Distracted at the Theatre

Mick and Molly went to the theatre here in River City last night, joining with another couple for a meal beforehand, then some Irish Coffee at a local Bar. The play was an old Irish chestnut, and the weather matched the script – a cold drizzle dampened our outerwear and skin as we made our way to and from the evening’s venues.

As is often the case, Mistress was the most dazzling woman in the room. And her darker, more exotic complexion certainly set her off from the pasty faced women and men of celtic heritage assembled for the play.

As it happened, Mistress had on the lovely short brown cashmere dress, brown tights and brown suede boots she had worn earlier in the week, for her first “date” with her new Sir. (the look is similar to the one in the photo).

And since I have a bit of a tights fetish, it was natural for me to slide my hand onto her thigh as the lights dropped in the theatre. I enjoyed the feel of her firm, well muscled thighs covered with the taut fabric that covered them.

So as the prim, Priestly characters read their lines on stage, my hand was making gentle circles on her thigh, moving higher, until my fingers could feel the warmth at their juncture. And of course, my mind wandered to the fact that Mistress’s new Sir had likely been of the same mind a few days earlier, exploiting her willingness to surrender the same access to him. And that she had probably grown wet in anticipation of that touch, just as she now seemed damp and warm as a result of mine.

Very distracting.

The thought of Mistress squirming to the touch of another man, someone she had chosen to submit her will and body to, is, of course, unnerving.

But for some strange reason it also  drives  this Slave crazy with desire for her.

I do a bit more competitive .... I want to make sure I continue to please her every bit as well as he does.

Knowing that as I fuck her, she may be thinking of how it felt to be taken by him, or to submit to his "inspection", makes me want to please her all the more.

Having her remind me that she has been thinking about that other cock, and how it tasted as it grew in her mouth makes me want to worship her cunt with even greater devotion.

Mistress is upstairs sleeping now. But not for long.

"Tell Me What You Are Thinking, Slave."

I woke up early this morning, around 5:30 am. Mistress seemed groggily awake too. We were cuddled close in bed, my cock soft, but a little twitchy, nestled against her firm ass.

“I’m getting up now, Mistress.”

I planned to leave her sleeping. She needs her beauty rests.

She rolled over, clung to me. As my face pressed against her lush, full breasts, I had second thoughts.

So my mouth began to work a bit on Mistress’s firm nipples. Something that made her squirm. When she failed to push me away, or roll over, I took that as a “go”. Instead, she made some encouraging sounds. When she rolled onto her back, my hand snaked between her legs. Very wet.

As I worked my fingers there, I mentioned something that had come to mind as I woke.

“You’ve been keeping the cage on me longer these days, Mistress.”

Wednesday night, she kept it on me through our meet up with our new FetLife friends, releasing me only so I could fuck her when we got home, around 11 pm or so.

Thursday had been my Abstinence Day, and Mistress was feeling a bit under the weather. So the cage stayed on until she was in the mood to be worshipped, well into the evening. And while I took off the “cage” part, I left the steel ring on overnight, because …well it was just easier to leave it there, gripping my cock and balls through the night.

Then the cage was back on Friday morning, after Mistress had the benefit of my full and firm cock before I headed to work. It stayed on through some evening activities in our downtown, to be unlocked only when we slid into bed at around 10 pm.

“Yes….I suppose I have. It’s good for you, Slave. Seems to make you want me more.”

“Maybe so…. Is that it….or….”

My fingers were still working, picking up the pace. Mistress convulsed into a nice little explosion for me, though I kept at it a bit longer, helping her through the aftershocks.

“What, Slave?”

Now her hand was on my cock. It was already firm and ready. But she likes to play a bit, and who am I to object.

“I keep thinking of you stripping for him, Mistress.”

“Yes … does that turn you on, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress. Did it turn you on? ….you said you weren’t going to … not the first time.”

“It did turn me on, Slave.”

“Did you feel compelled…like you had no choice?”

“Yes… I … needed to do it … once he asked me. Is that OK?”

“Of course, Mistress”.

Mistress’s fingers on my cock were driving me crazy. Fortunately, she rolled away, onto her back again.

“Why don’t you fuck me now, Slave.”

She did not have to ask twice.

As I slid into her, she moaned with delight, and I pressed hard against her, doing the things I knew would bring her close to the edge.

“What are you thinking, Slave?”

She likes to make me talk about it. Knew exactly what I was thinking about.

“You liked him fucking you, didn’t you Mistress?”

“Yes … it was …good.”

“You want him again, don’t you?”

“I do, Slave.”

In fact, they had emailed yesterday, setting up another meeting.

“You’ve been thinking about his cock too, haven’t you Mistress?

“I have Slave.”

“Does that make you wet?”

“It does.”

Mistress and I were clutching one another now, me buried inside her, sliding against her as I listened to her ragged breathing, so close to the breaking point.


“and you liked him using his fingers on you, didn’t you, Mistress?”

“Oh, yes.”

I pulled back a bit, still inside her, but giving my own fingers some space to play with her clit, rubbing it as out bodies slid against one another.

“What was it like begging for him Mistress ….did it turn you on to beg for the right to come?”

She moaned. But I could here her affirmation in the moan.

“How does it feel to beg him, like the way you make me beg?”

”Good, Slave. Very good”. And then Mistress came for me, quaking and moaning, her head thrown back, eyes slammed shut.

And soon I was doing the begging.

MIck and Molly Make New Friends

This week Mick and Molly met for drinks with a charming couple we “friended“ on fet life. They live across the river that our River City smacks up against, not too far away.

D and N moved here not long ago from out West, much to our consternation. Nothing like trading in 300 days a year of sunshine for the gloom of the heartland. But family called.

D, the male part of the couple, is the strong but seemingly laid back Dom. N is his cute and very feisty Slave. He’s a bit younger than Mick. She’s a bit younger than Molly.

Their FetLife page intrigued us. They are very much into the “Lifestyle”, wheras Mick and Molly keep all this stuff very private (unless you happen to read this crazy blog). They have posed for and posted lots of provocative photos: N's naked bottom glowing red; kinky costumes; various restraining devices; and plenty of implements of “punishment”. Interesting stuff.

Then there was D’s message to Molly, sent after he perused her posting and a bit of our blog:

“I am intrigued by the cuckold lifestyle. It wouldn’t work for me since sexually I am clearly Dominant. But the idea of tormenting some poor husband while his wife is made to serve is interesting.”

Mistress got back in touch, and we agreed to meet.

When we finally sat down with D and N in a local bistro, the real buzz was in actually talking about what we do and how we do it, face to face with real folks.

Mistress was a natural in taking charge, leading the conversation and “grilling” our new friends about their lives in the BDSM world. They seemed happy to share with us naive newbies.

Hearing Mistress call me her Slave outside the privacy of the bedroom, was … arousing. Calling her “Mistress” in public was a thrill.

They talked about how they met, some of the rules she must follow, and how they work their 24/7 relationship into their family and work life.

They told us about the public and private play parties that we have only speculated about. Interesting, though we are a bit hesitant to “go public” in what is a small town.

And they described the “secret” dungeon hidden behind some cabinets in their basement.



Mistress had me locked away in my cage, and when she talked about how we found it on line, and got the measurements right, my cock was twitching against the cold steel.

When we parted we agreed to meet again soon, and show them some of the attractions on our side of the River.

I think Molly was intrigued, and tempted, when D talked about his training in the arts of bondage and “impact play”, and the psychology of training and commanding a female slave.


Who knows … maybe someday D and N will give us a tour of their dungeon.

The Day After

I woke up this morning, pressed against Mistress’s delightful bottom, my cock throbbing for her. Mistress was twitching about herself in her sleep, and the motion of her firm cheeks against me were getting me harder. Hmmm.

The fact that it was my deferred Abstinence Day was already troubling. Rather than press the point or wiggle away, I climbed out of bed, grabbed my laptop, and the steel ring of my cage and came downstairs to do my “homework”.

Before Mistress went off on her adventure with her new Dom on Tuesday, she spoke “Wife to Husband” to me for a few moments.

“You know I don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow morning angry at me.”

