Switch Day: The Second Movement

Now that Mistress was awakened from her little beauty nap by the perverse curiosity of our Western Correspondent, it was time to spring my trap: a Switch Day reprise to make up for my deficiency the prior Sunday.

I had the locking black wrist cuffs at the ready,

As I rolled over to grab them at the side of the bed, Mistress knew something was up.

“What are you up to Slave?”

“Just making sure you got your Sub’s worth today, Slut!”

She put  some token resistance as I fastened the cuff to her left wrist, a but surprised, but seemingly more than game to reprise her morning role   as my little bound fuck-toy.

But she felt a need to share the moment.

“Let’s take a photo to let M know that he got this ball rolling, Slave.”

So I took a few seconds off from restraining Mistress, snapped the photo of her bound wrist,  and let her send the taunting message to M.

“I told him that he woke us up, and now you are forcing yourself on me, Slave.”

Then the chime on her phone was turned off. I was going to take all her attention for the next 30 minutes or so.

With her hands bound together, overhead, Mistress was sufficiently helpless. She was forced to endure my fondling, sucking, nipping and tongue thrusting until our chambers were redolent with the sweet and musky aroma of her arousal.

Yum.

That’ when I reached for the Hitachi, still on the floor, rested and ready from it’s morning maneuvers.

Mistress’s eyes widened. She liked what she saw. But with a little effort,  could I get her to consider it too much of a good thing?

That was the afternoon’s objective: test Mistress’s limits.

“Oh, goodie, bonus time with the power tool, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress. Do I recall you saying that you had three cums on your Friday morning date with M?”

“Uhhh…..yeah….”

“Well I don’t think my little weekend reclamation project will be done until I can at least match that…”

By now the Hitachi was churning away at  her, and with Mistress on her back, legs spread about as wide as she could split them, it was easy for me to zero in on my target, sort of like one of those cruise missiles screaming down the smoke stack of Saddam Hussein’s favorite Baghdad BBQ joint.

Her first detonation came within seconds, taking us both by surprise, her hips flying up off the bed to scrunch herself even harder against the white bulb of my deadly weapon.

“Oh my, that was a quickie, Mistress. I wonder how long it will take for two more?”

“Really….”

I let her come down for just a moment, before I renewed my assault, sliding the bulb hard against her swollen clit. She used all the clever evasive techniques at her disposal, but she could hardly move far with her hands tied  tightly above her head.

Within a minute of so she surrendered to the inevitable, moaning and squeezing the device tightly with her thighs. Maybe she thought she could crush the pesky thing, but then what would she use for her next date with M?

“That’s really enough Slave…..why don’t you fuck me now.”

Well, of course I was tempted. My cock had been ready for that since before the Hitachi had been armed and deployed. But I felt I still owed Mistress another one.

“Calm yourself, Mistress…one more and this special operation can move on to the looting and plundering stage.”

She resigned herself to her fate, and I used the tool to slowly bring her to the top again, watching her spill over the side into the thundering waters of another thrashing and moaning climax.

Mission accomplished, I thumbed the tool off, putting it aside for its next deployment.

Mistress was a bit out of it by now, her legs still tossing from side to side a bit, her lead lolling back against the bed. So I neither sought nor received permission to mount her. I simply took her.

Without complaint, I might add. Her cunt was oh so wet and open that it seemed to swallow me whole, with greedy delight,

I could see Mistress I-phone on the bed table. It shook a bit, presumably with the arrival of another message from M, his curiosity on high alert, looking for an update.

I could hear him at home, having dispatched his Icelandic Nemesis on the golf course: “What are those two crazies up to?”

I figured that, in due time, Mistress would thank him for that wake up call.

But he could wait just a bit longer.

.

Switch Day: Interlude

After Mistress was released from her restraints, and emerged from subspace, we went back to our post switch Sunday routines - grocery shopping, a bike ride, and then off to our neighborhood swim club.

I played bike mechanic, replacing the brake pads on Mistress's bike.I am a useful little Slave, aren't I.

When she came down for our ride she mentioned that M had called.

"I think he wanted to know if we did Switch Day, Slave....he likes to keep track."

I can understand that. A good cyber Master wants to make sure his Slave is well taken care of, particularly on switch day.

"Did you give him the details, Mistress?"

"I told him that we did some interesting switch stuff, Slave. And that he could read about it in the morning."

"You didn't tell him you got the spanking he ordered?"

"Uhhh....I guess not, Slave."

Later, at our swim club, Mistress mentioned that M had been texting her from the golf course, while matching birdies with his "Icelandic Nemesis." I figured I would give him a little tease. As Mistress was swimming her laps (she does work at keeping that ass and those legs shapely), I sent M my own text message.

"Your Slave got that good spanking."

and we traded a few choice ones:

"Good she needed one."

"Mistress responds well to the Hitachi when tied down."

"I'll bet she does."

When I read these and a few more to Mistress after she was done with her laps, she seemed a little .... flustered.

"Are you guys conspiring against me, Slave?"

Exactly.

Later that afternoon, we retreated home out of the smoggy, hot late summer air. The kids were out. I was planning a little switch redoux for Mistress, to make up for my default last Sunday.

But she was sleepy.

"Wake me before dinner, Slave."

And of course I never like to mess with Mistress's beauty rest.

But this is where I got an assist from my "wingman".

After Mistress had snoozed for about 20 minutes the chime on her I-phone went off. She stirred, picked it up. Then giggled.

"It's M. He says he hasn't heard from me in a while. wants to know if we're having sex."

It was just the little prod I needed.

Switch Day in Two Movements

Movement One.

It came out during our chat with ‘Nilla this week.

Mistress missed our switch day last Sunday.

I guess I have mistakenly assumed that switch day was something in the contract that gave me a day off.

Stupid Slave.

As ‘Nilla reminded me, being a Domme is hard work. Mistress looks forward to it as much, maybe more, than I do.

It’s a day for her to let go, give up command, lay back and enjoy. And maybe suffer a little too.

So I resolved to make it up to her this week.

And M had said that she deserved a good spanking. I promised to he his trusty surrogate.

And as it turns out, Mistress got her lost switch day back, with interest.

Yesterday morning, after I did my writing, and Mistress lolled in bed, I woke her around 8:30 or so.  We read the bad news in our morning paper, focusing on the nastiness in DC, where some Fox News refugees were doing their darn-dest to turn the Dream of 1963 into their own Nightmare.

But after Mistress read the blog (and a few others too), I  snapped on the little red cuffs, rolled Mistress on to her tummy, and fixed them overhead to the little eyebolt  screwed into the head of our bed.

After that, I used some strips of an old soft beach towel to tie her legs, spread wide, to the corners of or bed.

