HNT / Cage Day

Yesterday morning, after my homework was done, I went upstairs to Mistress, was was still sound asleep. That late night  dinner with friends had taken it’s toll. But once her eyes adjusted she was happy to read and amused by some of my allusions to our Western Correspondent.

Once the worshipping was done, she reached for my cock, that was already firming up for her.

“Oh good… the ring is already on.”

Her fingers explored, twisting through my fur, sliding around the hard steel ring that by now was gripping my enlarged cock and balls in a rather cruel embrace.

Oh, Yeah. It was on.

It had been a while since we had fucked with it on, and I thought that was on the morning’s agenda.

“Hmmmm… Slave. It’s already so hard. But it’s Wednesday, isn’t it?  Isn’t that supposed to be your abstinence day.”

“Uhhhh…. Usually you give me warning Mistress ….. time for me to adjust my expectations.”

If I had known it was abstinence day, I might have been worshiping with a little more mental reservation – thinking about who hometown team might be meeting in the playoffs – rather than contemplating the rich reward of plunging into her.

Of course, she was just teasing.

“You know I’m not that cruel, Slave…. Here, come fuck me.”

She rolled onto her back, using the fingers still clinging to me  to guide me to her target.

I think she likes me fucking her with the ring on..  Once the blood flows into that cock, hardening it, making the ring tighter, it does not retreat easily. So Mistress knew she was in for a nice ride. And I knew it would take some considerable energy and focus to get me over the top.

So when I was finally asking for her permission to come, and she agreed, with  her sweet “Yes, My Slave”, I exploded with a groan that startled the poor cat, and came in a series of spurts that pushed my humble seed through the constricting steel ring that gripped me.

Yowser.

Once I showered, I presented myself to Mistress, with the cage now affixed to the steel ring. She snapped the lock closed with a precocious smile, and kissed me goodbye as I headed  off to work. Mistress lingered for a bike ride, catching a ride downtown later in the morning  with a male friends. Somehow she had persuaded him to pick her up a pumpkin latte for the drive.

She can be very persuasive.

Later at work, hoping to distract Mistress and remind her of her grip on me, I closed my office door, dropped my trousers, and sent her a shot via text message of my humbled cock, locked away in it’s steel cage.

Her response “yummy”.

Aisha did a thoughtful blog yesterday on the role of pain in this sort of relationship.  And in response to a comment, she asked about the pain that my cage can induce.

Of course, should my cock become hard inside that sucker: that’s pain. Yow. But normally I can use my brain to control that. Mind over fleshy matter.  But Once Mistress, when traveling, had me sleep in the cage (it might have been the old, plastic CB 2000 model), and a dream or some other stimulus caught me unawares. I woke up with a very big ouch, the ring around my balls and the plastic sheath digging deeply into throbbing flesh that had acquired a life of it’s own.

Thankfully, that little experiment has not happened again. But if Mistress ever wanted to really punish me,  that would be the way to do it.

Wearing the cage to work or to a social event is a very nice reminder of her control over me: it’s never really out of mind. It can pinch, bind, require a little adjustment to reduce that minor discomfort. And of course, there is the way one had to pee. All reminders that Mistress is in charge.

Aisha, if we ever join you and Sir D for one of those little “meet and crops”, or whatever you call them, I suspect Mistress will want to keep me in that cage. She will want to know I am securely tucked away, in case something (or someone) catches her eye and distracts her for w while. And yes, should I witness something that gets the better of my mental “governor”, things could get very discomforting.

But it does sound like lots of fun.

By the way, today’s illustration is my Slave’s eye view, prior to worshipping Mistress when we arrived home last night. I must have done a good job, since she removed my cage not long after.

She's Got Legs....

Slept in too late this morning. So our readers may only get a brief dose of Mick and Molly this morning.

Here is the brief update:

Morning worship, then the chance to fuck. Check.

Drive to work with Mistress’s legs on the dash, giving me a chance to run my fingers along her smooth, well exercised thighs. Check.

Lunch time with Mistress, with the opportunity to worship. Check.

She left me with the seductive scent of her juices on my face and fingers to remind me of her the rest of the afternoon.

We had plans to join friends at a downtown restaurant at a benefit dinner for an AIDS charity. Before hand we stopped for a drink. Mistress ordered an “Old Fashion”, in honor of her hero, Don Draper, the lead character in Mad Men. His suave, stylish demeanor makes his habitual womanizing seem only a minor character flaw.

And as we sipped our drinks, we talked about her conversation earlier in the day with our Western Correspondent.

“M says that it’s probably a good thing that we can’t have real sex, Slave?”

Of course, Mistress has all options available to her. But M is a little reticent, for several very understandable reasons.

“And why is that?”

“He says it might ruin our phone sex….”

I wondered what our friends in the blog-o-verse think about that?

And I suppose it could “ruin” them once (and if) the anticipated spontaneous human combustion occurs: when special occasion cock meets Mistress’s smoldering cunt, the anticipation would be over. Could they turn back? Would the physical distance between them just become a source of frustration?

Of course, what if it just doesn’t fit? Another problem to consider.

As we sat there I pulled out my cell phone to give M a call. I didn’t bring up the subject of the non-compete. We’ll let our lawyers work that out.

“M, just so you know, you and B (his wife) are welcome to join us at our Mountain hide-away the weekend after Thanksgiving.”

M thanked me for the invitation, but was , understandably, non-committal.

I wanted him to know that Slave was extending the invitation, as well as Mistress. But whether it ever happens…. Only ‘Nilla’s goddess knows for sure.

After a long dinner, both Slave and Mistress were pretty tired and very full. We read a bit, then went to sleep.

But Mistress had one final word…. “Slave, we’re driving separately tomorrow …. I want you to wear your cage.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

When I woke this morning, I grabbed the steel ring, to make sure I could slide it on before the colder weather made my balls a little less co-operative.

So this morning, when the blog reading and worship is done, Mistress will get the benefit of a cock made particularly hard and needy by that tight steel ring.

Deadline time…..will report back later. Have a great Wednesday, all.

Mistress Hits the Ground Running

Our readers will be – I think – happy to know that Mistress recovered quickly and quite wantonly from her 4 ½ hours in the saddle Sunday morning. While we mutually abstained Sunday, after those long bike and car rides, Mistress was more than game when I woke her to read the blog yesterday. She gladly accepted my devotions with lips and tongue, though I made sure that my attentions were gentle and therapeutic, not the more aggressive clit sucking that she sometimes enjoys.

And after a soothing orgasm, she spoke words that I always answer in the affirmative:

“Would you like to fuck me now, Slave?”

Later, as I was wading through an accumulation of paper on my desk, Mistress called to say she was stopping by to drop some papers off to a colleague.

“Would you like me to stop by, Slave?”

There is only one sane answer to that question.

Of course, Mistress.”

And once her errand was done, Mistress strode into my office, decked out in her black suit, bare legs and heels. She quickly assumed her throne for some midmorning worship. And her parts responded as you might expect, no worse for the weekend’s wear and tear.

