the right word My Love. Tolerant is probably more accurate. We both know that my ‘Cuckold Day’ has been a long time coming and that I haven’t done my best by you in our marriage bed.”

“And you’ll be happy to know that a big, well-hung Black Man is looking down at my naked body and pushing his big penis inside me? Will you be tolerant of another man’s semen inside me and me begging him for more as well.”

“Well, seeing that you put it that way, i guess that i can accept it and even learn to enjoy our new way of life.”

“Then happy ‘Cuckold’s Day’ - cucky boy!”

Tuesday, May 20, 2025

Cuckold Vignette

 


An experienced cuckold will never ask his Wife's female friends about her social life. They will not want to be embarrassed and may just tell him what he may already suspect.

Sunday, May 18, 2025

Cucky Texts




Txt: Thanks for the little film Dear. It's nice to hear from my Wife while I am away. It makes me appreciate you all the more.

Txt: Oh hell! I sent you the wrong text. Sorry!

Txt: Then who was it meant for? Was it Errol again?

Txt: No Sweetie! I told you that I had finished with him. It was for someone else.

Txt: Who are you seeing now?

Txt: Not who. But what.

Txt: WTF?

Txt: You remember before you left for Vladivostok, we discussed the White Mistress Order. Well I wrote to them and they wanted to see me naked to assess my suitability. So this film was for them.

Txt: And what text were they treated to; or should I not ask.

Txt: A report on my Mum's bad feet.

Txt: I'm so sad to have missed that bit of news Dear.

Txt: There's no need to be sarcastic.

Txt: Don't worry. I have their address, and I'll forward your film to them.

Txt: I'm so proud of you cucky.

Saturday, May 17, 2025

The Best Man

The Best Man

"You're looking very smart Master."

"I said that I would come to your wedding. And I wouldn't turn up in any old thing."

"It's much appreciated. David was hoping you would be here to watch us tie the knot."

"And speaking of being secured, is he comfortable in his new cuckold's cage."

"He wears it all the time now Master. He says that it's only right to have his little penis restrained, now that I belong to you. He will be such a good cuck hubby."

"Do you think he will be that good?"

"He will be the best husband a new Wife could wish for, but ...
... you will really be the best man.

Thursday, May 15, 2025

Off you f*ck - cucky boy.

Off you f*ck - cucky boy.



“He just f*cked you right here on the beach didn’t he. And he just left before i returned; that’s right isn’t it.”

“Well what of it! It’s not as if I promised to be faithful.”

“Sorry. Didn’t we just go through a wedding ceremony before we flew out here for our honeymoon?”

“Yes but that is back home. Out here in the Caribbean it’s different. I’m expected to have an affair with a Big Black Man.”

“If you say so i guess i can look the other way for a while. But when we get home it’s all going to be different.”

“Yes Dear! Of course Dear! Whatever you say Dear! Oh look! He’s coming back."

“i get the impression that you just aren’t taking our marriage too seriously m Darling.”

“Of course I am. Now off you f*ck - cucky boy!”

Tuesday, May 13, 2025

Cuckold Vignette

 Cuckold Vignette


When his Wife has a crisis of confidence, it is the Cuckold's duty to advise her on the best way to attract the Black Master she needs.

Sunday, May 11, 2025

Dating Wives Q&A

Dating Wives Q&A



Cuckold, Derek Grant interviews:

Mrs Denise Dobson of Swansea, Wales


DG: Hi Denise. Thank you for giving us this interview. In the interests of integrity, do you understand that my questions may be of an intimate nature.

DD: No problem Derek. I shall be as honest as I can, but I can't disclose any of my client's names.

DG: Clients? What kind of clients?

DD: Oh! I thought I told you? I am a Daughter of the White Mistress Order.

DG: What is the White Mistress Order, and what is meant by you being a 'Daughter'. Is it a religion?

DD: Not a religion. More of a calling.

DG: Calling? To what?

DD: The Natural Order of course.