I gave her my assurances. Told her that I did not think that would be a problem. I wanted to honor my contract, and suspected that if anything, her adventure would bring us closer together and make me want her all the more.

But, truth be told, neither of us knew how we would feel once Mistress gave herself, no matter how briefly, to another.

Well, on the morning after, I let my cock do the thinking. And it was very much purpose driven. It was on a reclamation project. And fortunately, Mistress had given me a one day reprieve from my Abstinence Day obligations.

Mistress had shared some details: how after some talk and a description of his rules, she had been led to his bedroom and told “it was time” to submit to inspection.

She thought she would say “no” on this first private encounter, as he said was her right. But when the time came, he must have been persuasive. She described how she had slowly stripped for him, under his appraising eye, as he sat watching her. And how he required her to kneel to allow him to touch and stimulate her tits and nipples.

“Did that make you, wet, Mistress.”

“Yes. He commented on that.”

“How, Mistress?”

“He touched me there. Told me how wet I was.”


As I sat down here with my coffee yesterday morning, the hard steel ring collecting my cock and balls, those thoughts inspired my prose and had me up the stairs early. Mistress seemed impressed with when she reached for my cock and discovered how hard and determined it was to take her cunt back, at least for the time being.

It slid where his fingers and cock had been the night before. And by the time we were done, I believed my reclamation project had gotten off to a nice start.

When I got out of the shower, I presented myself to Mistress for her to secure the lock on my cage. She clicked the lock shut, then mentioned that she had received an email from her Sir.

“Did he seem happy with you, Mistress.”

“Yeah. Seems so. I forwarded it to you. Tell me what you think.”

As I ate my breakfast, I thumbed through my emails on my blackberry and found Sir’s message. He described how, like me, he woke in the morning with a cock that was full, with thoughts of his fingering and fucking my Mistress’s tight cunt. He asked whether she enjoyed tasting and touching his cock and balls. And whether she wanted him to take her again.

My own cock strained against its steel restraints. It might be a long day.

As I kissed Mistress goodbye, I asked whether she enjoyed knowing that two men had hard cocks for her this morning.

“It’s a nice thing, Slave.”

Mistress stopped by my office before lunch, before heading home after an early meeting. I was ready to devour her, and quickly pushed the chair against my door, laying the fleece blanket down to absorb our juices and kneeling. She must have been anxious too, because she had already pulled down her dark brown tights to give me access.

As my mouth worked away at her, I muttered a question that had been eating at me all morning.

“So did you respond to your friend’s email Mistress?”

“Yes”.

“And”.

“I told him I would like to see him again.”

Soon Mistress was coming bucking against my mouth. And when I looked up she had a very devilish look on her face, as if to say “aren’t you a desperate little Slave.”. Mistress has both the right and a canny ability to press her Slave’s buttons.

When I got home, the teens were off to visit their trainer, and Mistress was napping. She was tired. I lay down next to her and we rested together. Mistress commented that all those orgasms must haven taken their toll. I tried to sympathize.

She kept my cage on for our engagement later that evening: a first meeting with a charming and intriguing couple found through the crazy world of FetLIfe. (Will talk about that later this week).

We got home near 11, and on many such late “work night” evenings it might be natural for us to defer any sexual activity until the morning. But Mistress and I were both a little randy. All the talk we had shared with this couple about the “lifestyle”, and Mistress’s frank description of some of the otherwise hidden details of our life had put both of us in a serious state of arousal. And of course my imagination was still working overtime as a result of Mistress’s adventure.

Mistress instructed me to insert my probe, making me all the harder for her. The power tool was deployed, driving Mistress to full throttle. By the time we were done … well, I felt that my reclamation project was in full swing.

Mistress Submits

Yesterday was an …interesting ….(also a little scary, exciting, apprehensive) day for Mick and Molly.

If you have been following us for a while, you know that Mistress has been on a bit of a quest in a hit or miss sort of way: she has sought out someone to help her explore her sub side.

Of course, our contract gave her the right to seek out (or be sought by) other lovers. When the contract was signed, that was just a hypothetical possibility. But it only seemed right that when a Slave fully submits, he also surrenders any claim of exclusivity. I was happy to do that to show my devotion to my Mistress.

Once she acquired that right, it was only natural for Mistress’s eyes to open a bit. “Use it or lose it” may be a proper mantra.

So she has acquired more a bit of a roving eye over the last few months, and her Slave takes a perverted delight in hearing when someone catches that eye.

But of course, Mistress is particular. There was an initial cyber / phone flirtation with an old lover from College days, who lived a few hundred miles away. Mistress was willing. He got cold feet.

But their chats and e’s and texts opened Mistress to the concept of her own submission to what she referred to as a “Part Time Dom.” It was an itch that needed to be scratched, a concept to be explored.

We wrote up a “job description” and posted it here back in late November. (You can find it on MollyCollins at FetLife too). There were some contacts with a few folks, even an interview with someone who talked a bit bigger than he was prepared to act. Etc. Etc. Not much developed.

More recently, Mistress had engaged in a dialogue with someone who passed her initial screening test. They met last week for a drink and talk. Her comfort meter (and curiosity) gave her a green light.

Yesterday was the day that Mistress was persuaded by this prospective Dom to visit his home. They had met once She was apprehensive, but adventurous enough to take the bait.

His email suggesting how this first meeting might go was …provocative. Particularly the establishment of rules, the need for permission to come, and the “full body inspection” to make sure she met his standards.

Mistress balked a bit at that. But they agreed things would go slowly, at her comfort level. He was a Dom who knew that Mistress needed to jump, and could not be pushed.

All this had this Slave a bit on edge. The concept was exciting. Deep psychological stuff going on, but all this cuckold talk and my submission to Mistress has been incendiary for our sex life. Very very incendiary. But in practice….we both knew that could be tricky.

Mistress was very sensitive to this…. She did not want to proceed if it would create issues down the road. But our open discussions (hopefully) gave her reassurance. I was game for something that would give her pleasure, and would get my own psychic and physical “reward” afterwards, as she shared any sordid details she decided to share with me.

I was to be locked in my cage as the day unfolded. As Mistress engaged with her new Dom she could reflect on my cock locked away until she chose to release it. And no matter how frustrated I became at the thought of what Mistress was up to, I could not handle myself without her key.

When she stopped by my office yesterday around noontime, I devoured her as she sat in her throne. When she had her fill of my lips and tongue, Mistress has a very pleased look on her face. We clung to one another before I walked her to the elevator. She was off on her adventure….

Her new Sir had instructed her on a recommended outfit….short skirt, no panties or tights. Blouse without bra. But Mistress is pretty strong willed (this could be a problem down the road), and it being 40 degrees or so here yesterday, bare legs were out of the question as far as she was concerned.

When she called while on her way (she had shared the directions with me for security purposes), she described her outfit, which was one of my favorites: short dark brown cashmere dress, dark brown tights, brown suede boots. Very hot. She had primped and he would not be disappointed. Argh.

Mistress texted me when she arrived.

“Here. Yikes”.

My response: “Good luck. Desperate for U, Mistress.”

And I was.

I was nervous too. She seemed to be in good, if firm hands. We had done some vetting. But still….

As the afternoon turned to evening, I was increasingly anxious, and as aroused as the cage would allow. I fed the teens, trying to focus on their chat about their “boring” day at school. I assembled and broke down all those documents needed for our tax return (an anti-aphrodisiac if there ever was one). I watched some women’s bob sledding. Things designed to keep my imagination from wandering.

There must have been a break in the “action” at some point. Mistress texted.

“I am fine. See you around 9 Slave.”

I was dying of curiosity, responding impertinently:

“Wet?”

20 or so minutes passed. No word. I figured she was off in sub land again, maybe getting fucked silly. Then a response:

“My Wonderful Slave… u will get to hear the whole sordid story when I get home to u”

Somehow, that made it seem better. I knew Mistress was safe and enjoying herself, as she should. But that she would be with me again soon. Very comforting.

She called on her way. But all I got was small talk.

“We’ll discuss when I get home, Slave.”

I could hear the tease in her voice. There was a story to share.

I put away my jumble of papers. Cleaned up the kitchen a bit. Those last 30 minutes seemed to take forever as I waited for her return.