On the drive home, Mistress reported on her chats with M during the day. They had not had the chance to talk on Sunday. So there was some mutual “after action” reporting to do about our rather depraved Saturday evening 3-way encounter.

“He says he was a little nervous about how my Slave might have reacted to it all.  Then, when he read the blog, he figured you were OK.”

“I think you know I was fine, Mistress. It was all pretty crazy, but very hot.”

“I told him that it was a little weird to be in the middle – worrying about making sure both of my men were enjoying themselves. I felt I had to make sure you were each getting equal attention.”

Yes, Mistress did quite a balancing act… Muttering endearments to me, while, over the phone, being very solicitous about the status of her “special occasion cock.”

“He said he knows what it’s like – when he’s had three ways, he always worries that one of his girls might feel that he is giving more attention to the other.”

Mistress laughed, eyes rolling. 

“He does have some wild and crazy stories, Slave….”

“Maybe we should make him sign a non-compete as our Western Correspondent. We don’t want to see him peddling those stories to some other blog, Mistress.”

“Not a bad idea, Slave.”

At home, our legs and the spitting rain told us that we could pass on our evening bike ride.

So we settled into bed for a little pre-dinner “rest” period. And of course, Mistress received some worship as she reviewed the comments made by our sub-sisters in response to Monday’s blog.

Sin’s questions about the contract got me thinking about when it was originally executed.  I found the original in my dresser drawer. As it turns out, the one year anniversary approaches at the end of the week .

There will certainly have to be a special anniversary edition of UCTMW to commemorate the occasion. Maybe I can call it a “collector’s edition” and double the newsstand price?

And yes, Sin, Mistress does have a great deal of leeway. She can share me with whomever she chooses. ‘Nilla certainly had that right. Her rights to me can be sold, leased  or assigned. (So far no bidders. Luckily the market for slaves is as slow as the real estate market, and I am probably way over priced and fully depreciated.)

And yes, Mistress has the right to acquire and train other subs, or to submit to a Master or two.

It’s All up to her.

How would I feel about that? It’s hard to anticipate, but Mistress is kind and merciful, as the little dialogue above shows. I am sure that if she ever felt the need to expand her stable, I would still be well taken care of here in the Collins’s household.

All this review, and  the latest episode of Mad Men,  had both of us “animated” by the time we retired to our chambers.

“Why don’t you insert your device, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

In bed, we kissed and canoodled a bit, with Mistress’s hands lingering on my hard and needy cock. Then I asked about her preferences.

“Would you like the Hitachi tonight, Mistress?”

“Hmmm…. I guess it’s been since Thursday.” (her date that morning with M). That might be nice Slave.”

Soon She was on her back, legs spread lasciviously. And I had the tool deployed, set on low, sliding it too and fro at the junction of those muscular, well exercised thighs.

She was very excited. Very. But soon began to complain.

“You’re frustrating me, Slave….. why do you do that?”

“I’m really not trying to Mistress… “

Well, I suppose I was taking a bit of the pressure off from time to time, sliding it off her sweet spot just a bit. I do like to see her squirm. What was the rush?

“No…there…”

Her hand was guiding me…. And I co-operated. Sort of.

“I guess it’s easier when you do it yourself…. When M is on the phone, instructing you where to put it….”

“Ahhh, yes…. It is Slave…. Right there.”

I decided I had made her squirm long enough, so took her cues, pressed firmly. And…

“Oh God ….. yes ….. AHHHHHHHH.”

Mistress hips launched themselves off the bed, she rolled to the right and the left, her thighs gripping the mighty little tool in a tight hug, her whole body coiled around the spot where machine and drippy little mound met.

Then she collapsed back onto the bed, lungs sucking in air through her sobs of relief.

“Fuck me now, Slave.”

Is this where you came in?

“

Move Along. Nothing to See Here.

Some of you have been lobbying for some abstinence for poor, confused Mistress / Slave Molly.

Well yesterday, inadvertently I suppose. both Slave and Mistress abstained. It’s been a very long time, now that I think of it. A whole day off for both of us.

Our excuse: a very early rise for that 50 mile bike ride. Plus, Mistress’s parts had been excessively used and abused the night before, during and after our long “epic” episode of directed sex ,with M tied in by cell line from across Lake Michigan, acting as the ringmaster.

Come morning, neither one of us could pin down exactly how long we were engaged in those wanton rituals. And when we review the three photos I took at some point – Mistress rubbing her (still!) needy cunt after I left the bed oh so briefly for a piss and hydration – we were so “shocked, shocked” that they ended up as cyber trash. They were too smutty and revealing to even share with M.

At least that’s what Mistress thought.

So when she read yesterday morning’s blog, I did not even consider doing my typical morning worship.

Then it was up and out into the chill lakefront air for that 50 mile bike ride with 5000 other early risers. The event organizers surprised us with a route that seemed to find the only rolling hills in the region. After 4.5 hours in the saddle, we felt like we had accomplished our goal, but at a certain price. The price I paid was sore knees. Mistress had a rather itchy and even more tender tush, as I had predicted.

“I’m not sure I will have sex for several days, Slave!”

“I can understand that Mistress….”

Though I suspect things will be better by this evening.

There were some interesting sights along the way.

The photo above shows where Molly might want to start up her own business someday, should she ever get tired of spin-doctoring. ( And yes, there is a little Eastern European in her gene pool, to balance out the Spanish that gives her that amazingly lush and dark skin tone).

What she found particularly appealing about this business opportunity was that the place was already advertising the availability of “subs”. You may recall that my contract does allow her to acquire others and put me on the block at any time. That sort of trade might supplement income from polish sausage and bait.

At one point a female cyclist pumped past us with what might pass for cyclist fetish wear: short, tight black riding shorts, paired with black thigh high cycling “stockings”, allowing her to show about 4 inches of skin between her “stocking” tops and her shorts.

I had to comment.

“Hmmm. Mistress. Check that out. Pretty hot look!”

“Oh really…. I don’t know that I care for my slave making comments suggesting that other women look hot.”

Opps. I tried my best to back and fill.

“Well it wasn’t her per se that caught my eye, Mistress. I never really got a look at her. I’m saying the ‘look’ is hot… I’d like to see you in that outfit.”

“Good try, Slave.”

So, dear readers – is Slave in trouble? Do I deserve a punishment for calling Mistress’s attention to another woman in that way?

Is it proper for a Slave to let another woman – or in this case – her outfit, catch his eye and comment to his Mistress?

Is this a Jimmy Carter “lust in my heart” sort of moment? (Not a guy Id like to be compared to … I was a Teddy supporter back in 1980).

And is it particularly un-slave like, or just natural?

Let us know what you think.

Now it’s time for me to go upstairs to see how Mistress is recovering from all that tush abuse.

Riding

This has to  be a quick post. I have to wake Mistress at about 7 am. We are embarking on a 50 mile bike ride this am in the rather crisp wind -off -the -lake air here with 5000 or so other crazies.

And, picking up on Aisha’s blogs of the last 12 hours– I probably should be punished. 

