Mistress put me on notice early on Saturday morning:
“Are you ready for my strap on this afternoon, Slave?”
Gulp. Yes. I was ready. But somehow the advance notice always sends a shiver down my spine that settles at the base of my balls.
After a trip to the gym, some auto maintenance and other light Saturday duties, Mistress suggested we adjourn to the bedroom, announcing to the surly teens that their parents would be taking a “nap”.
Mistress must have decided to press several of her Slave’s buttons. First she slid into those silky nude toned pantyhose with the special access passage carved into the crotch. She knows their texture can drive this Slave to distraction.
Next she donned her strap-on (the photo is from a few weeks back, but you get the picture). Menacing with promise.
She likes her Slave naked, and I obliged. Soon we were both under the sheets, me sidling against her sensuously sheathed legs, she grasping my cock with obvious purpose. Within a few minutes I was begging to fuck her ….but, of course, she laughed me off.
“Slave, you know who will be doing the fucking ….”
I was fully prepared to submit.
But just as were preparing for the main event, the text on Mistress’s cell chimed. Mine too. It was surly teen number 2, demanding an immediate ride to a friend’s house. Argh. (Why does a teen text her parents from down the hall, rather than walk a few short steps and knock on the door? Maybe under those circumstances one can’t complain.)
Being a pushover, I obliged. Though it was literally painful to pry Mistress’s warm fingers from my swollen appendage. I slid into a pair of jeans, and was soon off into the cold Midwestern air for driving duty.
15 minutes later I returned. Fortunately, Mistress had not found an alternative “victim”, and was still there, under the warm covers, tending to internet duties on her laptop. I was glad not to have been replaced.
It did not take long for Mistress’s skilled attentions, and my own roving mouth and fingers, to put us back in the same crazed state we had created for one another before that damn text chime.
Mistress directed me to assume the proper position.
With my Ass plumped up for her, she found her target and plunged in, filling me with her hard plastic tool. My firm, desperate cock throbbed against the pillow beneath me as Mistress exercised her powers, reducing her Slave to a panting, whimpering receptacle.
Maybe I was distracted in my own little sub space, but it seemed that Mistress’s quivering explosion crept up on her quickly, as she suddenly bucked against me, losing the rhythm of her penetrating strokes, her nails digging into my shoulders as she moaned in her pleasure.
“That’s enough for now Slave.”
She rose, leaving her apparatus on the bathroom floor for Slave to attend to later. I remained spread out on the bed, breathing hard, in the strange state of semi-shock I find after these sessions.
She commanded me to insert my little probe, so I struggled up from the sheets sticking to my body, and complied. My ass was open and ready.
Returning to the bed, my cock full and ready for her, Mistress lay back, and helped me find the little opening in her panty hose so that I could fuck her properly.
She was still in need, but now it was my time to do the work. And I was happy to clock in. In these tough economic times, it’s crazy to pass up a little overtime on a Saturday afternoon.
Mick and Molly broke from our routine yesterday by posting a little “make believe” story derived from Mistress’s fantasies of exploring the sub side with a part-time Dom.
I was not sure how Mistress would react to my story. But the results were quite pleasing. Of course, Mick enjoys the smutty comment and emails he received suggesting that the erotic heat my story generated was felt several states away. Barack spoke about alternative energy sources in his SOTU. I am glad to have played my small part.
But this blog’s primary target is Mistress Molly. And my fictional cruise missle seemed to hit its target. I liked the flush on her face and the not so subtle squirm that seemed to spread through her body as she read on to the end, first my original work, then the revised version, with a somewhat expanded ending, posted later on Friday.
After her second read, when I was under the covers, toying with her through those clingingly damp black tights(see the helpful illustration), Mistress told me that she wants to find out what happens next. And I promised to expand on the story of Mistress’s rendezvous with Robert sometime soon.
Question: should the continuation be a first hand narrative, or the story of what happened as recounted by Molly to Mick as he kneels between her legs later that night? Or both?
As you might imagine, the little stories and speculations we sometimes share tend to quicken our desires for one another all the more. As if that’s possible.
An example: on Thursday Molly received an email on her “FetLife” posting (under MollyCollins if anyone wants to check it out) from a dominant fellow who lives on the other side of the River with his fetching Slave / wife. “I am intrigued by the cuckold lifestyle”, he told her, “It wouldn’t work for me because I am sexually dominant. But the idea of tormenting some poor husband while his wife is made to serve is interesting.”
Yes. Very interesting. Not long after we discussed his message, and Molly’s desire to respond and meet this couple for drinks sometime soon, Slave was buried between Mistress’s legs, and she was working through a series of mini-explosions as she pressed her self against me as I sucked her oh so responsive parts tightly between my teeth and lips.
Molly then gave me permission to fuck her, and asked me to describe my speculations on how a meeting with this couple would go.I will spare you the long version, but it involved Mistress bound, on her knees, being required to served both this assertive Master and his lovely Slave. That thought had Mistress demanding to be on top, so we reversed positions and she worked her self hard and long against me to the type of moaning crashing explosion that leaves her shaking and teary eyed. That’s my favorite kind.
Yesterday Mistress visited me again in my office, after a morning and lunch hour of some dreary meetings with one of her clients. She seemed eager for worship and I was happy to oblige. It was cold here, and both Slave and Mistress needed some warming up. As I prepared her throne, the talk turned again to my story about her and the fictional “Robert”. Those thoughts seemed to accelerate both of us, and as I knelt between her legs and tasted her through those black tights, I had the now familiar sensation of a hardening cock checked by the cold steel of the cage she had locked for me that morning.
Once Mistress’s tights were pulled down to provide my mouth with more direct access, Mistress wound her hands into what is left of my hair (there is some in back) and pulled me fiercely to her. The diabolically contented, look on her face from my perspective on my knees after she explodes for me in my office may be my only reward….but well worth the wet face and that time on my old, achy knees. Another day at the office.
(A break from our usual programming. A story. It's made up stuff. The names and places are figments of imagination....aren't they?)
The cell trilled on my desk. I was across the room, pensive. Looking out across the City, from my 25th floor perch.
Of course, I knew Mistress’s ring. But why? She had just left only 15 minutes earlier. I could still taste her on my lips and tongue.
And she was a sight. Smokey black stockings. A black suit just shorter than appropriate for a workday in River City. If she leaned over those stocking tops would catch a few wandering eyes. When I raised an eye at her outfit, she confessed she had been instructed to dress “slutty”. So she had.
