Down By the River

Unlike Molly and Mick’s last trip to our mountain hideaway, we have the surly teens (and one un-surly boyfriend) in tow this week. So all the naked sunbathing, outdoor bondage and loud and ostentatious kinkiness had to stifled and shut away in our bedroom.

Well, almost all.

The Discerning Dom has a thoughtful post today on how to maintain a D/s relationship while balancing the demands of kids, work and life that’s worth reading for those of you that share that challenge.http://discerningdom.blogspot.com/2010/07/question-no-3.html?zx=1296b472d8d4c2ca

Of course, it’s helpful to have teens that like to sleep in.

Yesterday, Mistress had a nice chat with her “friend” M out on our patio, as I ran the weed whacker over some overgrown alfalfa that had crowded the house during what has been a wet July here in the high desert. She was perched on a little adobe wall out back, as the kids snoozed on, or at least pretended to snooze, in order to avoid being drafted into yard maintenance duties.

And those sense dulling ear buds surly teen 2 never seems to shed provide cover when the words “Mistress” and “slave” inadvertently pop out during an otherwise vanilla conversation.

But yesterday, in an expedition into a local gorge to wallow in some natural hot springs, Mistress and Slave pressed the edge of the envelope a bit.

It’s about a ½ mile hike down a narrow trail, studded with boulders and gnarled sage brush . Our girls were leading the way. Though they hesitated a bit when they noted Mr. Nakey Guy, lounging on the small sandy beach we had planned to stake out for lunch and lounging.

“Don’t worry, girls,” I soothed. “you can park where you don’t need to see this dude.”

Sure enough, we found a nice, if rockier, spot for the teens to park. It was right next to one of the pools made from rocks hand arranged over the centuries to capture the hot bubbling water tricking from the steep hillside before it flows into the river.

Soon the teens were lounging in the warm pool, then cavorting in the fast flowing river, now shallow after the spring run-off.

Mistress and I spread our towels on the beach, about 20 feet to Nakey Guy. (You can catch a glimpse in the photo).

“Gee, I wonder if that’s M, Slave”, she giggled, discretely eyeing him, his large relaxed cock catching some rays, “he does have a beard like M’s.”.

“In your dreams, Mistress.”

Then I noted a critical distinction.

“Oops. Can’t be M. He doesn’t have his pubes trimmed off.”

(M is a waxing afficianado).

“Ahhh…. I guess you are right , Slave.”

We lay reading for a while and joined the kids for some lunch. Then they congregated in a more tepid pool, leaving empty and inviting the hottest pool, concealed from the teens by a crumbling rock wall, built 100 years ago by a mad “developer”.

The would be developer, Arthur Mamby, had dreamed early in the 20th Century of a resort that would draw tourists seeking its curing waters from far and wide, hauled down the trail by stage coach, or by some primitive elevator from the rim of the gorge, 400 feet above.

Of course it was a pipe dream, leaving the springs as a little known, off the tourist map attraction for the locals, and occasional flatlanders like us.

“Let’s hop in the pool, Mistress, while we can get it to ourselves.”

We picked our ways through the rocks and slid into the clear, shallow and impressively hot waters. We could hear the kids chattering, but, miracle of miracles, they were out of sight.

As the water soothed us, and we realized that a brief moment of privacy was at hand, thoughts quickly turned to mischief.

“If you want to arrange a date with M this week, Mistress, I will happily try to distract the kids with a little expedition, Mistress.”

I had even packed the power tool for her.

“Of course you will, Slave….we will see what develops this week.”

She rolled over toward me, offering her lips to kiss. And soon, my fingers, always eager to please, were sliding into the waist band of her bikini.

“Mmmmmm….Slave. What are you doing?”

“Taking liberties, Mistress. Do you mind?”

She didn’t give me a verbal response. But she did begin writhing against my fingers, before quickly succumbing to my ministrations with a shudder and a discrete moan.

It was nice to slip a quick one by our snoopy and judgmental teens.

Not long after than, Mistress stood in the pool, the heat having gotten a little too intense for her countenance.

I was still lolling in the water, and the juncture of her , only inches away, was too tempting. I nuzzled. She co-operated by sliding the fabric of her bottoms aside to give me a view and then a quick taste of her clean shaven folds.

“Yum….” .

Freshly exuded Mistress juices mingled with some iron and other minerals plumbed from the depts. of the mysterious mountains. If only Arthur Mamby had thought of that marketing angle.

Change of Venue

Mistress and her Slave made love twice yesterday, but there was a long trip in between.

The morning began in River City. I did my little blog for her (and you), illustrated by Mistress’s “sweet” ass, as characterized by a comment from Weave. And I devoured her slick juicy parts as she read and chuckled at my observations.

“These references to E and then J, Slave. Are you trying to taunt M?”

“Who me, Mistress?”

Once the computer was set aside I was allowed to use my rigid cock to our mutual delight.

Then is was “wakey wakey” for the surly teens and the boyfriend. We were headed to the airport for our family vacation out here at our Mountain hideaway.

Along the way, first on one of those little mini-planes to Dallas , and then on a real plane to our destination, Slave was busy tending to some work projects. So was Mistress , at least part of the time.

But Mistress was also texting with M. Keeping up their cute and sexy cyber chatter.

As we were waiting for our rental car, Mistress gave me a taste of their repartee:

“I told him you ignored me too much on the plane, Slave.”

“Well….I guess I did. But in my defense, the kids were in the next aisle.”

“Not on that first flight, Slave.   He says he should have sent me to the bathroom to take care of myself.”

“Oops.  He’s right….I deserve a punishment, don’t I.”

“”Definitely”.

It was several hours later when we arrived at our cabin, all stocked up on groceries. We settled in. I instructed the boyfriend on how to use the BB gun to shoot at those pesky prairie dogs.

Then Mistress and Slave were off for a sunset bike ride.

The air was fresh and cool.  Clouds were high in the sky. Lightning flashed far across the high desert landscape. The smell of fresh sage still damp from some afternoon rain teased our senses.

.What a change from the sodden, grimy atmosphere the prior night in River City.

By 9 pm Mountain time, we were ready for bed.

“Are you too tired to fuck me, Slave?”

“Of course not Mistress. But Don’t I deserve a punishment first?”

What a pathetic, needy Slave.

“You do, but I’m too tired for that sort of thing.”

We proceeded slowly, Mistress responding like the slutty little minx she can be to the attentions of my fingers between her legs. She came with a shudder and moan, head buried against my shoulder.

“Why don’t you fuck me now Slave” she sighed rolling onto her back. You could tell she was still a little tired and stiff from the long trip west.

“Of course, Mistress.”

I fucked her. And fucked her some more. And some more.

Was it the altitude? The fatigue? The fact that we had plenty of sex these last few days?

Whatever….I seemed so close so many times, but could not make it over the edge.

Mistress had no apparent complaints. She seemed to have a cornucopia of cums as I dragged the session on and on. I used my cock and my fingers to make sure of that. Would not want my Mistress to get bored.

But in the meantime, I had become the fucking machine who could not close the deal.

At one point she laughed.

“Frustrated, Slave?”

“Uhhh…yeah.”

“Good, I like it when you are frustrated.”

Maybe this was her punishment. To Drive me crazy with frustration. T was working.

