Gone Electionering

You won't be hearing much from Mick and Molly over the next 48 hours. Mick has some election duties here in River City, and my day will start around 5:30 am and end who knows when. But I thought I would leave you with this image of Molly, after I led her from her ordeal bent over that table, and before I proceeded to take her from behind.

Afterwards, on our drive back home, Mistress got a call from our Western Correspondent.



"M says that he likes that shot you texted him, Slave. It was almost as good as that one with me over that picnic table."

"Glad it amused him, Mistress..."

They caught up on their day for a while. But soon Mistress's chit chat with M took a different turn.

"Ummmm..... really.... Slave, he wants me to get myself off.... is that OK?"

"You don't need my permission, Mistress."

"He says it's OK, M..... but I have to take off my jeans...."

Mistress handed me the phone, and M and I caught up on our football's teams ignominious defeats as Mistress squirmed and wriggled out of her jeans and panties.


" She' ready for you now, M."

Mistress took the phone back form me. So, as I was navigating through through the highways of northern Indiana, Mistress was navigating her well manicured fingers through her slick folds, while murmuring over the phone to her long distance Master.

Of course, I couldn't hear what he was saying that had those fingers working so zealously, her musky aroma filling our little steel and glass capsule traveling past those corn fields.

But it must have been compelling.

HNT / Mystery

Summer really is over.


 Sure. it's still in the 90's here in River City, but after Labor Day the folks at work, and our clients, actually expect us to be engaged, in action, at our office, answering phone calls and emails, blah, blah, blah.

So Molly and Mick are in a bit of a state of shock. Early morning conference calls, breakfast meetings, this morning a political fundraiser starting at 8 am. It all cuts into our "Have frequent, exotic sex and blog about it time."

So pardon this morning's brief entry.


 But I figure those of you who follow our adventures  still deserve your morning fix (as well as a glimpse of Mistress's alluring bottom, so much more shapely than my own).

Since We drove separately yesterday, I was locked away in my stainless steel cage, to provide Mistress with a better sense of security. And, yes, Sin. it is a little painful. I am disciplined enough to control involuntary attempts at an erection while caged, but sometimes, that damn ring binds and pinches, and if I haven't had an orgasm in a while, it seems my balls get full making the ring even tighter.  Ouch. I am conscious of it all day long. And sometimes, when it fades into the background, I might get a text from Mistress to the effect of "how is the cage slave?" or "glad my cock is locked away, Slave."

Those seem to give me a little jolt down there which makes it pinchy all over again. So, after I worshiped Mistress last evening when we arrived home, I was very grateful that she unlocked me.

After a bike ride, we made a little grazing dinner and sat down to watch a netflix movie. It was a strangely amusing indie flick with Helen Hunt playing a scrawny 39 year old school teacher desperate to make  a baby.

As we sat in the dark in our living room, Mistress was next to me, her legs spread, no undies, her dress hiked up around her waist. I must have been casually using my fingers to stroke her cunt. It was a sort of unconscious thing. I was not working with the purpose of making her come, just keeping her warmed up for what I hoped would be more purposeful activity once the movie was over.

Then on came a scene where Helen Hunt and Mathew Broderick, the childish husband who had left her early in the movie, have a fumbling, almost slapstick sex scene in the back of an old dumpy Toyota.

Hunt is on her back, across the seat, Broderick is sort of humping her, and comes prematurely, making a mess of his chinos, at least so it seemed.

And suddenly, Mistress was coming too, against my slowly moving fingers, moaning, jerking her hips, squeezing my hand tightly with her thighs.

Huh?

"Did you just come, Mistress?"

"Uhhh....yeah, Slave. What did you think that was?"

So the mystery was this: what was it about that odd hardly sexy sex scene that tipped Mistress over the edge. Helen? Mathew? Or some flashback to some high school back of the car sex?

Any thoughts, dear readers?  Mistress has clammed up on the subject.

Tables Turned

One of the amusing things about the little Triad involving the Executive Editor (Mick), the Publisher/ CEO (Molly) and our Western Correspondent (M) here at UCTMW Enterprises, LLC is the potential for two of our triumvirate ganging up on the third, often when it’s least expected.

Take Labor Day. Mistress had a long busy weekend, and was hoping for a day off.

“All that biking. All those orgasms, Slave. My parts hurt….they need a good 24 hour break.”