I let myself fuck Mistress far too long last night, and now I know what’s going to happen:  overly tenderized female flesh, pressed against a bike seat -Particularly a cold weather bike seat – is going to be uncomfortable for her. Very uncomfortable.

In fairness to me – not that I deserve fairness – it’s not all my fault. M started it.

As we were preparing for bed around 10 pm, he texted Mistress, wondering if she was available for a call. And the text came with a photo of his hard cock.

“I have a feeling M wants a little more of that action from the other night, Slave.”

She considered not responding. Right. For about 10 seconds. Then she was asking for my cell phone with it’s clearer signal.

They chatted for a while. I was there on the bed next to her, laptop open, splitting my attention between their smutty little verbal foreplay and Aisha’s very hot fantasy about punishment at a school for Subs and Doms. (I can imagine the tables turning with male subs being taught how to use their own tongues and lips better, Aisha).

But soon it was hard to resist fully engaging with Mistress’s squirming cunt.

“He’s down there again, M …. And I didn’t even have to ask this time.”

“Slave, M wants you to ‘stick my finger up my little asshole’… those are his exact words.”

Naturally, I complied.  And very quickly Mistress was moaning to her first orgasm, making sure M knew all about it.

The rest was a long and epic blur.

At one point, she is fondling my cock, sucking it, but also telling M….”This is exactly what I like, one hard cock in my hand, another hard one on the phone.”

She rode me to orgasm, filling M in on the details. And at some point, did that all over again.

I fucked her, rested, fucked her some more. All the while she was very curious about how M’s cock was doing.

It seemed to be doing well.

I was flattered when Mistress murmured into the phone, “I love it when my slave fuck’s me, M.”

And I had no problem when she pouted a bit about how she would like M to be doing the fucking some day. Or called him “Master” in that husky wanton voice that seemed quite desperate for both of us.

At one point I left the bed to visit the bathroom, and get a drink of water. Hydration was becoming an issue. When I came back, Mistress was vigorously rubbing herself to yet another orgasm. I took a few photos, and will make sure M gets a choice one to see what his compelling words wrought.

Was it hours by the time we were done? I just recall Mistress signing off at some point, exhausted…. But letting me fuck her some more, before giving me clearance to come.

Epic, M. Epic.

But now I have the sad task of waking sleeping beauty, and reminding her that she has 50 miles to ride…. That is gonna be one sore tush at the end of the day.

House Guests

The surly teens suffered through their campus visit yesterday. Their primary factor in deciding whether a particular college gets thumbs up or down appears to be the presence or absence of a Chipotle.

This lovely campus apparently failed that test.

Afterwards, we hit the highway to our next stop: The summer home of Molly’s in-laws near the banks of one of those great lakes.

We had assumed that the sleeping situation would put us in close proximity to the teens, so planned on a vanilla weekend. I did not even bring any implements of bondage or torture for Switch Day (oops, there go our stat counts for Monday).

But instead we ended up in this sumptuous suite apart from the rest of the house, with a huge four-poster bed. My kingdom for some clothesline!

But, fear not, we were able to have some delicious post sort-of-three way sex yesterday morning, in that old campus mansion, while the teens slept in before their tour.

As Mistress read the blog, her Slave worshipped, kneeling on the floor to get the proper leverage. But…the poor dear was rather tender from all that abuse the night before.

“Owww…. Be more gentle Slave….”

I stopped sucking clit between my lips, and reverted to a softer laving with my tongue. That seemed to do the trick.

And, once given permission to fuck her, I used it as an opportunity to do some cross-examination about her college days’ encounters with her Journalism Prof.

“So who made the first move, Mistress?”

“I suppose he did…. We were spending a lot of time together …. In class. Working on the school paper… and I was in his office ….. and he just kissed me.”

I imagined Mistress, young, passionate, those long tan legs. Relatively innocent, but clearly open, even at 19, to a little adventure. Once she turned on the charm, gave that little signal of availability, this guy would not have had a chance, just like me back in the days of Mike Dukakis and Dan Quayle.

“Did he ask for permission to kiss you?”

“I don’t remember that… it was just one of those moments.”

“And was it hot, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave…. He was a kittle quirky, but he was smart…. The older guy who seemed kind of cool.”

“And did you do it then with him?”

All the while, Slave is sliding in and out and against Mistress, listening to her little moans of delight as I take her down memory lane, early 80’s edition.

“No… it was a few days, maybe a week or two later.”

Good… patience. Planning. Anticipation. I imagined how hot both of them would be once they found each other in private again.

“And where did you do it?”

“In his office…. I remember that when he closed his door, there were all these academic robes hanging there… for graduation I guess. A weird thing to remember….”

“Did you do it on the floor? On his desk?”

“No… he had a couch.”

“Hmmm… How convenient.”

“And did he lick your cunt like I do, Mistress?”

“I don’t remember that… not as many men are into that the way you are, Slave.”

I guess it’s good to have a unique skill set in this tough economy.

“Did he like it when you sucked his cock, Mistress?”

“I am pretty sure he did Slave….”

Mistress must have developed those skills early on.

At this point the story line got lost …. Soon I was begging for permission to come, and Mistress was in a charitable state of mind.

Later, as we walked around the campus, Mistress pointed out to me the building where her illicit shenanigans had occurred. And she looked through the faculty roster. Her old Journalism Prof seems to have moved on. I wondered whether his “dabbling into female students” ( as a certain whacko Senate candidate might put it) had caught up with him.

The sort of behavior that was commonly winked at prior to 1985, one of the fringe benefits of academia, has long since become grounds for termination on U.S. campuses.

“Did you feel he had exploited you, Mistress? In retrospect was this sexual harassment?”

She laughed.

“No Slave…. I had a boyfriend who was pretty nasty to me at the time…. This was a nice outlet… it was fun. It made me feel good. ”

Mistress told me that he and the Prof “did it” a few times. He was married. She had the boyfriend. There were no expectations, she says. And she could not recall why they drifted apart.

Of course, I wonder how I would feel if my own daughter got caught up in this sort of teacher / student romance. Now that I think of it, I know exactly how I would feel. Pissed. Demanding retribution.

But sometimes a parent has to let go. Kids need to learn from their own experiences and make their own mistakes. For Molly this did not seem to be a mistake at all. But I am curious to know what some of you out there think about it.

Changing subjects….

Yesterday, Sin and Aisha wondered how Molly could handle the conflicting roles of sub / Mistress in our 3M sex-capade Thursday evening.

It seemed confusing but rather incendiary for her.

She had trouble with titles. Was the guy on the phone whispering who knows what into her ears, “Sir” or “M”? Was I “Slave” or “Mick”?

It seemed at some times I was her Slave … responding to commands about when to lick or fuck her. Then again, in her mind I may have been M’s surrogate, taking her in the way M was describing how he would take her.

And then, later, I was doing things that M had her tell me to do …. Like slide a finger into her little tight hole while the other one was impaled by my cock.

It was all very befuddling for poor Molly. And her orgasms kept on coming. Yikes.