But of course, I was not prepared to throw in the towel. What sort of Slave would say, “Maybe we should finish this project in the morning, Mistress.”?

At one point Mistress gave me (and  her well fucked cunt) a respite.

“I think I want to suck my cock now, Slave.”

And she did. Her mouth and fingers simply confirmed the point. I was very, very hard for her. But….

Her mouth and fingers were driving me crazy. I was overly sensitized by now. Her attentions, however well intended, were almost painful. I really could not take it anymore.

But the “rest” had done me good.

“May I fuck you some more now, Mistress?”

“If that’s your wish, Slave.”

And within a few minutes, after driving myself into her, con mucho gusto, and generating some more of those lovely  moans from her, I was finally there.

“May I come now, Mistress.”

“Of course, Slave. I thought you would never ask.”

HNT / Think Cool

This photo is a visual antidote to the hot, dirty, sodden air hovering over our quaint, post-industrial river valley.

I took it of Molly’s lovely bottom last fall, just before Thanksgiving, when we were out in our Mountain hideaway, on our way to Southern Colorado to make the first tracks of the new ski year.

You can thumb back to that eventful weekend in late November on this blog if you are interested in the first hand account.

Suffice it to say that Mistress was in the full throws of her subbie little crush on E, and Mick was exploiting her lust for all it was worth.

Yes, I know. Bad Slave.

We had about a three hour drive. Our skis were wedged into the back seat. Ur route took us over a 10,000 foot pass that was freshly coated with the first snow of the season.

The sun was high and brilliant in the ski. The temperatures were in the 40’s, but the warm southwestern sun created an illusion of warmth.

At the top of that pass there is a picnic area. I pulled over. I had told Mistress to expect a surprise.

As you can see, it involved Mistress wading through knee deep snow, jeans at her ankles, spanked, then fucked from behind.

Indeed, I believe we set a personal 24 hour record for fucking that day (was it really 7?) that I will never even attempt to eclipse.

As some steroid befuddled former St. Louis Cardinal slugger might say: “some records are just not meant to be broken”.

That snowy scene was the opposite of our day here in River City on Wednesday.

Mistress and Slave were on somewhat different schedules.

We performed our morning rituals. Blog writing. Mistress reads blog while I lave her clean shaven parts with devoted tongue, then, a nice roll in the moist sheets.

Mistress lolled in bed a bit then, emailing away.

As I emerged from the shower she reminded me that my cage was to be worn. So I smushed my balls through the tight ring, fit the steel covering over my cock, then offered her the lock to squeeze shut.

“Do you feel more secure with me locked away, Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave …. “

She follows the old Reagan mantra : “Trust, but verify.”

We were both home around 6:30 pm. The surly teens were avoiding us.

Bummer. Dinner alone. (Yippee!)

But first a bike ride. And mistress. in her mercy, removed my cage. The feeling of a steel cage negotiating a bike seat is not comforting, though it’s been done on occasion.

The air here last night was the polar opposite of the pristine, chilled wonder of that snow covered pass.

Thick. Grimy. Super-heated.

Storm clouds were gathering but it seemed like the heat sapped away their ability to discharge any rain.

We made it up a long hill, sucking all that filthy detritus into our lungs when it finally started to sprinkle and thunder. That was our excuse to cut the ride short and head back to the empty, air conditioned house.

I was going to shower off the grime, but first things first.

“Can I worship, Mistress?”

“Do you want me to shower first, Slave?”

She was very considerate, but I demurred.

“No, I like it when you are a little … gamey, Mistress.”

“Fine by me, then.”

She slid off those tight black riding shorts.

I sank to my knees.

I slowly deployed my tongue, like a wine geek swirling and sipping that first taste to collect the proper pretentious adjectives.

But there was no hint of melon or faint aroma of cloves here.

No, it was a salty, musky stew that needed to be lapped up in a frenzy of greed and desire, rather than allowed to breath.

So I did.

After Mistress was fully consumed, she considered allowing me to fuck her. But deferred that until after dinner. Oh well, at least it was not an Abstinence Day.

After dinner we found ourselves back in the bedroom, and Mistress was talking about a conversation she had with M that day.

“I told him about my upcoming lunch with J.”

J is a local captain of industry. Mistress would like to hit him up for business. But she suspects J would like to hit her up for something else.

And since I have seen the way J looks at and talks to Molly at various civic functions, she’s probably right. Who could blame him.

“I bet M got a little antsy, Mistress. For a guy who seems reluctant to advance this relationship beyond the cyber, he gets a little possessive, doesn’t he?”

“I told him that I might be better off as a kinky, high priced courtesan…”

“How did he react to that idea, Mistress?”

“He said that you and he might be willing to give you permission for that, if I filled you in on all the sordid details.”

By now we were both in bed, all naked and comfy. And Mistress did something that was a little beyond the norm. Rather than allowing me to give her that warm up orgasm she has been accustomed to, she attacked – devouring her cock.

The best I could do was lie back and enjoy it, though I was able to worm a hand between her legs to work on those lovely folds with a damp finger.

I wondered – as she sucked and fondled my cock and balls – if she was fantasizing about how it would be to assume that role “professionally”, to use her considerable erotic skills to seduce and then control J and other comparable plutocrats in our staid town to dance to her tune.

But soon my thoughts were dragged back to earth by the need she had stoked so efficiently. Mistress had already succumbed to one starter cum as a result of my digital efforts. I was begging to fuck her.

As Sam sung, “It’s just the same old story….”

Now she was riding my cock. The lights were unusually bright, and I could see her eyes, seemingly far away. If she was imagining that someone else was filling her, who cared.

It was just nice to be along for her ride.

MIstress Going Green?

Mistress had an early morning meeting yesterday. And it came with a bit of angst.

She knew there was a chance she might encounter someone we were both anxious to avoid: the person that Mick stupidly became involved with during our years of commuter marriage. It was the big mistake that ultimately required Mick to submit completely to Molly’s control and dominance, and sign our contract.

And that – as it turns out – was a very rewarding thing.

But still, that grievous error in judgment remains a painful part of our history for Mistress. And, since River City is a small town, there have been these inevitable run-ins. (check out one of our earliest blogs, titled “Election Night”).

I was proud that Mistress was not inclined to back down from this potential confrontation. My guess is that that other person would be intimidated if Molly showed up and stared her down. But when I left her off at the door yesterday morning, both of us were a bit on edge.

Not long after I settled behind my desk, I texted Molly: “sorry we did not get to fuck this am, Mistress.”

Soon I got her response: “Me too, Slave.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, surmising from that response that the “evil one” as she has become known, had chosen not to attend the early gathering.

And I was happy when Mistress elected to stop by my office afterwards. She was due some worship, and I was happy to sink to my knees and provide it. It was particularly gratifying that for the rest of the day I could detect the scent of her luscious juices on my hands and mouth and hovering in my corner office.

Yum.

Of course, that did nothing but stoke my own desires for Mistress.

At home at the end of the day we went for a bike ride in the muggy river valley air. It has been a hot summer here in the heartland. Maybe AL Gore was right after all.

Afterwards, I prepared some grilled chicken, corn on the cob acquired at a road side farm on Monday’s college visit, to go with some fresh ‘maters plucked from an adjoining field. The flavorful type that make putting up with this sultry climate worth it.