DG: I have heard of the Natural Order. Could you please explain its purpose for my readers.

DD: Certainly Derek. The Natural Order is the manifestation of the beautiful sexual relationship between White Wives and Black Masters. It provides real men with loving partners while at the same time giving unsatisfied Wives the physical loving they deserve.

DG: I understand. But what part does the White Mistress Order's play in the Natural Order?

DD: Nothing directly, but the WMO is an organisation that provides 'on call' Wives like me to provide sexual pleasures to Black Masters. It is run from an office in the Black Master Organisation, where Masters can phone in and order a White Wife for the night.

DG: Who pays for this arrangement?

DD: Our husbands of course. For them, it's a great honour to have a White Mistress Wife.

DG: Can I ask how often you are called upon to attend to Black Master's needs?

DD: I average about three to four liaisons a week.

DG: And now my big question is, how does your husband feel about you mating with big Black Studs that often.

DG: Tim is a fully committed cuckold. He wears a penis shrinker cage on his 'little man' and is currently discovering the joys of 'femming up'.

DG: So do you have any regrets about your way of life?

DG: Derek! Three or four nights a week I feel a big Black member slide into my tunnel of love. So no! I have never regretted it. Not for one moment.

DG: Thank you Denise. And have a happy future answering regularly to your 'calling'.


Saturday, May 10, 2025

Róisín - Ch. 1

 Chapter One - The Fashion House


“Please come in Miss Murphy,” I had said to the attractive red haired young Woman who had come in to my temporary office. “Your full name is ‘Roy-zin’ Anne Murphy, is that correct?”

“No it’s bloody-well not,” she responded quickly in a very soft but broad Irish accent, with her sea-blue eyes flashing indignantly.

“Sorry?”.

“R-O-I-S-I-N.” She spelled out the name swiftly while leaning forward to stare me down as I quailed under her affronted gaze. “It’s pronounced ‘ROW’, as in ‘Row your fucking boat’. And ‘SHEEN’? Just like your shiny fucking shoes.”

“Apologies!” I stuttered, suddenly overwhelmed by this fierce beautiful stranger, and mindful of the weakness of my response. “It's not a name I'm familiar with.”

“Clearly!” she spat out. “But you're English, so it’s to be expected.”

“But you're English, so it’s to be expected.”

And then the room lit up with a triumphant smile that immediately shut down my strong protestation at the insult to my nationality. Furthermore I was left speechless as she dropped her ledgers, with a box of invoices, and purchase orders in front of me. 

‘Nice arse', I thought as she turned around and walked out of the door, leaving me with a day's work. As she left I wondered what she had thought of me, while hoping that she is not out of my league (4th Division) – a lonely single man does that doesn't he?

As one of the young under-managers, Róisín had been given a small budget to help her operate the commercial department of a small fashion house. I, on the other hand, had been one of the financial team sent from London, Villiers Street, to carry out an audit on the Company's fiscal propriety. Hence my being installed in a small, dimly lit spare office on their premises.

Róisín’s transactions had proved to be efficiently recorded, faultless and without any rounding errors – it was an easy audit, so I felt encouraged to go looking for refreshment after a couple of hours of number crunching and cross-checking. I was guided to the Company employee's small kitchen where I found Róisín standing by the vending machine drinking her tea. 

We talked. Her annoyance at my ignorance had abated, and after fifteen minutes we found that we liked each other, and started dating that very night. Four dates later, my little penis found its way into her slippery welcoming vagina and I was deeply in love with my feisty, sweary, Irish redhead. 

We were married six months later at a small Registry Office in Central London and immediately found happiness and commitment as a young devoted couple. 

Three years later found Mrs Róisín Anne Jeffries opening her legs, pulling my head down to her slippery labia, and telling me to, “get your tongue working Micky Boy,” as usual. I had enjoyed myself, thrashing around on top of my lovely Wife, and now, after I had erupted my salty cream inside her, it was my turn to finish her off with a nice session of pussy cleaning. It was messy, smelly, sticky, and a very delightful way to finish off a night of love, and I was good at it. I was also very good at something else, and Róisín knew it.

