Flash Back Thursday

Poor Mistress has to drive to Chicago today with the Dowager Domme for a birthday luncheon for her sister.  The DD has exercised her seniority rights by dictating the time of departure and that Mistress will drive to her home to pick her up. Once the boss always the boss.  She'll probably get to decide what radio station is played all the way up the highway.

Meantime, at the bottom of the pecking order, slave will be expected to follow Mistress's orders.

"Wear the cage while I'm gone, slave...."

Slave weadled a bit and got a partial pass. Example: tonight I'm going to the Pussycats Thursday night football game with Mistress lover Jay. It will be a chance for some cuck / cuckolder bonding time. Now, in theory, I could wear my cage. But there are two issues: NFL security screening involves a wanding as you enter the stadium.  That could generate an "oops" moment, as the cracker jack security guy gets a big blip as he scans my crotch.

Then there is the issue of trying to pee at halftime -- those men's room lines for the limited number of stalls are just impossible!

Fortunately, Mistress was indulgent and gave me a pass for today.

But tomorrow is a different story.  I can send her a photo to verify my caged status.  But I don't think she'd fall for the one above, sent when she was on a European tour with the DD a few years back. It's  a little dated.

New Halftime Ritual?

Slave "suffered" through two dismal football games over the weekend.

First there was the humiliation of my alma mater by the Blue Devils on our home field. Maybe it was fitting payback for our schooling their primo basketball team several times over the last two seasons. In any event, it was painful to watch.

Then I sat in brutal heat through the Pussycats' game yesterday.  Some rookie no-name QB  seemed to be possessed by the spirit of John Elway, and broke the home team's back via two long TD passes. Somewhere our erstwhile Western Correspondent was smiling (while choking his chicken, no doubt!).

But there was a glimmer of sunshine too!

On Saturday, Mistress ordered her slave to come visit her in her "Executive Suite" at halftime. So I passed on those cheesy promos for Sunday night's game that have long since pre-empted the traditional marching band highlights, and reported for duty.

"Gather my tools, slave. And don't forget the riding crop!"

Gulp!

But naturally, I complied with suitable haste.

Mistress slid into her strap-on harness, but had trouble coming up with even the Trumpiest of charges when it came to explaining the 10 or so stripes she decorated my as with during a flurry of stinging pain.

"Let's consider this preemptive discipline, slave...."

Apparently watching me writhe counted as foreplay for her next task.

Once the crop was tossed to the floor, Mistress quickly proceeded to the next phase of her slave's halftime therapy.  Since I was already "in position", all she had to do was apply some lube and she was ready to apply her self to the task at hand.

And she did so con mucho gusto, finding her target and pumping with enthusiasm until she had her own cum with a moan of delight, then collapsing onto her slave's back with the satisfaction of a pegging well done.

Once Mistress withdrew and shed her harness, slave was instructed to insert his "device" (the aneros), and given permission to fuck Mistress in more conventional style. Rest assured that slave was both privileged and happy to comply.

The only down side: Mistress had worked so efficiently to drain her slave of any uppitiness, that I did not miss my alma mater's 2nd half meltdown!  If your team is going to lose, I recommend this therapy as a way to innoculate yourself with the proper "who give's a rat's ass" attitude!

Back to the Grind

Mistress and slave made it back to River City on Tuesday night, after a long reluctant drive home.
As you might expect, we encountered the typical hassles of re-emersion in our work lives. There was plenty of pent up paper and emails from clients and colleauges  wondering where the fuck we were for so long.

The bonus is that we have our empty nest back here in town, allowing for some less restrained wake up sex these last few mornings, and some more leisurely worship at the end of our day.

So far there is no entry on what Terri over at A Married Sissy refers to as the "Cuckold Calendar", although Mistress did lunch with Jay yesterday. His child care issues remains an impediment to the sort of flexibility that makes for good cuckolding. And while Mistress enjoys spending chaste time with Jay, what really is the point of that?

"If it comes to just enjoying lunch and talking about the news of the day, slave, I'd rather do it with you", she commented last evening after I polished off some post workday worship.