When I saw her walking up the stairs, I took in my delicious Mistress – attired in the elegant and alluring outfit I described earlier. I pulled her to me. Her face seemed to delight in my devotion to her. Her smile betraying the secrets she would share.

Once we bid the teens good night, Mistress had me strip. I offered to kneel and worship, but she demurred, and we laid together on the bed. She unreeled the story slowly, frustratingly, toying with a very hard cock all the while.

And it was sordid.

Mistress had “succumbed”.

She had passed his inspection. And so much more.

And it seemed to please her very much.

And when the story was told, I undressed her, tasting what was left, then sliding into my incredibly tempting Mistress. As we made love I debriefed her further…deploying my cross examination techniques for some of the juicier details she had left out in her first narrative.

Oh my.

Mistress gets a Taste of Her Own Medicine

Mistress woke Sunday morning after a long night’s sleep and called for her Slave. I was down stairs on my 2nd cup of coffee. Having completed my homework, I was working my way through the New York Times and the smutty blogs of our friends out there. But I always jump when called to duty, or face the consequences.

We read the papers in bed a bit, looking forward to a long bike ride with the temperature breaking into the 40’s.

But when it seemed Mistress was “in the mood” (as displayed by her reaching for my cock to confirm that I was unclothed and available to her), I rose and collected out little bag of restraint devices. It was our “Switch” day, and I was not going to pass up my chance to turn the tables on my Mistress, if only for an hour or so.

I pulled out some leather cuffs and buckled them onto her wrists, holding them together in front. While locks can be arranged, I know that Mistress will not try to make her escape without my permission. Then I affixed her wrists over her head with a leather strap tied to an eyebolt installed for this purpose.

Mistress relaxed into her bondage, and we kissed as I fondled her a bit, my thigh resting lazily over her hips. Soon I could sense her hips moving in their little dance of arousal.

But Mistress was not getting off so easily. I rolled her over onto her stomach, and used my hands to stroke her firm bottom. This attention only made her squirm more, and when I slipped my hands between her legs I discovered just how wet and aroused she was.

That’s when I began to spank her, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. AS I did, I asked her to consider whether the new prospective Dom in her life would take the liberty of spanking her, as part of her training. She agreed that seems likely, and I could sense her imagination getting the better of her.

Mistress still refers to me as her Slave in these switch session. And that is probably for the best. She and I both need to know that she has the ultimate authority, including the right to pull the plug should I ever get out of hand, even when she is bound and at my mercy on a Sunday morning. But the thought of her losing that control to someone who does not recognize her authority, who, instead, demands her submission, seems to have a powerful effect on Mistress.

As I continued to spank her, I reached for out WMO (weapon of massive orgasm, the Hitachi Magic Wand). With one hand I slid it from behind, between her legs. With the other I continued the intermittent spanking. I was testing how Mistress would respond to the simultaneous application of pleasure and pain.

It was an inspiring experiment. The natural thing to do to cope with a spanking may be to try to relax those butt muscles as much as possible. But the pressure of the churning vibrator on Mistress’s cunt seemed to make her tense those muscles. Her thighs gripped it with a pressure designed to hold it firmly against her dampa and demanding parts. As I spanked her, she churned against the bed, determined to force the device to deliver her from both her frustration and the ongoing spanking. (This made me wonder how things would go with her ankles tied to corners of the bed, something to think of next Sunday?)

I knew she was getting close, so asked Mistress to consider whether her prospective Dom would allow her to come without permission.

“Probably not, Slave”, she admitted, rather distracted as she continued her frantic gyrations.

“Well why don’t we practice that, Mistress. I want you to ask me permission before you come”.

.It did not take Mistress much longer to drive herself to that point where she sought my permission.

“May I come , Slave.”

(A silly question, really . Though I had to imagine what would happen if someone said “not yet” to her.)

“Of course, Mistress.”

With the “all clear”, Mistress came with a sudden and explosive force, humping against the vibrator and the bed, crying out into her pillow. And with that I was merciful, and stopped the spanking, letting her relax.

Mistress was not freed until I had my own very satisfying way with her. But even in switch mode, I can’t help asking for my own permission to come, without any prompting.

I guess that’s why I am the Slave.

Our WMO

While we were away for our mini - Ski vacation we left a good number of our toys behind. So when we got back to River City, Slave was looking forward to deploying my favorite WMO (weapon of massive orgasm), the Hitachi Magic Wand to please Mistress.

Thursday evening, after the teens were fed and we settled into bed, Mistress decided it was time to release me from my stainless steel cage. We cuddled in bed. She kept on her black tights (whether because it was a chilly night, or because she knows rubbing against them drives me to distraction was unclear.) As directed, I was naked. Mistress likes my cock and balls available to her without encumbrance.

We cuddled, kissed, stroked and fondled a bit. I was already hard, the fabric of Mistress’s tights doing what she expected as my cock rubbed against her strong thighs. Mistress was getting a bit squirmy too, as she humped against the forearm that I had slid between her legs.

“Would you like me to get out the power tool Mistress?”, I asked, hopefully. I do like what it does to her.

“ No Slave. Your fingers are just fine.”

Well here is where the Slave misbehaved. Got what Mistress would call ‘passive aggressive’. While I continued to stoke Mistress’s fire, I must have been pulling my punches. She was aroused, getting more aroused, thrusting her hips all the harder against my hand….but not getting there. Poor Mistress.



“Hmmm….maybe I do want you to use the power tool on me Slave….”

Well certainly. It happened to be plugged in and ready next to the bed. I reached for it, turned it on. It’s earnest “hummm” evoked memories of the industrial age.

Mistress moaned a bit as I pressed it against her inner thigh. Her body arched to make better contact where it needed to be in her very distracted mind.

Feeling a little manipulative, I did not want to be cruel. I slowly and deliberately slid the churning white ball to the apex of Mistress’s black tighted thighs. She moaned even louder in gratification. But I was using a light hand. She needed more pressure. And to get it she squirmed and thrust, a faint sheen of sweat appearing in the delicious area between shoulder blade and nipple.

I teased a nipple with my lips and teeth. Mistress grunted, her hips gyrating in heightened desperation.

“Slide my tights down Slave,” she whispered through her heavy breathing, hips still writhing to press harder against the throbbing bulb. “I want to feel it on my skin.”

I liked the desperation in her command.

And I was happy to comply. By now I was getting a bit desperate too.

Once the tights were down and off decided to show mercy. I pressed the Wand hard against Mistress exactly where she wanted it to be. Her greedy thighs grabbed onto it hard, as if she was afraid I might have second thoughts.

At this point, Mistress seems possessed. Her hands come down to re-enforce my grip, making sure I do not ease off. She presses with all her remaining energy against it, her knees rising from the bed, as if she is trying to wrap her body around the device that is taking her to some other dimension.

Mistress’s whole body convulses as she falls over the edge, with a series of moans of impressive intensity. Then she collapses back, her body finally relaxing, but taking a while for her breathing to return to a normal rhythm.

I settle back with her, turning off my WMO, satisfied with a job well done. But very hard for her too.

Fortunately, Mistress always rewards a job well done. Well, almost alway

Lighter Fluid

Because we have been sharing some fiction these last few days, readers may think that Mick and Molly have been slackers in the sex department. But as it turns out, we have been as crazy and compulsive as ever in our inability to suppress our sexual appetites.

We returned from our little mini-break late Tuesday night, tired from the Delta shuffle, and confronted by too much graying snow on the ground, and a house laid waste by surly teens in our absence. I lost track counting the empty pizza boxes.

That did dampen the fire a bit, and when I woke up Wednesday morning, realizing it was Abstinence Day, I knew I would have to keep my mind on other things to make it through the day.

But Mistress did not feel a need to co-operate. I donned my cage that morning, as she requires. The cold metal ring squeezing at the base of my balls was something I had not missed over our long weekend. But it is a nice reminder of my status. And it’s good to know Mistress cares enough to police me this way.

She was back at work too, and after a meeting downtown, she stopped by for some worship. After all, it had been, by then, a bit more than 24 hours for her as well.