I lurched for the phone, knowing she was just across the street. Didn’t he show? The thought of an aborted “mission” with her new “Sir” sent an agonizing mixture of relief and disappointment through me.
“Yes Mistress?”, I answered, unsuccessfully trying to draw on my Mr. Cool, professional voice.
“He wants to meet you.”
“Why?”
Avoiding an answer, she murmured, “You know where we are. Come over. Now. Please.” I couldn’t read her voice. Not scared. Embarassed? Maybe. He must have been sitting right next to her.
“Yes, Mistress”, I mumbled, but the connection was already closed. I had my orders.
I slipped on my jacket. Pocketed the phone, hustled to the elevator bank. I nodded off greetings from the regulars behind the security desk, no time to chat, then spun through the doors and jaywalked across the street to the little boutique hotel where I knew I would find her.
I spotted them in a booth in the Bar area, relatively empty at mid day, near the back. Discrete.
He was as she had described. A bit younger than me. Fit looking. Heavy wool blue blazer and tie. Costumed as you would expect a tenured faculty member at one of those small Colleges spread through the heartland. His was not far from our town.
They had stumbled upon one another over the internet. She had decided to exploit her rights under our contract – the right to take other lovers – and he was offering to scratch that itch she had to walk on the submissive side for a change.
I had asked only for the right to know what was going on. “Don’t leave me wondering”, I had asked. And in truth she knew that sharing some of the details of her budding flirtation seemed to throw fuel on our already incendiary sex life.
Mistress had shown me some of their steamy texts. Their sordid emails. Told me about some of the calls. How he persuaded her to touch herself. Then denied her “permission”, until she had to beg. I could tell she was hooked. And he was reeling her in slowly, diabolically.
They had met once before. An interview, she called it. He was a gentleman. She must have passed muster. But this was the day. He expected her to submit. “Completely”, he had required. She agreed. Could not do anything else by then. She was lost.
But both of us were anxious. What did he mean by “complete” submission. She had some ideas about what to expect. He was plain about his own needs. She would be in her knees. Bound. Require to Beg. There were some understandings between them. But still…
They sat opposite one another. I could tell she was uneasy. Squirmy in her seat. As I approached, they rose. “Mick, this is Robert”, she said, avoiding eye contact. We shook hands briefly. Hard to touch him, knowing he would soon be touching her. And that she wanted that touch.
He indicated I should sit down, next to my Mistress. My hand draped under the table over her lap, reaching for and clutching her hand. Hard. She seemed as wired as I was.
“So you’re Molly’s Slave?
“That’s me”. It’s not something I had publicly admitted to anyone in person before. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. The humiliation had begin.
“She’s told me about you. And of course, there’s your blog. Interesting stuff.”
“Yes. She requires it. It’s my daily homework.”
“You understand that Molly is here to submit to my control, don’t you?” The small talk was over.
“Yes, I understand that’s why she’s here.” I squeezed her hand tighter. Looking at her. She, glanced at me, blushing, then looked away.
“She’s agreed to be mine, at least when we can arrange to be together. just like you are her Slave, she is now mine. Isn’t that right, Molly.”
Molly nodded. He looked at her, a flash in his eyes.
“Yes, Sir. I will be – am - your Slave.”
“That’s better. And Mick, you have no problem with that do you?”
“That’s her right, under our contract.”
“Of course it is”. He smiled. Smug asshole. I didn’t like him. Not that it mattered.
“Are you wearing your cage today, Mick?”
Another blush of humiliation crossed my face.
“Yes, it’s on.”
“Where’s the key, Molly?”
“At home.”
“Good. …. Well it’s good to know we all understand one another. Molly, nowcome sit next to me here.”, he said, patting the space next to him in the leather upholstered booth.
It took a moment for his order to sink in. I slowly loosened my grip on her hand. As Molly rose, I caught a glimpse of those magnificent legs and the tops of her stockings. Argh. Why had I agreed to this, to the contract?
She slid in beside him and he quickly closed the space between them. I could see his hand moving to her lap, but could not see exactly where he had placed it. There was the rustle of her stockings pressing against one another.
“Molly is a dream Mick. Quite a girl. I am lucky to have her, don’t you think?”
“Of course. I love her. She’s everything to me.”
‘Well I promise to take good care of her….and train her well. She might learn a few things to make her a better Mistress. Though probably more demanding. Stricter. She is pretty easy on you, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is. “
“Well that may change. Slave’s need a firm hand. Don’t you agree, pet?”
By now I could sense his hands moving on Mistress’s lap, and her breathing seemed a bit more labored.
“Yes…Sir.” She gasped. Startled by something, no doubt that hand hidden from me.
“Spread your legs a bit, Molly”, he instructed.
She looked at him, embarrassed. Eyes pleading.
“No. Not hear, Not in front of him.” She seemed sad, desperate.
“Didn’t you agree to submit…. completely?”
His hand had not pulled away, but held its position.
“Yes”, she conceded. Surrendering.
I could tell Mistress was aroused, almost broken. She shifted in her seat. I knew her legs were opening. I imagined how his fingers were caressing her. Taking her down. Then I heard her stifled gasp, the sound she makes when she is oh so very close. Her eyes were closed, head pressed against the back of the booth.
But she was holding back. For me? No, for him.
“You can’t come without my permission, Pet. You understand that don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir”. Her head was down. She wouldn’t look at either one of us. But I could tell she was desperate.
“Do you want to come now, Molly”.
“Yes….Please. Please”, she moaned squirmed, trying to conceal her desperation from the post lunch stragglers mingling at the Bar. I swear I could smell her arousal in the air.
I was in agony for her. Wanted to help. But she was in his hands now. And it was then I noticed that my own cock was hardening, pressing against the steel cage. Crazy.
Suddenly, he pulled his hand away. She moaned, startled to have been abandoned.
“Maybe we should let Mick get back to work now.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, extracting a thin piece of cord.
“Slide off your jacket, dear”. She was startled. Shook her head.
“Don’t make me ask again…you are already due a punishment.”
Mistress gave in again. She shrugged out of her jacket, and he turned her, gathering her wrists behind her, crossing them, binding them.
“It’s what you want right?” Mistress just nodded, head down, face buried in her flowing dark hair. He slid the jacket over her shoulders.