Of course it was not my idea that she call M on our long tedious ride home through Indiana.

And M had different ideas.

She shared her “parts hurt” story with him.

He was unimpressed.

First I heard the whining.

“No, M….I just can’t …. I’m sore. I need a day of rest.”

Then I was enlisted to provide support.

“Slave, he wants me to have another orgasm. He says without sex it’s going to be a really boring ride….”

“Who’s the boss, Mistress?”

“Slave’s backing you on this M… I can’t believe it….”

Right.

“He says he wants me to take off my underwear. Now.”

And of course, despite her complaints, she was following his orders, just like the good little slut she aspires to be for him.

My right hand was enlisted to help her wriggle free from her tight black knickers.

And soon she was spinning away with her left hand, teasing open the lips that were so tender only moments ago, filling the Collins-mobile with the musky aroma of her arousal once again.

He orgasm came quickly as she listened intently to the little smutty fantasy M was spinning for her. She made sure both of us could her little moans of release. And I had the extra benefit of seeing her hips and thighs thrash as she gripped her hand tightly.

“You two….I can’t believe you made me do that….”

And I took over there, sliding my right hand between her legs as she continued to talk to M about his plans for the balance of the day.

“Just so you know, M, you’ve got Mick started now…..he’s working on me with a hand between my legs.”

I could hear his laugh. And soon her could hear Mistress coming again.

And he was right, it did make our drive home much less boring.

But the table can turn when it comes to ganging up, as this particularly humiliating photo demonstrates.

Mistress woke up Tuesday morning from an ugly dream.

In the shower she explained the details: it involved the woman that came between us, briefly, while we were doing our commute. That incident led to my surrendering control to Mistress, and out contract. But she is still here in River City, much to Mistress’s annoyance. And her presence still haunts Mistress….

I know there is not much I can do about it, other than be loyal and serve Mistress well. But it can still be painful for her.

On the way home, after a stressful day at work for both of us, Mistress’s dream came up again. It was still bothering her. I suggested that she should consider a proper punishment for me to help her externalize and release her anxiety.

“Hmmm. You have a point Slave…Maybe I need a consult.”

She picked up her I-phone, and tapped away. I knew Mistress had talked with M about her bad dream, so he was filled in.

“I’m asking M if you should get a spanking tonight….”

Oops. I guess I should have kept my ideas to myself.

Sure enough, by the time we got home, Mistress had her response.

“Absoulutely, give him that spanking.”

Mistress even laid the riding crop across the bed, took a photo and texted it to M.

And after dinner, and my assistance to Surly Teen #2 with her American History homework (The Quakers got a bad rap), Mistress told me to strip and insert my little white probe.

Naturally, I followed her orders.

She had on a brief cream colored nightwear outfit that made her look particularly alluring. But the “allure” would have to take a momentary backseat to stern, avenging Mistress.

On your stomach, Slave, on the middle of the bed.

She already had the crop in hand.

“Tell me why you deserve this punishment, Slave?

“because of that disturbing dream, Mistress. I take responsibility.”

“Exactly….you’re getting 10 for that….”

And I got them alright, 10 stinging slaps at my bottom. I whined a bit after the 4th, muffling my pitiful little groans into a pillow.

And when the blows hit my bottom, my ass clenched involuntarily around that little devious probe, sending a jolt to my cock. Clever, Mistress. Very clever.

After those 10 strokes, Mistress was not quite done.

“You deserve a few more Slave…. Why do you think that is?”

My butt was throbbing a bit, and I was at a loss for what might be adding to my punishment.

“Not sure Mistress …. Failure to turn off the bathroom light”.

She hates it when I do that.

“No….you were not attentive enough today when we were at work…. I expect to hear from you more….particularly after that bad dream.”

“Yes Mistress….”

She landed another 10 or so solid blows.

But the worse was next.

Stay there, Slave. I’m going to take a picture you are required to post. Our readers shouldn’t just have to look at my pink bottom.”

Argh. Now that is painful.

“But you’re bottom is so much more attractive than mine….”

(And I suspect drives out hit count up ever time it’s smooth and sensuous curves appear on these pages).

“There will be no wiggling out of this….I expect to see it on the blog tomorrow morning, Slave.”

She clicked. And I suspect M got a copy too, just to prove that she had taken him up on his suggestion (command?).

