Mistress Haunts My Dreams

It was one of those busy Saturdays here in River City.

But not Mundane.

There was the morning sex, after a more leisurely read of the morning papers. No hurray to get up and out early.

Mistress allowed me to worship her succulent folds with  lips and tongue to a nice hip jerking series of mini-orgasms.   Then she taunted my cock with her fingers until I was doing the hip jerking, begging her for permission to fuck her. 

She ultimately relented, of course, merciful Mistress that she is to me.

We took our bike ride in brisk clear air. The leaves are still brilliant here, but beginning to fall.

Then I was off to collect my cute little grandchild, ply him with gelato, and bring him home for some playtime. He even “helped” me rake some leaves, if you call whacking the pile of leaves with a stick “help”..

Mistress took the teens for their group manicure, and a trip to Costco. (The Western Correspondent has turned Mistress on to the benefits of Costco, among other less mercenary things.)

When I arrived home from dropping off the little darling for his nap, Mistress was out sunning herself on the deck, signing off from some telephone chat with the Western Correspondent.

“Did he make you come, Mistress?”

“No, Slave…. He was at Costco too. He texted me there and said we should talk before his big golf game….”

Mistress and M do like to be in touch regularly, which seems to be a good outlet for both of them.  As I settled down next to Mistress to read a bit in the late afternoon sun, Mistress talked a little more about her chat.

“M’s always concerned that you get miffed about what goes on between us, Slave.”

I snorted.

“You know I’m cool with it, Mistress.”

“That’s what I tell him, Slave.”

And I AM cool with it.

My prime directive is to see Mistress happy.

Her relationship with M is important to Mistress.

It makes her happy.

It not only gives her lots of bonus orgasms, but also gives her someone to vent to about life’s ups and downs. No doubt some of the venting is about me – but I can be high maintenance. Even annoying. My sense is that M gives her good and useful words of advice on how to manage her occasional frustrations with me.

Though I think she “spares the rod” more than M would advise.

While I watched my alma mater have a rare laugher on the gridiron, Mistress rested a bit, likely with visions of M’s special occasion cock dancing in her horny little head.

Then we were off to see the new Woody Allen movie. A worthy watch for those of you who are fans.  Afterwards, over tequilla and Jamieson, Mistress made it clear that she would much rather do Antonio Banderas than Josh Brolin.

At home Slave and Mistress made up for a missed afternoon sex opportunity, and Mistress made sure she had a particularly hard cock by requiring me to insert my little white probe.

Afterwards, we drifted off, and Slave had an intriguing dream worth sharing.

We were in Paris, a place where Mistress and Slave have been together, though it was years ago.

We had arranged to meet some friends. Were they French? Or American? Maybe a little of both.

But among them was a couple and their Parents.

It seemed to be M, his wife B, and  M’s ubiquitous in-laws, who Mistress says are often weekend visitors at our Western Correspondent’s home.

There was a brief meeting of the group in front of some stately Parisian Manse. Introductions were made. Hands were shaked. Or kissed.

Then followed a scene at dinner in a very elegant Parisian restaurant.

Maybe I am too much of a foodie, but I have a specific recall of the starter course: a seafood combo: poached salmon, crab, smoked salmon, regaled with a variety of sauces and condiments.

It was so scrumptious, and the meal chatter was so delightful, that for a while I missed the fact that Mistress was missing. 

Then, at some point she slid into the chair next to me …. Passed me her crab (she’s allergic to shellfish)… and I noticed a little guilty smile on her face….

Then I noticed that the other guy – M, I assume – was sliding into his chair at the other end of the table.

He murmured something about a call he had to answer.

But I knew they had had their little quickie somewhere.

Did Mistress just have her first chance to venerate his special occasion cock?

Or did he take her over some antique chair where Marie Antoinette had sipped champagne.

I looked at her, raising an eyebrow…. Not trying to “out” her in front of B and the in-laws.

She gave me a little guilty shrug.

Busted.

 Her hand settled on my thigh, a finger sliding up toward my cock.

Twitch.

Ouch.

I apparently was caged for the occasion.

When she wakes up, I will have to cross-examine her about her little adventure.

It is Switch Day, after all.

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