“Face time!” she chirruped. The high note of her voice betraying her happy little orgasms that had rippled through her body at each lashing of my tongue on her pretty pink clitoris.

“Oh yes please!” I cried as I rolled over to face upwards.

“Somebody's enthusiastic.” 

Like a svelte pink cat, she raised herself from the horizontal, withdrew her legs behind her, tipped forward, and placed her charming labia lips either side of my nose. I needed little encouragement. I had had my fun and now it was my turn to show my gratitude for this lovely girl becoming my Wife.

... my turn to show my gratitude ...

It had taken me almost a year before I could claim to be an ‘expert’ on Róisín’s trigger points, but I had worked diligently and hard on my journey of discovery. So within a minute I had her breathing hard, trembling, swearing like a dock worker, and leaning forward to kiss and lick my soft little penis.

“So pretty!” she exclaimed as I felt her warm breath on my little balls and soft red hair on my thighs.

We slept like babies that night and were happy and content when we awoke the following morning. Shower, breakfast in our pjs, and then back upstairs to prepare for the working day found us together dressing. Me in my grey, formal business suit, blue tie, and black ‘shiny' shoes again – the prefect accountant’s attire; and Róisín in her tight fitting plum red trouser-suit, white blouse, and white shoes.

“Christ, but I don't half fancy your body Mrs Jeffries,” I said to her as we closed the door behind us that morning before walking to the tube station to get the underground to work.

“That's very nice Michael,” she replied with a mischievous smile playing on her lips, “but we both know I've got a bony arse and tits the size of a fried egg.”

We were pressed together, standing on the packed Underground Northern Line train, when I whispered to her, “Your arse isn't bony and your breasts are pretty.”

I was rewarded with a soft but definite press of her body against mine, her lips on the side of my neck and a quiet, “Liar!” in my left ear.

The rattling old train threw us about and made its usual ‘ratatitat’ cacophony as it hustled us towards Central London, but as seasoned travellers we knew just how to converse between the period of lesser racket coming from the old wheels and the even older tracks. 

“What's in the bag?” I asked my pretty Wife. She had packed it the night before, while I had been loading the dishwasher, so I was intrigued by the addition of an overnight bag to her usual handbag.

“Oh that!” she exclaimed. “It's my little black cocktail dress and some makeup and other stuff for this evening.”

“Oh! Okay! Why?”

She looked up at me with that admonishing, ‘You've forgotten!’ expression on her lovely face. “I've got to do that presentation to our prospective American visitor this afternoon. His Company and ours are looking at a merger, so he's very important to the fashion house. We're having a Reception party tonight upstairs on the roof. I thought I had mentioned it.”

“Hence the cocktail dress,” I replied in confirmation.

“Yes!”

“The backless cocktail dress!”

“The only one I have Michael,” was her response, with the implied criticism of my husbandly generosity.

I took the reproval in good heart, because we both knew that our combined salaries barely covered the mortgage for our little house in Colindale, plus our living expenses. The end of the month was often a ‘beans on toast’ existence for the last few days before our bank account looked healthy again. But we were in love and we were young, so things like that didn't matter.

“There's some sausages in the fridge and a couple of eggs left from last night,” Róisín said to me as she extricated herself from my arms and stepped off the train, with the large crowd, at Tottenham Court Road. “I'm going to be late.”

“No problem,” I shouted as the flow of the crowd swept her down the platform and out into the pedestrian tunnel to the busy city above. The doors slid shut and, as usual, I felt my usual sense of loneliness as we trundled down to the Embankment Station, where I left the train and took the short walk up the hill to work.

Meetings, lunch of sandwich and coffee, more bloody spreadsheets submitted by simpleton accountants of the Companies we audit, and a report on a misappropriation of funds submitted to my Department Head, Roger Jezman, was my day of excitement. Róisín, on the other hand, had been making her presentation to an important American client and, as I sat in my seat of the train going home (late after discussing the report), I knew she was prettying herself up and changing into her cocktail dress. She would look a picture of beauty; she would make sure of that. And I wished I had been there; for a good reason.