The best comparison I can make is crossed jumper cables. If you mistakenly hook the red cable attached to one car battery’s positive knob to the negative knob on the other car’s battery ---- oops. Stand back and watch the sparks fly.

Mistress’s poles got crossed the other night and it was a wild and crazy thing to behold.

Welcome Back, Molly.

I’m reporting to you this morning from the campus of that small liberal arts college where Mistress matriculated back in the 1980’s.  We are on a short weekend road trip with the surly teens, who are in the college shopping phase. Mistress wanted to show them her alma mater – at long last – to see if she could pique their interest.

But of course they think they are far too special for this lovely pastoral place that, to them, seems to be in the middle of no-where.

I for one loved the campus tour that Mistress gave me last night, under a bright full moon. There was the frat house where she once fucked E, the cocky guy who discovered Mistress’ s penchant for being a cyber sub last fall.

And we speculated about whether Mistress might run into the Journalism Prof she had a brief, but incendiary affair with back in Sopohomore year. (We calculated that he’s probably younger than her Slave….so who’s the cradle robber?)

But so much for the travelogue. I suspect that you, dear  readers, are more interested in Sex-tourism.

One of our commenters yesterday cleverly suggested that the best way to begin a period of orgasm denial is to condition a slave to 6 or 7 orgasms a day, then pull out the rug. Damn.

If M decided to apply that technique to Mistress, today would be a very good day.

Yesterday morning, I worshipped her sopping cunt for a while as she read the blog, but elected to pass on giving her an orgasm, or fucking her myself. She had a telephone conference planned with our Western Correspondent for about 10 am, and I figured it would be unfair to him for me to prematurely discharge all that anticipatory sexual energy..

It was a “work from home” morning for her. And when she reported back to me later it sounds like she had been very productive.

“How many, Mistress.”

“Four, Slave….it was pretty hot.”

“And did M get some action too, Mistress?”

“Oh yes.  He kind of went wild, Slave.”

No wonder M had been generating fewer column inches lately. His hands have a higher and better use.

We hit the road with the teens around 3:30 pm for the long drive north, and not long afterwards, M and Mistress were texting back and forth. M was at the airport in his home town, heading to one of our Midwestern cities best known for its beer production, where he will be spending some time this weekend on the golf course with his brother.

And we were still driving when M landed, texting Mistress about his trip, and asking whether she could call.

The teens were in the back seat, all ear budded up. And Mistress kept the talk very vanilla. But it was cute to see her light up and tease her big bad cyber dom about his flight reticence.

We finally made it here around 8 pm, and ate dinner with the girls at an old off-campus beer and pizza joint, still around after 100 years of serving  college kids with fake IDs and workers from the long shuttered paper mill.  A few of the guys who seem to have grown roots at the bar ogled Mistress and the teens as we slid into a booth.  I guess they aren’t used to much River City glamour in these parts.

After dinner, we collected the keys to rooms at an old mansion on campus, where returning alumna are entitled to stay… I warned the teens to be on the look out for ghosts. But they seemed more interested in the fact that their room had cable.

Parenting finally done for the day, Mistress and I took that walk, then hunkered down in our room.  I was looking forward to collecting my sexual IOU from the morning, and debriefing Mistress about her morning conference call.

But as I was emerging from the shower, Mistress’s text went off.

“It’s M, Slave… he wants to know what we are up to….”

“Go ahead and report, Mistress…. No rush on my end.”

There was more tapping and chiming for a  while, as I checked for email on the laptop.

“He wants to know if I can talk, Slave.”

“Of course, you can, Mistress.”

“I’m going to tell him we have other priorities now, Slave. That my Slave needs his attention.”

“It really is OK, Mistress.”

I could tell she was torn. But there was something compelling about his request. And sure enough, soon they were chatting on the bed. I took the photo above to record the scene. 

But soon, inevitably I suppose, I was drawn into their action.

“M says your mouth should be on my cunt, Slave.”

  Of course, Mistress. I was waiting to be asked.”

Soon I was on my knees, Devouring. And Mistress was murmuring into the phone. It was another one of those kinky Bob Newhart routines.

There was some conversation about titles… Mistress kept getting confused.

“Yes, M….I mean Sir..  Yes, Sir, I think Slave gets turned on when you make me call you Sir.”

And I got some questions too.

“M wants to know if  your cock is hard, Slave?”

“It certainly is Mistress.”

For a while M was doing the talking, whispering Mistress into a world where she was likely enjoying the full measure of his “special occasion cock”.

Soon Mistress was coming hard and long against my mouth, as I sucked and cajoled her with lips and tongues. She seemed to enjoy vocalizing it all for M’s pleasure and amusement.

And she was very fixated on what was happening at M’s end of the line.

“What are you doing, Sir…..are you hard…. Does this turn YOU on?... You know I like to hear about that….”

She was clearly trying to provoke him…. To make sure he was having as much fun across the lake in beer town as we were here in her little college town.

But then Mistress (or was it M) decided to ratchet things up a notch.

“Why don’t you fuck me now, Slave…. “

Well, I certainly was desperate to do just that. And I would not want to be accused of insubordination.  But doing it with an audience of sorts, was a new experience for me.

 I slid on top of Mistress, thrusting into her, as she continued to describe the action to her Sir.

“It’s a little hard to guide him in with one hand on the phone, M.,,, er,,,, Sir.”

Bu we overcame that minor inconvenience, and soon I was fucking her hard and with mucho gusto. And Mistress was coming some more, first with me on top, and then later, riding my cock, describing it all in great, smutty  detail for our Western Correspondent.

“You do like hearing this don’t you, Sir….”

It seemed he did. And I chimed in.

“I just hope that if you and M ever do get together, I get a phone call like this…”

“M says it’s a deal, Slave.”

As we continued to fuck there were some special requests thrown in.

“M wants you to stick my finger up my ass, Slave.”

We rolled over again, and I followed orders. More crazed Mistress coming sounds ensued.

But I could tell Mistress was getting near the edge of even her mighty endurance.

“What I’d really like is for both of my cocks to come at the same time….do you think we could do that?”

Well, as it  turned out, the answer was “no”. 

Within moments I could hear M’s mighty roar through the phone pressed against Mistress’s ear.  Wow.   Youthful exuberance. No wonder Mistress likes to egg him on that way.

And not long after that, Mistress signed off, wishing her Sir a loving sweet dreams, as I continued to piston in and out of her at a more leisurely pace. 

While I am not sure that I could have come with the distraction of those other ears, and Mistress’s running narrative for him, I certainly had no problems after the phone was put aside. And soon I was begging to come, and Mistress was more than happy to grant me permission.

She’s still sleeping now, just a few feet away.  She has a right to be tired. And I am wondering if in her wanton college days she ever had, or even imagined having , as many orgasms as she had yesterday with her Slave and her Sir.

HNT / To Deny or Not to Deny?

Between ‘Nilla’s latest chapter in her “Mountain” opus, and M’s suggestion on these pages that we poll our little claque of opinionated readers on whether and to what length Mistress should endure orgasm quarantine, we had a lot of chatter going yesteday in Collins-ville, and with our Western Correspondent.

