SW Hideaway or Bust

Mistress and Slave are buzzing through the "Show Me" state now, headed west for two weeks of R & R at our SW hideaway. We have our mobile wi-fi humming and the back of the wagon stuffed with items that will help us un-stuff the UCTMW HQ and over stuff our hideaway.

You will be happy to learn that Mistress's sometimes lover Jay threw her a brief but "muy caliente" bon voyage party at his house yesterday am, before she had a lunch meeting with some German businessmen that coincided with the World Cup game.

As for the encounter with Jay, which came not long after our traditional "wake-up" sex, Mistress reported that it was "a quickie".

"But we must have felt a need to cram into our 45 minutes all of the things we usually do in 90 Slave....sucking, fucking from above, behind, and wherever...."

"Sounds like you used your time efficiently, Mistress...."

"We did, Slave ... and he said that my butt seemed even firmer than the last time....maybe it's the  swimming I've been doing?"

"Could be Mistress.... but you've always had a firm butt...."

Before we headed to bed, Mistress had a flirtatious conversation with Jay, where they rehashed some of the mornings activities. Sort of post-game analysis, but a little hotter than on ESPN.  When she slid into bed next to me, I was most anxious to worship her well exercised clean shaven folds.

"It's been a while Slave.... I doubt you can tell I was with Jay this morning...."

I came up for air briefly....

"Hmmm.... you still seem a little damp down here Mistress..... were you toying with your folds when chatting with Jay....?"

Mistress issued her standard denial.

Former Lover Check In

Yesterday afternoon we headed home from work a little earlier than normal. But our plans for a pre-dinner bike ride were aborted by a big assed thunderstorm, the forward edge of those storms that have been barreling through Oklahoma and Missouri over the last day.

But that did give Mistress and Slave some time to rest in the "executive Suite" before we took our younger Co-Ed out to dinner at some trendy urbanista taco joint as we had promised.

"Do you mind if I get naked, Slave?"

Now that's a silly question.

"Of course I don't mind, Mistress...."

Just as she was settling down with her laptop next to me on the bed, her I-phone gave off that little buzz. Mistress seemed tempted to ignore it all together, but then she noticed who was calling.

"It's David....wonder what he wants?"

(David, as some loyal readers may recall was one of Mistress's "cougar week" lovers, last fall. He's the guy with the tatoos who lives in our older Co-Eds campus town, about an hour away. Tatoos. Compelling sex. But... a somewhat sketchy background that made Mistress a little cock-shy, shall we say.)

Mistress was curious, so picked up the phone.

Slave could only hear one side of the conversation of course.  But the gist seemed to be... "Hey, I'm coming to town this weekend, want to get together?"

Mistress's tone was sly and seduction in explaining... "Well.... unfortunately I've got a full house this weekend.... two kids back from college.... but maybe we should find another way to get together again soon...."

After she hung up, she commented that he probably wanted to spend the night here while going to some event in the City.

"It would be a convenient crash pad for him, Mistress.... but for our young and curious girls... might be a little hard to explain who the 30 something guy with the tatoos is that was sharing your bed."

But at least David's call gave Mistress a little something extra to fantasize about as I proceeded to worship those lush clean shaven folds.

Mistress's Very Busy Saturday

The schedule I discussed here yesterday was altered slightly. I went upstairs to wake Mistress at around 7:30 am, anticipating she would be off to J's by 8 am for their date of "Bike Riding +".  I presumed that  Slave would have to wait for his own sexual bonanza until later.

But I got a pleasant surprise.

"J texted to suggest I not get there until nine, Slave.... it's your lucky day."

Meaning there was time for Slave to get some action here in the Executive Suite before Mistress headed off to the "love shack" for some time with her lover.

"Everyday is my lucky day when you're around, Mistress."

Rest assured that I took full advantage of my opportunity. So if anyone got "sloppy seconds" yesterday, it was J!

Soon Mistress was off, and I had a full morning planned too, entertaining my grandsons with a swim at a friend's pool.