And I was happy to please her. She took her place in her “throne”, an upholstered chair pressed against the closed door. And I took my place on my knees, sliding those alluring black tights down to her boot tops, making just enough room for my head to slide between her strong thighs.

By the time she had her fill of my lips and tongue, she seemed refreshed. But all I had to show for it was a very wet face and a cock straining against stainless steel, reminding me that I still had another 18 hours to go.

Mistress was worshiped again that evening. And while she released me from my cage, I was required to wait for more complete release until morning.

When I finally had a chance to take her on Thursday morning, about 48 hours had passed since my last opportunity to come. (I know, for some of you out there, that hardly seems like a sacrifice, but Mistress has me hooked and after only 24 hours ugly withdrawal symptoms rear their head, like Vladimir Putin winging it over Wasilla, Alaska).

The steel ring gripped my swollen balls and cock as Mistress consented to my request to fuck her, making my ultimate explosion … profound.

“Oh my, Slave. That was … impressive.”

Indeed.

After that Thursday morning parole, Mistress locked me away again, and it was off to work.

But what had me on edge through Thursday was knowing that Mistress had a first engagement that afternoon with someone … another man. In this case, she was meeting for a drink a prospective Dom who had contacted Molly after reading our postings.

Our “Contract” (reprinted in the early days of this blog), provides that Mistress has certain privileges that her Slave does not. They include the right to take other lovers, including other slaves. And her rights include her ability to submit to a Dom or Domme, as she chooses.

Now however this develops, what happens between Mistress and others is their business, and not for me to share (unless instructed to do so, of course).

But it’s hard not to comment on how these types of developments impact her Slave in this little world of ours. And, truth be told, Mistress’s outside “interests” do tend to raise the temperature a bit in our bed.

Why that is may be complicated, and way above my psychoanalytical pay grade. But I can only say that when Mistress’s fires are being stoked by the talents of someone in addition to just little old me, she becomes even hotter than her usual, extraordinary hotness. And that makes me even hotter for her. It’s like spraying a bit more lighter fluid on some already glowing coals. Wooosh!

Maybe someday we will get over this condition, but what’s the rush.

So by Thursday evening, when Mistress returned home from her introductory “date”, me still locked away in my cage, I was pretty desperate for my opportunity to worship her.

She arrived home around 7 pm in a black wrap dress, cut in a way to show lots of those enticing legs in their black tights and boots.

Mistress settled onto the bed, with that “cat that ate the canary” look. Things must have gone well, I surmised.

I knelt, and helped Mistress remove her boots, taking her fragrant toes into my mouth, massaging them with my fingers, then working my way up her thighs.

When I pulled her tights down, just low enough to slide my head between her thighs, I could tell Mistress was already quite aroused. I had to wonder how long that had been going on. Hmmm.

Mistress squirmed hard against my mouth, and soon came with a series of moans, and bucks against my probing tongue. It seemed like a series of satisfying quakes before she gently pushed my head away.

“Enough Slave”, she said with a loving smile, rubbing her fingers through my hair. A contented Mistress is my prime directive.

“Looks like you will have to wait until after dinner though…”

Her fingers reached down to settle on the hard contours of my steel cage.

“Let’s just leave this on for a while, until I am ready for you.”

Argh.

“That’s your call, Mistress.”

“Of course it is.”

Ski Patrol III ( A little more fiction)

Our reader, M, no slouch on the slopes himself, has been following this little adventure and contributed Part III. Molly gave it her (leaking) seal of approval, so we are sharing it with the rest of you:

Satisfied that his conquest was securely stretched across the picnic table, bottom exposed to the elements in this private “out of bounds” glade, Mike walked around behind her, using his fingers to gently pry apart her lips. Then he took two finger from his other hand and roughly shoved them deep up her cunt. As he expected, Molly was soaking wet.

“My, my, what a hot little slut you are”.

Molly just moaned, squirming against his hand, but with her hand tied down, and her feet anchored in her heavy boots and skis, she had no way to evade his invading fingers.

He fucked her hard with those fingers. She was getting so close, moaning, bucking her hips, muscles tensing ----- ready to cum, ---almost there---

But, abruptly, he pulled out his fingers, leaving her ass humping at the chilly mountain air ….

“PLEASE” she begged, gasping in frustration.

He just laughed, hands sliding up her back, into her dark flowing hair, he walked forward, where he could look her in the eye.

Mike had a smug look on his face as he pushed the two fingers in her mouth.

“Clean them.”

Humiliated, Molly was forced to taste her own juices, shutting her eyes, embarrassed to look at him.

“My particular fetish is orgasm denial. Some call it ‘edging’. You know what that is don't you?

Still tied over the table she silently nodded yes.

“Yes, I thought you would.”

“As it turns out, it’s your lucky day, Molly. I am on duty to spend all night on the mountain. ‘On call’, so to speak. In case some crazy boarder gets lost, or the groomers have a problem. I get to sleep in that hut with a nice warm fire”.

And as my lucky guest, you are going to spend a long agonizing night, with your needy little cunt dripping and frustrated. “

Molly shook her head, struggled against the rope restraining her.

“I can’t…my husband….”

“ Oh, I am sure he will understand. And he has all that work to do! Which pocket do you have your cell phone in?”

She told him. He fished out the phone, while a hand rested on her ass, an ass that had resumed its unsubtle squirming. By now she knew he wouldn’t let her hump her way to an orgasm, but….

“Under what name do you have your husband listed?”

He found the number, pressed send, and held the phone to her mouth. It rang.

“Tell him you are going to spend the night with some hunky ski patrol guy you met.

“You can also Tell him what I plan to do to you. You can add that I intend to blister your bare bottom, then use your ass again and again.”

“Tell him how I am going to keep you on edge and frustrated all night long.”

Just then he slid his hand under he heaving chest, grasping and squeezing one of her already hardened nipples. She hissed with the pain.

“Tell him while you are hissing. Tell him to pick you up at 9:00 AM at the main lodge”

She did, talking to her husband, trying to filter out the strange combination of pleasure and pain as she mumbled into the cell phone. Her husband, her obedient little Slave, took the news surprisingly well.

Mike could overhear him say “Yes, Mistress.”

Then he snapped the phone shut. Molly, eyes were pressed shut, chest heaving in surrender. While she was relieved when Mike finally released her nipple, she knew there was much more torment to come.

“Are you ready, you little slut?”

Mike stepped back, pulled off his big black leather belt, doubling it over as she watched with wide eyes. Holding the belt in one hand he unzipped himself, revealing a full and very hard cock. Molly eyed it greedily.

“You want to kiss and suck that don't you, Molly?”

“Yes” she hissed.

Fiction Friday: Ski Partrol II

(a fictional adventure that began in last Saturday’s posting…..make sure you read part one if you want to make any sense of this silliness).

Fortunately, Molly was a good skier. Her balance and skill made up for the fact that her hands were lashed to the center of her ski poles, as she slid off the lift seat, right behind her new Ski Patrol-man “pal”.

Common sense told her to stop and ask some dumbfounded tourist to release her hands. Let Mike have his laugh at her expense with his other ski patrol buddies over a Sierra Nevada at some local watering hole once the lifts shut down for the night.

But…. he was moving faster down the trail. He sure could ski. Something about those graceful arching turns and the sway of his body over his skis was almost hypnotic. Molly could not help but follow, arms joined in front, like some silly beginning skier in lessons. She was mimicking his turns, falling into a rhythm with him that was ….

Damn, she thought to herself, this fucker has me skiing really hot, and hot and bothered to boot. Trouble. And he hasn’t even turned around to notice I am following, doing exactly what he said….asshole.

Within moments they were alone on a gently sloping trail, a part of the mountain that did not seem familiar to Molly. He slowed, sliding off onto a side trail into a glade of pine and aspen trees.

“Hey”, she called, wanting him to stop. Molly was never into this crazy tree skiing that Mick and the girls liked.

But he kept sliding and skidding deeper into the forest, the trail narrowing. Her heart beating faster. She was getting out of her comfort zone. She was now somewhere on the mountain from which it would not be easy to find her way back to the beaten path.