M even turned up briefly among ‘Nilla’s comments with a few choice, rare words, describing himself (quite accurately) as our underproductive and overpaid “Western Correspondent”. I wonder if it’s possible for UCTMW, LLC to collect a syndication fee from ‘Nilla as a way to recoup our investment in his lofty monthly salary.

First, on the subject of ‘Nilla’s little work of speculative fiction.

I confess that the thought of a certain Slave being taken that way by his Mistress in front of one of her male admirers sent a certain twitch through me. Is it the humiliation that I crave? Part of the whole cuckold thing? I do get a certain grovel-ly delight when Mistress asserts herself that way. The experiment with the cage on while being ass fucked over the weekend was …..Wow-ish.

So yes, ‘Nilla. That works.

But the last few passages. Involving the Slave’s mouth and M’s “special occasion cock”? That generated a big fat yuck among the three of us. Not to say that those who are into it, shouldn’t be into it. Who are we to judge when it comes to sexual behaviors not involving unwelcome conduct or kids?

It’s just that M and I both are pretty darn hetero; and Mistress herself likes to think that both his cock and my mouth would be attending solely to her should we ever find ourselves together.

Nonetheless, I certainly got a kick out of our fans’ interest in my well being over ‘Nilla’s posting.

On to the subject or orgasm denial.

Mistress thought it was oh, so nice of you all to suggest how she would benefit from 2 0r 3 days of denial.

When I texted her mid-day that “Everyone seems to be voting for days of denial, Mistress”

Her rather clear response was “No Way.”

Of course, I don’t have the authority to impose suck a sentence. At most my contract would be limited to our 24 hour switch day.

You sub-sisters will have to lobby the Western Correspondent if you want to see a longer sentence imposed.

And while it might be amusing to deny Mistress on Switch Day - to tease, torment, bring her tight up to the edge, and leave her hanging – I would lose the special thrill I get to watch her crash over and through that last barrier. So it would be self-denial as much as denial for her.

An interesting concept now that I think of it…. I suppose that might be kind of fun….. let’s think about it a while.

I agree with ‘Nilla who talked about how orgasm denial sucks, but when you have that first post denial explosion, it seems like it was worth the wait. Almost. When Mistress has denied me for a 24 hour or 26 hour period, I am crazy frustrated. And she seems to enjoy that clearly manifested need I have for her.

But she seems to have let our Abstinence Days fade away in the last few months. It’s usually 2 or 3 a day here in the Collins’ household for her devoted Slave. Maybe she’s going with the theory that lots or orgasms keep me docile and obedient. If so, it’s certainly working.

I would be remiss not to say that all that commentary yesterday did get Mistress worked up. When we got home from work, she was quite insistent on her pre-dinner worship, and then, after dinner, we settled in for a long and mutually pleasing session in our bed, with my little device required.

“Put it in Slave…. I like what it does to your cock.”

And so that she gets the proper balance, Mistress plans to leave for work a little later than normal, so she can fit in a phone therapy session with our Western Correspondent, assisted by her trusty Hitachi.

Now I’m heading upstairs to wake her. The question I haven’t answered yet is whether I should let her horniness build for her call with M, or get a little re-work action in for myself.

Tough call.

Fulfilling the Prime Directive

My hardwired prime directive is to keep Mistress content.

Sure, life presents continuous challenges that even a devoted Slave can’t control – demanding job, moody teens, needy relatives, shitty real estate market, yadda, yadda . But I like to think I perform satisfactorily when it comes to keeping Mistress amused and satisfied when it comes to meeting her sexual and emotional needs, particularly with the help of out Western Correspondent.

(To some extent I give myself a little credit for engaging his assistance, since M found Mistress through this blog).

The last couple of days provide some good examples of how M and I seem to work as one co-ordinated “ Mistress Satisfaction” unit to keep her happy and sated.

Our Monday morning schedule called for an early breakfast meeting for Mistress. She does not like to be rushed in the AM, so there was no time for early morning sex. But I made sure that she had a refreshing orgasm as we showered, using fingers to slide between those molten lips, as warm water ran down our bodies. Mistress did a nice little shudder and moan as she clung to me, letting the aftershocks settle as she rinsed the conditioner from her thick, dark hair.

It was one meeting after another for her that day. Then, at 5:30, we were off to a political fundraiser. We were sitting at a table listening to the bloviators run on far too long, when Mistress leaned over holding her I-phone in her hand.

“M was very attentive today, Slave, even though I probably did not give him enough time to talk.”

“How so, Mistress.”

“Well, I was sitting in my office and this picture of his cock popped up….a texted cock.”

“Would you like to share?”

“If you want, Slave.”

She fingered the screen for a moment, and there it was, thick, hard, veins protruding.

“Hmmmm. And how does this effect you Mistress…. What does he want you to do when you get the cock shot?”

“It’s a little ….disturbing….distracting, Slave. And I think he wants me to return the favor….go somewhere and take a cunt shot to send to him.”

“And did that happen today, Mistress?”

“Not today….too busy. Maybe only once or twice a week.”


I imagined Mistress off in some bathroom stall. Juicing up her naughty parts with her well manicured fingers, for the purpose of titillating our Western Correspondent. Then I expressed silent gratitude that I was not wearing my cock cage.

“It’s a little unfair, Mistress. Because of my “no touch” rule, I can’t send you hard cock shots.”

“But I get to see yours all the time, Slave….and those pictures I get of you in the cage…they’re just as much a turn on.

Hopelessly distracted by now from the self-absorbed blather of the candidates, we found an exit and headed home for some much needed worship time.

Tuesday morning, Mistress was not so rushed. So we had the opportunity to make love before heading to work.

And just after lunch, Mistress stopped by my office for some mid-day worship.

We have gotten pretty efficient when it comes to a Mistress drive by at my office.

She breezes in.

“Hello, Slave.”

I close the door, slide the “throne” against the door.

“Hi, Mistress. You’re are looking particularly good today.”

I spread the maroon blanket.

She sits, then wriggles out of her undies.

By now I am on my knees, and begin my oral devotions.

Soon Mistress is shuddering, her legs wrapping themselves around my neck, pulling me closer to her.

We chat a bit then.

“My, look how big I am down there, all puffed up and out.”

True, her clit was all red, swollen, popped up between those lovely lips.

“Maybe we could take a photo for M?”

“It’s almost too obscene, Slave.”

Instead, I went to work again with my lips and tongue, giving her one more orgasm for the road.

Later, on the drive home, Mistress said she heard from M as she walked back to her office after her mid-day frolic with me.

“He sent another cock picture, Slave. Then he called. He wanted to make sure I was well taken care of.”

Then she repeated their cute conversation:

“Let me guess, morning sex?”

“Check”.

“Worship?”

“Check. And then a cock picture from you….”

“Check….”

Mistress’s text message chime went off, as we were getting within a few minutes of home.

“It’s M, Slave, he wants to know if I can call….”

“Of course you can, Mistress…”

(It’s nice of her to ask, but she hardly needs the Slave’s permission).