The little slut was going no where.

Mistress knew she was due for a spanking.

Her flippant attitude was saying “bring it on.”

But I was in no rush. I want her nice and juicy before she got what was coming to her.

So out came the Hitachi. I slid it under her, thumbed it on.

Uhhh…..oh goody….nice, Slave.”

She was humping it, as I stood up.

Of course I knew that it was just short of where she could get the purchase she needed for the type of climax she was already craving.

So I stood up, grabbed my camera and snapped off a few shots of her little kinky dance, as her ass danced and squirmed straining at her bonds, trying to capture the vibrating head against her clit, but failing so delightfully.

Her body seemed to be glowing with the dew of her frustration when I sat down next to her on the bed and abruptly pulled the Hitachi away, switching it off.

“That’s so unfair, Slave…..”

“But I know what you really want is that spanking….don’t you think M would be disappointed if you did not get one this morning?”

She growled at me in frustration, but conceded, “I suppose he would, Slave.”

That’s when I gave her the first of many, many slaps to that steamy ass. From the left side of the bed. From the right side of the bed. In flurries. Or one at a time.

At one point I heard one of the surly teens stirring in the hallway, so I got up to turn up the music a few notches, just to mask the sound of the slapping as I landed blow after blow on her ass.

But something was wrong.

Mistress was not complaining. There were no moans, No begging for me to stop. She was taking it and taking it. She was a glutton for whatever pain I was inflicting.

I wondered if my hands were not hard enough, so I picked up the  long wooden shoe horn that makes me squirm and moan into a pillow when she uses it on me.

I landed a flurry of what should have been stinging slaps with that sucker. And Mistress took them like a walk on the beach.

Apparently she has a much higher threshold of pain on her delicious fleshy bottom than my scraggly one can endure.

I made a mental note that I needed to press the edge of the envelope on this one.

But by now Slave was getting a little hornier, and I was getting a little paranoid about what Surly Teen #2 might be thinking her parents were up to in there with the music so loud.

So without any begging for mercy from Mistress, I surrendered to her amazing ability to  take a spanking, took a quick photo of her reddened ass, and settled down next to her on the bed.

“You are quite the little pain slut, aren’t you, Mistress?”

I was rubbing her bottom, an errant finger dipping between her cheeks, testing the very wet and steamy waters.

“Mmmmm…. “  She wriggled in contentment, her channel sopping cunt swallowing  my finger like a venus fly trap devouring an unsuspecting spider.

I don’t think that was a denial.

I picked up the Hitachi, thumbed it on.

“Let’s see how you take this Mistress.”

I forced it between her legs, set at high.

Oh she liked it all right.

Her body was stretching every which way to find the right way to press that churning tool where she needed it to be. But with her legs spread and bound, she could not grip it the way her throbbing clit demanded.

But I was no longer playing the cruel Master. I did what I could to help her along, thrusting the tool up and under her, searching for that spot.

And the payoff was a devastating explosion of twisiting limbs, straining against the fabric and leather binding her tight, torqued to the max as she rose up, rolled left to right, sobbing against the rich blue sheets.

And of course the binding allowed me to keep the wand exactly where she didn’t want it to be even as she came down, hips bucking,,,,

“No, Slave…..no more.”

It’s what I had not heard as I spanked her.

So in my perverse pleasure of finally hearing those protests, I kept it up, forcing another one from her before finally withdrawing the tool.

She was shuddering,  moaning a bit, But she wasn’t done.

“Oh, God,,,, please fuck me now, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

The De-Briefing

Mick and Molly made it home early Friday evening from that leafy campus where beer bonging co-eds roam, surly teens in tow.

Mistress was still coming down from her multi-orgasmic morning therapy session with our Western Correspondent. She had this perpetual contented “wht me worry” smile on her face as we toured campus, and indulged in some frozen treats before the ride home. I suspect our female readers know what I am talking about.

But I was feeling a bit unsettled, because I had still only gotten a few of the highlights.

Frustrating.

The odd / wonderful thing about this strange triad that we are nursing along is this: the sharing part seems to pull Molly and mick more closely together, even as molly and M heighten their own intimacy with their calls, emails and texting.

It was still a gorgeous day when we returned home, and I was torn. Do I take up Mistress’s offer to resume this discussion immediately between the sheets, for further “debriefing”, or do we go for that bike ride we had planned while the sun was still up.

“Your choice, Slave.”

It was a particularly “hard” choce, since my cock had been at various stages of alert through the day. There is something about knowing that Mistress has gotten off with another man (or woman) that makes me want to reclaim her delicious engulfing folds as my own.

But I also knew that I needed some exercise after a day spent mostly on my ass. So I compromised.

“Let me worship you Mistress….then a bike ride …. Then sex.”

“Excellent choice, Slave.”

Mistress was already out of that preppy but sexy LaCoste dress, and she stretched laterally across the bed, giving me access to her from my knees. A pillow was tossed onto the floor to cushion my aging knees, and from that position I helped her wriggle out of those tight black panties. I could not keep my mouth away from her any longer.

My muffled “Mmmmm” of appreciation was audible to her, and that made her curious.

“Do I taste like I’ve had sex, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress”, I managed, as I savored her.

“Explain….”

Rats. Now I had to shift focus from appreciation to articulation.

“Well, it’s those musky flavors from the juices you generate when you are coming, but by now a little stale, a little less sweet, a little saltier, from being cooped up in these panties through a warm afternoon.”

“Go on….”

She seems to like to hear me talk about her various flavors, like the owner of a Baskin and Robbins franchise doing market research.

“It’s not the same has when you came home from having sex with the other M ….then I could taste someone else down here too. You had been used by him. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could smell and taste both of you.”

“Did you like that, Slave?”

“Well … as you know, it sure turned me on, Mistress.”

She laid back, curiosity satisfied for the time being.

And soon I was suctioning her well used clit between my lips and teeth, pulling it from side to side, urged on by the embrace of her strong thighs gripping my head.

Her moans as she came may not have been the same quality as those earlier in the day, when she used the Hitachi on herself at M’s direction, but I felt that my little weekend reclamation project was off to a good start.

And when I stood to retrieve my riding shorts, Mistress could not help notice that My physical reaction to the chance to worship her was ….. obvious.

“Oh my, Slave…..stay there a moment.”

I really did not need this, not if we wanted to ride.

She approached me, her hand cupping my balls, her fingers sliding the length of my protruding appendage, making little sounds of appreciation.

“I’ve been wanting this cock ever since M was done with me Slave.”

My will to ride was quickly crumbling. My knees – literally – grew weak as she played with me, leaning in for a kiss.

“Poor Slave…..don’t worry. We’ll take care of this after our ride….”