Suddenly he pulled up, where the trees opened to a small clearing. A tiny cabin / mountain hut with a single window, a picnic table standing next to it.

He clicked his boots out of his skis with a quick motion, but said to her, “Leave yours on for a moment, Molly.”

He strode toward her, closing the gap quickly. Molly was a bit out of breath from navigating the tight trail behind him, and as he approached her heart beat a little faster…the was very vulnerable, but her hardening nipples told her something else.

With one hand, he gripped her hands where they were lashed together, holding them down at her waist. He unclipped the chin strap of his helmet, tossing it onto the snow, near his skis. He slowly walked her back, sliding her against a thick aspen, her skis on either side of the trunk.

Leaning toward her pulled off her sun glasses, sliding them into her pocket.

“Wanted to see what those eyes would tell me, Molly”.

She wriggled her wrists a bit, half heatedly trying to pull away. His grip was strong.

She played it tough, trying to seem unmoved, aloof. It was hard.

“And what do they say?”

“You like it rough, right?”

Molly just blushed, shaking her head. Engaging in a little more futile tugging. How did he know?

He used his unencumbered hand to slowly unzip her black ski shell, down to her waist. It was a warm day. Underneath she wore just a thin, silky black turtlenek. He snickered as he saw the outlines of her hardened nipples, probing through the fabric of her bra and top.

His fingers grabbed one. Massaging at first. Then squeezing, hard. She gasped. It hurt, but …. well… why was her body arching against his, trying to find contact. She was gone.

As her mouth opened to curse him, demand that he stop, his lips pressed against hers. Taking her with a probing tongue. And she was returning the kiss with a scary desperation.

Abruptly, he pulled back, one hands still grasping her bound hands.

“I guessed you were a hot little slut…. You know how often the guys have talked about nailing you?”

Molly face was red. She needed him now. But he wasn’t quite ready to give her what she needed.

He pulled her by the wrists toward the picnic table. She struggled a bit, but he was strong. Relentless. So she relented.

He slid her face first against the picnic table, her skis trapped underneath. He pulled her arms forward over the table top, then grabbed a line of additional rope from his waist belt, attached one end to her wrists, and pulled her face down onto the table, securing her there. She struggled some more. But she knew she was stuck. And vulnerable.

He just laughed, and cooed at her in a patronizing way, his hands running down her back, to her bottom. Smug asshole.

He slowly walked around behind her.

His hand moved up the inside of her thigh, making her squirm. It lingered between her legs. She squirmed more. Shameless, now, she thrust her ass against his hand, longing for something firmer.

“You were a little tease on that chair, Molly.”

“No”, she said, moaning as his hand toyed with her.

“And you need a nice spanking to teach you the error of your ways.”

“Oh no”, louder. Molly was not into pain.

His hands reached around, finding the button and zipper of her black stretch pants, pulling them open. She struggled more intensely, but what could she do?

He yanked them down hard, pulling her slinky black tights down with them, just below her knees.

“No undies, Molly? Naughty.”

Her firm, strong ass felt the brisk mountain air. But it was not cold enough to damp the fire between her legs. Not when a finger frankly probed her, pulling away damp and sticky.

“You do like this, don’t you Molly.”

She shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes, all the while moaning as his fingers toyed with her. So fucking close.

“I’m thinking 20 hard swats, then we will see about your other needs, Molly.”

HNT / Apres Ski "Switch"

Monday was Mick and Molly’s last ski day on our little “mini-break”. Most of the weekend crowd had headed home, and we made sure to exploit the bright sun and softened snow on wide open slopes.

Early in our day, Mistress taunted her Slave about a particular tall and buff skier dressed in black who had scoped her out in the locker as she slid on her boots.

“There’s a nice one, Slave.” She had that lascivious little grin, and  eyes that sparkled with lust. She likes the rugged “mountain man” types.

I took note of Mistress’s roving eye. She feels enabled by her contractual rights. That seems to get her imagination (and juices) flowing. And I like it too.

As the sun settled lower in the sky, we headed back down the mountain to our little adobe cabin.  This is the time of a ski day that both of us treasure: a little wine, a nap, some activity between the sheets, appreciating yet another big sky sunset. In no particular order.

I stoked our Kiva fireplace. Poured some wine. We read a bit. 

After about an hour of R & R time, I pulled out the red leather cuffs with their little locks.

“Remember my rain check, Mistress.”

She grumbled a bit, but surrendered as agreed. The cuffs were locked on in front of her, clipped together.

I positioned one of our Mexican chairs and a hassock in front of the fire, and placed two pillows on the floor.  Then I yanked the black long underwear Mistress was lounging in down around her muscular calves.

“Kneel, slut.”

Mistress’s eyes sparked in defiance for a moment, but she was in no position to defy me.

She assumed her position, her arms stretched in front of her, head resting on the seat of the chair. The warmth and flickering light from the fire only a few feet away made the flesh of her warm, firm bottom glow.

I kneeled next to her, using my hand to gently stroke that lovely ass. He little undulations against my hand suggested she enjoyed my attention.

“You liked that tall, rugged skier in the locker room today, didn’t you, slut.”

“Ummm, Huh”.

“I bet you would like to be presenting your lovely ass to him just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe”.

I kept stroking, then dipped a finger between her legs. Wet. Very.

“It turns you on just to think about him, and what he would do to you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re turning me on, Slave.”

“But his strong , strange hands exploring your body would make you even hotter, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe.”

“No doubt.”

I began to spank her, a lighter touch at first, then harder.

She took it for a while like a good little slut, but then began to whimper and complain.

“That hurts.”

“That’s the idea. Do you think your big buff skier would stop spanking you at your first complaint.”

I slapped her reddening bottom again. The hardest yet. She squirmed, her bottom bouncing high off the hassock.

“No.”  

Not in her dark and dirty imagination he wouldn’t.

“he’d spank you even harder if you complained, wouldn’t he, slut?”

“Yes.”

She was moaning now, her ass squirming between my strokes. The scent of her arousal mixed with the aroma of burning pinon. (An interesting concept for a musky new perfume, no?)

I let up for a moment, holding her firmly in place with one hand while I reached for the little V shape vibrator I had parked close at hand on the floor.

My fingers discovered just how wet she had become during this little ritual. One end of the vibe slid easily into her, with the other end nestling between her folds, against her thickening clit. The device  was already churning away, and my strong Mistress was turned into a squirming little slut as I resumed her “punishment”.

My left hand administered just a few more spanks, as my right hand pressed the vibrator into her, making sure that her desperate gyrations would not dislodge it.

Mistress buried her head in the cushion of her chair, as her body surrendered to confusing mixture of pleasure and pain.  I had to press my hand down hard as she bucked against me.

She thought she was done. Wrong. After letting her come down a bit, I resumed the spanking, harder still, with that little vibrator still buried in her.

She came again, moaning all the more. Her muscles relaxing as I slowly slide the vibrator from her dripping opening, then switched it off.

I let Mistress catch her breath, then pulled down my own black long johns.

We had talked earlier in the day about the common D/s scenario of a Slave kneeling to suck her Master’s cock. It’s something Mistress had contemplating doing for the lucky Master who might pop up someday with the chops to make her submit. It’s a particularly  compelling fantasy for her.

I suggested she might want to get some practice.

So I pulled Mistress from the chair, and had her kneel in front of me as I stood over her.

Maybe she is too tall (5’6”). Or I am too short (5’11’). But the kneeling / standing position did not align well. Mistress had to slide onto her ass to take me into her warm, luscious mouth. But that worked nicely. Mistress knows how to use her lips and tongue to get what she wants.

I was soon more than ready for the next course.

“He’d make you beg to fuck him, wouldn’t he, Mistress?”

“Maybe”.

“And you would, wouldn’t you, like a good little slut.”

“Of course.”

I pulled her to her feet, toward our bed.

“Well Let’s practice that next.”

Snow Day

Mick and Molly got home to River City late last night. And of course the surly teens had not followed their instructions to clear the sidewalks and driveway of all the snow that fell during our brief absence. So what should have been Slave's homework time was spent shoveling....argh.

But the accompanying photo is a  tease for tomorrow's entry....

