A Little Too Much Gray

We have been back a little more than a week now from out Mountain holidays, and have yet to see any real sunshine here in River City. Gray skies, gray people, gray buildings. At least the white snow that remains in the ground provides a bit of a relief from the gray.

It’s the time of year when a couple would be better off hunkered down in bed, covers pulled up high, trying to generate some heat of their own to catch a break on what is sure to be an ugly utility bill. Sadly, duty calls and Mick and Molly have been going to work instead.

We did have some time to generate a little heat on a cold Monday in the heartland though. By yesterday morning my cold had abated and I abandoned the medication that the pharmacist makes you sign elaborate papers to acquire OTC. Mistress was happy with the result – she no longer had to settle for something less than full cock. (I had suggested that maybe a guy has only so many erections in him for a lifetime and that I may have exceeded my quota. She was not amused.)

So we began our day the way we like: Me under the covers using mouth and fingers to stimulate her lower “brain”, while she graded my morning essay on her strap-on talents. She then gave me permission to take my reward, and I am pleased to report I was ready, willing and able to exploit her permission.

Down in the kitchen, after the surly teens had stormed off to school, I prepared some breakfast to go. Mistress had on some skimpy sleepwear (you can see it in the photo posted two days ago), the type that the teens say “yuck” to as she parades about the house when sans robe.

Mistress enquired about my cage, and I pulled down my pants to allow her to inspect and close the lock for the day. She seemed satisfied with the security measures taken.

Before I headed out the door, Mistress asked for a kiss and she got a little more. As we embraced, standing there between stove and dishwasher, I slid my fingers between her legs gliding ever so lightly between her lips. Wet. As my efforts accelerated her hips began to move un unison with my strokes, and she folded her body into mine, and I gladly took the weight. Soon she was shuddering and moaning, her mouth buried in the shoulder of my suit jacket.

I was then off to my office, but looking forward to Mistress’s visit that afternoon. My colleagues have commented on how often Molly stops by these days. I note that she is now doing some consulting for a client in a nearby building and likes to “say hello” when downtown. What they don’t know is that when the door closes, their stuffy, steady boss/mentor/partner is soon on his knees, getting his face all wet with Mistress’s juices.

These office calls can be a little frustrating, since I am all caged up. So the play is very one sided: Mistress gets the type of worship due her. I get the pleasure of serving her and the anticipation of my reward later in the evening.

Yesterday was a particularly cold and damp one, so Mistress was in tight, black velvet pants. As she took her seat in the chair I had pressed up against my door, she pulled the pants down to her boot tops, exposing those sensuous black tights, which she was wearing without undies. I like to feel their texture against my hands and mouth and suck a bit through the tights, tasting the fluids that seep through, before pulling them down for my full frontal assault. Mistress seemed particularly wet yesterday as she came pressing her hips forward against my mouth, her head back, pressed against the closed door.

As I walked Mistress to the elevator, I wondered whether any of my co-workers noticed that the lipstick that had been so artfully applied when she arrived was now a shadow of itself, or whether I had adequately wiped my own face to remove the telltale signs of our brief office rendezvous.