They chatted and I could hear Mistress’s end of the conversation. They were talking about our readers’ comments on how Mistress should be handled on our switch days. M seemed to agree with those of you who propose more begging, more orgasms, just plain more.

Mistress was beginning to squirm.

Yes, squirm. Cute.

“Slave, M says maybe we should ask our readers if I should have to suffer through more orgasm denial …. Would they suggest 2 days, 3 days?”

“I don’t have authority to do that for more than 24 hours, Mistress…”

But I suppose M would, wouldn’t he? So let us know what you think.

By now we were pulling into the drive. And M had one more “request”.

“He wants a photo after you worship, Slave.”

So within few minutes, I found myself on my knees, yet again, snapping a photo of Mistress, fresh from a couple of orally administered orgasms, legs spread in her obscenely insouciant way. And then she texted that shot obediently off to her Master.

Not long after we got his rather pithy response.

“Fucking Hot, Molly.”

I think Mistress was pleased.

And so the sun set another day on the Collins’ household, with what I hoped was a satisfactory performance of Slave’s prime directive.

Holloween With the Blog-Tourage?

 

In her Sunday post, Sin cheekily proposed a Halloween get together for her little circle of kinky bloggers and their significant others in perviness. And the thought of putting faces and body parts to cyber-noms is certainly intriguing.

Maybe we could even get our Western Correspondent and his mysterious wife B to tag along. And bring their collection of paddles.

But what got me flashing back was Sin’s proposal that Tennessee would be a good mid-way point for such a meet up. It so happens that a lovely B & B in the Smokies was the scene of  Mick and Molly’s first extended Bondage caper, way back in the summer of 1988.

Let me set the stage.

It was just a few months since Molly had called Mick’s bluff.

“You’ve been flirting with me for months. Are you ever going to do something about it?” was the thrust of her message to me.

We were both married to other folks. Nice folks, actually. But we were thrown together by the vagaries of politics. And once thrown together, we just …. Stuck.

And yes, folks, it was Mike Dukakis’s Presidential campaign that brought us together. ( I can hear you laughing!)

When was the last time you thought of Mike Dukakis in the context of hot, illicit, I know I shouldn’t even think about this but can’t help myself, sex?

Molly had just turned 26. Which seems even worse now, since I have two older daughters.

I was a mature, full head of haired 38. I still feel like a cradle robber. Though it still feels SOOOO good.

Somehow we were allowed by spouses to go solo to the Democratic Convention that summer in Atlanta. And, well, over that week we seemed to spend the bulk of our time in bed.

I just remember lots of rumpled, damp sheets, very little sleep, Jesse Jackson ranting endlessly about rainbows, shaking JFK, Jr. ‘s hand, and Neil Diamond singing that song about “Coming to America” as the (lets say it all together now) “proud son of Greek Immigrants” took the stage.

But on the way back, somehow, we arranged two nights in this lovely Inn in the Smokies called the Buckhorn Lodge. ( Thank God those were the days without cell phones or GPS devices, allowing us to make our selves very, very scarce.)

Anyway, we were able to rent this house buried in the forest. And Mick had brought his little bag of tricks along, filled with various lengths of rope.

Those were the days before we discovered the wisdom of putting Molly in charge. So she found herself bound to our bed that first night, at my mercy, and more than well fucked before the sun came up.

And I recall our hike, when, even deeper in the woods, I pulled her off the trial, bound her to a tree, and used a whippy tree branch as a switch to illustrate her bottom with a lovely rosy pattern, before using fingers and mouth to force an orgasm or two from her.

What a shame there were no digital cameras in the ‘80’s. Those would have been shots I would not want have taken to the local drug store for processing.

So if Sin and her Dom ever need a convenient place to come together, and to invite the rest of us along for the show, here is a link to the scene of those crimes.

http://www.buckhorninn.com/cottages.htm

Fortunately, the statute of limitations has expired for us.

Sexual Jujitsu

Mistress slept in a bit late yesterday morning. And who was I to wake her early? She needed to catch up on her beauty sleep, and I had kept her a up a bit later than normal on Saturday night, watching my alma mater take a devastating OT loss in a college football game.

So by the time I came upstairs to her – around 9 am – we had only a brief window of opportunity to exercise my switch privileges. And since Surly teen #2 was already up, stalking around the house, I has to keep it on the QT.

Mistress was a little resistant too. Although maybe it’s only natural to suggest that I not cuff her wrists together while she is trying to read the blog on her laptop. Apparently opposable thumbs are not enough for that little stunt.

But soon the laptop was put aside, and Mistress wrists were cuffed overhead. She was rolled onto her tummy, but I left on the pretty rose and black undies that went with her top. I figured that those of you who just come here to browse the pictures of Mistress’s tight and foxy ass might enjoy.

Yes, Mistress got her spanking, which M was curious about later in the morning. (“She deserves it”, he commented to me later in an email). And I probably enjoyed taking out a little of my anger about that trick play at the end of the game on her, making her cheeks match the rose in those undies.

And after my tricks, Mistress got her treat. The Hitachi was deployed, as I slid it between her legs, then under her, letting her quickly find the full measure of satisfaction she craved by now.

I wish I could capture in words the sight of Mistress’s ass as she humps that thing, her unbound legs flayling, thighs squeezing as she has a nice juicy orgasm. And then I continued to press it against her, even after she went limp. Soon she was squiring all over again, as I drew one more explosion from her before succumbing to her pitiful entreaties to “stop, Slave….I’m just too sensitive now.”

I do wonder what would happen if I tuned those pleas out some morning?  Any ideas, Sub-sisters?

After a suitable time  for her to recover, I rolled her over. I fed her my cock for a few moments, astride her chest.

“You do that very well, Mistress. I think M would really enjoy doing this to you, don’t you?”

It was hard to hear her response. Talking with your mouth full is really not too effective.

Then I took my pleasure from her. Though I do remember that as I fucked her, she was already re-asserting her authority.

“You went pretty easy on me today, Slave….you didn’t even make me beg.”

“I guess you’re right…..but we are on a pretty tight schedule….”

We needed to get in a bike ride before She went to a wedding shower, and I took the teens to the football game – our local pussy cats’ season opener.

“I was wondering if it had to do with the ass fucking you got yesterday ….that seems to have a lingering effect sometime in bringing out your sub side.”

“I suppose it does Mistress….”

“When we talked last night during your game, M said I needed to make you buy me a bigger dildo for the strap on. Don’t you think you can handle something bigger by now?”

“Hmmm….. I think he may be right, Mistress.”

“Of course he is.”

Around this time I was begging for her to come. Don’t you think it’s interesting how, even with her hands still cuffed, taking my cock hard and deep, Mistress can reverse that switch?  

Sexual Jujitsu….impressive.

Experiment (Or Don't Try this at Home KIds).

Mistress took M’s advice on Saturday morning. (Well I like to think of it as “Advice”). Before I went off on grandfatherly errands Saturday morning, I was told to wear my cage. Mistress seemed to take some satisfaction in snapping the little lock shut and palming the key.