After we watched the latest episode of Hung , and I helped edit Mistress’s Vanilla blog, it was time for Mistress and Slave to do what they do best.

Better yet, the surly teens were both out.

“I think I should use the power tool on you tonight, Mistress.”

“Hmmm…. I won’t object to that ….but why don’t you insert your device, first.”

Of course, Slave has no standing to make any objections.

So we settled into bed, my cock already firming up from the influence (mental and physical) of being required to slide that white projectile into my ass.

“M laughed at the part where you wouldn’t let me use the Hitachi on myself, Slave (referring to our Sunday adventure) ….he says B took away his right to use it on her months ago.”

“Well it was switch day, Mistress… Any other day you are at the controls whenever you want.”

“Of course, I am, Slave.”

My warm up act involved some kissing, cooing, nipple sucking, with fingers sliding along Mistress naked and aromatic folds.

It got her all squirmy, just as I had become.

Then I reached for the Hitachi.

“You don’t have to use that Slave…we’re doing fine without it.”

“Of course we are….but you seemed to like the idea a few minutes ago…”

Hearing no further objection, the switch went on. The tool was properly engaged between Mistress’s spread legs.

Then – literally within 10 seconds – KABOOM.

Mistress was shaking, moaning, coming.

“Whoa….what was that about?”

She laughed. I laughed. Instant orgasm.

“Are you trying to save energy Mistress ….going green on me?”

“I can see a blog coming on, Slave.”

“You have my number, Mistress.”

But it seemed silly to put away the power tool after only a few seconds of use. Electric rates are lower at night, after all.

I quickly reengaged it, sliding it once more against her dripping parts, while latching my mouth onto her sprightly right nipple. Within seconds, her snappy patter was replaced by the ragged breathing, and quaking thighs that led to another quick but seemingly potent cum for her.

What an efficient Mistress / machine combo. Maybe she should be the next Secretary of Energy.

At that point she pushed the Wand away.

“Oh God, enough Slave….now I want to taste my cock.”

I was happy to comply, shutting the machine off, and rolling back to give Mistress free access to what was hers alone.

AS my ass gripped the probe, driving it deeper into me, Mistress deployed her devious attention on my cock and balls with mouth and fingers. Soon I was the one on the brink, fidgeting, begging, cajoling for the right to fuck her.

“Maybe I should make you come in my mouth, Slave…”

“But wouldn’t you miss having me inside you, Mistress.”

“I suppose I would. …. Beg some more then. Convince me that you really need to fuck me.”

I did. And after a few more minutes of her “cruel torment”, she relented.

“OK, Slave. I believe you.”

She rolled back, her fingers still gripping me, guiding me into her.

Ahhh.

After that, I did my best to persuade Mistress that she had made the right decision.

Don Draper Goes Kinky

Mistress and her slave love MadMen.

For me it’s a strange flashback to my childhood. My parents were every bit as reckless and self-absorbed as Don and Betty.

The smoking.

The drinking. (particularly while smoking)

The womanizing.

The unhealthy cooking. (Tater tots with fish sticks, tonight kids).

The vapid TV. (Sky King and Penny).

The negligent, bad parenting. ("Go watch TV and leave me alone").

It’s amazing that I am still walking the earth to describe it to you.

And Mistress, who is a bit too young to remember that era, is fascinated by Draper’s craft, and the glamour of the era.

She’s still waiting for a Marilyn cameo (oops. Too late. I think she died two seasons ago).

Yesterday we finally caught the first episode of the new season. And had a preview listening to a long interview by the series creator on “Fresh Air” during a long drive for a college visit with Surly teen #1.

Don’s divorced now, living a single life in the Village, with occasional sleep over’s with his two young kids.

Another flashback to my father’s sad bachelor pad after he and my mother divorced sometime in the late 60’s.

The writer talked about Don’s foray into D/s and sure enough when we watched the episode, there was Don paying a shapely pro to pay a call in lieu of Thanksgiving. As she rode his cock, he told her to remove her bra.

But she was not taking orders.

“Who put you in charge?” she asked. “I know what you want”.

Then she proceeded to slap him silly as she continued to ride him.

Terri asked the writer why Don would indulge in this sort of sex play.

The writer had some theories: dating was too much work. Maybe it was easier for Don to pay than actually engage in the shallow 60’s mating ritual following his marital meltdown. And as for the D/s stuff:

“Maybe Don feels a need to be punished for all his lies and fuckups.” (well I guess he did not use that word. I’m paraphrasing.)

Bingo.

I suppose my own eagerness to submit to Mistress has a bit to do with that desire to grovel and suffer for my own mistakes and screw ups.

Then again adding a little theatre to our sex, after more than 20 years together, throws in some spice that seems to make the cock all that harder and the juices flow all the more quickly.

No point in trying to over think it when it feels so good.

And fear not, readers. After we watched Madmen, and although we had a long day of work and road trip-ing, Mistress and Slave did not roll over and turn out the lights the way Betty and her new husband did in episode one.

As we were settling into bed, Mistress made her instructions clear.

“Why don’t you go put in your device. Slave”.

“Of course, Mistress.”

I think Mistress was a little frustrated that she had not been able to speak to M these last two days. She was in the company of kids a good bit of the time, and he was buried in family and work himself.

So she seemed a bit antsy. My theory is that She has become addicted to the wicked balance of managing a Slave while M manages her. When M and she lose contact for more than a day, the balance gets lost.

But to me – it seems to make Mistress just a tab hornier for my old reliable cock.

It may not be as big or as hard as that fantasy cock with which she is obsessed.

But it seems to do the trick.

And by the time I made sure Mistress had her starter orgasm of the session, mine was ready to go.

But Mistress was not in so much of a hurray.

She fondled. She nipped. She teased. She drove me crazy.

“Ahhh….Mistress, wouldn’t you like me to fuck you now?”

I was squirming. Close to the edge. Trying to get my mind off of the tender but tormenting touch of my Mistress.

“What’s the rush, Slave?”

She laughed at my plight.

“You were pretty desperate for me this morning, Slave …. Why was that?”

Her fingers were tracing a devastating path along y length, circling the head. Arghh. Not a good time for a Q and A.

“Uhh….it had been nearly 24 hours, Mistress. You know how I get.”

“Well it’s been about 14 hours now, Slave…..should we just wait until morning to make sure you are desperate again?”

“Well I don’t know how much more desperate I can get.”

I think I was fortunate that Mistress wanted the hard cock almost as much as I wanted to fuck her. So at that point she relented, rolling over, legs spread, ready to be taken.

But I made sure to ask permission first.

Red Bottom and Frustration for Mistress

Molly and Mick got home late last night, surly teens huddled in the back seat, all of their electronica plugged in and amusing them, while we drove the bleak moonlit highway from that great city on the Lake to our more humble environs on the River.

And since I forgot to change my watch .... well Slave is pressed for time this morning, so I reserve the right to revise and extend these remarks, like some bloviating Senator or Congressman with an eye toward his "legacy" ( or avoiding electoral demise).

First, one of our comments yesterday, from the mysterious Sin, asked about the rules for our Switch days.

They are laid out in the contract. Slave gets two hours each Sunday to "turn the tables" on Mistress and subject her to all the "horrors" (punishment, bondage, yada, yada) that she can inflict on me the rest of the week.

Naturally, there are limits, I can't transfer rights to another person. Nor can I use my switch privileges to take pleasure from another. Not that I would want to stray.