“Keep your arms up high and no one will notice. Not that I really care if they do,” he chuckled.
They rose. He steadied her. Took her by the elbow.
“Later, Mick”, he said over his shoulder as they stepped away from the table. She just looked at me, then turned toward him. Leaning into him.
I sat there. Watched them walk across the lobby toward the elevator bank, aching inside that cage, wondering when I would get her back; who I would get back.
Wednesday is my Abstinence Day, when it’s my job to pleasure Mistress without a return on my “investment”.
The concept came to us a few months back, when Mistress had to refrain for a few days for medical reasons, when we discovered that desire deferred heightens our sexual experience. (No real surprise there, of course, but we had just been doing it so damn much it was a “rediscovery”).
When Slave suggested that we recreate that experience with a day off once a week to drive us crazy, Mistress concluded that what might work for the Goose was not necessarily required for the Gander.
“Maybe we just let you abstain, Slave. I can’t think of a good reason why I should.”
And since the Slave no longer has a vote on such matters, the course was chosen.
Some weeks Mistress relents in her mercy before the end of Abstinence Day (check out last week’s entry). Yesterday was not one of those days.
It began early, with Slave cramming his goods into the steel ring of his cage. It’s something that needs to get handled almost immediately after I wake up, or the cold morning air will make me contract. When that happens, the job just can’t get done right.
Mistress put me on notice the night before that I would be expected to fuck her with a nice hard cock before heading to work. But I would have to control myself and hold to my vows.
The anticipation of my duty, and the tight grip of the steel ring at the base of my cock and balls had me thick and squirmy by the time it was time to wake Mistress. As I slid into bed beside her, I remembered she still had those lovely stockings on from the night before. Argh. As their fabric rustled against me (and she made sure it did), I became instantly “fuck-worthy” hard.
Mistress picked up her lap top and read my homework. I slid under the covers and pleasured her with enthusiastic tongue and mouth. In the back of my mind, I speculated that if I did a good enough job I might be spared the obligation of fucking her without a “reward”.
Nope. After Mistress came with some nice little moans and thrusts against my mouth, I sidled up next to her for a comforting cuddle.
Her hand quickly snaked down to grasp me. Her fingers teased for a few moments, making me shudder. Already close. And of course the tight grip of the ring made me all the harder.
“Ummmm. Nice. Just the way I like it. Now you can fuck me, Slave.”
I knew my duty called, sliding on top of her, slowly allowing my cock to fill her. I took pride in her moan of delight, and all those little sounds she emits as I began to move more quickly against her open legs.
Now this was not exactly torture. I do enjoy the sensation of being so close and so hard inside Mistress. And I take great pride in reducing her to a panting, moaning, demon when I take her this way. I just knew how hard it would be to stop once she was done.
I took her up and over the mountain once, slowed, then one more time. As we rested a bit, me still hard inside her, I asked her to consider how it would feel to be tied to some would-be Dom’s bed as he fucked her over and over again, all day, all night, relentlessly, while denying her the permission to come.
This story line made Mistress all the hotter and I had her moaning and bucking one more time.
Finally we realized that about 30 minutes had passed. Teens were getting ready to leave for school. It was time for Slave’s exit strategy to be implemented. So, reluctantly, I declared victory and retreated to the shower. Still hard. Very frustrated.
Of course that was not the end of this sad tale of Slave’s denial.
Mistress was downtown for work and planned to pay a visit. She appeared at my office door after lunch, with a local poobah in tow, who wanted to have a word with me. He offered to leave Mistress and I alone for a few minutes to take care of our “business”, though I doubt he contemplated what we had planned. But we demurred, and I advised my old friend on his plans, before sending him on his way.
Soon the door was closed, Mistress was in her throne, dress hiked up, tights pulled down. And her Slave was on his knees worshiping, with my cock pressing against the metal bars of my little cage. Ouch.
Together we went to a reception for a local educator, and it was enjoyable to see several other men strip Mistress out of her lovely black dress with their eyes. I stood close, enjoying the occasional opportunity to lightly caress her bottom.
At home we ate an abbreviated dinner laid out on our bed, enjoying the pre-game coverage of the Hope Monger’s SOTU presentation. Mistress had stripped away her dress and tights, and was in her black bra and panties. Before the main event commenced, I offered to worship one more time, and she gladly accepted. She splayed herself across the bed, me kneeling on a pillow, still caged.
Mistress relaxed as my tongue and lips caressed her to a pleasing climax, but I maintained my position waiting for her permission to arise. It was obvious as we talked that Mistress was not done with me just yet, so I reapplied my mouth to her sodden lips, a finger sliding inside to aid me. After a few more minutes of this pleasant duty, Mistress bucked and sighed with pleasure, and allowed me to rise. She asked me to retrieve the key to my cage and released me.
But there was no offer of clemency from my vows. She had enough for one day. I just had to wait until morning.
Mistress likes to press my buttons in different ways. She knows what turns me on, and all those little turn on’s make me all the more devoted to her. And she has found most of them after more than 20 years “together”.
Most nights she wears a little “costume” for me: some skimpy lingerie that I have bought for her for a birthday or other special occasion. Or something that we have picked out together. Paging back through this blog, you will find bits and pieces of those costumes.
Now there is nothing like a naked Mistress to play with. It’s like having an “all access” pass. But I do like unwrapping the package too, sliding off those lacy panties she likes, or shoving the crotch aside to make room for a tongue or finger.
Last night’s costume was particularly fetching, as the photos attached show. Mistress had bought some stockings prior to the big wedding in the Windy City, but time slipped away, and they stayed in their little package.
When I came upstairs after doing my assigned kitchen clean up duties, I found Mistress prepping for bed. She wore A lovely black silk top I had found her for Christmas, along with some smoky gray stockings. Yum.
This Slave has always been a “leg-man”.
My fixation on stockings, and particularly that fleshy space of white where the stockings end, is well known to Mistress. I am old enough to remember the fidgety 8th grade girls in My Catholic elementary school, with hose pulled up to mid thigh, and the large brute of a Nun who had to loudly remind me more than once “eyes where they belong, Mr. Collins.”
“Yes, Sister”, I would stammer, blushing as the girls in class giggled and fidgeted all the more.
And I can remember my high school girlfriend sitting next to me in my Dad’s T-Bird, on our way home from the movies, spreading her thighs just enough to indulge me as my hands slid up over her knee to find that spot where silky nylon ended and warm flesh began.