The thought of that moment, when Mistress had me in the palm of my hand, makes me twitch and grow here as I type at our kitchen counter.

Double argh.

But the ride was worth it, and we both felt recharged and ready when we got back, explaining to the teen still at home that we would be “resting” for a while.

It was as we were fucking, me on top, pumping into Mistress, hearing all those lovely sounds, that I finally got to hear more of the details of her morning.

“So what was he telling you, Mistress that made you so crazy?”

“Another one of his fantasies about us, Slave.”

“You know I like to hear those”.

I had her arms pinned above her head, my finger toyed with her clit, as my cock pressed into her…Now that I was fucking her, there was no rush to finish the job until I heard all the smutty details.

“He had me on a leash. We were going to an S and M party in his hometown.”

I imagined lots of black cowboy hats.

“He always adds lots of interesting details … like what I am wearing.”

“And how did he outfit you, Mistress?”

“Lots of black leather, but lots of skin showing too.”

“I bet you’d like that, Mistress….”

She’s moaning now, and I know having to recount the story has gotten M back in the picture. But so what if she’s thinking of his cock inside her rather than mine. It adds to the moment, doesn’t it? Makes her buck even harder as I continue to take her.

“There was a spanking bench ….and he tied me to it.”

“Were people watching, Mistress?”

“Yeah. He likes the idea of people watching him use that cock on me.”

“And that gets you going too, doesn’t it Mistress.”

“Uhhhhmmmmmm ….it does….Slave.”

Mistress is getting close ….again.”

“Did he give you the spanking that you deserved, Mistress.”

“Yes…..”

“You know you are getting it from me Sunday, don’t you, Mistress.”

“Yes, I know…..”

“And afterwards….how did he fuck you, Mistress.”

“From behind, still tied to that bench….”

Mistress eyes are squeezed tight, she’s there with him, and here, with me. She’s got the two of us bringing her back to the brink.

“And there’s someone else – someone’s Slave – I’m sucking his cock while M’s fucking me….”

And by now I’m wondering if Mistress imagines my work-a-day cock in the cameo role of filling her mouth as M takes my needy and greedy Mistress from behind.

But at about this point the thread of the narrative got hopelessly lost.

Because Mistress was coming with a long moan one more time as I pumped into her. And then I was begging for permission to come too. I must confess that by the time my mind had me begging, my cock was far too gone to have stopped if permission was withheld even for a moment.

Fortunately, Mistress was very indulgent.

And now I am wondering if I need to go back and get her to finish that story.

Mistress "Works from Home" on a Friday Morning

Yesterday I left you hanging about whether Molly would adapt a literal interpretation of M’s Thursday evening’s instruction that she could have “no more orgasms tonight” in anticipation of their Friday morning “date”.

After I finished my morning homework, I came upstairs to find Mistress busy on her computer, lying in bed, stroking her needy little kitty. (No, that is not a clever euphemism. We do have two very well indulged cats).

“I was wondering if you were going to come up to fuck me, Slave.”

I handed her my laptop, so she could be amused by my morning’s efforts.

“Uhhh. What about your instructions, Mistress. Do you really want me to fuck you but not allow you to come.”

She gave me a little scowl.

“Are you two conspiring against me or something. Trying to make me even hornier?”

“Who, me?”

I gave her my little devious shrug, settled next to her to allow her to read the blog: my memo to M.

After giggling through that, she took her “medicine” and made no further efforts to subvert her cyber Master’s command.

(BTW, I really don’t think I am programmed to fuck that way, in any event. My body’s prime directive is now so well engineered to serve Mistress’s pleasure, that the thought of coming before she does can’t compute for me.)

Soon we were off on different paths: Mistress was officially "working from home" today. She was taking an early morning bike ride before her telephonic rendezvous with M.

I was all suited up, and off to a “dispute resolution” event with some recalcitrant clients and their adversaries.

But I made sure before I left that the Hitachi was readily available and that the little white probe was resting on her pillow with a container of lube, as M had required.

That morning, I was focused on managing a client who had trouble articulating her own interests in a complicated case. But as the designated moment for Mistress’s rendezvous approached, I could not help but consider that Mistress would soon be getting some of her own needs taken care of by our Western Correspondent.

“Have fun, Mistress”, I texted to her.

“I will sexy Slave”, she promptly responded.

And over the next 40 minutes or so, I was shifting a little uncomfortably in my seat, as my own pavlovian response kicked in whith the thoughts of Mistress spread across our bed, her Hitachi in play between those lovely thighs of her, responding to M’s smutty directions.

Argh.

About 40 minutes later, I got another text.

“Done, Slave. Now I need your cock.”

It was nice to know that she was still thinking of me after her little adventure.

I was headed back to the house by noon though, for a little family trip to a leafy campus to the north, one of the places on Sullen teen #1’s short list.

Mistress greeted me in our room, in a sexy/preppy black (f course) Izod dress that stopped somewhere at mid thigh. We kissed, but since time was tight, I only had a chance to briefly slide a finger up between her legs, touching what was by now a well satisfied mound through black panties.

“Feeling more….satisfied, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave….thanks for asking.”

She pulled away from my roving fingers, just as my cock was beginning to fill the gap between us.”

“Better get going, Slave.”

What a tease. And because the teens were in the backseat, it was hard for me to get much from her on our car ride except for a few veiled snippets.

“By the way, Our friend said you were right about those instructions. He said I was thinking like a lawyer, not a …..well you know.”

“That’s what I suspected…(I had to stifle the word Mistress in mid Mis….) . Imagine what would have happened if you had gotten those instructions wrong….”

But I had a feeling that Mistress was curious about the consequences.


“He said maybe he should begin imposing a 48 hour embargo….”

I raised my eyebrows.

“But I lobbied for 24 hours.”

“I’ll be curious to see how that comes out….”

“Yes, because it’s going to effect you, you know.”

“That’s what I figured….” (As our reader Aisha had too.)

After arriving on campus and enduring the long presentation about why our little darling would come in a indulged adolescent and emerge as a princess of industry if only she matriculated there, we were off on the 90 minute campus tour.

The first thing that greeted us was a group of bikini clad co-eds, already into their first Friday afternoon beers, sunbathing on the roof of an off-campus hovel, urging our daughters to join them in falls to come. I wondered if this was something a clever admissions co-ordinator had ginned up. If so, it was NOT working for this Dad.The thought of writing those big checks for tuition and fees, and providing extra expense money for a beer bong was not warming my heart.

But the tour did allow us to lag behind, giving me more time for Q and A:

“So, how many times, Mistress?”

“He asked me that too, Slave. I told him “at least 3” but in fact I lost track.”

“Nice, Mistress….”