Other than that, it's what an old cranky Judge I once had to deal with too often used to refer to as the "goosey, gander" rule. What's good for me all week long, must be good for Mistress for two short hours on a Sunday, right?

Of course, this also imposes a certain "honor among Dom/Domme's" since, if I go too far I know there will be some payback due. And she knows the same.

Then again, sometimes I do stretch the limits a bit with the twisted logic that maybe it will press some Mistressy buttons that will earn me the sort of (mis)treatment I so sorely deserve.

Manipulative?

Bad Slave. Very bad.

So those are the rules, but Sin, feel free to peruse the contract for any other sordid details. I believe it showed up again in early July.

AS for yesterday's Switch session, there was a cunning twist.

M, Mistress's remote Dom, had given me orders to make sure Mistress got a good hard spanking. As he put it, she had been "lippy" to him Friday night.

As M no doubt is discovering, Mistress can be a willful little slut if given too much rope, and she can taunt and tease with the best of them.

And so, after Mistress woke from her beauty sleep, I carried out my instructions.

I had brought the cute red cuffs and their brass padlocks, and as she perused my blog and several others, I locked them on each of her slender wrists.

She was stalling for time.

"You know you really don't have to spank me, Slave. You don't report to him, but to me."

"I do feel a certain compulsion though Mistress. Don't you look forward to reporting to him that you submitted to the punishment he prescribed."

"Well, I guess so, Slave."

"And just think how disappointed he would be in you if you conned me out of this little exercise"

"I suppose he would be, Slave."



When she finally put the computer aside, I linked them together with silver carabiner I packed for that purpose, so that her wrists were implacably bound together in front. Then rolled her over, running my fingers over her lush, firm and already squirming bottom.

"Hmmm, you already smell of sex, Mistress. I love the smell of wet cunt in the morning."

My fingers probed, tested, and confirmed that I was not imagining things.

And Misstress's ass wiggled all the more.

"I hope you are referring to mine, Slave."

"Only yours, Mistress. Only yours."

That's when I landed the first of many firm cracks to her insolent ass with my right hand.

Oh, yes. there were many protests of pain, agony even.

And I took a break or two to sooth her with my right hand as my left wormed its way under her to massage her little needy clit.

BUt tghen the spanking resumed.

I did not finish until my arm had gotten a little bit tired, and her bottom was red. Very red.

"That hurt, Slave."

There was a tone of indignation in her voice.

"make sure you let your friend out West know, Mistress."

But there is always a reward on switch day. ANd Mistress's always comes first.

(Hmmm.... planning ahead. maybe that get's switched too.)

The hitachi was still next to the bed, plugged in and ready, leftover from Mistress's Friday evening date with M. No doubt scandalizing the chamber maid.

I slid it under her still smarting ass, between her legs.

Mistress moaned with glee. Then began working herself to the denoument.

She thought.

But something funny happened on the way to Mistress's typically efficient power tool induced explosion.

She tried and she tried.

She clenched and squirmed.

But all she got was frustration.

"This is driving me crazy Slave"

What's wrong, Mistress?"

(can you hear the sarcasm in Slave's voice?)

"I'm not sure Slave...maybe it's the angle.....let me do it....."

The little slut wanted me to turn the controls over to her....on Switch day no less.The temerity was shocking. just shocking.

"But that would be wrong Mistress....it's my way or no way this morning.The worst thing that happens is you wait until tomorrow for that orgasm."

A howl of protest emitted from her frustrated maw.

Wish I had packed a gag.

But she accepted her medicine. And recommitted her cunt to coming exactly the way I had planned. I wormed the little device a bit further beneath her hips. Then the switch went on....Mistress came, and came, and came some more her hips literally bouncing off the bed as her thighs clung with dear life to that relentless device.

When she finally stopped shaking, her face blotchy and red, and the machine was set aside, she demanded that I fuck her. And I had no objection to her making demands of that time, even on our switch day.

Post script:

After we came down in a sweaty, sated heap we packed up our things and headed out for a long 21 mile bike ride with friends along the lake front. it was a glorious day in the windy city. And, yes, the wind was blowing for that long ride back to the Gold Coast when we finally turned around.

Mistress had left her I-phone at our friends' apartment, and when she got back there was a text from M:

"How is that bottom, Slave?"

Now you know, M.

Slave's Observations on the Lovebirds

Mistress and Slave had a lovely Chicago day yesterday.

Woke up early, did my blog.

Woke sleeping beauty to let her read my “opus” on our rather titillating evening.

Gripping  morning sex.

Long bike ride along this beautiful lake front bike trail.

 Mistress took the teens to do the females loose on Michigan Ave. thing while her Slave hit the nearby beach and read a book.

Robust afternoon sex.

Sushi with family.

Then a nice walk back, just Mistress and her Slave, enjoying the city, stopping off for a drink.

At some point in the day I got my own email from M, suggesting that I give Molly a nice firm spanking this morning, our switch day.

He said she had been “lippy” to him (the line about whether he was “blowing her off” for their Friday night date).

Well was it really a suggestion?

Mistress got the word  too.

“M says he told you to spank me tomorrow morning, Slave….”

“True, Mistress.  How do you like that?”

“I’m a little anxious, Slave.”

It’s interesting, isn’t it, that we both seem prepared to dance to M’s tune?

In a way, I feel a little sorry for them though.

Their relationship started with my suggestion that Mistress give M a call while she was on a long solo road trip for her job.

I must say I did not anticipate that they would take it in such an interesting direction.

And now they seem rather desperate for one another. But they are forced to carry on their “affair” by phone, text and email. The prospects for consummation seem dim, at least for now.

Poor dears.

Of course, I suppose if they did get together they might discover that – in real time – the chemistry is not there. Maybe things would just not fit together they way they do when they are murmuring smutty things to one another over the phone.

What if there is some strange incompatibility that would only be apparent with that first kiss? Or taste?

Though I doubt it.

My guess is it could be days before they came up for air.

This morning, as Mistress was sleeping, I read Remittance Girl’s clever article on how to cope with Unrequited love. She has some funny, but dead on strategies to consider.http://remittancegirl.com/discussions/desiring-the-unobtainable/

Remittance Girl - Erotic#EFF0A1

Next she needs to tackle how folks in Mistress and M’s boat cope with their inability to consummate the crazy love they have worked up for one another.

And if there is a role for this humble facilitator to help them, clue me in.

Now I have some orders to carry out.

Dispatch From the WIndy City

Molly and Mick are in Chicago this weekend, at the request of surly teen #2, who celebrates a birthday this weekend.

It’s about a 5 hour drive from River City. Tedious.

Unless your Mistress has a cyber Dom to text with to help pass the time.

The two teens were in the back,, earbuds in place, focused on computer screens or music.

Mick was at the wheel for a good part of the drive,

Molly was teasing and being teased by her Dom, our Western Correspondent.

Of course, when she share some of their repartee, we spoke softly and / or in code so as not to disrupt the image our children have of their Mom and Dad: “too boring for words.”

“He wonders if we can have another conversation like last night?”

“Up to you, dear.”

(I try – hard – to remember not to call her Mistress when the kids are within earshot.)

“Would it be wrong with a hotel room available for the two of us to being doing … that.”