Mistress learned early on in our relationship to tease and torment me with her lovely and muscular legs and various forms of coverings.
Last night as we slid under the sheets, I sidled up to Mistress and felt the caress of her stockings against my own legs. She tormented me a bit by sliding a knee between my legs so that my thickening cock was caressed by the soft fabric.
I decided to return the torment. We kissed for a long time, clinging to one another, as I used a single finger to very gently stroke her inner thighs and the folds between her legs. The scent of her arousal became all the more apparent with the heightened urgency of her kisses.
When she pressed her hips harder against my finger, I took that as a signal to slow down. No rush. Make her a little more desperate, I thought. Like she does to me.
I knew Abstinence Day was over the horizon, so I wanted to make this last.
But Mistress is crafty. After a few more minutes of gentle teasing she captured my hand between her thighs and pressed her juicy cunt against it, taking herself over the edge with a moan and shudder.
“Do you want to fuck me now, Slave”, she asked in a voice filled with her arousal.
“Yes, Mistress”, and I was more than ready. I slid her blue panties off her hips and down her legs and mounted her. Mistress had instructed me to insert that little white probe, and as I pressed and pumped into her, my ass clenched against the probe, making my cock throb as it plunged away.
The soft texture of her stockings scratching against my balls as I exercised my privilege was all the more stimulating.
I made sure Mistress got a proper return on her investment in those stockings, sliding a finger between her legs to take her over the top one more time. Then it was Slave’s turn, and my cock exploded for her in a way that had Mistress, saying, “My, that was a good one Slave.”
She instructed me to wake her a little early today to pleasure her before we drive downtown together. I have the ring to my cage on already, and know I will be required to fuck her until she is fully satisfied while stifling my own desire until tomorrow morning. Duty calls….
A few months back we started illustrating this page. Pictures seemed to make the page more visually pleasing. Plus, Slave enjoys showing off his Mistress. Mistress must have a bit of an exhibitionist thing going on somewhere inside, and seems flattered by the occasional comments of approval - Like the recent email that describes her bottom as very “spank-able”, and the accompanying offer.
Mistress also enjoys the occasional photo that adds to Slave’s humiliation: like the shot of my rosy bottom with that long hotel shoe horn draped across it. Yes, it is humiliating. Yes, it is a bit of a turn-on for Slave to grovel that way in public.
Mistress requires that she approve each photo of her that is posted. In my view, she has a very hot body. But she is vain, as any good Domme is I suppose, and wants to make sure the photos present her in the most flattering light. No surprise there. Plus, she guards certain key “parts” from public display. The private stash is much more explicit.
With both of us owning phones with cameras, and also a lovely Canon digital camera at our disposal, it’s easy to suggest a stop in the action occasionally to take a shot or two to share with our reader(s).
Yesterday, Mistress stopped by the office for some worship after lunch. She had called earlier to tell me she was particularly horny for me. That advance notice had me anticipating my chance to discharge a bit of that sexual energy.
We kissed chastely in order to avoid mussing her deep red lipstick. Then Slave pulled the chair over to the door, draped a blanket across it, and helped Mistress hike up her the dress, exposing those lovely black tights. Just then the chime on Mistress’s phone went off. A text message? Who could it be? Her would be Dom? She crossed the room to see who was messaging. Leaning over to check the message and showing me that wonderful bottom wrapped in tights, sans panties. I had to get that photo. Here it is.
Having resolved the matter, Mistress was back in the chair, Slave between her legs. We had a pleasant conversation about her lunch and our plans for the evening as I used my lips and tongue to please her. But since I had my stainless steel cage securely locked on, I knew that my own pleasure would be deferred until evening. No matter. It’s good to serve. Though I was more than a little frustrated when the taste of Mistress lingered on face and hands for the rest of the day.
On the way home that evening I called Mistress to give her my ETA, as she requires. She told me she was in a bit of a grumpy mood and had decided to have her feet “done”. All those days on heeled black boots can take their toll. A little pampering was in store. (Yes, Desiree, I know a good Slave should have learned to perform that simple task by now. I need to find an on line “how to” guide).
When Mistress returned, her feet were in her opened toe sandals, with freshly polished toes in dark red. She was wearing very tight jeans that showed off her curves nicely, with a black T-shirt.
“Would you like me to worship, Mistress.”
“Well, yes, Slave, of course. But there is a problem. I can’t take off my jeans until they dry”, pointing to her toes.
The jeans were too tight for me to properly fit my mouth between her legs, even if pulled to below her knees. So I suggested that Mistress slide them down a bit and lay on the bed. I retrieved our Magic Wand and lay next to her. As we talked through the afternoon’s developments, I gently applied the wand to her, through the lovely blue panties she was wearing. At some point, in mid sentence, Mistress came with a sudden jerk and moan.
“That’s a very efficient machine, Slave.”
The photo I took as her breathing steadied is below:
Mistress was still a bit annoyed (not at Slave…it’s a long story), and I understood. I offered to be punished if it would help her vent a bit. (Heck, she needs no excuse and it’s good therapy for me). But she passed on the cropping, deciding to leave me in my cage a little longer.
So we fed the teens, trying to draw them out on college choices to no avail. Once the dishes were done we retired to our room. Mistress worked on a blog for her business, I helped edit, and read the Times. Only after her work was done did she offer to unlock me. And who was I to say no.
Lights off, we made love passionately for some time to our mutual satisfaction. At some point, as I was using my lips on her lovely wet folds I reached for our crystal cock. But Mistress demurred.
“You don’t always need a gimmick, Slave.”
It’s nice to know that sometimes Slave au natural works just fine.
With a wedding and travel, Mistress and Slave have gotten a little off schedule with our Sunday switch – the day when the Slave gets to lord it over his loving Mistress for a change.
Quite frankly, the more I have adapted to my role as Slave, the less compelling I have been in my roll as the occasional Master. I can’t help but show my deference, and Mistress can’t help but call me Slave, even when she is tied to the bed and at my mercy.