In the meantime, If any of our more imaginative readers want to supply the narrative....go for it.

Mistress Knows the Ropes

It was Valentine’s Day. Slave thought better of subjecting his Mistress to their weekly “switch”. A red bottom would not be the sort of cuddly, romantic sex that the savvy marketers behind the whole V Day thing probably had in mind. So our morning and afternoon encounters between the sheets were satisfyingly vanilla. Very delightful, but not what our reader(s) might expect from Mick and Molly.

But I did ask Mistress for a rain check, which she generously granted, to be collected on Monday, our last full day here at our Mountain hideaway.

But it was Mistress who was feeling frisky when Monday dawned. After I prepared her coffee and she read yesterday’s rather lame (but nicely illustrated) “erotic art” entry , she asked for directions in finding our stash of ropes.

Mistress poured the contents of our little mobile bag-o-submission onto the bed, and marveled about how we keep getting it through airport security.

“No sharp edges or explosives, Mistress.”

It would be embarrassing though, to explain the purpose of the harness, dildo, cuffs, locks, collar, vibrator, etc. to a diligent crew of TSA staff members sorting through them. Would love to hear any comments on how to cope with that scenario, dear readers.

Mistress selected two lengths of rope, and instructed me to position myself in the center of the bed, face-up. She tied one hand and then the other to the little eyebolts I had installed at the corners of the head of the bed. Mistress knows her knots. When she was done, I was going nowhere.

Twitch.

She then found the riding crop on the floor next to her side of the bed.

“Roll over, Slave”.

I did the best I could with wrists restrained at opposite sides of the bed, twisting my trunk so that she had access to a good expanse of my bottom. She applied the crop vigorously, all the while demanding my oath of permanent loyalty and faithfulness. It’s a pledge I am happy to give, even without the sting of the crop. But the pain does remind me that it is a solemn obligation with very unpleasant consequences if breached.

With hand securely tied, I had little room the squirm as Mistress struck me a dozen or so times with an intensity that had me crying out. Ouch.

But Mistress actually is merciful to her Slave, and soon relented.

“Roll over Slave. Let me see that cock.”

I was happy to obey. She poked and prodded me a bit with the crop and her gentle fingers. Soon I had attained dimensions that pleased Mistress.


“That’s very inviting, Slave,” she said, sipping her coffee as one hand continued to toy with me. By now, Mistress’s fingers were driving me crazy.

“I’d like to fuck you now, Mistress.”

“Yes, I am sure you would.”

She took a little more time with her coffee though before setting her cup down at the bedside table.

Then she was sliding onto and over me, positioning herself to plunge my cock effortlessly into her very wet and warm passage. Her restraint, punishment and stimulation of me seemed to work as ample foreplay for both of us.

When she rides me like this, Mistress, gets an interesting look on her face. Focus. Eyes scrunched close. Her energy directed at finding just the right contact at the place where Mistress and Slave come together. As the pace of her sliding and pounding against me increases, her breathing becomes more ragged, until she surrenders to her desire and throws herself over the edge. With hands bound to the bed, I am just a passive, though very “happy to be here” participant.

That morning as she reached that place I arched up to meet her as best I could, as she plunged over the top. Then she slowed the pace, her hands reaching back to toy with my balls as she rode me gently, driving me just a little more crazy.

She knows it’s hard for me to come this way, but she enjoys taking me oh so close.

“You’re frustrated, aren’t you Slave,” she says with a “cruel” smile. Looking at me now, as she builds herself to another orgasm.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Excellent.”

Then she was going for it again, gasping, then collapsing onto me, exhausted from her second in the expanse of a few minutes.

Mistress caught her breath as she settled onto me, her cheek pressed against my chest, my cock still at attention inside her.

Moving slowly, she reached out and released one of my hands, then allowing me to untie my other hand. Freed, I rolled her onto her back, and slid inside, pressing her arms over her head. She was like a rag doll by then, but those little sounds she makes suggested that she was enjoying my robust thrusts into her.

By the time I was given permission to come, my explosion was one of those multi-staged affairs that brings to mind Walter Cronkite narrating the Apollo moon launch.

When we recovered, we suited up for a sunny day on the slopes.

And, when we returned, with tanned faces and aching legs, I redeemed that rain check.

But we will save that part of the story for tomorrow’s entry.

An Evening with Eros, SW style

Saturday night, Mistress and Slave had an early and romantic V Day dinner followed by a trip to what seemed might be an interesting event for locals in this quaint little Southwestern Ski Town.

Titled “An Evening with Eros”, promoters invited participants to “liberate your alter ego for an evening of sensual indulgence”. The event was said to be “adults only, no children”, and was staged at a funky contemporary furniture store peddling new age goodies on the side.

We did not know quite what to expect, and declined the option of coming in “masquarade”. 

Not surprisingly, the first thing we saw as we peered through the windows was a gaggle of kids under the age of 5. Maybe “no children” is locals’ code for “no kids over 5”.  But they seemed to be having fun, and took little note of the oddities on display.

Our eyes quickly wandered to the bevy of youngish and oddly dressed folk on a makeshift dance floor writhing to some sort of euro-trash techno beat music. (I guess I am showing my age here).

The event did draw some odd costumes, including lots of stocking tops showing, and a few guys with shirts off and black collars locked to their necks. There was a rather large woman with some leather chaps over fishnets that drew some attention. And some rather skinny fellow clad in a leather body suit whos dance stylings consisted of repeatedly contorting his foot up to his arm pit.

Mistress should have brought my collar along. I never get a chance to wear it in public.

There was some interesting art on the wall. This post contains a couple, including one cleverly titled “giving skull” which hijacks a local folks art style to a more prurient end.

Mistress and Slave were a bit on the “oldster” side of the demographics, and did not stay much longer than necessary to peruse the art and scope out the under-clad bodies. As those who follow this blog know, we tend to the private side.

A Valentine's Day Anniversary for Mistress and Slave

Mistress and her Slave celebrated Valentine’s Day a tad early with a romantic dinner last night. But that afternoon there was a special anniversary to commemorate– it was a year ago on V-Day that Mistress first deployed her Strap-On, the one she directed her Slave to order for her.

That experience began a more accelerated trip down the road to this Slave’s total surrender to my sexy and powerful wife’s control.

Our trip had started slowly, while we were still struggling with a torturous commuter marriage: Her directing my hand and controlling my orgasms during our nightly video chats; some relatively gentle croppings, or her tying me to the bed when I would arrive at our Florida home for our weekends together.

And, of course, there was the cage for my cock. I would display myself for her, all locked away, live via I-chat, before heading to work in my office, 1500 miles from her on too many weekday mornings.

We discovered that both of us felt more secure with her in charge: she was learning how to trust me again (yes, readers, I was bad, very bad); I was learning the security that comes from surrendering to the control of someone who loved me dearly and who had my best interests at heart. And of course there was a delicious erotic edge to it all.

But somehow, the ritual of her donning her strap on and taking me that way reinforced our new roles and took the experience to a new level. I can sense the power Mistress acquires when she exercises her right to fuck her Slave in the Ass. And those powerful climaxes she has as she grinds into and against me…. She is a woman who now takes her pleasure on her own terms. Very, very incendiary.

As for yesterday’s anniversary celebration…..Mistress had instructed me to pack her “equipment”. I obeyed.

Before our ski day yesterday, she had me lay on the bed, and applied the riding crop to my naked bottom for a few moments, while reminding me what was to come later in the afternoon.

“It’s an anniversary for us Slave. A year ago on Valentine’s day …the first time I used my strap-on.”

Of course, I remembered. As she rolled me over and used the crop to poke my cock to a more satisfying rigidity, the thoughts of that first experience provoked me even more than her crop.

After suitable and mutual pleasuring, we climbed into our ski costumes and headed up to the Mountain. More sun. More snow. More Texans (though not as bad as the Christmas season).

Mistress pointed out a area staffer who caught her fancy, and I relished seeing her chat him up a bit. Slave enjoys his Mistress’s wandering eye.

After our day on the slopes, we crashed in bed for a while, drifting off with a view of the holy mountain bathed in late afternoon sun. Both of us were naked, save for those fluffy ski socks.