“Not if that’s your desire….your call. Maybe I could be there to ‘assist’.”

“Hmmm….I will explain the options to him ….”

(Mistress seemed to be struggling with the challenge of not calling me ‘Slave’).

AS things developed, Mistress and M agreed on a time – after our family dinner – and that I would be sent out for a drink with maybe some “three way” time at the end. While Slave enjoys participating in their pervy fun from time to time, it probably works better for then when their sessions are their own deep, nasty secrets.

But midway through the trip, Mistress added a zinger---

“He says I’m not allowed to – you know – until our call tonight …..”

My guess is that Mistress shared the same little zing to her juicy parts that those instructions sent o my cock. A twitch of excitement at the thought of my Mistress submitting to another man’s cunning manipulations.

I whispered to her in response: does that make you damp dear?”

She just nodded her head, a little blush seemed apparent on her face.

We finally arrived in the Windy City at dusk, in the midst of a flashing thunderstorm. The kids were dropped off at relatives, and we headed to check into our hotel before hooking up for dinner.

A little private time.

“Slave….you won’t believe what he’s been up to….”

“You mean he got a head start on you, Mistress.”

Yes – and sent me a picture.”

She flashed the I-phone my way, and showed me a photo of a large cock, ready for her.

I chuckled, “I think you like that Mistress.”

“Is that bad, Slave?”

“No….It’s good for you, Mistress. You make a good slut for him, don’t you.”

“I suppose I do, Slave….”

Since Mistress was off limits until her phone call, we cleaned up and met the family for dinner, Indian fare that our daughter craved.

We were dropped off a few blocks from our hotel, and Mistress called M to let him know she would soon be ready for him.

“Your’re not going to blow me off are you?, she asked.

A rather nervy way for a Slave to talk to his Master, don’t you think.

Apparently that was his thought too.

I came back to the room with Mistress, helped her locate and plug in the Hitachi (can’t travel without it – “be prepared “ remains my motto), then grabbed the Times to read at the bar downstairs until called into action.

By the time I was heading for the door, Mistress was already stripped, laying wantonly across the king size bed, trusty Hitachi at her side.

What a wanton, greedy little thing, don’t you think?

She was desperate for his voice and the pleasure he would wring from her.

I asked permission to snap a photo with her phone, so she could text it to him, to see what he had wrought.

Then bid adieu.

At the bar I nursed a Jamieson, read up on the latest grim news about the housing market to distract myself. But the thought of Mistress writhing in pleasure four floors above me had me ---- on edge.

After about an hour I was growing both sleepy and impatient. So I risked the wrath of Mistress, texting her “can I come up now, Mistress?”

She quickly responded: “Yes, Slave.”

I settled my tab, hopped to, and waited impatiently for the elevator.

When I finally clicked through the door she was there, naked, walking about that post-orgasm animation putting a bounce in her step.

“Good. Slave’s back now…..Slave, M and I are just finishing up….take your cloths off. Now.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Soon Mistress switched on the speaker phone, so we could all be heard.

M and I exchanged respectful greetings.

“M says I deserve to be spanked because I was surly to him tonight, Slave. When asked if he was blowing ne off.”

“Would he like me to spank you on his behalf, Mistress?”

“Not until Sunday, Mick”

I made a note to be especially firm with her on our switch day.

But Mistress had other things in mind.

“We forgot the crop, didn’t we Slave. No, M, no shoehorn in this room …. But look. There’s Mick’s belt.”

She told me to get on the bed, bottom up,

I could barely hear M’s voice, but she heard and conveyed his directions.

“He’s lying on the bed now….No slave, M says it’s better to punish you with you on all fours.”

So there I was, on all fours for the second night in a row. And Mistress was wielding the belt.

“Ouch”.

I didn’t want to be a whiner. So took my medicine. It hurt, but Mistress was not too cruel. And at M’s bemused direction, she reached down a few times to fondle my cock and balls.

The carrot and the stick approach.

I’m a sucker for it.

After a about 15 slashes with the belt, Mistress allowed me to be “at ease”, and I offered to worship as she finished up her conversation with her Master.

The speakerphone was off now as they traded some mushy words before signing off.

They really are cute little lovebirds.

And of course now came the good part – at least for me.

After these talks, Mistress has a need for some firm, grade A cock. And all this taunting, teasing, whacking, stroking, Dom coaching, humiliating, and cunt sucking had me in prime condition to service her.

We rolled across the bed, lips locked, one of my fingers probing her firm ass while another hand slid through her juicy folds.. Soon Mistress was succumbing to my fingers for a little preview orgasm.

“How many times tonight with Him, Mistress?”

“Three Slave…”

Yikes. So she had just had her fourth. With more to come.

“And did he come for you too, Mistress?”

“Yes, he did Slave.”

She was rolling on top of me now, letting her lips feel the hard cock that would soon be buried inside her. Teasing herself with it, before the indulgence part.

“And how does that feel , Mistress? When he is moaning and exploding while thinking of you?”

“It feels very powerful, Slave”.

She was on top of me now, impaling herself, moaning with her delight.

“It’s OK if you want to think of his cock now Mistress….I am sure you want to ride that thick cock he was handling for you, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, Slave. “

And at that point all this provocative talk was lost in incoherence as Mistress eyes shut tight, her body slammed against me, and her chest heaved with the power of her climax.

But rather than rest, she kept going against me, building to one more crazy cum as her fingers toyed with my balls, as she no doubt imagines doing to M someday.

When she finally had burned her self to exhaustion on me, I helped her roll off, then took her from above, pumping now with no need to restrain my own release.

“May I come now, Mistress?”

She seemed to like the way I put that.

And I sure liked it when she responded, “Yes, my Slave.”

Was it a Punishment or a Reward?

“Get on the bed Slave. On all fours.”

Hmmm. A Feisty Mistress.

When I got home from the movies with surly teen number 2 – from the too long and unnecessarily violent but still kind of amusing “Inception -  Mistress was in our room, in the buff, pacing, animated, signing off from her date with her Dom, our Western Correspondent.

“Well …. The Slave’s home.  Guess we should say good bye.

…. Yes…..It was fun….. Talk to you tomorrow…..”

She was eyeing me.

I knew that look.

Well otrgasm-ed but in need of a cock.

“Why don’t you strip, Slave, while I get ready for bed.”

“Of course, Mistress”

She took her time. I lay on the bed, waiting for her.

Still in the cage. It had been a long day in the cage.

Particularly after her texts began arriving, mid-morning.

“You are getting punished tonight, Slave.”

My initial response “Why”, was reconsidered, followed by “Of course, Mistess”.

A good Slave would not question her Mistress’s judgment on such matters. Plus, that sort of questioning could just make matters worse.

Later, as I drove home, and Mistress headed to a dinner meeting for work, she let me know that she had plans for later that evening.

“M is home alone tonight. We have a date. You don’t mind do you Slave?”

As if my opinion counted.

“Of course not, Mistress.”

Early that morning I had worshiped her.  Then, as instructed, mounted my cage.  She shut the lock, and tucked away the key. That was about 14 hours earlier.

And while “Inception” was compelling, it was not easy to keep my mind off the thought of Mistress on the phone with M, her sopping cunt dancing to his tune, the power tool close at hand.

By the time Mistress came to bed, little key in hand, I was certainly grateful when she uncaged me, her fingers gently stroking me to life after I wriggled off the tight steel ring and the barred enclosure.