“Does that make you jealous, Slave?”

I had to think about that. I had in mind thought of Mistress surrendering herself so completely to his voice and direction, and coming so hard, so quickly and so completely for him. I imagined her writhing, moaning, sobbing, begging for more.

And my cock was growing hard as the peppy male tour guide gave us his canned jokes about campus delicacies (the mashed potato bowl at the food court) and the failed Presidency of William Henry Harrison, who at least has a dorm named after him.

Down, boy, down.

“Well, I don’t know that jealous is the word, Mistress. I certainly don’t resent your moments with M. I think they’re good for you, and well, just taking about it is making me hard.”

“”Oh really?” Mistress eye’s lit up. I knew she was tempted to confirm that with her fingers But what would our fellow parents think?

“Doe it make you ….competitive, Slave?”

“Uhhh, yeah, that’s one word for it. A healthy competition. I want to give you some of those orgasms too, Mistress.”

“Well when we get home this evening, you certainly will, Slave.”

A Memo to our Western Correspondent

MEMORANDUM


UCTMW ENTERPRISES
RIVER CITY, U.S.A.

From: Mick Collins, Managing Editor

To: M, Western Correspondent
CC: Molly Collins, Publisher / CEO

I wanted to share with you a few developments here at the home office which could be helpful for you in working with our publishing ventures in the 2nd half of 2010.

First, I know our Publisher shares my gratitude for your contributions over these last few months. From my analysis of the available metrics it seems readership does go up marginally when we re-print some of your incisive reporting from out West. Every now and then you get some fan mail which I try to direct to you.

It’s telling that other bloggers, particularly the prolific ‘Nilla seems to have incorporated references to your inimitable style of dom-ing in her own work.

And I have good reason to believe that our Publisher has enjoyed the opportunities she has had to mentor and be mentored by you these last few months. I

n fact, she seems to have left little time for other correspondents she had been grooming. I can recall moments when, she has shut herself away just to have some one on one time coaching with you, behind closed doors. It’s not the typical Publisher who will go out of her way to train and give feedback to a lowly freelance correspondent. She obviously believes you have great potential and even can teach her a thing or two.

Afterwards, when she tells me to come back up to her “office”, she seems pretty wrung out from her exertions, and that Hitachi device next to her “desk” seems to be burning a hole through the wood flooring.

However, I do think there are ways in which we can enhance our working relationship.

The other evening, we were having a conference call with one of our “competitors”, about a potential joint venture, tossing around ideas for potential collaborations, like branded “Mick and Molly” action figures, or a “Vanilla Mom” advice column for the D/s world. During our wide ranging talk, Mistress mentioned a conversation she had with you earlier that day.

“I think I have been pulling back a bit lately. But M says that what I really need is a good spanking.”

‘Nilla laughed in that playfully sexy voice of hers.

“Yes, sometimes that’s the only way to properly adjust a Sub’s attitude.”

I told the two of them that I would be happy to act as your surrogate spanker whenever you felt the need arose. I suppose I could get written up for insubordination, but if I spanked her at your direction, then writing me up would be insubordination on Molly’s part wouldn’t it?

I suppose if it got too confusing we could hire our own HR Consultant to sort it all out. (Maybe our readers could suggest someone?)

At that point Mistress rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, right. And you were the one to skip Switch Day last Sunday!”

At this point, ‘Nilla chimed in.

“Oh really. That’s not nice. It’s hard work to be a Dom all the time. Mistress needs that time off, Mick. I bet she counts on that Switch Day every week”

“Yeah… I know. I guess I was still in sub space Sunday morning after the ass fucking I got Saturday…. It was hard to clear that out of my brain and get up for torturing Mistress.”

By now Mistress was doing that little squirmy thing on the bed. Rolling around, smiling that coy “I need to be fucked” smile. All this talk about you, spanking, and her need to surrender her Domme role from time to time had gotten her natural juices flowing, it seemed.

And of course, where and when Mistress flows, I follow.

So we were soon ringing off with ‘Nilla for a little “post conference” de-briefing.

Hmmmm. Where was I ….

Yes, I was pointing out how much the Publisher appreciates your willingness to engage in those one-on-one mentoring sessions.

Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, and I was following some last minute directions about inserting that little white probe, Mistress reminded me that she was staying home in the morning, and had arranged for one of those little phone conferences with you.

“Where is the Hitachi Slave….I will need it handy in the morning.”

“Oh, sorry Mistress, I had to take it into the shop for repairs. It should be ready b y Monday.”

You should have seen her face. Sometimes, Mistress just can’t take a joke.

Bhy the way, it’s not a joke I would have made, but for the fact that Mistress had already unlocked my cage.

I guess the point of this memo is that we may want to consider closer collaboration as we work with a boss who sometimes can be, how to put it, ….. mercurial.

Mistress plays by her own rules in this dog-eat-dog cyber publishing world, sort of like a hot, female version of Lou Grant. I suppose that explains her success. But still, we need to watch each other’s back in our effort to keep her satisfied.

Example: last night, while we were “conferring” I mentioned the fact that Aisha’s Dom had forbid her any orgasms for 48 hours before their planned weekend get together.

“What if M starts doing that to you, Mistress….would you still let me come, or would you force me to follow the same rules?”

Our speculation seemed to increase our levels of passion as we continued our “meeting”.

But your ears must have been burning.

After we were done doing what Mick and Molly do, she picked up her I-phone and saw your email. She read portions to me. You reminded her of your date in the morning, told her to have the Hitachi and white probe close at hand, and said “no more orgasms for you tonight, Slave.”

“Phew….I guess you got that one just under the wire, Mistress.”

We talked a bit about our schedule this morning. Mistress said, “Don’t forget to come up by 7 if you want sex, Slave.”

Huh?

“You mean you’d let me come, even if you could not.”

“M said no orgasms tonight, Slave. He didn’t say anything about the morning.”

That seemed to me to be a rather narrow reading of your instructions.

“Hmmmm…..I suspect that is not what he intended.”

I picked up my own computer, and sent you an email suggesting that you needed to clarify. But if Mistress was a lawyer, I would hate to be on the other side of her strained contract interpretations.


In any event, we look forward to working with you in the months to come. And remember, when you think the publisher needs a good hard spanking, just give me the word.

HNT / Volvo Diesel vs. Lamborghini.

“Get it hard for me Slave.”

It was later on Tuesday evening. Mistress had enjoyed her little wanton display on the drive home at M’s direction. I had thrown in a little worship to round out the experience, before setting off on our evening bike ride.

Now we were lying in bed, having fed the kids and bid them good night. Mistress had been tending to some work emails, and I had paged through the Times quavering in fear over the latest hideous economic and political tidings.