As I walked about our local farmers’ market, then took my 3 year old grandson swimming at our friends’ pool, I knew that I was under Mistress’s close but benevolent control. And hopefully she felt secure in that knowledge.

At home in mid-afternoon, Mistress was in no hurray to unlock me. We sat out on our deck soaking in rays and reading. And then, out of no where, came a provocative little note from our favorite Erotic Arsonist, ‘Nilla. She was doing some research for a story and I was a potential source. Here is an excerpt:






“Mick, this is technical stuff for a story I’m writing … and I want it to be accurate.

Would you mind being my source of first hand info since 1). I don't have a penis, and 2). I think google may not be able to answer this.

Know as I write you about these painful things, my ass is multiple shades of red and purple, and I've likely had 2000 orgasms and am walking funny....that old "misery loves company” Schtick.

Okay. so.

What would happen if Molly fucked you in the ass *while* you were wearing your cock cage? Would it border on too cruel? Would it keep you from cumming? Would the pain be tolerable, excruciating, or completely unbearable.

What would you do if mistress ordered you to do something you are opposed to. I am trying to not give away where I'm going here, but...it's something I think you would be opposed to.
Would you comply?
Would you talk about it first?
Or would you simply submit because it works for you both?”


I read the email, then handed my little Blackberry to Mistress. She was very amused. And inspired.

“Well, well, Slave…..here we are. It’s Saturday afternoon … when I like to fuck your ass. And there you are, still in my cage… Maybe we can do a little research for ‘Nilla.”

Gulp.

“Oh dear.”

We read our books a bit longer. I tried to ignore the suddenly tighter confines under my shorts. Ultimately, as the sun snuck behind our house, Mistress “suggested” we go upstairs. And her Slave dutifully complied.

“Why don’t you get out my supplies, Slave.”

I found her harness, and the plastic dildo that goes with it.

Mistress suited up, adjusting her belt to allow for a snug fit.

“Do you think this will be painful, Slave?”

“Not if I use my mental faculties to keep things in control….”

In other words, I had to consider this an act of complete submission to Mistress’s desires. Her act of taking me with her strap-on would be for her pleasure alone. Otherwise I could have a very squashed cock.

As we lay next to each other, kissing, fondling, the focus was on Mistress’s stimulation. Obviously, she could not access my cock with her fingers or mouth. And I was lucky she did not try to caress my well exposed balls. Mistress was not trying to drive me insane, which I appreciated.

But despite my best mental efforts, those balls were swelling. And when they do? Oh, Lordy. That tight metal ring that surrounds them starts to feel like a vice. That’s when I use my brain to try to back off a bit. It’s a good time to consider when and if the Fed will start raising interest rates? Any thoughts?

“I think it’s time, Slave. Why don’t you get in position.”

I rolled onto my tummy, sliding a pillow under my hips. I was certainly conscious of the tight constriction around my balls and cock. But was it painful? Not so bad.

And as Mistress slid into be, my focus was on the intense feeling of possession as she filled and pumped in and out of me, and the patterns of her breathing as Mistress approached her own orgasm. Time moved very slowly. I was afraid of the potential pain. But …. surprise, surprise … it never came.

Contrast: without the cage on, my focus would have been more on the lovely friction of my rigid cock against that pillow. Self absorbed. And missing the best parts.

So instead, I rose up to meet Mistress, wiggling my ass a bit to keep the cage from grinding too hard against the bed. I was gratified when she had a crashingly good convulsion of pleasure as she pumped into me, moaning and shivering with delight in a way that is unique to this particular exercise.

“That was a good one, Slave….”

After she was sated, she extracted herself, tossed off the harness, and directed me to roll over. She wanted to inspect what she had wrought.

As we both peered at my caged cock it was pretty amusing. Swollen balls hanging below that tight steel ring. The cage itself was filled to the brim with cock flesh. Not a centimeter to spare in length or width in its tiny chamber.

If he had a voice it would be saying, “Hey, It’s getting crowded in here”.

I guess we should have taken a photo. But Mistress is not a sadist. She found the key, and helped me pry off my lid.

Yowser.

The little guy popped out like those little novelty toys with a “snake” in a can that my daughters used to play with.

Mistress laughed at it’s apparent enjoyment of new found freedom.

“Cute, Slave….now go put in your device. I want you to fuck me with that thing.”

She poked it with her fingers, just to see it bounce around. And I bounced out of bed to follow her directions.

Once my aneros was inserted where her faux cock had been only moments earlier, I came back to bed.

But Mistress was required to play with her little toy some more. There was some apparent reluctance for it to take on it’s normal “fuck mistress real good” dimensions. It was plenty thick, but not as long as normal, as if it had been molded by the cage. There must have been some pervy muscle memory telling it to stay within it’s accustomed confines or pay an ugly price.

But with a little more attention, my cock decided it was safe to get back in the water. And did so with the usual devastating effect. (A little bravado there, but heck, it had been a perilous journey.)

After Mistress gave me permission to come, the resulting pyrotechnics were…. shall we say, amazing. Apparently the combination of the ass fucking, and the forced sublimination of my desires to stay safely within that cage, made my ultimate release all the sweeter. I was tingling down there for the rest of the night.

So….’Nilla, summing up:

1) Not borderline cruel.
2) No way I could come with the cage on. Ain’t ever gonna happen. Nipped in the bid, so to speak. And of course that is the purpose of the cage, isn’t it?
3) At least on this occasion, the pain was quite bearable. Now …. Mistress could have made it much worse, by teasing and torturing my balls if she had chosen to do that. Or by making me stay in the cage longer before the ass fucking part. That would have made it much harder to use my brain to tamp things down.

That’s not to say that someone else might have a different experience. Us old guys probably have more self-control.

Now, as for your second question: Would I unfailingly follow Mistress’s command?

I guess I am looking at this too lawerly, but this sounds like a scenario from “Judgment at Nuremburg”. Here’s how I break it down:

• I would not do something that would hurt someone else, or Mistress.
• I probably would be too chicken to do something that I know would cause me unbearable pain, or the loss of a limb.
• I would not commit a felony. Misdemeanor, maybe.
• If it seemed like a bad idea to me, i.e., too risky to reputation or excruciatingly humiliating, I might try to get her to consider other options. This is the wheedling stage. (as in, “Slave, go ahead and send ‘Nilla that picture of your cock in a cage”.) We know how that can come out.
• Otherwise, I would salute and say, “Yes, Mistress.” (Other than on Switch Day).

Of course, I have a lot of confidence that Mistress would never put me in a situation where following her command would create some existential crisis. A little discomfort or humiliation, maybe. But isn’t that what a Slave deserves on occasion?

Hope this answers your questions. And thanks for helping me find a good topic for this morning’s homework assignment.

Petulant Sex

It’s Saturday morning, and I could just cut to the chase: Yes, we had sex three times yesterday: morning, après-work, and before bed time. Yes, Mistress had a few stray orgasms in between. And it seems that M got off too. ‘Nuff said?

But I suspect you want more of the sordid details.

That morning sex has faded into the background by now.