“Go put in your device, Slave.”

Hmmm. She was serious. She did want a particularly hard one.

I lubed it up, slid it home, came to bed to my naked Mistress, who still had that “cat-ate-the-canary” look after a few of those self-administered orgams supervised by M.

“How many times, Mistress?”

“Three Slave”.

“And did he get off too, Mistress”

“Oh, yes….”

She likes that. A lot. The sound of him exploding with her body in mind.

That’s when I was ordered onto all fours.

The crop was handy.

Burt first she stroked my cock with it a few times.

“I think it likes this, Slave.”

‘Well, yeah.”

Suddenly the crop was banging against my ass.  And I was squirming. And my cock ….well.

There were some interesting dynamics at work here ….crop hits ass, ass tightens, clenches in response. Probe in ass squeezes home, pressing that magic button deep inside that sends a jolt direct along the length and to the very tip of my cock..

I tried to explain as Mistress slowed the strokes against me.

“Very good, Slave…..M thought this might ne interesting. He said Mick would probably respond well to p=being cropped on all fours.”

Gee, thanks, M.

And of course the thought of M coaching Mistress on the finer point s of disciplining her Slave created a “curious excitement” as’Nilla would put it.

Come to think of it, that’s the effect it’s having right now.

So Slave is abandoning his homework and heading upstairs to attend to Mistress.

Will complete this entry for you later, dear readers.

HNT / Stripes

After Mistress had her birthday spanks her bottom had a lovely, rosy glow. And the sun filtered through the blinds added a few stripes, enhancing the look .

She lay their quietly, hips slowly writhing against the carpet, her warm skin still tingling from the tracks my palm had left behind.

But soon, after I had revved up our power tool, she was consumed with a different sort of stimulus.


On the drive home, her devoted Slave could tell Mistress was in a bit of a funk.

The claws had been out at her female dominated work place.

No, not FemDom. Just a concentration of female “peers” who find themselves in management roles, and who seem compelled to point fingers at one another when the going gets tough.

Call me sexist, but my observation is that women “colleagues” can be particularly cruel and catty to one another.

And Mistress, with all of her many qualities, has trouble letting that sort of cattiness roll off her well toned shoulders.

The other babes at work had clearly gotten her testy. Annoyed. Out of sorts.

I knew it was Slave’s duty to help salve Mistress’s wounds.

Worship helped.

Mistress stretched across our bed, naked, arms above her head, fingers intertwined. Legs spread. My tongue and lips spreading moist lips, teasing out her little bud, then, when she was getting close, a finger probing and poking for the right little button to push to get her over the top.

I could feel a bit of the tension starting to fade….but we still had work to do.

Then ….

A Bike ride in our hot, humid, pungent River valley air.

40 minutes of lap swimming for her in our community pool.

Dinner of grilled chicken, reheated mushroom risotto. Stir fryed green beans coated with some garlic and fresh lemon juice.

A glass or two of some oaky California Chardonnay.

A hot shower to wash away the salty residue of perspiration and chlorine.

The latest episode of Hung, watched as I laved her tasty (and now clean) toes with my tongue, and massaged her feet with my right hand, while my left hand teased at her twin tight orifices.

(Complicated to imagine: Her head is at the foot of the bed; mine is at the head, where I have a lovely view of her firm and ripe bottom.)

By the time the episode was over, Mistress was purring like the kitten she can be, the thoughts of the sharp elbowed bitches at work finally in the proper perspective.

“Why don’t you go put in your device Slave. I want that cock very hard.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Missed Photo Ops.

Last night Mistress and Slave went to an outdoor concert along our City’s wide and meandering River.

But before we headed off, Mistress stopped by my office for some worship. My colleagues, for the most part, had headed home. So our session was a bit more relaxed.

She took her throne, the chair pressed against the door, a blanket laid down to protect her soft skin from the scratchy upholstery; And to protect the scratchy upholstery from her flowing juices.


This sort of therapy seems good for both of us.

It takes the edge of Mistress’s day. She can relax and let me use my mouth and tongue to draw a squirming shuddering orgasm or two from her.

And, after my own day of wheedling, cajoling, threatening (nicely) and scheming, it reminds me that my highest, best and most rewarding use is to pleasure my Mistress.

Then we were off to our show.

The performer was an aging rocker (as it turns out, just about my age) performing old familiar songs with some exotic orchestrations. The crowd was a comfortable one: lots of aging boomers like me. Mistress was at the good end of the age curve for this one, and her Slave was right around the mean.

She was in that short, patterned black and white dress I fancy, with some tasteful heals. And of course, there was no one there who looked nearly as glamorous.

A highlight of the show came when the singer took us on a musical tour through the haunted streets of New Orleans, a full moon on the video above him, as lightening flashed and thunder crashed along our River.

Marveling at the army of performers on the stage, I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. The little one on my blackberry just was not cutting it, and we had seats that would have provided amazing shots of this graying hero.

Which got me thinking about other types of photos.

The Times had a story earlier this week about folks who spend their days screening and scrubbing “offensive” images from the internet. Mostly for social media sites like Facebook. It sounds like a tedious and sometimes disturbing job.

I was wondering about the photos we post here from time to time, and whether the folks at Google have some scrubbers out there pondering whether our HNT posts are H enough for their standards.

There does seem to be a correlation between an increased number of “hits’ and particularly appealing shots of Mistress. Monday’s photo of Mistress with hands tied, and her “bottom cleavage” showing drew more than 200 views, at the upper end of what we typically experience.

But, believe me, there is some self-censorship going on here.

Mistress has the right to screen all of our photos. And she exercises that right when she believes the angle or content casts her in a less than alluring light. Or if the shot is just too revealing. There is both a blush and a vanity test that the photos must pass.

But both of us also have some odd voyeuristic desire to share these images of a body that remains lush and desirable in both a subjective and objective way.

Don’t you agree?

I made a mental list last night on our drive home through thunder, lightening then moon light, of some shots that I wish I could share, if only the camera had been on hand, or if they passed muster with Mistress’s discerning eye:

• The Slave’s eye view last night in my office, Mistress’s legs spread, her naughty parts naked and glistening, colorful panties draped around one ankle.
• Saturday night, driving home, her feet propped on the dash, ankles crossed, black panties hooked over her knees, my fingers buried in her damp cunt.
• Tied hand and foot to our lounge chair on the patio of our undisclosed mountain location, well sun screened, luxuriating in those high desert rays.
• Mistress’s head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, listening to the seductive words of our Western Correspondent as her hand guides her trusty power tool at his direction.
• Or maybe the view of her ass and thigh muscles flexing and churning while I guide the Hitachi through slightly parted legs from behind, to the sweet spot that sends her over the edge.

Well, I guess we’d need a video to capture that one. Hmmmm.

Slave's Day in His Cage

All of that contract review and self-evaluating seems to have reminded Mistress of the benefits of my steel cage.

Yesterday we were headed in different directions, so Mistress (without any prompting from me) told me to wear the cage.

I was in the shower, wiggling and prodding reluctant balls through the steel ring, as Mistress lolled in bed a but – not on the early morning schedule for a rare change – and she mistook all that wriggling and fumbling for something else.

“What were you doing in there, Slave?, she said as I was toweling off.