I was naked, as she likes. Mistress had that silky black and white nighty on that barely covered her soft and well shaved parts. An errant nipple peeked at me.

But the time had (finally) come for her Slave to enjoy the bounty of Mistress’s sexual attention.

“Really, Mistress.  You want me to touch myself….here?”

I demonstrated, sliding my fingers along the length of my flaccid cock.  I guess I probably shook it at her, just a bit. I was being a cheeky Slave.

“Yes, Slave. Why should I have to do all the work?”

She had a point. But then it’s interesting how Mistress gets a little domm-ier after one of her slutty little episodes with our Western Correspondent. The yin and yang of her sexual persona becomes more pronounced.

She laid across the bottom of the bed, smiling a wicked grin at me as I went to work.

“You can do better than that Slave…”

She giggled as I  slid my hand up and over the length of my cock, trying to deliver the goods she desired in to merchantable standards. I would not want to breach any warranties.

And, truth be told, it took a minute or so to get things going. At my age, I am hardly the Lamborghini, with  0 to 60 speed measured in less than 7 seconds.

No, I am more like the Volvo Diesel station wagon that I owned back in the 80’s (John Anderson (R – Ill.) told me it was actually the first Volvo he ever rode in, despite all the clichés about who the Vovo driving suburban Moms who supposedly supported him). That old tank-y Volvo was not much for snappy acceleration, but it could run forever and ever, on a single tank of gas.

Or as the song goes it was , “built for comfort, not for speed.”

As I used my fingers, watching Mistress stretch her legs languorously across our bed, Mistress added a bit to the experience, by gently rubbing those well manicured nails across my balls.

Uhhhh Yeah. That did it. Between my fingers and hers, the cork was soon ready to pop.

“Oh my, Slave. Very impressive.”

I was ready to move to the next and more interesting stage, abandoning my fully extended cock and reaching for her legs.

“Who told you to stop, Slave?”

“Uhhh, Ok mistress. “

I obediently went back to work, and she continued to lightly stroke my very sensitive balls. And I was soon squirming, very close to the edge.

She seemed delighted with my predicament. It was a form of torture that was far more devious than a dozen strokes with the crop or that long wooden shoe horn she liberated from the 4 Seasons in the Windy City.

“Wouldn’t you like me to fuck you now, Mistress?”

“What’s the rush, Slave?”

Argh.

“I am getting desperate, Mistress.”

My ass was lifting off the bed a bit in my “discomfort”.

“Why not try begging, Slave?”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to beg to come, or beg to fuck her.

But since I take so much pleasure in filling her to the rim, I opted for the latter.

“Can I please fuck you Mistress?”

“You don’t sound desperate enough, Slave.”

All the while her fingers were toying with me, the tips of her nails sliding along the little seam of my sack. And I was obediently sliding my fingers along my shaft, with the slightest pressure. Not trying to provoke an explosion, but driving myself to distraction despite my mental reservations.

All the while I was begging in a variety of variations for the right to fuck her. And finally, she took pity.

“Alright, Slave….. I do like that desperation in your voice. And you’ve done such a good job making it hard for me, I think I’m going to ride it for a while.”

She slid up onto me, straddling my hips, using her hand to guide me into her.

Ahhh. At last.

And then she began that sensual ride. My hands were roving her body, finally landing on her hips, pressing her down hard onto me. Her head was thrown back  while mine was reaching up to snag a ripe, firm nipple between my lips for a long teasing suck.

Soon she was churning away on me, loping into the final turn of her ride, before, finally groaning in release, with her knees digging into my flank like a randy jockey making the final turn at Churchill Downs..

She wasn’t done though, and took me for another spin after she caught her breath. She was doing the work, but the old Volvo was staying the course.

When she finally collapsed and rolled off me after a second trip over the edge, Mistress muttered something about me getting on top of her now. Not that she could have stopped me.

And I was happy to finish up that way, making sure I asked permission before exploding at long last into her.

The old Diesel had taken its time but got the job done one more time.

The Evening Commute

“I think M is a little annoyed with me today, Slave.”

We were sharing a quick lunch at a local “chili parlor” (Yeah, they really call them that here in River City).

Mistress was on a tight schedule and did not have time to come up for any mid-day worship. Sad. But duty calls. At least there was time for what passes for Chili in these parts.

“Oh really, mistress. What’s the problem?”

“Well I got out of the meeting, and there were three text messages from him. Only one from you, I might add.”

Oops. Guess I was a slacker. But then I had been busy too,

“And I think he’s probably annoyed that I had not gotten back to him.”


“Well I’m sure that he’ll accept your explanation when you finally do get through to him this afternoon.”

Sure enough, around 5:30, as I was waiting in my lobby as Mistress walked the few blocks over to where we park our car, I saw Mistress striding across the street, drawing glances in her swishy black dress, with black heels adorning those long, tanned legs, her I-phone pressed to her ear.

As she approached me I heard her say good bye to M.

“Is he feeling better now, Mistress?”

She smiled. “

I think so, Slave.”

In the car, we worked our way through downtown, merged onto the expressway, which had it’s typical late day congestion. So it went for about 10 minutes lurching forward, then slowing as the lanes clogged.

Mistress had been working her phone as I navigated.

“Uhhh….now he wants to know if I would like to get off on the ride home, Slave.”

I laughed.

‘Well it appears he’s fine with you Mistress …. Of course, it’s up to you.”

We were probably about 10 minutes from home by now. Mistress made the calculations. There was not much time. But she could not resist.

She texted back.. Soon her phone was ringing.

Mistress lowered the back of her seat as far as it would go, her dress already hiked up around her waist, as she described to M how she was wriggling out of her black undies.

“Oh, Shit, there’s a truck over there. Slave can you please try to avoid stopping next to those trucks.”

“I will do my best, Mistress.”

I could not tell if the guy in the panel truck had gotten an eyeful, but I slid over to the far right lane when the traffic parted, to make sure there was no one peering into the passenger side. It was a unique form of “defensive driving” they do not cover in driver’s ed.

“Ok, M. I’ m ready.”

Yes, she was. Her left hand already had begun sliding through her apparently moist lips. The smell of her arousal was filling our little steel and glass compartment.

And I was challenged to keep my eyes on the road, as my cock began to twitch in response to what I was seeing and hearing.

Mistress was quickly submerged into her little wanton zone….her hand moving at a quickened pace, her hips squirming, as she pressed the phone against her ear with her right hand. Her eyes were pressed shut, head thrown back, as she focused on M’s words.

And the sounds. Argh.

“Yes……….yes………yes………..”

She was affirming whatever kinky fantasy M was weaving for her ….later she told me it involved M taking her at the Hedonism resort where he’s been, she bent over a table, others watching and marveling as M’s fantastic cock filled her Oh so completely. And Mistress was loving it.