That evening, it was a matter of business, so I hadn't expected to be asked. Nevertheless I had mixed feelings about this because they are a pretty wild bunch with, shall we say, interesting marriages and home lives. So as the stations noisily rolled by the window I replayed in my head an interesting conversation I had enjoyed with John McIntosh, the Head of Design, eighteen months before, at the last gathering on the roof of their building.

“Who's that talking with Marcie,” I had asked John, as we had gazed over towards the mass of models from our position near the edge of the roof.

There was no denying that John's pretty young Wife, Marcie, was very much connected to the tall Black male model who’s hands were very regularly disappearing underneath her short white dress to sensuously stroke her arse cheeks, that were divided only by the string of a tiny black thong. To any casual observer it would have been obvious that this sensuous married Woman was highly aroused by the man she was attached to. And her evening was only ever going to end with the man's dark cock buried deep inside her.

... her evening ...

“Oh that's Jonah,” John replied, as he nonchalantly sipped his gin and tonic. “He's Marcie’s Boyfriend.”

I was astounded. “Did you just say Boyfriend?”

“Well. Master really!”

I was confused and, not for the first or last time in my life, I asked a stupid question that perfectly demonstrated my naivety. “He's a lecturer? What's she studying?”

He turned his head to face me directly, and said, “For Christ’s sake Michael. You don't have a clue - do you!”

“About what?”

“The facts of life - that's what.”

“I’m married to a feisty Irish Woman. How many more facts do I need to know?”

John smiled in a tired, patronizing way and replied, “You know fuck-all mate. But I want you to look around this roof space and start asking questions. And you should start with the pretty models and the men they are with.”

“Okay. But what will that tell me?”

“I know you're a bloody Accountant Michael,” he snapped, “but do try and use your imagination.”

I peered at the throng of pretty models, the vibrant young Black Men that stood with them, and dotted amongst them the serious pale faces of men who looked like me. As I watched, Jaqueline, a beautiful blonde who was clearly enjoying the close attentions of a big male model called Ruben, turned to the small man beside her and spoke. I could not hear what she said but the white guy immediately disappeared through the door and left the roof.

“You saw that – right?”

“Did Jaqueline just ask him to leave?”

“In a sense – yes,” John replied, “but not for the reason you think.”

I remained silent. After the many time I had interviewed clients, I instinctively knew when someone wanted to talk.

“You probably thought that she had just told him to fuck-off. But I know that Jaqueline just told her husband, Bernard, to go back to their flat in Battersea and lay out their bed for a night with Ruben. He will fold back the covers, take his clothes off, put on some pretty lingerie, kneel by the bed, and wait for his Wife and her Master to arrive.

I was shocked at what he had just told me; it all sounded so far-fetched. Nevertheless I was intrigued. “And then what?” 

“Bernard will strip the clothes from his Wife and then beg Ruben to use her for his pleasure. And he will remain by the bed to watch their Master penetrate her and spend his black seed inside her.”

“Horse shit!”

John smiled secretly, said nothing, and continued. “And when Ruben has pulled his ten inch pole out of Jaqueline, Bernard will climb onto the bed and lick the seed from her pussy. Once he has devoured and cleaned all the sticky fluid he can, he will turn his attention to Ruben’s big floppy member and lick that as well. In fact he will attend to that male organ so well, he will bring it back to sufficient hardness. To make Jaqueline happy – again. What a guy!

‘This is so outrageous,’ I thought, ‘it can't possibly be true. Either that, or John McIntosh is a raving pervert. Surely not!’ 

“Are you taking the piss John?” was my response to the revelation I had just heard. “Nobody does that.”

He smiled patronisingly and sipped his drink. I had insulted him, but he sat quietly; still happy in my company.

“You would be surprised just how committed a cuckold can be Michael. But keep looking. What do you see now?”