On Saturday night, Mistress and I had been out late with friends. On the way home we had to stop at one of those sad suburban multiplexes parked in a sea of slow food franchise restaurants, where Surly teen two had gone to seem that bloated sequel to Titanic with a friend. Naturally, the movie was still lumbering on when we arrived, so Mick and Molly parked next to some SUV’s to await the teen’s text announcing her availability to be taxied home. We used the time to review and answer some emails (some from our adventurous friend M) but Mistress’s low cut top was a bit too tempting to her Slave. And since Sunday had already arrived, I took the liberty to help myself to Mistress’s lovely and generous breasts.
Those breasts seem more responsive than ever these days, and as I prodded and squeezed Mistress’s nipples became firm and hard and she turned to kiss me with a passion that seemed to have already spread to her squirming hips. While my mouth turned to work her nipples, my fingers found my way betweens the legs of her soft velvet pants. An I think I had Mistress close to the edge just as some high beams shined through our windshield, killing the mood.
“Guess the movie’s out”, I muttered, and Mistress moaned a bit in frustration, her thighs squeezing the hand that lingered between her legs, before letting go to let me turn the ignition key.
Soon the teen’s text was chiming and we were called to duty. We made our pick-up and arrived home long after midnight, normally past this seemingly boring couple’s bedtime. But the sparks kindled in the parking lot were not quite damped.
Mistress’s lower back had been tender, due to all that spinning and biking. So I volunteered to apply the magic wand, for medicinal purposes only, of course.
I soothed her back at low speed, and Mistress seemed content. And we had agreed in advance that we would hold further “activity” until morning. So the “power tool” was shut down, the lights out, and Mistress and Slave settled into bed. But Slave was still a bit on edge. And it was Sunday…
Pressed against Mistress’s bottom, my cock would just not settle down. Lord knows I sort’a tried to get sleepy. But my fingers could not help but find their way between Mistress’s thighs. And she was still wet there. I plucked and prodded a bit, and Mistress’s lovely bottom was soon pressing more aggressively back against my by now very hard cock.
I guess Mistress had stored up the memory of her near orgasm in the parking lot, so it seemed like only moments before she was bucking against my hand and gasping into her pillow. And she was generous enough to let me take her then, before we finally fell asleep.
Sunday morning came, and I was up early, working on my homework, and enjoying the last episode of the comic now in exile via Hulu. I let Mistress sleep in (that was my prerogative on switch day). And when I finally heard her stirring, I brought up the papers, made us some coffee.
When Mistress finally indicated that she was ready to take her Sunday morning medicine, I know I would be a pushover Temp Master. I found out bag of goodies and locked the red wrist cuffs on her, using some rope to tie them, joined together to the little eyebolt screwed into our bed head. Other leather cuffs joined her ankles together.
I rolled my little “Slave” for the morning, and proceeded to massage her firm and fleshy bottom until she was beginning to squirm just a bit. Then I proceeded with a relatively mild hand spanking, hardly enough to bring tears. Just enough to get the blood flowing to Mistress’s bottom.
As I administered the spanking, we talked about her on again, off again quest for a part-time Dom who could train and discipline her the right way, for real, not the pretend ministrations of her full time Slave. This always seems to get Mistress flowing all the quicker.
I interrupted the spanking from time to time with some gentler touches, and then cranked up the Magic Wand, still handy at bedside for further back therapy, before finally allowing Mistress to roll over onto her back.
To get better access to her, I un-cuffed her ankles, and then used my fingers and lips to further arouse her, until my squirming little Slave was on the verge. As I pulled away, she whined her frustration. But I had more in store.
I attached the large blue phallic attachment to the wand and pressed its head to Mistress’s rather juicy opening. It’s a big, full phallus and I took the time necessary to work it’s vibrating head into her inch by inch.
I enjoyed watching Mistress’s well exercised leg and stomach muscles strain and churn as she tried to get a better angle on the device that was driving her crazy. By now the large blue head had slid almost all the way inside her, but her clit was just barely missing out on the fun.
Mistress was pulling against her restraints over head, and straining with all her might to make the contact that she needed. And her Slave was toying with her. Delightful fun.
As I finally allowed her the contact that her body was desperate for, Mistress’s head was thrown back, her body churning, a deep and breathless moan sounding from deep in her chest. Oh, I got her good.
As she lay there panting in the afterglow, I turned off my tool and took my prize. Though she was still restrained, it seemed that the power dynamics had already shifted back where they belonged. And I was careful to ask her permission before I came with a roar of my own.
At her request I released Mistress. But through the day my mind kept coming back to the image of that desperate Slave straining for release. Some lucky Dom may have his hands full someday.
“ Tomorrow afternoon I’m going to fuck you in the Ass, Slave.”
It had been a couple of weeks since Mistress had deployed her starp-on. I was punished last weekend in the windy city for forgetting to pack it for our wedding trip. That shoe-horn hurt.
Her advance notice always sends a ripple of humiliation induced arousal down my back, that settles into my balls, tightening them in anticipation. Mistress is learning how to press her Slave’s buttons with a cruel efficiency.
On Saturday morning, after I did my homework, I returned to bed when summoned. As Mistress read my entry I deployed our “crystal cock” (CC), a lovely, long, ribbed masterpiece, about 8 inches long, that we bought at a high end sex shop in Gotham about a year or so ago. Sliding under the covers, I licked her teasingly until her juices were flowing, then slowly slid the CC into her, moving it back and forth a bit in response to the undulations of her hips. The CC and my tongue soon brought Mistress to a lovely series of shuddering, moaning quakes that seemed to please her. And then Mistress gave me permission to take my reward.
Afterwards, we enjoyed a long bike ride in surprisingly moderate temperatures for Mid-January. Lunch was a surprise Birthday party for old friends, but on the way Mistress reminded me what I was in store for later that afternoon. “Are you ready, Slave?”
Back home, after negotiating our drive schedule for the evening with one of the surly teens through a series of text messages (She was downstairs we were upstairs, far too big a distance to talk in person), Mistress slid into some alluring lingerie and then her strap-on. The sight of her strong, luscious body ready to take me that way always gets me going. But I was to be denied a bit longer.
“First a Nap. Then your ass is mine, Slave”. She told me the time when I was allowed to wake her.
As she rolled over under the covers, she required me to press my naked, and by now thickening, cock against her soft bottom. I think she enjoyed the tease. She knew by now I was more than anxious for her assault to commence.
I passed the time digging into the new political sensation, “Game Change”, wondering who was the bigger liar, John Edwards or Bill Clinton. Unclear. But of the two, there is no doubt about who the BETTER Liar is.