And when she was not confirming her desire to be taken that way, there were these lovely little whimpering sounds emerging from her. Thinking of them even now makes my cock swell and shift as if it has a will of there own.

(reminder to myself: no touching allowed, Mick)

It is intriguing that the sounds she makes for him are so different than the sounds she makes for me: I guess those are her “sub” sounds, and “My” sounds, every bit as erotic, are coming from a different space.

By now I was trying to make a mental record of all these sights and sounds. I focused on the view of her feet, resting on the dash, turned apart to accommodate the wide spread of her knees, like in the picture above.

But soon the fantasy M was whispering to her, and her spinning fingers, had built Mistress to a delightful sensory overload, As she came with a frenzy, her hips bucked up off the seat, back arching, her knees came together, trapping her sticky fingers until she had exhausted herself.

“Uhhh…. Oh God, you got me M.”

By now the traffic had loosened up a bit, and we were exiting into our leafy community. Mistress and M chatted a bit more, and let me join in with some comments too.

“Mick says the car smells of cunt now , M.”

I could here his deep laugh.

Then he was ringing off, and we were pulling into our drive.

As we opened the door in our garage, that aroma wafted out with us. And I was counting the moments until I would be able to take Mistress too.

“ Still have some appetite left for worship, Mistress?”

“Of, course, My Slave.”

Mistress balances her men well, don’t you think?

Smut-ergy

According to my little electronic dictionary, “synergy” is the interaction of two or more …. Agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects : Exp., the synergy between artist and record company.”

Well lately in our little blogger community, I have noticed what could be called “smutt-ergy”, when through our communications or comments we all seem to be creating a higher (or would it really be “lower”) and more creative variety of smut than we might otherwise have  generated if left to our own deviant devices.

So….SFP bemoans her disconnect from Mr. C at “Peacefully Submissive”, and “Sin” at “Finding My Submission” offers up her Dom on some sort of long distance Lend Lease basis. The result becomes an erotic take on the Little Red Riding Hood mythology, and we are all wondering what SFP has on under the red cape.

Or Aisha talks about her assignment to acquire a yard stick at the State Fair for use by her Dom, then suddenly on her vanilla facebook page there is an “innocent” reference to that free yardstick.

But here in the Collins household, our favorite was the deviant tale of crossed explicit text messages that ended up on ‘Nilla’s  blog Monday, after our conference call with her last week, in which Mistress described receiving pictures of my caged cock while she was entertaining clients at the tennis tournament.

Yesterday Molly and Mick were up early, still groggy after a late night trip to the airport to collect surly teen #2 from a late summer trip to visit a friend in the Big Apple.  As is all too routine, the place was delayed, the bag was lost, and we had stumbled into bed around 1:30 am.

Fortunately I had worked up my “homework” the night before, and it included a little line about maybe there should be a TV show with the “tool time” man, but using X-rated tools..  But there was no opportunity or energy for morning sex. I was headed for another town, about 90 miles to the south.

So there I was, around 2 pm, waiting for a meeting in a somber office with photos of our President and his Attorney General on the wall, when checking my blackberry, I see a new e mail from  Snow9’s blog (no longer a secret identity for our heroine ‘Nilla) entitled “The Tool Guy”. 

As I scrolled through the twisted tale of sodden sub exploited by the Dom in the leather tool belt, and (of course) nothing else, I tried to keep a straight face for my more disciplined colleagues.

Of course, there is also a certain friendly but competitive synergy between the Collins household and that of our Western Correspondent. We seem to egg each other on for erotic bragging rights.

I actually made it home yesterday evening before Mistress got back from her own busy work day. . When she joined me in our bedroom, the Times was laying on my chest and I was waking groggily from a short but satisfying nap.

She told me about her day, and her talks with M, who must have missed her over the weekend.

“He says that he and B had sex for two hours this morning, Slave.”

Nice. M’s work schedule was a tad more flexible than ours on Monday.

“And that B must have had 20 orgasms….”

“Hmmmm…..are you feeling a little neglected, Mistress?”

She claimed not to be jealous, or particularly horny, but I could sense a little tension.

“I suppose we can’t lead the field everyday, Mistress.  Not even Lance Armstrong did that on the Tour in his day.”

Mistress had in her hand a bag of chocolate covered cherries that Surly teen #1 had brought back from her vacation for her loving mom.

Have I mentioned that Mistress has a thing for all things chocolate?

With one hand she was casually stripping off her work costume, down to black bra and undies, while, with the other hand she was helping herself to those little delicious treats. She even shared some with me.

She settled down next to me on the bed, and as she munched and chatted I shifted to a position between her legs, and helped free her cunt from those tight, confining panties.

Without getting her explicit consent, I found myself in a face first confrontation with those succulent smoothly shaved folds, my tongue gently reaching out for that first delicious taste. So much better than the mountain dew that had kept me awake on my drive to and from that day.

“Mistress Dew”, I suppose you could call it.

So as Mistress multitasked, savoring her chocolates, I savored her dew, taking her to a fine bucking orgasm.

Afterwards, Mistress used her I – phone to take a snapshot of the chocolate covered cherry bag.  Then she was keying words into her little device.

“What are you doing, Mistress.”

“Telling M that while he may have fucked B for two hours this morning, I got my cunt licked while eating chocolate covered cherries….”

Ahh. More Smut-ergy.

Mistress's Special Request

Saturday night, after that I came down from that lovely ass fucking Mistress gave me, we went to the movies.

We opted for “The Kids are Alright”, a domestic comedy / drama with Julianne Moore and Annette Bening as a lesbian couple with two precocious teens and Mark Ruffalo as their hip, younger, hipster sperm donor.

It comes as no surprise when Ruffalo and Moore end up in bed together, and Mistress and her Slave were, shall we say, “stirred….”

Particularly Mistress.

“I think you liked it when he took her from behind like that, Mistress”.

We were driving home. It was late. And following our afternoon’s activities, neither one of us had plans for more erotic activities.

“He is pretty hot Slave….”

Back at home we settled in, scanning our emails, and catching up with our blogger friends, and then welcomed our surly teen #1, back from her trip North with her boyfriend’s family.

As we settled into bed, I got a whiff of what seemed like Mistress’s arousal.

Hmmm.

I took that as a cue.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress?”



In all honesty, I was expecting an “I’m good Slave.”

But she surprised me….

“Well I could use a bit of the Hitachi, Slave…..”

I guess I should not have been surprised.

Did the scenes between Ruffalo and Moore get Mistress a tad more jazzed than I expected? Or was it just Power tool withdrawal catching up with her? It had been five whole days since one of those Hitachi assisted dates with M.