Clearly, Jay can have a role in her life, but it might not be as a lunch companion!

Hopefully the two of them can work out some time together, or Mistress's roving eye may begin looking elsewhere.

Final Daze

Mistress and slave are in mourning.

It's our last day at our SW hideway until ski season arrives in December.  And worst of all, the weather here remains glorious.  Why leave cloudless skies and 78 degree temperatures for a long drive back to the drudgery of River City?

We started our last day with the deployment of Mistress's favorite power tool, as a prelude to more conventional fucking.

Then there was a brisk ride on our bikes before we squirreled them away inside, out of the elements for the winter season.

After our ride, Mistress whipped up some scrambled eggs, which she enjoyed with locally crafted muffins and peach jam.

Then we adjourned to our sun drenched patio, still waiting for a cloud to pick up.

Slave has worked his way through the NY Times, listening to the Pussycats battle fruitlessly (so far) against the dreaded Stillers. Mistress was taking one last chance to eliminate those pesky tan lines.

As the third quarter came to an end, my team was still 8 points behind, and I was looking for the sort of superstition based Karma that might give the Pussycats a little extra juice for another come from behind victory. What was missing? A lucky hat? A team t-shirt?

Then it occurred to me -- last week I deployed Mistress's favorite power tool to give Mistress a bonus cum at half time.  The Pussycats then came from behind to beat the Jets. Was it too late?  As the third quarter would down in the rain in Pittsburgh, slave retrieved the hitachi from our bedroom drawer, hooked it to the extension cord on our porch and went to work.

Mistress seemed pleased, but a little impatient.

"I thought you'd forgotten, slave....."

While it seemed unlikely that the Pussycats will pick up the good luck "vibe" from so far away, at least Mistress seemed happy with the extra afternoon orgasm.

Taking the Waters

Our late summer getaway is getting away from us.  With all that music, sex and cycling time has flown and we are looking into the dark abyss of the long drive back to the heartland on Monday morning.

There have been some lovely sunsets, chances  to catch up on our reading, a little too much nagging from clients and colleagues back in the real world, and, of course, some hearty sex.

Yesterday we headed over to a rustic hot springs for a day in the sun and soaking in the bubbling brew running down from the mountains. It was a spot discovered by the natives who first settled in these parts centuries ago, and now is almost a little too plush.  The springs were surprisingly crowded for a week day post labor day.  I guess there are lots of retired folks (like I will be at the end of the year) or those with "flexible" work hours who have a Thursday free for soaking and sunning.

As always, and despite her 50 years, Mistress was at the top of the heap when it came to catching the eye of her fellow soakers. But unlike one earlier mission there, we did not book a private nook for nude sunbathing.  Instead Mistress was burdened with her black two piece, that probably brought back some of those receding tan lines.  The horror!

Back at our house, we enjoyed some sunset reading and an al fresco dinner.

Not a bad life, even if Mistress has been forced to get by with slave's work-a-day cock these last two weeks without a side-dish.

Bonobos Figure It Out

Mistress and slave actually took a night off from the local music scene last night. Six nights on the town in a row meant it was time for a low key “staycation” watching the sunset as we dined al fresco on our patio. We were even too lazy for TV, resorting to some reading side by side in bed and an early curtain call.

Rest assured we got our daily sexual rituals in though. Mistress has been refreshing her cock riding skills since we dropped our Domme in Training off at the airport a week ago.  Mistress seems not to have missed a beat.  And of course, slave is happy to be ridden hard and put up wet, like one of the local ornamental horses Mistress admires on our morning bike ride.

But today’s blog picks up on a post several days ago by Terri over at “A Married Sissy” on the prospects of a more female dominant society.  It turns out that the the lady bonobos of the Congo have figured it out, according to this article in the New York Times. In the Bonobo World, Fem#9AA7F5.