Mistress woke from our nap first. I sensed her sliding out of bed, my head still buried in a pillow. The sun was setting out our window, turning the mountain red.

“Good, Slave. I see where you laid out my tools.”

I rolled over a bit, hearing the rustling and cinching sounds of Mistress sliding into her harness.

Twitch. (My cock follows pavlovian principles.)

Soon she was in bed beside me, and we revved both of our engines with tongues and fingers in dedicated exploration. But not for long.

“Assume your position, Slave.”

I rolled onto my stomach, sliding a pillow under my hips.

She mounted me, asking my help to position her for an auspicious invasion. And of course, I complied.

It had been about two weeks, and her tool stretched me a bit more than normal.

I know my wimpers turn her on, but they are real, not bogus. The natural sound that emanates from a aging fellow who’s delicious younger wife is taking him in such a forceful way.

‘You like this don’t you Slave?”

(She enjoys making me admit it, getting me to beg for more).

“Yes…can’t you tell?”

“Why, Slave?”

(A moaning, wimpering mix of sounds, as Mistress finds a particularly effective angle of attack that drives her “cock” even more deeply).

“Hard to explain….it’s so…overpowering.”

“Good”.

At about that time, Mistress came with a violent shudder and gasp, grinding herself hard against me.

After a few more moments of sliding in and out of me ( a cool down?)., Mistress slid away.

“You’ve had enough for now, Slave”.

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you.”

And I was grateful.

As is our ritual, Mistress directed me to insert my probe, as a not so gentle reminder of where she had just been. I returned to bed, and she “tortured” me a bit more with loving mouth on a soon desperate cock. Then I was allowed to take her in my old fashioned way. And the result of all that pent up demand was a powerful, draining explosion of my own.

“Happy Anniversary, Slave.”

Ski Patrol (Part I)

(A little fiction, dedicated to and inspired by M, one of our regular readers)


Molly clicked her boots into her bindings, sliding on snow softened by the warm southwestern sun. She was enjoying her rare day of solo skiing, already looking forward to an hour or so after lunch, when she would monopolize one of those lounge chairs in front of a chalet restaurant at mid mountain.

It was a mid-week, with a small crowd day on the mountain. As she entered the lift line, Molly was planning to sit back and let the sun bronze her upturned face on the ride up, but as she arrived a the front of the lift line she heard a voice on her left:

“Mind if I join you?”

Molly gave an automatic nod, paying little attention as she positioned herself on the chair, hoping that this one would not be a “chatter”.

As Molly settled in for the ride, he pulled the restraining bar down.

“Not with your usual entourage today?”

She looked over, took him in for the first time. A semi-familiar face, part of the local scene, all kitted out in his Ski Patrol outfit, red jacket labeled with a white cross, a long loop of rope tied to a tool belt of some type. He flipped up his goggles, uncovering blue eyes and a rugged face that had not been shaved in a day or two.

“Mike”, he said, extending a gloved hand. “I’ve seen you with your family up here over the years”.

“”I’m Molly”, she said, taking his hand. “Kids are back east. Husband is working today. But I was not going to pass up a day like this.”

They chatted on a bit as the lift made it’s slow climb, made a bit slower by a few of those annoying stops as a boarder took a tumble at the top. But Molly realized that the delays were not so annoying. Was he flirting a bit? And was she flirting back? Seemed so. And since Molly had certain “rights” why not? If Mick was too busy to ski, she could certainly finding other “diversions”. And he would get all hot and bothered when she told him about it “après ski” over a glass of wine.

Molly decided to push the edge of the envelope a bit …

“So what’s all the rope for?”, she asked, nodding at the loop at his waist.

“Oh, all sorts of things. Marking off a closed trail. A rescue on steep terrain. And sometimes there is the recalcitarant ski bunny that needs to be taken in hand.”

With that comment, Mike raised his eyebrow with a bit of a smile. Molly’s snicker acknowledged the ‘joke”, but she refused to break eye contact, pushing a little farther.

“Oh…are you good with your knots, Mike?”

“Haven’t gotten any complaints, m’aam." His laugh was disarming. But his frank appraisal of her, a bit unnerving to Molly. Had she pushed a bit too far?

"Here let me show you a little trick.”

He took her ski poles in his hand, handing them to her.

“Hold them this way”.

Molly was amused, and compliant. They were only a few moments from the top of the lift. Not much harm could be done, right?

He positioned her gloved hands so they were holding the poles at mid point, in front of her. Then he extracted a relatively short length of cord from his pocket. A few twists and one knot later, Molly’s wrists were tied together, and tightly lashed to the poles she held in front of her.

“Funny”, she said, deadpan. Suppressing the flush of arousal that caught her by surprise. Hmmm….this guy was ….good. She squirmed a bit in her seat, as Mike raised the restraining bar. They were almost at the top of the lift.

Molly wiggled her wrists. “Cute. Now, aren’t you going to untie these?”

“You’re a very good skier. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that cute little ass on the mountain these last few years. You can just follow me….”

With that the chair arrived at the top. She had to get off. She had to follow.

Mile (and a half) High Sex

Mick and Molly have been on the move, and are now at our undisclosed location in the shadow of the Sangre De Christo Mountains.

So here is an update on our travels.

Wednesday was Mick’s abstinence day. After giving Mistress the benefit of my hard, steel ringed cock before heading off to work, I was required to stew for the day, in a state of denial.  I can almost hear your moans of sympathy!

When we arrived home there was some fresh snow to shovel, but finally we were able to relax in bed before preparing some dinner for the teens.

Mistress asked if I had forgotten something….and I probably do try to bury my sexual impulses on abstinence day….

“Sorry, Mistress. Would you like me to worship you?”

“It’s About time, Slave.”

Just as I was helping her pull down those sheer black tights, to get access to her tasty parts, the phone rang. It was her Mother, a figure of somewhat intimidating authority in her own right.

I answered, made some obligatory small talk, then handed the phone to Mistress, who wanted to discuss some career developments with her mother.

But Mistress was still interested in worship, spreading her legs and indicating where I should kneel.

She laid back on the bed, chatting through developments, getting her Mother’s advice, and covering plans for the teens over the weekend.

Meanwhile I was on my assigned task, using lips and tongue to distract Mistress as best as I could.

Fortunately, Mistress is an accomplished multi-tasker. She was able to maintain her focus with her Mother, while I worked her through a series of little quaking, shuddering orgasms. Ultimately, she patted me on the head, like a little puppy being rewarded for retrieving the morning paper from the driveway. Sadly, that was the only reward I was to receive for some time.

We had an early flight in the morning, and Mistress seemed sated, so no more sexual hi-jinks that evening. Instead it was a little more of “Damages, Season One” then lights out.

Nor was there time for any release from my abstinence in the morning. Just off to the airport. Without an upgrade, we were confined to steerage, and  an annoying woman I know from civic life plopped down next to us. An inconvenient coincidence. So Mistress and Slave had to be in relatively good behavior for the long flight west. Bummer.

By the time we rolled our rent-a-car into our little town’s organic grocery’s lot to stock up on provisions, both Mistress and Slave were a bit spacey, and, well, randy.  We climbed out of the car, me dawdling a bit to lock up.

As I walked around the car toward Mistress, I noticed her clutching the arm of another man, blonde, rugged looking, closer to her age than mine, then, suddenly, she backed away.

She turned to me, blushing. The man made a comment, then walked on.

I raised a quizical eyebrow…

“Oh God. I thought it was you. I grabbed his arm  and called him “Slave”!

I laughed.

“And what did he say, Mistress?”

“I think you have the wrong guy”.

Naturally, we kept seeing this hunk-ster as we worked our way through the grocery store. Eye contact was scrupulously avoided. It was fun to see Mistress a bit humiliated for a change!

Once we were safely locked away in our adobe retreat, Mistress imposed a new rule for this weekend: I am to wear no pants or underwear while we are in the cabin alone.

“My cock needs to be accessible, Slave.”

And not long after our arrival, I adapted to her new rules.

Finally, the draught (all 48 hours of it) was coming to an end.

Mistress wanted my cock particularly hard, and instructed me to insert my little white probe. It had the desired impact, and I was thickening before I even slid into bed next to her.

