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.