The article describes how female bonobos will join forces to put overly aggressive males in their place, assuring that the guys quickly get in line and defer to their ladies’ leadership. While other primates are male dominant, the Bonobos have taken a different path:

In the bonobo world, by contrast, female camaraderie prevails, while the bonds between males are weak. “It’s a matriarchy,” said Amy Parish, a primatologist at the University of Southern California. “Females are running the show.”

The interesting twist is that with the ladies in charge, sex appears to be a very high priority:

Bonobos are famed for their hypersexuality and the way they use sex as an all-purpose problem solver in every possible situation, permutation and combination. When bonobos come upon a great patch of fruit, for example, and tensions rise over feeding priority, the bonobos will decompress with a quick round of genito-genital rubbing and similar acts: males with females, males with males, females with females, juveniles with adults.

Female bonobos in Congo’s LuiKotale forest use specialized gestures and pantomime to convey their desire for a bit of girl-on-girl frottage, according to a report last year by Pamela Douglas and Liza Moscovice of the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Germany. The soliciting female will point backward with a foot toward her sexual swelling and then shimmy her hips in imitation of a rub, at which display the second bonobo will embrace her for the real thing.

“It’s status acknowledgment,” said Barbara Fruth, a bonobo researcher at the Royal Zoological Society in Antwerp, Belgium. “The approaching female is saying, ‘I know you’re higher-ranking than I am, I know you’re superior, but I would like to sit near you and maybe share your food.’”

Bonobos tongue-kiss, practice oral sex, have intercourse face-to-face, and make sex toys. Frances White, a biological anthropologist at the University of Oregon, once watched a female bonobo turn a stick into a kind of knobby “French tickler,” with which she then stimulated herself. “They’re not always family friendly,” Dr. White said.

Such erotic antics have earned bonobos a reputation as laid-back “hippie apes,” a label that researchers say belies the primate’s strategic intelligence and capacity for brutality. Dr. Parish, who studies bonobos in captivity, has seen the young offspring of dominant females flaunt their inherited power by marching over to lesser-ranking female adults, prying their jaws open and extracting the food from their mouths.

She also recounted the time that two females attacked a male at the Stuttgart Zoo in Germany and bit his penis in half. Fortunately, she said, “a microsurgeon at the zoo was able to repair the damage, and the male went on to reproduce.”

If bonobos have a penchant for sex toys, you have to wonder how long it will take for them to improvise some sort of “cock cage” to keep their males in line, as Diane does so will with Terri.  Certainly that is a more merciful remedy than having your cock bitten in half. Plus my guess is that it’s hard to come up with a good micro-surgeon in the bush.

Nakers Sunday

The final day of the local "big barn dance" was a long one, with more sunshine and great music.  Mistress opted for something a little more revealing, which I noticed several of the "cowpokes" ogling through the day.

The odd thing was that several of the "cowgirls" in the audience actually approached Mistress during the course of the day to complement her on her "look" -whether it was her turquoise jewelry ("I love the color"); her boots ("who made those for you")  her skin ("what a gorgeous tan"; or just her general hotness ("I just have to say you have looked so beautiful every day of this festival"). Slave was tempted to say "get a room" after that last one, but that would not be "knowing my place" would it?

One glitch we had was in the form of a lady from Boston, early 50's, who was sans hubby, and who tried to glom onto us Saturday afternoon. Now slave would not have minded chatting with this lady betwixt sets, but she was the type of audience member who ignored that fact that there were performers on stage and yammered on and on, raising her volume to compete with the music rather than enjoy the scene. That yammering in our ears became intolerable by around 6:30 pm, so we came up with some story about retrieving our jackets from our car. She actually seemed inclined to tag along, until we told her "how far away" our car was. We even had to give her one of our blanket / serapes to tide her over until she found another "willing" audience for her endless prattle.

We enjoyed a lovely dinner at a local bistro, then saw her later in the evening for the "barn dance" portion of the program.  She had found others to hang around with, to our relief. But then she announced she was having a "party" Sunday night. We worked on our alibi, and politely texted her Sunday morning that we would be unable to join her party with plans to veg out at our "spread" after three days of wall to wall music.  But that wasn't enough....as Mistress reported.