I had the privilege of bringing Mistress to her first orgasm with my mouth, tasting her musky juices  through some skimpy black undies she acquired for Christmas.  Her randiness showed as she bucked enthusiastically across the bed in her final throws, unable to shake my clinging lips.

Then it was my turn to take her head on, stoking our fires a bit with talk about some folks we have introduced ourselves to  over Fetlife, and will meet “live” when we return back to River City. Pictures they posted earlier this week were food for some incendiary fantasy muttered between us. The result was a very, very hot explosion for both Mistress and Slave. A dramatic way to end my fast.

We spent the evening relaxing in bed, sipping some Jamieson, reading, watching a DVD, and were asleep early. It had been a long travel day.

But Slave and his cock seem to stay on East Coast for these brief trips. I found myself awake early, long before the sun rises over the Mountains. And Mistress was awake too.

“Is that a hard cock pressed against my ass, Slave?”

“Seems that way, Mistress.”

My hand snaked down between her legs, from behind. I began to gently stroke her there with greedy fingers, my lips against her neck. Changes in her breathing patterns told the tale of her arousal. And within moments, her firm bottom was bucking against me as she sailed over the edge.

I rose over her, pressing her facedown into the bed, and her fingers helped position  me to slide inside the passage that was so wet and welcoming.

I reminded her of the photo we had seen the night before. A naked woman on all fours, seen from behind. Her master standing over her, flogger ready to caress her, then force her to beg for the hard cock that was sure to come after some firm punishment.

All this talk had the desired effect. Mistress was soon shuddering, admitting how she would like to beg that very same way.

When we were done, Mistress was soon back to sleep. And she still is. It’s still a dark, moonless night here at 7800 feet.

But we have a busy Ski day ahead.

A Different Sort of Casting Call

A few months back, Molly put out a casting call for a part time Dom. She has had several expressions of interest, and, who knows, maybe things will develop on that front.

But today we received the email below from someone who appears to be a producer for the CW (the network that brought us the surly teens' favorite show of the moment, Gossip Girls) asking us to help them find some candidates for a new "reality" show called Secrets.

Of course, Mick and Molly guard their own privacy....while Molly is more than "smart, sophisticated and supremely glamorous", we would never consider coming out of our blog closet to preen on a show like this....We will leave that sort of narcissism to John Edwards and Reille Hunter.

But if any of you out who read this blog have an interest, instructions are below on who to contact. Just don't blame us if you are asked to appear before a Congressional Committee to explain why and how you crashed a White House dinner for a foreign potentate.


Dear Mick and Molly,

I am a tv producer that developing a new CW tv series called "Secrets." The CW, as you probably know, is best known for series like The Vampire Diaries, Melrose Place, 90210, Gossip Girl, etc. Wondering if you might be able to help further broadcast our casting search to your fans through your blog?

We’re looking for truly sophisticated, smart and supremely glamorous women who feel that they are living a double life.

Best and thanks!



– Chloe Steele





The CW television network is CASTING NOW!



The CW television network is looking for successful, professional American women who feel they’re leading a double-life – polished on the outside, out of control on the inside. Women who are keeping a secret from their friends, family and colleagues.

We’re looking for women who manage highly successful careers with a VERY active sex life.

Do you race from the boardroom to the dance floor of the trendiest, hippest night clubs every weekend?

Are you proud of how well you juggle your job and the five+ people that you’re dating?

Are you empowered enough to not even bother dating anyone?

Do you crave sex? Is it all you can think about?

If this sounds like your story please get in touch with our casting team and apply to be a part of this cutting-edge new television series:

www.cwsecrets.com

or shoot us an email at casting@cwsecrets.com and tell them Chloe Steele sent you!

Snow Day

When the phone rings here in the heartland at 5:30 am you know its going to be a robo call from the smarmy local school superintendent, letting us know that something is amiss. Yesterday, she let me know in her best insider’s voice that it was a snow day for the sullen teens. They could sleep in. That gave me a little extra time to finish up my faux expose on Mick and Molly’s Super Bowl adventures. Maybe next year, football fans!

I had forgotten to bring the little steel ring downstairs when I crept out of the bedroom, laptop under my arm, trying not to disturb Mistress. So when I came back p to bed to crawl in next to Mistress, her groping fingers discovered something was amiss.

“No ring, Slave?”

I gave my excuses. She snorted in disapproval at my forgetfulness.

“Lame, Slave. Very lame. I like what that ring does to my cock in the morning.”

But I was allowed to worship nonetheless, buried under the covers as she giggled over my work product – though I am not sure she got the part about our side bet on the Who’s play list.

Then Mistress indulged me by letting me take her with my hard, but un-ringed cock. Truth be told, while it makes it ever so harder to come when the tight steel ring grips my swollen balls, the extra effort is rewarded with a very devastating explosion when I cross into no man’s land and obtain Mistress’s permission.

After my shower, I put on my back-up cage, the CB3000 for those of you looking for product placements. Mistress seemed happy as always to close the little padlock, securing her cock away for the day.

Mistress’s business meeting was canceled due to the “white death” falling from the sky, so she worked from home, while her Slave slogged down the snow covered interstate. She did send me a sultry photo of her in bed, taken with her laptop camera, just to remind me of what I was missing.

When I returned home around 5 pm, she allowed me to kneel and worship her. I was happy to slide her tightly fitting exercise pants down those muscular legs, then bury my face between her legs. She lay back to enjoy my attention. And after she came with some soft little moans as I sucked her clit through my teeth, we relaxed on the bed, shuffling through the Times and Journal like a contented married couple.

But there was snow to shovel. Wet heavy snow. I suited and booted up, and took my time. This would be my exercise for the day, and it provided plenty of cardio – effort. When I came back upstairs, Mistress and I both napped a bit before throwing together a late dinner for the teens.

After adjourning to bed, we lazed about some more, watching yet another episode of Damages on our little screen. No sex but compelling characters.

When our show ended, the lights went out. Slave was a bit tired and lazy, but certainly wanted to take his pleasure from Mistress with Abstinence Day on the horizon.

We turned off the lights, and clung to one another, kissing deeply, my thigh pressed between Mistress’s leg, my hand drifting back over her ass to poke into her little brown hole, teasing her a bit in a way that made her hump against me all the harder.

I could sense her breathing tempo accelerate. A good tell that Mistress is getting hotter and hotter. To take her to that first orgasm, I slid my other hand between her legs. With fingers working her from front and back I soon had Mistress sliding over the edge, burying her head in Slave’s chest with little gasps of pleasure.

Mistress worked my cock a bit more, and then gave me permission to climb on board. It turned out to be a long, slow pleasurable session, with Slave getting more and more frustrated as I came so close, only to be held back a bit by diminished energy. I guess it’s what happens when a 59 year old has as much sex as I am allowed. And shovels snow too.

Of course, Mistress was amused. By now she had enjoyed several orgasms, while I was doing all the work.

“Frustrated, Slave?”

Yes, Mistress.”

I stopped for a moment, to take off my T-shirt.

Mistress took a brief break too, climbing from the bed.

“Keep it hard, Slave.”

I used my hand to follow her directive.

When she lay back down next to me, she cupped my balls with her soft, knowing fingers, and told me to keep going.

“Maybe I will have you come this way, Slave.”

I kept working with my hand on a desperate cock. Close.

“Or maybe I will make you watch me masturbate myself. Yes, that’s what I will do…”

Sadly, she moved her hands away from my aching balls, and to herself, laying back, working her hands between her spread legs.

The sight of Mistress pleasuring herself that way has always been a turn on for me….she knows what she’s doing and there are lessons to be learned.

She worked at herself hard, insistently, throwing her head back against the pillow, eyes scrunched tightly closed.

After a few moments, Mistress had one of those shattering explosions that bring sobs from her chest, tears streaming down her face.

I wanted to hold and comfort her. To kiss those tears away.

But I wanted to fuck her even more.

She gave me permission. My energy restored, my imagination inspired, I was soon begging for permission to come.

Now it’s morning, another snow day according to my private robo – caller. I did remember my ring this morning. Mistress will be pleased.