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.
oh, thank , I love your story.
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