"Now she says she and some friends want to stop by and see us this afternoon..."

"Oh shit...."

"I told her that she should text ahead of time, since I sun bath naked".

It turns out that was a great move.  Maybe she and her pals were a little taken aback at walking in on naked sunbathers?

"We can both greet them at the door naked, Mistress....tell them we have "nakers Sundays" here and if they want to chill with us they need to go au natural with us too!"

In any event, our unwelcome visitors never materialized. And rest assured Mistress was not bluffing.  (As you can see, some of those tan lines have re-materialized since our last trip west).

But this is a sex blog right?  Yesterday was definitely a step up on that front, despite our fear of unwelcome visitors.  Slave deployed Mistress's favorite power tool as a prelude to some vigorous cock riding before our morning bike ride.

After breakfast, we adjourned to our patio, with Mistress sunning herself as promised, while slave listed to the Pussycats beat the Jets, which was probably a little rude on 9/11.  But I did not ignore Mistress.  At the third quarter break, I hooked the hitachi to an extension cord and treated Mistress to a bonus cum in the bright summer sunshine.  And that danged machine is so efficient, slave didn't miss the Pussycats 4th quarter comeback.

But there's more!  we took a late afternoon nap as some clouds gathered, and before slave whipped up dinner there was round two sex, starting with some oral worship and graduating to some rather bracing fucking without the sound moderation required for so many weeks back home.

Apparently there's life in the old pampered slave yet!

Back In Her Cowgirl Groove

Rest assured that Mistress and slave have gotten their mojo back now that our nest has been re-emptied and we are safely ensconced in our SW hideaway.  Mistress freely exercised her right to some robust cock riding both Thursday and Friday mornings.

"It's nice to be able to do it with the doors open again, slave...."

"And not having to stifle, Mistress....."

The weather has been glorious, with cloudless skies and temperatures in the 70's. And while Mistress has not had time for any nakers sunning, we have been enjoying a late summer music festival here in our little town, with singer songwriters from Texas and other parts entertaining the eclectic crowd. The festival is in a local park where the town's most famous native son is buried.


I did confirm the thesis that "cargo shorts" are the choice for guys of a certain age here in the SW, as shown by this beer sipping member of the audience:


And no, that's not me!  Mistress would never allow her slave to wear sandals in public!

More interesting are the outfits of the ladies.  Mistress opted for the jeans and boots look on Thursday, accessorized with some of her native jewelry:



You can tell the festival goes for the cowboy vibe by planting some hay bales around the grounds for those who want to sun away from the stage.

But we found it was too dang hot for jeans in Thursday. slave opted for shorts yesterday (non-cargo).  And Mistress went for a floaty skirt and some sandals, allowing all of us to appreciate those polished to a gloss toes.  Don't they just make you want to fall to your knees and suckle?

Sadly, the one thing missing is an extracurricular lover.  We've never been successful in recruiting a "local" though there has been a little flirtation from time to time.  Of course, Mike, our erstwhile Western Correspondent just 5 hrs. up the road never got it together to make a road trip.  And Mistress's "Mountain Man" is more fantasy than reality. Plus he's always off climbing some danged mountain!

As for Jay, he's sulking a bit back in River City.  First there was the daughter clinging to Mistress side for a month. Then out exit stage west.

"I think he's annoyed with me slave....he said 'I'm always disappearing'".

I can see his concern.  But oddly he's been texting me about silly political developments.  But not a word to Mistress.

"I guess that's proof he's sulking, slave...."

Somehow I think he'll come around once Mistress is back in town.   In the meantime, I guess all we can do is find a comfy bale of hay, kick back and enjoy the music, and our re-emptied nest.

Washington Post Gets Kinky

Mistress and slave are sitting here at DFW. Our lovely daughter is in DC, boarding her flight to
"the Continent". We had a melancholy parting back at the River City airport around 2 pm, as we headed west and she headed east.  She confirmed via text that it "wasn't that bad being home".