I reached over to grab my WMO (weapon of massive orgasm) at the side of the bed.

Mistress was wearing a silky black nightie with white lace cupping her soft and full breasts. As I turned to her, tool in hand, her legs were already spread.

She moaned with a certain gratitude as I pressed the business end of the device against he cleanly shaven mound.

My, she was in need.

And I enjoyed coming to the rescue with the proper equipment.

New TV series idea: Tim, the “Tool Time” guy, but with X- rated equipment.

I worked her with it, as her hips squirmed side to side, her head thrown back.

I reveled in the urgency of the sounds she was making as she worked herself against the churning device, as I nibbled on the nipple that had popped free from that little nightie.

And when she finally came, her hips rising off the bed, sobbing with pleasure, I loved the way her thighs scissored and clutched that little machine for dear life.

Afterwards, I held her tight, as she shuddered a bit with the aftershocks, choosing to take my reward in the morning.

A Slave takes pride in a job well done.

"Mistress is Busy Now."

It was the de facto last day of summer Saturday at the Collins’ household. The last day Molly and Mick would have the house to themselves before the return of the surly teens from some late summer adventures. They start the school year grind on Tuesday.

And we did our best to exploit the fleeting  moment.

First, I had a delicious early morning opportunity to break my abstinence with mistress,  .after completing my homework assignment. After pleasuring her with my mouth, she returned the favor, driving me to distraction with her lips sliding the length of my shaft, as her fingers lightly caressed my balls,  until I was fidgeting with desperation, and begging for the chance to demonstrate how nicely my cock would fill her ravenous cunt.

Fortunately, she was curious about my proposal. It may not have been M’s “special occasion cock” that she yearns for at times, but it seems servicable for every day use.

Then we were up and at it.

We did our grocery shopping.

We rode bikes.

We emptied boxes of detritus left in the basement for far too long. (I forgot all about my treasured  Gore / Lieberman shirt in Hebrew symbols. Now there is a collector’s item).

We made two trips to Goodwill.

We had one of out “picnics” – smoked salmon, goat cheese, fresh local tomatoes and  artisan bread – and watched the new episode of Weeds. (Mary Louise Parker would make a great surrogate Domme, wouldn’t she?)

We napped.

But then it was time for Slave to face the music.

“Go get my supplies, Slave….”

“What ever are you referring to, Mistress?”

“Don’t make me ask twice….”

Of course I knew.

My cock twitched at the thought of what was in store.

It had been a few weeks, after all. And with all that blog and phone talk (with ‘Nilla) about “ass fucking”, Mistress was more than willing to demonstrate who’s ass gets fucked in this household.

(Not that she would not make hers available for M.)

And I must confess I was looking forward to it as well. It was past time for an attitude adjustment – a reminder of my place in our bed chambers -  that only being taken that way can provide.

But just as Mistress was all “kitted up” and ready to take her prize,  the little text message chime on her I-phone binged. And binged again.

It was M, sending cheerful messages with photos of his golf partners attached. He was checking in. But his timing was a tad inopportune.

 “I think he likes to know what I’m up to, Slave.”

That could be arranged.  I decided to play the troublemaker.

I picked up my little cell phone, and aimed it at Mistress as she lay on the bed, waiting for me.

“What are you up to Slave?”

I snapped.

“We might as well show him what you are up to.”

She giggled, as I texted him the photo above, with a report , “Mistress is busy now.”

And soon she was.

I slid down next to her on the bed, kissing, nipping at her full and firm nipples, as her hand worked my cock until I was moaning with need.  It would have been easy for me to come that way….but it would have spoiled the fun.

As my desperation began to peak, she shifted away from me.

“It’s time, Slave. Get in position.”

I rolled onto my stomach, pillow positioned under my hips. She shifted me a bit, to provide the right angle for her assault.

Then her “cock” was sliding into me.

“Do I have that right, Slave.”

“Oh yes, Mistress”, came out somewhere between my moans.

And I was responding the way she likes.

“That’s right, Slave, I like to hear those little whimpering sounds. “

She pumped harder, and soon it was her making the naughty sounds.

She came once, pressing hard, moving her hips side to side too, grinding one out against my cheeks.

And she kept moving afterwards, building herself to another gasping, writhing cum, moaning into my ear, before pulling out and shedding her harness.

“That’s enough for now, Slave….why don’t you insert your probe and get back here and fuck me.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

 I graciously followed her orders. Soon my   cock was pounding into her, so close.  So very close.

It was just about then that the text chime on my phone went off. No doubt a snarky comment from her Master.

“Let’s check that after we’re done here, Slave.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

I hope her inattention to M won’t earn her a punishment.

Not.

Accidental Abstinence Day

Somehow Friday turned into an Abstinence Day for this Slave.

I am not exactly sure how it happened.

But sitting here this morning, coffee brewed, I am wishing I had read stories in the “mainstream media” about “terror mosques” and the silly things 20% of Maericans believe, rather than ‘Nilla’s blog about her adventures with her Sir last Sunday, or Aisha’s blog anticipating her encounter with a special someone wielding a yard stick collected from the State Fair.

After our late night Thursday watching the tennis studs, Mistress had let it be known that Friday morning before work would be set aside for a bracing bike ride. She is an exercise fiend, as those shots of her lush body show.

So after reading ‘Nilla’s further adventures of some barely fictional characters performing unnatural acts in a Mountain Stream, it was time for some tough love for Slave.

I did my best to file away the image of a certain Domme being forced to fuck an inanimate phallus to please her Master, and slid into my riding shorts and shoes. The air was still cool as I joined Mistress for that first 7 am loop up a killer hill.

When she returned (she is a two loop girl, and I am a two lump guy), there was just time for a shower before heading to work. And though I made sure that Mistress had a special treat in the shower - sliding my fingers through her wet and soaped up folds until she was shuddering through a comfy little climax – I knew that I should not expect any sauce for this gander.

Later, at mid-day, Mistress surprised me with a visit to the office.

I had been to a rather tedious meeting, and was grinding away on an even more tedious project, with a mess of papers spread across my desk, when she floated in as an unanticipated vision, all glamorously summer casual in a loose fitting navy cotton dress, floating a tad above her knees, legs naked and well tanned.

But beneath that Friday in August professional polish, I had a feeling there was a little itch that needed to be scratched.

At this point, words are not required.

She “casually” shut the door behind her.

I slid her “throne” against the door, laid that little maroon blanket underneath to keep the upholstery presentable for more official visitors.

She sat back, knees spread, black panties draped around an ankle, the hem of her dress barely covering her cleanly groomed “naughty bits”.

Delicious.