At the appointed time I let my still full cock prod against Mistress a bit more insistently. She slowly woke, asking me to confirm the time.
As she rolled over toward me, I could feel the hard plastic of her strap-on poke against my belly. Her fingers slid down to insistently prod my cock into full attention. Mistress likes it nice and hard before she turns her attention to my ass.
“Get in position, My Slave.”
I did, pressing a pillow under my hips, to give her a better angle of attack. She made sure the tip of her phallus was positioned properly and slowly sank into me.
“How’s that Slave”.
My moan as she filled me gave her the answer. And the moans turned into the little whimpers that she likes as she increased the tempo of her thrusts into me.
As she fucked me, slowly at first, and then with less discipline as her own arousal became apparent, she cross examined me on why this turned me on so much, insisting that I answer her. My less than cogent responses had something to do the unsubtle reminder that she is in charge, that I am her Slave, and that she can do anything and everything she wants to my body for her own pleasure.
At about this time in our dialog Mistress lost all control, pounding herself against my bottom and crying out as she buried her face into my shoulder. But she got a second win and continued to fuck me, now more slowly and deliberately until confirming that her Slave “had enough”.
Climbing from the bed, Mistress shed her strap on and told me to insert my little white probe as a surrogate for “her” cock. I did that, standing next to the bed, facing my reclining Mistress as she watched my cock twitch at eye level before her.
The probe is a bit longer and fuller than Mistress’s strap-on, and seems to make my flesh and blood cock all the harder and more desperate. Reaching out, Mistress pulled my cock to her for closer inspection, and used her fingers and mouth on her standing Slave until she had me begging to fuck her for fear that my seed would be wasted on the bed linens.
Finally and with an amused tone Mistress allowed me to mount her. She laid back, no doubt tired from her exertions, allowing me to press her hands over her head, and feed on her firm nipple as I took my turn at filling her as completely as she had filled me moments earlier. By the time I was given permission to come, it was with a shuddering force that took both of us by surprise.
“Good Slave”, Mistress said as I rested, spent, on top of her. It’s always nice to get positive feedback.
Mistress enjoys telling me about the men who flirt with her during the course of her day. It’s a reminder that under our contract she has retained the right to fuck anyone she pleases, with the understanding that she will share the details with me.
For reasons that are hard to articulate, when Mistress talks about her flirtations, or tells me that man she runs into is attractive to her, speculating about how it would be to suck his cock, it’s a huge turn on for me. That humiliation – the thought of my mistress be serviced by or serving other men and enjoying it - reinforces my status as her Slave. And that is a powerful thing.
Yesterday, when Mistress was sitting in her “throne” in my office, and I was on my knees, my face planted between her legs, sucking her juices through those alluring black tights, she talked about the man she had just spent lunch with at a meeting with a client.
“Someone flirted with me today, Slave”.
“Oh…tell me, Mistress” as I looked up briefly, seeing that “cat that ate the canary” look in her eye.
“Yes. The client may have me traveling some with him.”
“Where, Mistress?”, I asked returning to my task.
“Several big cities, possibly. He’s from D.C…said he’d take me to that restaurant we like so much when I come to town.”
By now, the combination of Mistress’s taste and scent, and her teasing words had my cock straining against the hard steel of the cage she had locked on me early that morning.
“What’s he like, Mistress?”
“Very Sophisticated. About my age. Attractice.“
By now Mistress was wet and squirming in the chair pressed against my office door, and I had her slide up a bit to let me pull down her tights to the tops of her black boots.
As we maneuvered her back into position, legs spread just enough for me to slide my mouth into her silky and very wet folds, I asked, “Does he want you Mistress?”
“Maybe, Slave.”
“And you? Did you imagine sucking his cock?”
Mistress’s seemingly affirmative response was a bit indecipherable, because my tongue and lips found the sweet spot that pressed her gently but firmly over the edge. Her hips bucked against me for a long 60 seconds or she tried with apparent success to conceal the sounds of her pleasure from my more industrious colleagues heard just beyond the door, where they were conferring on weighty matters.
Once she was satisfied and more composed, we stood, and her hand pressed against the hard steel of my cage through my navy dress trousers. My eyes shut and I quietly groaned at this frustrating contact . My cock was pressing painfully against its little prison.
“You like it when I can pleasure you here but can’t get anything in return, don’t you, Mistress?
“Of course, Slave. Wish I had the key?”
“Right now? Very much.”
“Would you actually do it in here? During work?
“Right now, I’d do you right across my desk, Mistress. If only….”
At around 4:00 am, Slave was woken by fingers teasing my flaccid cock. I faked sleep for a few moments, as Mistress used her well manicured nails to stroke me until my I began to thicken for her, as she knew it would.
“mmmm”, I murmured, signaling that I was now conscious, if not alert.
“Do you mind?”, she asked. As if I would. As if it mattered.
“Of course not, Mistress. It’s your cock, to use when it pleases you. However it pleases you.”
Yes, it is”, she said, renewing her efforts.
By now my cock was hard, but not hard enough to suit Mistress. She likes me desperate. She folded the blanket and sheet back, moving her mouth to me. She’s been practicing this a good deal lately, and I am the beneficiary. Soon she had me squirming and begging.
Meanwhile my hand had wormed its way between her legs, spending some time on a little teasing of my own. Mistress was wet and ready for me whenever she decided the time had come.
She rolled over, giving my hands better access to her slippery folds, and I worked her with my fingers, building her to a nice one. But she was impatient.
“Fuck me now, Slave.”
“Gladly”.
I rolled over and onto Mistress. Sliding inside was a joy as always. And soon Mistress was making those little sounds I like, as I held her arms over her head.
Sometimes I wonder where her head goes in these moments. She seems so focused on the rhythm we build together. And as I press hard against her sliding to and fro for the best friction I can build against her, she shudders and quakes with a groan that makes me feel like a worthy slave. Once I have taken her there, I can focus on my own pleasure, and was soon begging for permission. Which she granted generously.
I came suddenly, gasping, in a magnitude that seemed as if I had been denied for days, when in fact Mistress had allowed me to take her only hours earlier, before dinner. Is all this sex building up my sperm volume? Making me need it every 8 hours or so? Can you be a sex addict to your wife?
As we slid back to sleep, I asked Mistress what provoked this mid-sleep assault. After all, she does like her beauty rest. It’s usually the Slave who wakes up hard and horny.