Afterwards, Mistress had seemingly exorcised the demons of that dream. She was very affectionate and attentive once she told me to roll over, driving me to distraction with her mouth, and then allowing me to fuck her. And the pre-coital punishment seemed to make my ultimate explosion – with her permission of course – all the more intense.

But now I have to post that damn picture.


Double Argh.

The Evening Commute

“I think M is a little annoyed with me today, Slave.”

We were sharing a quick lunch at a local “chili parlor” (Yeah, they really call them that here in River City).

Mistress was on a tight schedule and did not have time to come up for any mid-day worship. Sad. But duty calls. At least there was time for what passes for Chili in these parts.

“Oh really, mistress. What’s the problem?”

“Well I got out of the meeting, and there were three text messages from him. Only one from you, I might add.”

Oops. Guess I was a slacker. But then I had been busy too,

“And I think he’s probably annoyed that I had not gotten back to him.”


“Well I’m sure that he’ll accept your explanation when you finally do get through to him this afternoon.”

Sure enough, around 5:30, as I was waiting in my lobby as Mistress walked the few blocks over to where we park our car, I saw Mistress striding across the street, drawing glances in her swishy black dress, with black heels adorning those long, tanned legs, her I-phone pressed to her ear.

As she approached me I heard her say good bye to M.

“Is he feeling better now, Mistress?”

She smiled. “

I think so, Slave.”

In the car, we worked our way through downtown, merged onto the expressway, which had it’s typical late day congestion. So it went for about 10 minutes lurching forward, then slowing as the lanes clogged.

Mistress had been working her phone as I navigated.

“Uhhh….now he wants to know if I would like to get off on the ride home, Slave.”

I laughed.

‘Well it appears he’s fine with you Mistress …. Of course, it’s up to you.”

We were probably about 10 minutes from home by now. Mistress made the calculations. There was not much time. But she could not resist.

She texted back.. Soon her phone was ringing.

Mistress lowered the back of her seat as far as it would go, her dress already hiked up around her waist, as she described to M how she was wriggling out of her black undies.

“Oh, Shit, there’s a truck over there. Slave can you please try to avoid stopping next to those trucks.”

“I will do my best, Mistress.”

I could not tell if the guy in the panel truck had gotten an eyeful, but I slid over to the far right lane when the traffic parted, to make sure there was no one peering into the passenger side. It was a unique form of “defensive driving” they do not cover in driver’s ed.

“Ok, M. I’ m ready.”

Yes, she was. Her left hand already had begun sliding through her apparently moist lips. The smell of her arousal was filling our little steel and glass compartment.

And I was challenged to keep my eyes on the road, as my cock began to twitch in response to what I was seeing and hearing.

Mistress was quickly submerged into her little wanton zone….her hand moving at a quickened pace, her hips squirming, as she pressed the phone against her ear with her right hand. Her eyes were pressed shut, head thrown back, as she focused on M’s words.

And the sounds. Argh.

“Yes……….yes………yes………..”

She was affirming whatever kinky fantasy M was weaving for her ….later she told me it involved M taking her at the Hedonism resort where he’s been, she bent over a table, others watching and marveling as M’s fantastic cock filled her Oh so completely. And Mistress was loving it.

And when she was not confirming her desire to be taken that way, there were these lovely little whimpering sounds emerging from her. Thinking of them even now makes my cock swell and shift as if it has a will of there own.

(reminder to myself: no touching allowed, Mick)

It is intriguing that the sounds she makes for him are so different than the sounds she makes for me: I guess those are her “sub” sounds, and “My” sounds, every bit as erotic, are coming from a different space.

By now I was trying to make a mental record of all these sights and sounds. I focused on the view of her feet, resting on the dash, turned apart to accommodate the wide spread of her knees, like in the picture above.

But soon the fantasy M was whispering to her, and her spinning fingers, had built Mistress to a delightful sensory overload, As she came with a frenzy, her hips bucked up off the seat, back arching, her knees came together, trapping her sticky fingers until she had exhausted herself.

“Uhhh…. Oh God, you got me M.”

By now the traffic had loosened up a bit, and we were exiting into our leafy community. Mistress and M chatted a bit more, and let me join in with some comments too.

“Mick says the car smells of cunt now , M.”

I could here his deep laugh.

Then he was ringing off, and we were pulling into our drive.

As we opened the door in our garage, that aroma wafted out with us. And I was counting the moments until I would be able to take Mistress too.

