CALL OF THE DAY: cuckolds and cooking tips

No jokes about limp noodles, please.

No jokes about limp noodles, please.

This caller of mine is moderately infamous by now, simply because his call from six winters ago is the one I dredge up whenever someone asks me, “What’s the weirdest call you’ve ever done?” They’re expecting some freaky-deaky hentai fetish extravaganza, and I give them a lecture about how “weird” is totally a judgmental word. Then I lay this guy’s call on them, a call that came in a week before Christmas, in which all he wanted to do was fret about what gifts to give his wife, and her lesbian ex-lover Joellen, and the big black dude named Jamal whom Joellen had passed his wife off to when Joellen had gotten her fill. According to my records, we spend four 15-minute conversations hashing this all out.

The guy is a master of the oddly specific, is my point.

We did a lot of those kinds of sessions during my first couple of years, when he would call up for 15 minutes, and then we wouldn’t get to an orgasm yet, and I would ask him if he wanted to come, and he would say, “that’s up to you, mistress.” He was going to have to report the calls and any orgasms to his wife, he said, and I assumed the more he spent on the calls without coming, the more derision his wife would heap on him. But I figured derision was part of what he was after, and even if there was no cuckolding-yet-submissive wife, he was still getting some humiliation from being so supposedly dominated over the phone that he would keep spending money, so I would take him up on it, testing to see how many more calls I could get out of him that day.

Most times I chickened out at around four calls, letting him come at the end of that one while I spun him out a story about how he would have to clean out his wife’s pussy after she got home from Jamal’s. (Jamal. Really. Oddly specific, yet totally predictable.) There may have been a few times where I tried for a fifth, but he either got interrupted—uh oh, the wife’s home!—or just had reached the limit of his budget for the day.

Since then, our calls have been much less frequent. He’s one of the customers who would have been solidly “mine” had my schedule been more consistent. Touring does a number on my availability: dropping from 16 hours a day on call, seven days a week, to five hours or fewer, six days a week, means my net has bigger holes in it, and many of those I previously caught have slipped right through. I checked this guy’s card before writing this and the pattern is obvious: all banging up until my first summer on tour, and then once or twice a year since.

I think he remembers me? I sure as fuck remember him. His voice is very mild and unassuming, and the players in his cuckold soap opera remain the same (though Joellen has drifted away, it’s all about Jamal now, and his increasing dominance over the caller’s wife).

And as always, his attention to detail is a bit staggering. In the call I took with him last week, he was talking about the dinner that he had made recently for his wife and Jamal. (Domestic servitude seems to be part of the humiliation package for him, although he does say that he is a good cook with a moderate amount of pride.) He made Jamal’s favorite dish, chicken alfredo, with salad and a good wine and everything, but then … Jamal just didn’t show up when he said he would.

“He was three hours late,” said my caller. “The alfredo sauce had to be reheated.”

That’s no good for alfredo sauce, I said.

“No, but I knew a couple of tricks to fix it.”

Oddly specific, right?


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