Already fading back to sleep she said, “I was a little restless and decided I wanted your hard cock. Now go back to sleep, Slave”.
When we hear from our friend M, as I did yesterday, about how his Mistress lays into him with a wooden paddle, I realize what a merciful Mistress Molly has been these last few months. In fact, she can be a bit of a pushover (don’t tell her I said so!).
While I get an occasional thwacking, it is not sustained or overly painful. In fact, the only real “discipline” I get is our weekly Abstinence Day, when Mistress gets the pleasure and I am supposed to put mine on hold for 24 hours. But as you will see from today’s tale, Mistress sometimes relents before my full 24 hours are over.
Yesterday morning began early. I woke and slid the steel ring around the base of my cock and balls while things were still loose and pliable for the sometimes ouchy smushing required for that task.
After I completed my homework assignment, I crept upstairs at around 7 am, to wake the teens and Mistress. Since it was my abstinence day, I knew that I would have to contain myself, but certainly wanted the chance to worship Mistress. I handed her the laptop, and as she read, I buried myself between her legs, munching and slurping away until she began to squirm, while chuckling a bit at the good and goofy parts. When she was done reading, and the laptop set aside, I went to work in earnest, and soon Mistress was coming in a series of little jerks and moans that I rode out with her, my lips struggling to say secured to that little spot they had latched onto for her pleasure.
When she was fully satisfied, she reached down for me and gently pulled my head up to kiss me, getting a taste of her own juices as a bonus.
She fondled my hardened cock for a few moments, as was her right, then pushed me off for my trip to the shower as she turned her attention to other matters on her computer. After showering, I presented my self to her, and she closed the lock on my cage.
Secured away, I headed off to work. Mistress had business of her own to attend to – a drive to our flat state capitol – but mid-day she sent me a lovely photo of her full and sensual breast, manicured fingers splayed across a nipple, as a bit of a tease. Wish I could share it with you, but Mistress considered it a bit too revealing . (Maybe I can coax her into something else).
As we talked through the day, Mistress asked how my cage felt….she’s impressed with its industrial solidity. And I told her it was tight. Every time she asks, I get that little twinge of arousal, from her reminder that she holds the key.
By the time I arrived home, I was conscious of the fact that it would be a long evening without the chance to fuck mistress to completion.
Mistress was very well dressed for the business meeting she had attended. The Black dress, colorful jacket, tights and boots must have turned a few heads on the streets and in the corridors of the Capitol. I wanted my worship time when I saw her, and she obliged, stripping away her outer garments, reclining on the bed, and letting me feed at her smooth thighs and damp fur.
Once pleased with my work, she offered to unlock my cage, which was her first act of mercy for the evening. My cock was more than content when given the chance to stretch out and breath after a long day on lock down.
“I think I want that cock later tonight, Slave”, Mistress said, reaching to fondle for a few brief seconds.
“But it’s Abstinence Day, Mistress.”
“Yes, of course. But you can still fuck me with it. You just can’t come. Isn’t that right, Slave?”
“Of course. I am ‘up’ for that”, I punned.
I would be more than happy to oblige. The pleasure of having my cock slide inside her, even without going over the edge, is more than worth the frustration.
Once the teens were fed and off to their land of full electronic media emersion, we retired to our bedroom. Mistress found what turned out to be a pretty lame movie to watch (oddly, involving a man conspiring to get his wife to cheat on him) and we settled in for the night.
Mistress’s proximity, and the knowledge that I would be required to fuck her sometime that evening, but would not be allowed to come, already had my cock and balls tingling, full and on edge. Anticipatory frustration.
As the movie became increasingly tedious (and it’s hard to make a tedious movie about sex and adultery), my hand wandered between Mistress’s legs, gently caressing her through the lacy panties she had slid into before bedtime. I could detect the slightest squirm from Mistress’s hips in response to my gentle caresses, which I took as a sign of encouragement.
Soon my head turned away from the screen and into Mistress right breast, taking a nipple between my teeth and lips for some gentle but persistent sucking. Mistress liked this. When I attempted to turn away to catch a scene from the movie that seemed more “interesting”, her arm captured my head and kept me pressed where she wanted it. Very Mistressy. Her commanding grip sent a jolt through my cock, bringing it to full attention.
In due course, the TV was turned off, and Mistress came with a sudden jerk and moan against the fingers that had been working away at her.
“I want that cock now, Slave”, she directed, her hands gripping what was hers. And I was more than ready.
I slid into her, using my skills and taxed will power to contain myself while working to please her. To throw a little fuel on the fire, I asked her to consider how she would feel if some would be Dom took his pleasure from her but denied her permission to come.
“I wouldn’t like it, Slave”, she mumbled through low moans as I worked at her with my very hard tool.
As my torment mounted, Mistress weakened.
‘What if I let you come, Slave? Would that me bad?”
“ Well I would certainly like that, Mistress,” I responded with understatement. Of course, I was desperate, though I knew a few more hours of denial would not kill me.
After a bit of back and forth in which I conveyed the extent of my desperation, Mistress relented. “OK, Slave. You will be allowed to come. But first I want to be on top.”
We reversed position, Mistress mounted me, letting her soaking cunt slide greedily down my full length. Then she took charge, pressing and pumping hard against me with increased urgency until she had one of those groaning explosions that left her limp and shuddering with little after shocks. Mistress seemed to get her own enjoyment from her decision to show mercy. She rolled off me then in her exhaustion, and murmurred “fuck me now, Slave.”
Happy to oblige, and knowing I had permission, I slid over and into her. I was in no hurry now, and worked my way to the top and backed down again a few times before finally asking for the right to release myself from my abstinence day vows. I came with what seemed like the sound of a bear rudely awoken from a January hibernation, my cocking spitting home made lava. Wow.
Yesterday, “UnderContract’s” Western Kinky Affairs Correspondent, M, reported to us on a special event where Masters and Mistresses were recently found hiding in plain sight. We thought we would share some of M’s incisive reportage:
“The rodeo was a blast today. What a kinkster’s delight. There are about 7 different arenas. Huge area. Show horses, jumping, equestrian, western, auctions, everything.
They let the public walk about everywhere in the paddocks, among the livestock, horses running around everywhere. There are beautiful women riding horses everywhere in jodhpurs, black boots, spurs, helmets, riding crops, urging their mounts around, and the horses are incredibly beautiful too.!
