Catching Up

When I write it seems always to be on a deadline.

I get up, make coffee, peruse blogs by colleagues like ‘Nilla, Aisha, Sin. This am, Remittance Girl has a long and compelling story. Watch the clock. Knowing that at a set time, my duty is to go up to Mistress, assure she is awake, give her my morning work product to review, and, of course, caress her lush parts with my tongue as she scrolls through it.

Sometimes the deadline works well. Other times my opportunity to finish my thoughts or sufficiently edit my outpouring expires.

Yesterday I got through our morning activities but was unable to add some of the afternoon and evenings details to keep you up to date with the crazy Collins.

Like how, on Sunday afternoon, after we spent some time broasting ourselves at the local, no PDA’s allowed swim club, we came home to an empty home and dug into a large bag of caramel corn I had acquired for Mistress on an outing with my cute as can be grandson.

Mistress has a weakness for caramel corn. I have a (well documented) weakness for Mistress.

So as she munched her way to the bottom of that bag, splayed naked across our bed, I munched away on her. I was wondering if my tongue and mouth could be as compelling as the caramel corn. Could I squeeze an orgasm from her even while she was crunching away at it? Or was Mistress unable to chew corn and come at the same time? (sort of a kinky version of the Gerry Ford conundrum, of you remember him).

The answer: I knew Gerry Ford, and Mistress, you’re know Gerry Ford.

Mistress can multitask with the best of them. Or at least her cunt can.

And afterwards, when the caramel corn was just a fond memory, she commanded me to insert my little device, and service her properly with my firm and steady cock.

I did not try to fuck her and eat at the same time, mind you.

Sunday evening I had plans to take surly teen #2 to a preseason football game. And Mistress had her own plans.

Knowing she would be home alone, she had made a date with our Western Correspondent.

She was looking forward to it since they had not had that opportunity in a while. Mistress did not want to admit it, but I suspect she was feeling a bit desperate for M’s attention, his explicit directions on how to deploy the Power tool on her needy parts.

But I can be a trouble maker.

“Maybe I should hide the Hitachi, Mistress.”

She looked at me in horror. Apparently our morning session, and then the afternoon, catered session, had only stoked the fire.

“That would be very bad slave….”

“Might earn me a punishment?”

I guess I literally am a glutton for it.


She grabbed her new I-phone, and tapped away.

“I’m telling M you are threatening to hide it, Slave.”

Moments later, she got her response.

She glanced at it and smiled.

“He says that’s very bad Slave behavior.”

But of course, I am not so cruel.

Later, at the game, as I daughter and I watched the NFL debut of a certain human battering ram with a collection of Heisman trophies, I knew that Mistress was back at home, battering her cunt one more time at M’s direction. Sort of taking it for the Gipper.

Yesterday morning I performed the duties described above. Then headed off to work.

Though I am in trouble. I forgot to ask Mistress if I should wear my cage, since it was not a day when we drove together.

She reminded me later of my error, in a brief phone call.

“You screwed up, Slave.”

I confessed to my error, and await my punishment.

When I got home, a little later than Mistress, she described her own afternoon.

“I had a little mini-date with M a little while ago, Slave.”

“Oh….”

“I mentioned I was home alone and he called me.”

I could tell Mistress was happy about this. She likes our mutual attention.

And of course this got Slave going too.

“ How ‘bout I worship you and you tell me about it Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave.”

Our planned bike ride could wait.

Mistress stretched across the bed. I placed a pillow on the floor for my knobby old guy knees. And as she spread her legs, I hopped to my duty.

She described how he told her to apply the tool to her horny little cunt, and spun a tale of her bent over his desk, absorbing his spanks, and then that larger than life cock of his.

And I did my best to help her relive her role.

‘After that he had to go, Slave. He said he was going to his office bathroom to take care of himself.”

I am not sure what part of this Mistress likes better. Coming so hard at his command, or imagining M working his cock to a lather with dreams of Mistress in his head.

But I do know that Mistress seems happy with M as part of her life.

And that’s good enough for me.


Opps. Time is up.