“ Still have some appetite left for worship, Mistress?”

“Of, course, My Slave.”

Mistress balances her men well, don’t you think?

A Wanton Display

By Sunday night I could tell Mistress was getting a little … edgy. She and M had been unable to arrange one of their phone “dates” over the weekend. Schedules and stars did not align correctly.

It had been on, then off in Sunday evening. So instead of begging for release as he muttered scenarios of her debauchery over the phone, the Hitachi churning between her legs, Mistress ended up excavating the layers of refuse and tank tops in surly teen number 2’s bedroom. 

She went from the sublime to REAL torture, and not the kind involving nipple clamps.

Of course, Mistress had  more than fair share of orgasms over the weekend, as one could see from our postings. But she had not had the proper balance of Slave and Master that she seems to crave these days.

Monday morning we were off to our respective offices.

 Focus, Focus, Focus.

There was just time for one of those shower orgasms for her, when I slide my fingers between her wet folds, kiss her passionately and get her off with a little shudder and giggle. 

Hardly enough to get her through the day.

And from the reports I was receiving her day was a series of long and boring meetings, with little time to engage either M or me in any smutty diversions.

When I came down from my perch and met her in the lobby of my office tower at around 5:30, I found her looking a bit frazzled, though amply fetching, in a black and white patterned cotton dress that flitted about her thighs.

But what she said took even me by surprise.

“M wants me to get me off  on the ride home, Slave.    I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

Well …. I suppose I wouldn’t.

“He’s been trying to get me all day …. But I’ve been so busy. So he said, let’s just do it on your drive home.”

“Fine with me, Mistress.”

“Yes….I told him you would love it.”

We took the elevator down to the bowels of the building where my car was parked against a wall. Mistress quickly climbed inside, and hiked up her dress.

“I’m taking off my undies, Slave….”

Yes, she was. Her feet askew, ass wriggling,  her black panties sliding down her legs,  and then off.

Very efficient. She had swiftly transitioned from frazzled but focused business executive to his little wanton slut, desperate to dig her fingers into what must surely have been a sopping cunt.

I would have liked to dig in too, but I was focusing on navigating the car out of the garage before one of my colleagues caught a glimpse of Mistress’s naked cunt, now on full display, through the passenger side window.

Before we even pulled onto a downtown street, Mistress was dialing M up.

“We are a few blocks from the highway, and there are lots of folks and cars around us. But I know you are in a hurray…..”

My sense was that M had a tight schedule now, but had a need to get Mistress off as much as she needed him.

“I’m slidng the seat back, M.”

Her feet were up on the dash. Her knees spread wide, giving her fingers free and ready access.  The seat was in full recline. Mistress was  providing a lascivious view to anyone who bothered to peer through our window.

I wanted to watch the action, but I was also steering through some end of day traffic, and trying to make sure that we did not come to a stop next to some teenaged girls in the car in the lane to our right, who’s wandering eyes might be a tad shocked.

The sounds I heard were the squishing of fingers against damp flesh, and mumbled  responses to her Master’s compelling voice.

“Yes”.

 “Ummmm”

“Of course I would…..”

“I’m listening….”

Then a burst of impassioned  moans.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Mistress’s hips rising off the car seat. Her thighs were scissoring and squeezing against her roving fingers.

When she came down she thrust a damp and musky finger between my lips, letting me savor her musky taste.

We had not even made it onto the expressway.

“That was fast M.”

An understatement. 

They talked a bit more. Mistress’s legs were still spread wide, her feet still parked on the dash.

A minute or two later, as I navigated up the expressway, taking particular care to zip past truckers who would have gotten an eyeful of they had glanced our way, the cycle began anew.

“He wants me to do it for him again, Slave.”

Her head was back against the seat, eyes screwed shut, focused on his voice and the fingers that were sliding with purpose through her glistening folds.

And, again within moments she was coming for him, moaning her passion, her hips bouncing from side to side in her leather bucket seat.

Hopefully the lady in the pickup truck next to us was not too distracted.

Sadly, M had to ring off. Mistress allowed me to savor her flavors by licking off her fingers again.

“So what was he telling you, Mistress that made you so hot?”

“Oh the usual, Slave”

She was underselling, probably a little embarrassed at how quickly she can succumb to him.

But if she had let her fingers rove below my belt line at the moment, she would have understood that “the usual”  worked for me too.