Men too Molly, dressed the same, with tight stretch pants, showing their cocks out lined, black boots, spurs and riding crops, riding their mounts with grace and charm, but strictly controlling them. A lot of the riders were British, French or German. Obviously wealthy (to fly their horses from Europe). Lots of D/s dynamics. Both the men and the women had minions tending to their horses. There were horse showers all around and the helpers where washing the horses while the riders lounged on folding chairs with their feet up. One British guy was talking on his cell phone while a very attractive lady shined his boots as he tapped his thigh with a riding crop! Cocky, arrogant, men and women. But HOT.
I watched one lady ride in a practice arena for about 10 minutes. She was stunning, riding a huge stallion with a big swinging cock. She was a haughty, arrogant woman, and controlled that horse completely. Very cool, very hot. I got several looks from B for ogling the sexy asses of some of the female riders. However, B liked it too, very much. She liked the cowboys with their tight jeans and chaps. They had big bulges by their crotches where the chaps pushed them out! Very kinky. B and I like the Renaissance Fair (kinky people there too) but this was much better. If you guys ever get the chance to go to a top flight equestrian show you should do it. Molly you could definitely find your type of Dom there. Very classy, dominant men there.”
(Mick and Molly welcome other guest reporters lurking out there. Share your experiences. We do not pay Newspaper Guild wages though.)
While M was enjoying the kinky world of equestrian Doms and Dommes, and fantasizing about what might be done with all those riding crops, back in the Midwest, Molly did not have a large mammal between her legs, unless you count me.
Molly was showered with a trifecta of attention from her Slave yesterday…..
At mid-afternoon she strolled into my office for some worship. As she say in her “throne” she recounted the business meeting she attended while I knelt before her, head buried between her legs, enjoying the taste of the juices that flowed through those black tights. Once I pulled them down to her boot tops, there was just enough room for my mouth between spread thighs. When she came with a stifled moan, her head clunked back against the door, making me wonder what my neighboring colleagues thought Mick and Molly were doing. Because I had on my steel cage, I could only contemplate what it would be like for Molly to return the favor.
I got home after work to find Molly dutifully preparing dinner. Once the chili was simmering in the pot, we adjourned to our bedroom. Mistress let me help her out of her dress, and I was soon on my knees again, making sure that Mistress was pleased enough with my attention to earn release from my cage. But Mistress had some emails to answer. Though my cock was now free, I was told that my pleasure would have to wait until after dinner.
Once the teens were fed, Slave was relegated to assisting the senior surly with a take home American History exam. I had to reacquaint myself with the reconstruction era, and the grounds for Andrew Johnson’s impeachment (firing War Secretary Stanton), before finally being able to join Mistress in bed.
Since she had already had the benefit of my tongue twice today, she deserved something more to make me worthy of my own release. I asked for permission to insert my little white probe, that assures a particularly hard cock. Then I pulled out our “Magic Wand”, which seemed to make Mistress’s eyes light up. We cuddled and kissed for a while until both of us were more than in the mood. Then the Wand was switched to the low position. Mistress commented on how loud that sucker is, but I noted that the sound is deadened a bit when it is squeezed between two anxious thighs.
I held Mistress close to me, kissing her, as my hand snaked behind her, sliding the wand between her cheeks so that it rested somewhere between her two little orifices. Its deep vibrations were more than enough to make my owner squirm and twist against me, and her frustration began to build as it became clear that I was in no hurray. When her fingers tried to find my hardened cock I was able to evade them. I wanted to see how desperate I could make her, not the reverse.
“Are you deliberately trying to frustrate me, Slave?”, she asked, mounting impatience in her voice.
“Of course”, I responded. One has to be honest with his Mistress.
As her hips began to squirm even more to find better contact with the tool resting between her thighs, I decided to be merciful and turned her over, face up on the bed, giving me better access to her hard nipples. They tasted so good between my lips and teeth.
With her head thrown back, and her sounds turning all the more animalistic and demanding, I asked her to imagine what it would be like tied to a suitable Dom’s bed, with him teasing/torturing her like this, but withholding permission to come. Making her beg for it. This only seemed to drive Mistress to further distraction.
Varying the pressure of the Wand on the junction between her thighs, I brought Mistress to the verge and back several times. By now her hands had found my cock and her gentle squeezes and caresses began to take their toll. So I expedited the process by applying the churning tool more firmly against her, to Mistress’s gratification. I pressed her against the bed with the weight of my body as she came with sobs and tears, then begged me to fuck her.
By now I was more than desperate myself, and she seemed pleased with how hard my cock was as I held it deep inside her, letting our hips do the work that led Mistress over the top one more time. When I finally was given permission to come it was with an with the special intensity that comes only after a full day of denial and devotion.
Today is Slave’s Abstinence Day. So I will keep last night’s explosion in mind as I “offer it up” for the next 24 hours.
Mistress swept into my office yesterday afternoon around 4:30. It was a day off for our staff, but Slave had work to do. So Mistress’s arrival was a welcome break from a quiet if busy day.
We had arranged to meet at my office before two evening engagements: a political event with our Governor, and then a museum opening with one of Mistress’s clients.
Molly was elegantly attired in the flowing dress shown in the photo, finished with her winter time uniform of black tights and boots.
Muy Mistressy!
Fortunately, her busy schedule allowed just enough time for worship. I was not allowed to kiss her lips because she had perfectly applied her lipstick for our evening’s activities. But I was allowed to bury my face between her thighs.
I pressed the chair against the door, dropped a downy blanket onto the seat (I have noticed a growing stain on the upholstery in recent weeks), and fell to my knees. My cock hardened as I took my time rubbing my face and mouth along the inside of her thighs until I could taste her juices begin to flow through the panel at the apex of her thighs. Then I asked permission to pull her tights down. No undies obstructed me, as my mouth moved in to taste and tease her. But soon she was jerking her hips against me, stifling a moan as she came. As I looked up I saw the delightfully contented face of a well pleasured Mistress smiling smugly down at her Slave.
There was no time for Slave’s pleasure until we arrived home late last night. But at the political event at a stately home overlooking the River, I could still taste Mistress on my mouth and lips as we chatted with the Gov about his upcoming election campaign. And of course I enjoyed the envious glances of the political class who still can’t believe that old Mick still has such a lovely Molly on his arm after all these years.