“Putting the ring on, Mistress ….it was touch and go for a minute there. What did you thing ….that I was breaking rule number one?”

She giggled. She seems to enjoy the mild discomfort that I must endure just to get the damned thing on.

And I always get a little shiver of some dreadful form of pleasure when I present the cage to Mistress for her to close the lock. After all, It’s always a bit of a mystery when the cage might come off.

Soon I was off to a breakfast meeting, and a day at the office, shuffling papers, writing and revising. Kind of dull stuff.

But the cage, and Mistress’s occasional calls or tet messages were occasional reminders that I was under lock and key. That and the fact that when caged, Slave can only pee while sitting down.

My midday, I was beginning to regret that I had not woken Mistress early enough for some morning sex.

We had planned to attend a local political event after work, but Mistress’s day trip had run a bit longer than she had hoped, and the drive had worn her out. So it was decided I would attend solo, make a cameo appearance and head home.

“But the cage stays on Slave. Not sure I can trust you out with all those activist types.”

Well, of course she could. But there was no point in quibbling. That would have been very un-slave like.

“Would you like me to worship first, Mistress?”

“I think that’s a good idea, Slave.”

So there I was kneeling, stripped to my udnerwar, the hard lump of the cage visible to Mistress, as she lay back, luxuriating in the ministrations of my tongue. I licked and suckled her damp and tasty parts through one orgasm, holding on for dear life as her hips bucked against my face.

Then I took it down a notch, letting her cool down before heating things back up again for yet another choice one. By the time I was done, I hoped Mistress had relaxed a bit from her long drive.

Of course, even a well trained cock would be straining against its cage by then, stimulated as I was by the assault of taste, aroma and visual stimulation from Mistress’s lush naked body.

And mine sure was.

But duty called. I threw on some jeans and a polo and headed off to the political cook out I had promised to attend, still in the cage.

“I won’t be long, Mistress.”

“I suspect you won’t Slave, as she brandished her little key.”

Well I wasn’t to long. 90 minutes at max.

When I got home, Mistress was doing her evening beautification rituals, loading up on moisturizer. She had on one of her short, satiny black nighties, that showed off her curves so well, while barely covering her firm rump.

“About time, Slave.”

I filled her in on the chast of characters she had missed, and the evening’s gossip. She took her time prepping for bed.

“Why don’t you strip Slave and wait for me on the bed.”

It seems like I waited along time. I am sure Mistress was amused to see me laying there, naked, ready for her but for the little matter of cage removal.

“I suppose I should take it off now?”

“That’s one option, Mistress. I guess it depends on whether you want a hard cock tonight, or just more worship.”

“How long has it been, Slave? How long since we fucked?”

“Since Sunday morning, Mistress”

A long time for us. 32 whole hours. Not like the Slave in ‘Nilla mom’s continuation of her “Mountain Top “Story this morning. Not sure I could handle three days. But there is only one way to find out.

“Oh, my. Guess we don’t want to push your luck any longer.”

Mercifully, Mistress unlocked me, and she lay back on the bed, spreading her legs. Ready for some more worship. I was left to the task of wiggling the damned thing off and around my swollen and chafed balls.

Ahhhh.

It was only after I had helped her to another orgasm with my ever so grateful tongue, that she turned her attention to my cock, which had stretched out a bit since the cage was removed.

“Oh, dear, I think he likes his freedom, Slave.”

No doubt.

But that’s when the sweet but maddening torment began.

Her soft tongue and mouth slowly massaged her cock to its full, straining dimensions. Her fingers ever so slightly touching and teasing my balls until I was squirming and moaning and begging to fuck her.

When she finally relented, it was to mount me.

“I want to ride this cock for a while, Slave. So no coming…..”

Argh.

She rode. And she rode. Driving herself to one powerful, thrashing and groaning orgasms against her cock, then doing it all over again as her fingers slid across my balls.

All the while I knew I dare not ask for permission.

Until she was exhausted from her ride, and rolled over.

“Your turn, Slave.”

So I slid on board, sliding deep into her. And soon I was begging for the release I had been waiting for since she locked me away early yesterday morning.

Afterwards, Mistress made a cany observation.

“Maybe I let you come too often, Slave. I like how desperate you get for me.”

“That’s your call, Mistress.”

“Of course it is.”

Mistress Gets Her Birthday Spanks.

Here in River City, Molly and mick  are coming down  from a weekend of birthday / anniversary celebrations.

Last night we had dinner with family and some close friends, and Moick made dinner of Mistress’s choice: smoked salmon and some mushroom risotto. Yum.

The surly teens were stunningly polite and engaging. Though they passed on the opportunity to sample some “sketchy” home distilled after dinner beverage Surly #2 brought back from her visit with a family in the French Alps.

But what is a birthday without the spanks?

Mistress got hers yesterday morning,  after we paged through the local papers and she helped me piece together what actually did happen when we got home late on Saturday night.

First, her wrists were firmly tied  behind the back. I tried for the box tie, forearms parallel,  but Mistress’s swimmer’s shoulders did not want to co-operate. The goal was getting those arms clear of her lovely bottom, making it accessible for a good spanking without fingers and wrists  impeding my progress.

Someday we will get there, but I need some softer rope so as not to irritate Mistress’s soft, smooth, well preserved skin.

Any ideas on a good rope vendor out there?

AS you can see from the photo, wefinally  did get the wrists tied.

I then helped  Mistress up and out of the bed. A chair was positioned, I sat, and then she was pulled over my knee.

But her position must have seemed precarious to her.

“What if I fall Slave”, she said, wiggling a bit to find her balance.

“Don’t worry Mistress, I have you right where I want you. And I won’t let go until I am done.”

She squirmed a bit as I slid my hand over her smooth cheeks. A finger dipped down between led to an amusing discovery.

“Hmmm…..you’re already wet, Mistress.  You are  just a little slut at heart, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so, Slave….”

Then the spanking began.

The kids were about. One sleeping; one up early, still on Euro time, it seemed. So Mistress knew she would have to “stifle”. I had some music on to temper the sound of the thwacks as my hand met flesh.

But I was keeping count.  And Mistress was squirming, and I could hear that the blows were having their effect from the sharp inhales of breath when I landed a ‘good’ one.

“That was ten, Mistress….”

I took a break, for a little exploration, a finger sliding inside her squishy folds. Making her squirm in a different sort of way. Bringing her close, but we were not going to go there. Not yet.

The spanking resumed. I took her in sets of ten until we had caught up. Then a particularly hard one for “luck”.

By then her cheeks were a nice bright red.

She seemed relieved that her “ordeal” was over.

Her feet were a tad unsteady as I helped her up, then down onto the floor, a pillow under her to help raise that lovely bottom.

And I lay over her a bit, nibbling at her neck, and letting my thickening cock slide between those battered cheeks. Now she was doing a different sort of squirming.

I had plugged the Hitachi in nearby to help her get over the pain of all those spanks.

And so I pulled away my own flesh and switched on the power tool, sliding it between the thighs that seemed happy to accommodate it.

Soon she was  humping away at the little churning ball at the tip of the device, her bottom still red, its muscles flexing and relaxing as she built herself slowly but surely to a powerful cum as I nestled up against her, my right hand pressing the device home, my left hand stroking her long fragrant hair.