Mistress read the blog. I worshipped. And then I was more than happy to take my pleasure from her after my St. Pat’s Day Equinox celebration pulled me up short the evening before. 24 hours is a long time to go in the Collins Household.

As our Friday workday ended, I waited for Mistress to walk over to my building for our drive home. As she strode into my lobby, all hot and provocative in that black mid-thigh dress, she had her cell phone to her ear. That big, flirtatious smile (yes, that seems to happen even when her lover/master is so many miles away) was the “tell” that Mistress was on the phone with M.

Once they had signed off, Mistress shared a little detail of her day:

“M and I talked this morning for a while, Slave. And he was home alone so …. You know….”

“You got to talk him through getting off, Mistress?”

“Yeah….”

“How does that work …. You’re in your office ….”

“Right….”

But Mistress’s office has glass windows facing out, so no personal hanky panky there.

“Didn’t you want to touch yourself, Mistress?”

“I suppose so….”

“And could you at least squeeze those thighs … cross the legs?”

“I guess I did, Slave.”

“It turns you on when he comes, doesn’t it Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave.”

I imagined B’s moans of ecstasy as he deploys that high priced lube to full advantage, listening to Mistress’s admonitions, and expressions of…..whatever.

“So what do you tell him to drive him crazy at those moments, Mistress …. You must have some magic words that help him achieve his goal.”

“Hmmmm…..that’s kind of private, Slave.”

I understood. And did not feel right to pry further. They are entitled to that little private zone to allow their relationship to flourish.

On the rest of the ride we got distracted by re-hashing some unpleasant developments during the day. They aren’t worth elaborating on, but they had the unfortunate effect of unearthing some bad karma, and the latent insecurity that pops up from time to time for Mistress.

Of course, me being her Slave, signing the Contract, yadda, yadda, all is supposed to make her feel more secure in our relationship. I have turned over the short leash to her for a purpose. But sometimes, even that’s not enough.

So when we got home, things were a little …..tense.

Mistress even had to remind me that I should offer to worship her before our long bike ride.

Bad Slave.

But soon I was on my knees and gave Mistress the orgasm she probably had been waiting for ever since she had to “suffer” through M’s mighty blast that morning without her own relief.

After our bike ride, the plan was to have sex, then a little picnic while watching some mind numbing movie on netflix.

I opted for a shower, and when I got out, all clean and nakey, Mistress was lying on bed, laptop open, still fully dressed in those damp riding shorts and shirt.

Hmmmm. Still pissed at me?

Now there were two ways this could go. I could get my back up, and we could descend into a grumpy evening.

Or I could suck it up and show my devotion.

Thankfully, I opted for the later (or, as I am sure you guessed, the box score above would read quite differently).

My approach was not subtle.

Mistress lay there, stoic, doing her best to ignore me. I lay next to her, naked. My hand slipped under the waistband of her tight, sweaty riding shorts. My fingers did what they are trained to do.

It took a while to break Mistress’s mental reservations, but soon, inevitably Mistress was squirming, shaking, coming for me.

“Would you like to take your cloths off now, Mistress?”

She muttered consent, and slid out of her shorts, top and sports bra. Then she lay back on the bed.

Ahhh. I saw where this was going. Mistress was not going to lower herself to any cock touching on this occasion. If Slave wanted to fuck her, he would have to get “up” on his own. And there is the “no touching” rule to consider.

So I cuddled, slid my hands between her now naked legs, and conjured the images that made my cock hard on its own. Mind over Petulance.

Then, after my fingers got her off again, I fucked her. Hard. Long. With great satisfaction.

This seemed to melt the ice a bit, and we dressed and had that picnic.

The movie we selected was “40 Days and 40 Nights” which sought to cast some self-absorbed Gen-Y-er as a sort of contemporary Jesus, simply because he chose to give up sex in San Francisco for Lent. The Horror. But we were just getting to the “good” part, (the temptations ), when Mistress’s phone buzzed.

“It’s M, Slave. He wants to know if we can talk. But I kind of feel bad interrupting our evening….”

My thought was this: I had helped put Mistress in a funk. It would only be right for me to step aside for a while and let M help her get out of it. Plus I knew that Mistress was probably in the mood to vent a bit, and M could provide some helpful therapy, with or without the Hitachi.

“It’s OK, Mistress. He does have that All Access Pass this weekend, what with B out of town. Go for it.”

Mistress clearly thought I had made the right decision (not that it was my decision to make), quickly excusing herself to our Bed Chambers.

I caught up on Stephen Colbert, read the paper, and was starting to drift off, when Mistress came down, that glazed but satisfied look in her eye.

“Why don’t we got to Bed, Slave.”

I guess we would save Jesus’s temptations by all those modern day Mary Magdellon’s in search of a straight guy in SF for later.

As we got ready for bed, I asked Mistress how things had gone.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Two, Slave….just two.”

“Not bad….Mistress.”

“But we did spend some time talking about you. M says I need to exercise a firmer hand when you get testy with me. He says you will respond better if I keep that leash very short.”

I was non-committal. Maybe I was a little petulant myself. It had been a long day.

“That’s always your option, Mistress.”

“He also says I need to use that cage more….so tomorrow, when you go out, you are wearing the cage….”

“Of course, Mistress.”



We slipped into bed. I assumed I had had my quota for the day, and quite frankly, was pretty sleepy. So as Mistress read a bit, I slid up against her (naked of course), closing my eyes.

But something was eating at both of us.

I tried to nod off. So did Mistress, shutting out the light.

But somehow, a few minutes later, she was rolling over on top of me, her pelvis doing that little un-subtle grind against my thigh.

And despite my fatigue, I could feel a response. The tell-tale twitch that starts at the base of my balls. I knew where this was headed, but was unsure exactly how we would get there.

“Are you trying to have sex with me Mistress?”

“It seems that way….. but I am thinking you need to be spanked first.”

Twitch.


Damn.

I said nothing.

“Do you want me to spank you, Slave?”

“Up to you Mistress….”

That seemed to close the deal.

“Well you deserve a spanking, just for that passive aggressive answer, Slave.”

And so Mistress was up, in search of the riding crop, then laying into me. Reminding me that I needed to govern my uppitiness and be sensitive to her latent insecurity. I got some rather painful blows during that lecture. She had me squirming and whining into my pillow.

Ouch.

But then it was over.

“Roll over, Slave.”

I did, exposing a rock hard cock in the process.

“Hmmm…..what have we here.”

She poked it with the tip of the crop, having a bit of fun at my expense. And then it was her hands and soft hot mouth on it, making me beg.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride it Mistress.”

“At some point, Slave….”

More begging ensured, until her own desires seemed to take over.

Soon Mistress was mounting me. I squeezed those full, firm nipples as she ground against me, sliding up and down with surprising vigor after a long day and all those orgasms. Soon that slow deep moan built up inside her and carried her over the edge. Then she rolled off to let me finish the job on top. She generously gave her consent when I begged, “Mistress may I come.”

Afterwards, I asked the obvious question:

“So what started that Mistress?”

“I guess after those sessions with M, I always need my cock.”

I was glad to fill that need.