“... just how committed a cuckold can be ...”

“Well I just saw Jaqueline and Ruben leave,” I replied making a note of the large Black Man's hand gently resting on her round undulating arse.

“And what about over there,” John asked, as he pointed to a very pretty pregnant young Woman who was standing between a handsome white young executive type and another of the Black male models. “And I'll give you a clue. One of them is her fiancée.”

“I would guess that her intended hubby has put her in the ‘family way, and they will marry soon,” I replied gormlessly. 

I say ‘gormless’, because nothing that evening, or in that Company was at it seemed, and I should have been more aware of the enlightenment that I was to be exposed to that evening.

John laughed and said, “ You are both wrong and right.”

“Oh go on then,” I said wearily - tired of being the naive ‘thicko’ to John's fevered imagination.

He caught my tone; looked me in the eyes and asked me why I didn't believe him.

“Sorry John, but this is all a bit much isn't it? Marcie, Jaqueline, and now that pretty pregnant girl. What is it you are trying to tell me?”

He took my petulance in a good way and continued. “Penny and her fiancée Mark are going to be married next week and we have all been invited to the wedding. Including Róisín and you. But who do you think will consummate the marriage?”

“How would I know? The Bridegroom I suppose. So which one is Mark?” 

“Mark is the little white guy, but Deven is their Master. It's his child she carries and it will be him that mounts her on the first night of their marriage. And it will be him who takes her on honeymoon.”

I stared back at him in incomprehension. What was John telling me? What was this place where my Wife worked? Was it a glorified brothel? What type of man is Penny's future husband.

“Master? That word again John. What does it mean?”

“Well here's another word to familiarize yourself with Michael,” John said, without answering my question directly. “How about the word ‘Cuckold’?”

“That's a guy who's Wife has sex with other men.”

“Indeed! Now how about these two words? Have you ever heard of the ‘Natural Order’?”

I hadn't, and said so.

“That's a shame Michael, because almost everybody here lives by its ideals and values.”

“And they are?”

“That our Wives deserve better men than us. Real men with strength, size and vitality.”

I looked around at the common factor. The pretty young (and some not so young) married Women hanging on the arms of their dark skinned Lovers. It was time for me to be a crass auditor again. “Black men?”

“Masters Michael. Black Masters! These men you see here are only the tip of the iceberg. All over the world, husbands and Wives are realising that having a husband is not enough and there must be more to a marriage. So having a ‘Master’ in their lives brings happiness to her, her Master, and let me tell you – her cuckold.”

“So you're a cuckold then John?”

“Well done Sherlock. Just like Bernard, Mark and ........” He pointed around the room at all of the other husbands and fiancées standing obediently near to their Ladies with their Masters, and named each of them.

I didn't want to make myself look an idiot again, so I remained quiet. John sensing my reticence, continued with yet another question.

“Are you ready for two more words Michael? Or have I told you too much and destroyed your cosy and safe assumptions?”

I nodded.

“All of our Wives are ‘Black Owned'.“

“Sorry? What? Did you say ‘Owned'?”

“By their Black Masters. Yes!”

I felt affronted suddenly. Slavery was not a frivolous matter and I said so.

I  was even more annoyed when he responded by saying, “It has nothing to do with enslavement you idiot.” But felt better as he continued, “But it has a whole lot to do with love, loyalty and devotion to a better man than the lady's husband. When a Wife is ‘owned' by her Master it brings with it a sense of belonging to each other – Master, Mistress, and their cuckold. The very principles of the Natural Order.”

“So what does that mean in practice?” I asked – still not convinced.

“That a Wife's Black Lover, or ‘Master’ if you will, is her mate. And her hubby is not.”

I was tempted to say, ‘horse-shit’ again but stopped open mouthed. I liked John, because he was good company but I couldn't shrug off the feeling that he was having some fun at my expense. That is until Marcie walked over to the two of us, with her little white hand enveloped in Jonah’s (his other arm wrapped possessively around her waist).