And when she was done, face red, quaking with the aftershocks, I let her rest there on the floor, before leading her to our bed to finish the job of celebrating her birthday.

It’s a shame they come but once a year.

Mistress and Slave Celebrate a Three-fer Three Different Ways

Yesterday was a three way celebration for Molly and mick (no, that type of three way, not that we wouldn’t be happy to!)

It was Molly’s birthday, our anniversary, and the day when Slave’s contract rolled over for a full year of subjugation at the hand’s of my Mistress.

And, appropriately enough, it evolved into one of those days when there were three separate sexual escapades to mark the occasions.

The first came early in the morning. Mistress’s sister got a little too earnest in sending a “Happy birthday” text at 6:30 am – waking her from her slumber. It cut into my blogging time, when Mistress called me up to attend to her needs.

So the warm up act was ‘Nilla’s enticing blog continuing her nicely developing fantasy about the adventures of a certain couple at a certain Western Correspondent’s Mountain hideaway.

That was followed by Mistress practicing her oral skills on her “morning penis”. Soon she had me moaning and begging, and begging and moaning before directing me to park my cock to her advantage.

Our plans called for us to head in different directions then: me to collect cute grandson and take him to the market and our swim club; Mistress to hair and nail care errands, then a celebratory lunch with the teens and her mother.

I have been mindful of my contractual obligations, as a result of my recent self evaluation (See Friday’s blog), so I did what was required, without the expectation of an affirmative response:

“Would you like me to wear my cage today, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave. I think I would.”

Argh.

“Ahhhh….OK, Mistress.”

She was taking no chances that I might exercise my revocation powers on the one day a year when they arise. I was going to be on a short leash.

I found my cage, slid it over my shriveled cock, still a bit pungent from its earlier use, and gave Mistress her opportunity to snap the lock closed.

“And b the way, Slave. ….”, She was cupping my balls as she spoke to me, eyes focused on mine….

“When we get home this afternoon, I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

Double Argh.

“I will be ready for that Mistress.”

So while the world saw the loving grandpa at our pool, the one where Molly and Mistress were reprimanded for PDA-ing on Father’s Day, underneath, my cock was locked away in my stainless steel cage for Mistress’s later disposition.

Not that any of those dumpy, tedious suburban Mom’s would catch my eye.

Later, when the cute grandson was brought home for his nap time, and the surly teens were off at a movie, Mistress told me to fetch her “supplies”.

That meant strap-on, dildo, and lube.

“Of course, Mistress.”

But she found the riding crop herself. Oops.

“Lay down, Slave, bottom up.”

Mistress looked quite dominant with her strap on neatly cinched on, riding crop ready, wrist twitching it back and forth.

“This is for that un-pleasant conversation we had this week, Slave.”

I knew what she was referring to…. A conversation when she questioned me, and I reacted with an attitude, rather than answered her straight up. She was right to correct me for my insensitivity and failure to know my place.

She gave me 1—15 good stinging ones, laughing as my ass bounced off of the bed.

“Ouch ….that hurts, Mistress.”

“Oh….it won’t hurt for long, Slave.”

It’s actually harder to handle the pain when I am NOT tied down, requiring more mental discipline to passively take my medicine.

“And a few more for you-know-who.”

Ah yes, Someone who was NOT among the many friends and family members sending birthday greeting by text, call, email or facebook posting. I had told Mistress that she had every right to punish me for that person’s transgression too.

“That’s what I am here for, Mistress”, I had told her earlier in the day. Now I was questioning my own judgment. Maybe it wasa bit more foolhardy than magnanimous.

Thwack, Thwack.

Ouch. Ouch.

That sucker stung.

But then she was done. She directed me to roll over, and used the crop to prod my cock to life. Underneath, my bottom was still stinging, but the pain quickly subsided into a tingly glow.

“Get it hard for me Slave…”

I used my fingers to follow her command. She seems to enjoy watching how that is done. And I watched her watch me, though my eyes could not help but linger on the plastic cock bobbing between her legs, ready to take me.

When she was satisfied, she had me roll back over, a pillow under my hips, to give her a nice comfortable angle for her assault.

And her aim was true, the first shot out of the box. Mistress is quite skilled at this way of asserting her control over me.

And it is pretty remarkable how the process effects her too: that delicious shudder and jerk as she comes while thrusting into me makes me tingle even now, here at the keyboard.

When she had her fill, and concluded that I had been placed in the properly slavish frame of mine, she rose up, doffed the harness, and instructed me to insert my white probe, as a continuing reminder that my ass, like my cock, was hers.

And of course it is.

And when I was finally given permission to come inside her, it was with the type of moaning and groaning gusto suitable for an outburst that seemed to come in waves from deep inside me.

At that point, I would have signed a ten year extension. No Lebron style free agency for me. I like being treated as her chattel.

It was nap time then, before heading out to a dinner celebration of Mistress and slave’s big day. And after a lovely feast accompanied by some elegant bubbly, we walked to this lovely, timeless bar with a view from atop River City: One of our favority watering holes.

There we joined the blue haired ladies and bow-tied men on the dance floor as the aging singer covered “Night and Day” to a
latin-on- geritol beat. It’s a Madmen-ish place where folks of our generations can really feel “forever young”, if only by comparison.

And the short, revealing black dress that Mistress was wearing probably sent a few of the gents into their jacket pockets, in search of an extra dose of their blood pressure medicine.

Sitting there, sipping our Ameretto and Jamieson (no not mixed, please), we flashed back over our adventures of the last nine months.

And somehow the notion of a “Mistress sandwich” came up.

“You’d really do that Slave?”

“If you wished, Mistress ….of course, I’m not touching cock….and would not want him, whoever he might be, to touch mine….”

“I agree, Slave….”

“And would you like that Mistress …. Two men, devoted to your pleasure? Maybe my mouth between your legs as he used your mouth? The potential combinations are endless.

‘What woman wouldn’t Slave….”

I reviewed my theory that it’s only natural that a woman would need more than one man to fully please her..

“ I mean …. We men all have limits on how frequently we can do it, Mistress. But you…..you could come all day long, Mistress. It’s just natural that you would want, even need, more than one of us.”

Somehow this brought to mind the tales of those grizzled western adventurers, who needed an extra horse in reserve for those long treks over the mountains and down to the coast.

Mistress, in her way, is always up for adventure too.

Of course all this talk can lead to other consequences.

It was late. We were tired and a little tipsy. But on the ride home, my hand seemed to settle on Mistress’s tight black panties. With some frustration.

“Why don’t you slide them down, Mistress…..I can’t really touch you this way.”

She was accommodating.

So there we were, heading up the highway, Mistress ankles crossed on the dash, her panties tangled at her knees, my fingers kneading her damp, squishy flesh, the aroma of her crowding out the cool processed air of our little steel and glass capsule.

“I want the Hitachi again tonight, Slave”, she murmured to me her head back, eyes closed, cunt squirming against my damp devious digits.

And that’s how we found ourselves back in bed, after midnight, Mistress coming and coming, then sobbing in release as the power tool had its way with her.

I love those big ones.

And I did fuck her a quite a while afterwards, but somehow we seemed to fall asleep before it was time for me to beg for permission. Maybe this morning we can piece those events together if we compare notes.

But there are really more important things to do. After all, it’s Switch day for me. And Mistress has not had her birthday spanks yet.