I could not resist recording the image to share with you.

And by now Slave’s earlier “denial”, was taking it’s toll. On my knees, sucking Mistress’s pink and needy clit between by teeth, inhaling her scintillating musk, my cock began to twitch and grow.

Mistress wrapped one of her firm thighs around my neck, pulling my mouth even closer to her, and came with a sudden jerk, her head knocking a bit against the door to my office. Fortunately, no one in the hallway outside tried to open that door to figure out what the two lovebirds were up to now.

But quickly, after pulling the disheveled parts together, she was out the door.

“Better get back to work, Slave.”

I collected a kiss, austere enough not to smear the lipstick she had quickly reapplied. She left behind something firm and needy.

“Later”, I told myself, and dug back into that unruly collection of paper on my desk.

Later, yesterday evening, we joined some friends for dinner and one of those “preseason” football games in which the first teamers make cameo appearances, and the scrubs finish things off. Fortunately, our friends were more entertaining than the roster fodder on the field. And the first string cheerleaders provided an opportunity to speculate about the source of their frighteningly uniform perma-tans.

But by the time we got home, after 11:30 pm, it was clear that Slave’s window of opportunity had passed.

“I guess you actually gave me an Abstinence Day that I didn’t see icoming, Mistress.”

“It’s good for you, Slave. Just think how horny you will be tomorrow, when I fuck you in the ass.”

Twitch.

Of course, it could be worse. Much worse.


Changing subjects: yesterday Sin asked the question about whether this writer, when contemplating the concept of being required to “share” that shot of me in my cage in the blogosphere generates any “heat” for me.

The short answer: “Yes”. Not because I like the idea of strange dudes / dudettes from Saudi Arabia or Brazil or Amarillo checking me out. (Yes, we know you are out there, thanks to StatCounter). But because of the inherent hotness of Mistress forcing me to do something outside of my comfort zone to prove my devotion to her.

Now that is hot. So how we handle the distribution of my “caged” photo is up to her.

Ripples

Our conversation with the ‘Nilla seemed to send out all sorts of erotic ripples yesterday.

Example: playing the agent provocateur, she complements Mistress’s delightful ass, which has been on display at this location more than a few times. (I guess that has been one of my cheap ploys for drawing eyes to this page. Shame. Shame, Slave).

But she wonders why can’t she see Mick in his cage.

I am heading back from a meeting.  And call Mistress.

“Oh, by the way Slave, Mistress made a cute comment on our blog, and she wants to see that picture of you in your cage.”

Gulp.

Unlike Mistress’s smooth lush ass, Mick’s crotch  in the cage looks rather disheveled: hair poorly maintained, skin mottled, pale aging flesh that has not seen the sun. (well there was that day on the river beach out west, but only for an hour or two).  Yuck.

“….and you said?”

“I said Yes, Slave.”

Later, back in my office, I texted Mistress for clarification.

“Are you telling me that you want me to send it, or that I have permission to send it?”

Her answer was very….directive.

“Send it, Slave.”

Ok……I sucked it up, and got a little “Slave humiliates himself to please Mistress” twitch.  I sent the loathsome picture  via email to ‘Nilla. She seemed to be amused, making a clever remark about my status as a “knight in shining armor.”

Funny, ‘Nilla.  Very funny.

But by now the chorus of comments for a more public display has been heard. Mistress and I will need to discuss that, folks, so be patient.

Then there was M.

He as very intrigued by ‘Nilla’s endorsement of the ass fucking that he has in mind for Mistress.

We were driving out to the tennis tournament late yesterday afternoon, and Mistress was sharing the highlights of her day.

“M was very engaging today, Slave….he wanted to hear all about our talk with ‘Nilla.”

(M is a very big ‘Nilla fan.)

“And what did you tell him…”

“About how wild she was about that ass fucking thing….”

Sure enough, as we sat at courtside with the privilege of watching some guy the crowd called Rafa rally from a set behind, Mistress was getting a series of texts from her cyber Dom.

And one she shared included a very generous offer.

“M says that, if you and I want, you can have permission to fuck me in the ass on Sunday, Slave.”

Wow. This was something that Mistress had promised M. An experience she has yet to “enjoy.” He was to be the first with the special “All Orifice Access Pass.”

Very generous.  

And yet.

“What do you think, Slave?”

“I’m not sure it’s right, Mistress. That is M’s holy grail.  His White Whale. Something you’ve said you are saving for him. I don’t think it would be right for me to usurp. But, of course, it’s up to you, Mistress.”

“Of course it is Slave.”

Later that night, home at last and getting ready for bed, Mistress instructed me to insert my little white probe.

“I know we are a little tired, Slave. But a nice hard cock is what I have in mind.”

It was well lubed and inside me as I slid in next to her. She had my laptop opened, and as I laved her tender parts with my tongue she caught up on some of our commenters, Aisha and Sin. And she commented to me on ‘Nilla’s cute cut-out top for HNT.”

Meanwhile I was getting a taste of Mistress’s parts, after being marinated in their sealed undies for so many hours of a busy and warm day.

Or had they been sealed?

“Hmmm, Mistress. It tastes like there’s been some action down here.  Not exactly like you’ve been fucked, but certainly like you’ve been pretty aroused today.”

Maybe Slave’s taste buds are over sensitized, but mingled with the salty brine of our afternoon in those sunny seats at court side was the more pungent flavor of Mistress’s natural, lubricating   juices.

It made for a very intoxicating brew.

“Well, M was sending me some salacious messages today, and you know what that does to me, Slave.”

After she put the computer down, She rocked and rolled against my mouth for a lovely explosion.  My cock was standing at attention as I removed the laptop from our bed. She seemed impressed.

“Oh my Slave.  That is impressive.”

Then she allowed me to fuck her.

“So what were those things he was telling you Mistress?”, I asked as I ground my hips against her and she made those cute and sexes noises for me.

A little smutty talk about her fantasies with M seems to fuel both of our fires at moments like these.

“Ahhh….he had a story about taking me golfing, Slave.”

“You golfed with him?”

“Well, not exactly. I carried his clubs. And I also carried his  balls …. In my cunt….”

Hmmm.  “Well I suppose you could fit one or them, but I’d worry about getting them out.”

“It seemed a little impractical, but then it was a fantasy after all.”

“Did that turn you on Mistress?”

“Well, I recall it did Slave. And then he mad me suck him off in the trees.”

I suppose that would be the golf equivalent of the 7^th inning stretch. But who would sing “Take me out to the Ball Game”?

In my mind I wondered if Mistress had survived the day without getting herself off, but that is a matter of Dom/sub privilege.

As for me, I was fortunate to be granted permission to come when the time was right. That’s really the most important question for me to get answered.