“Are you boring Michael, John?” she said as she held out her other hand to her husband to encourage him to stand up. Clearly they were leaving. “What have you been telling him?”

It was then I realised that John was a little over his limits and the whiskey he had been drinking all evening had made him the worse for wear. “Just the facts of life Dear,” he replied with a sudden slurring of his speech.

“What facts?” Her face was one of one of a cat chewing a wasp.

“Oh you know,” he slurred again, waiving his arm around at all of the others on that rooftop.

“What's the silly old fool been telling you, Michael?” Marcie asked me, as John stood up unsteadily and fell sideways against Jonah.

I decided to keep it simple and simply replied, “The Natural Order, cuckolding, and Black Ownership.”

“I see!” 

“Okay!” I exclaimed. “But How much of what he has told me is true?”

Marcie looked meaningfully at Jonah, then at her husband, and then back at me. “I can hardly deny it now can I?”

“I dunno!” I replied vaguely; now beginning to feel a little embarrassed.

“John might be tipsy, Michael,” Marcie continued, “But he's right. Jonah is my Lover and all of these pretty married models we have in our business have handsome Black Masters. Does that shock you?”

I had already been shocked by John's revelations, so Marcie repeating them was no longer the bombshell it should have been. But there was one question in my mind that I thought Marcie could answer for me. “So how did all of you Wives convince John, Bernard, Mark, and the others to entrust their husbandry duties and pleasures to these Black Masters, as you call them.”

“By talking to them dear,” she replied, “by being honest with them, devaluing their fragile sense of masculinity by pointing out the obvious differences in their physical attributes to those of the young and virile Master.” She paused for two seconds to allow those ideas to settle in my head, before continuing with, “Then we tell them the truth about their performance in bed, and just why a better equipped young Black Master is the answer to our problems.”

“And that's all It takes?” I asked incredulously.

“No Michael! That's not all,” she replied. “Once he understands our need for something new, we tell him we will never leave him for another man. And that my dear, changes everything. Within days she can have a little restraint on his little willy and a date with a Big Black Master.”

“S'right!” slurred John, “But there's one more question you need to ask, ‘Micky Boy'.”

‘Micky Boy?’ I thought, ‘he really is pissed.’

“What's that John?”

Marcie tried to intervene by grabbing his arm, but couldn't stop John from pointing over at Róisín, where she had been chatting and talking with some of the models and business clients. The rooftop fell silent as John's overpitched voice and drunken behaviour caught everybody's attention. 

“Róisín will confirm ....(hic!).. it ..(hic!).. all,” he said, now starting to be incomprehensible. 

My pretty Wife looked across at us with a concerned look, so, with a quick and quiet apology to her companions, came over to join us.

“Michael? Marcie? What's happening?”

“John has been talking to Michael,” Marcie said.

“What about?”

“Our love lives.” 

Róisín's face coloured to almost the same shade as her hair. Her lips compressed in anger, her eyes sparkled in indignation, and she looked at John Mcintosh as if he were something on the bottom of her shoe. 

“You promised! – You Twat!” She was about to hit him, but I stepped between them to avoid an even uglier scene, whereupon Marcie and Jonah dragged the drunken idiot out of the door, downstairs, and into a waiting taxi. This left my beautiful Wife standing with her hands on her hips with the metaphorical steam coming out of her ears.

“He said you would confirm it,” I said weakly.

“What!”

“Their love lives.”

“Another time,” she snapped, turning away to re-join her group of colleagues, leaving me to talk to another of the Company's pretty models and her husband.


Friday, May 9, 2025

We have discussed this.

We have discussed this.

“What have we been talking about this last few weeks.”

“I need to be certain. If we start, it’s very difficult to stop. We shall never be the same after this.”

“I’m certain. This is just what i have always wanted. To be dominated and used by you. To be subjugated, humiliated and cuckolded. It is my dream.”

“Then get on your knees ‘dream boat’, and let’s start where we mean to go on.”

“Yes Mistress!”