And while I've been whining about our infested nest, it is a little sad to see her heading off again for another tour of duty in Europe, where she will no doubt be exposed to the threat of terrorism and the temptations of all that high alcohol content Belgian ale.

We plan to recover from the whole daunting affair with some time in our SW hideaway. And while Mistress may be sans alpha lover for another 14 days or so, I will try to make it worth her while.

But in the meantime, as I was scanning the Washington Post for the latest dreary political developments I stumbled across this illustrated  article about the recovery of some Irving Klaw photos of the legendary Betty Page -- including some hot bondage shots. It turns out that Mr. Klaw had his own tormenters in Congress, just as Mrs. Clinton has now. But the fact one of the nation's most main stream media outlets will now publish bondage imagery suggests that kinksters have come a long way.

Either that or Jeff Bezos, the Post's owner and Amazon kingpin is  one kinky dude!

Lazy Labor Day Weekend

Mistress and slave are running out the clock on our shared habitation with our lovely youngest daughter. Our wake-up sex rituals and afternoon worship sessions are still subject to the "run silent, run deep" rule, since the Domme in Training rarely leaves her room unless we take her out for yet another meal.

(She claims that when in Europe she prepares many of her meals at home, so eating out is a "treat". Somehow slave is skeptical. In the meantime, my Amex card is getting a workout, and my waistline is expanding!)

But there is hope!  Her long term visa has come through, and she is scheduled to return to "The Continent" come Wednesday. Mistress and slave are wasting no time, and will be traveling to the airport with her to catch our own flight west, to enjoy the final days of summer at our SW hideaway.

And while it's been nice to spend some quality feed bad time with our youngest, we also miss our ability to conduct our sex life without the encumbering veil of silence. And that includes Mistress's freedom to engage in some extracurricular fun too!  It's going on a month since she's been able to exploit her cuckoldress privilege!  I have a feeling Jay could use some Mistress time too.

In the meantime, Slave will resort to some visual stimulation as a cheap but gratifying substitute for  raunchy prose. Mistress was taking a nap yesterday afternoon after a few hours at the swim club in its final summer weekend. When I came up after tending to the salmon slowly smoking in our yard, I discovered her snoozing au naturale. As you can see, those tan lines have made a comeback in the last month. She's got some work to do on our high desert patio starting Thursday.

Cuckold Interruptus

The good news here is that Mistress is now back on our bed. Wednesday evening was our big reunion.

When I arrived home from work I wasted little time closing the door, and putting some "passion masking" music on the radio in our room to spare our daughter in the bedroom next door the sound of her desperate father enjoying his opportunity for some "real" sex after several days of the bogus kind.

Of course, Mistress has had plenty of her slave's workmanlike sexual attention these last few weeks. But she's been missing the tongue, cock and exertions of her more alpha lover Jay because of the vagabond daughter camping out here since early August. While they were able to act like casual friends at lunch last week in front of her, it might be hard to explain an hour squirreled away in our bedroom.  Plus I am not confident that Jay could "run silent, run deep" in a way that could mask their carnal fun from curious ears in the house.

We thought last evening would be her / their  big opportunity.  I arranged to take our nest crasher out to the Pussycats' final "exhibition" (aka practice for guys who won't be on the roster by Sunday) game, so Mistress could have an un-quiet evening at home in our marital bed with Jay.

But all my devious planning was for naught.

"His babysitter fell through, Slave", reported a crestfallen Mistress when I got home yesterday afternoon.

Bummer.  So much for my devious planning. And now I was stuck going to a game where the primary objective seemed to be to use players you never heard of who's mission was to generate some video tape that might catch the eye of some desperate coach in the Canadian football league.

When we got home after 3 quarters of fruitless on-field mediocrity from C-list players that had generated a 3-3 tie, Mistress was tucked away in bed. For all I know, the orgasms I had delivered in our Thursday morning wake-up sex were the only ones she enjoyed all day long.

Poor Mistress!   I'll try to make amends this weekend.  I may have to volunteer to be Jay's babysitter.