At some point Mistress texted me with updates. A certain amount of lollagaging was unfolding it seemed. A flat tire to repair. Breakfast. yadda yadda. My theory is that J likes having Mistress around so he tends to procrastinate a bit, extending their time together. And who can blame him? What are Saturdays for?

At some point Mistress texted that she'd be back by 3 or so. I was heading home myself, after visiting my cranky mother.  I had a feeling they had transitioned by now to the "good part".

Sure enough, a little after 3 pm, Mistress staggered home. She had been "rode hard" both on the bike and otherwise. And while Slave had the opportunity to worship her fragrant and well exercised folds, it was clear that Mistress needed a little rest.

"My parts are pretty tired, Slave.... hope you don't mind....."

"Of course not, Mistress."

I suspect I can extract a more complete de-briefing later this morning. It is Switch Day after all.

From Our Senior Correspondent... A Few of their Favorite Things

 (Mick recommends the following musical accompaniement. )

A couple of days ago when I knew I would be filling in for Mick while he recovers from the annual salute to his ancestral roots, I suggested to Bill that we share with you a few things that really get our motors started. We decided to leave my red bottom and his mighty swing arm off the list because you already know how important that is to us. The choices were tough but eventually Bill chose my clamped boobs and I chose his love notes. Oral sex was the big winner for us both.  

Bill’s Choice – Clamped Nipples

Bill prefers boobs to be large and for the nipples to be clamped. He thinks of breasts as one of the perfect sex toys of the human body for both giving and receiving pleasure.

My blue-gray top in the picture is one of Bill’s favorites to ramp up a bit of sexy nipple play. Just today he dropped his voice into that low and slow Dom range and ordered me to get the top from my dresser and take it to him. He held it up for me to slip my arms into and then told me to hold still while he laced it up, positioning my breasts just where he wanted them. After admiring the lacy texture with his tongue and using the pads of his thumbs to rub the damp lace over my nipples so they would stand up proudly, he told me to clasp my arms over my head. He leaned forward, grabbing the ribbon bow in his teeth. As he pulled his head back, the ribbons holding the front of the shirt closed loosened bit by bit until my right breast came tumbling out.

His lips were ready and waiting to draw my nipple and some of the surrounding breast tissue into his warm, moist mouth. He gave me a good solid sucking and tongue flicking, adding a bit of tooth and then quickly snapped on a nipple clamp -which I can only assume he had hidden in his jeans pocket- then he sweetly used his tongue to soothe and ease the sharp sting of the clamp. His head leaned forward again as he used his nose to push back the lace still covering my left breast. As my breast slipped out from the fabric, equal attention was paid to that nipple with sucking, tonguing and biting followed by a quick clamping.  Ouch! A good ouch that makes me moan and drip, making both of us anxious for further play.

Donna’s Choice - Love Notes

Bill’s love notes have always been a huge turn-on for me. I have a wonderful notebook he put together for me titled “Why I Think the Way I Think About You”.  It is a collection of handwritten and typed pages as well as page after page of pictures that he compiled for me when he had to be away for six long months. I also have pages and pages of letters that he writes for me about everything from the specific words he wants to hear me add to our playtime to instructions about choosing bras and panties that will please him. But, the really unusual notes he has given me are the instruction strips and my set of “Getting Down to Business” cards.

The instruction strips are kept in a bag in a bedside table. Every once in a while Bill will order me to reach into the bag and draw a strip of paper.  I know we will be following the directions exactly. Here are a couple of samples: I will lie back on the bed. You will crawl between my legs and begin by rubbing your boobs over and around my balls and cock. When I tap your head you will move further down and lick and suck my cock. After I cum, you will scoot up, straddling my face while I make you climax at least two times. Here’s another: You will lie on your back with your head off the edge of the bed. I will stand with my balls over your face. I will lean over and use the Hitachi on your pussy while you lick and suck my balls.

The “Getting Down to Business” cards are things he wants me to ask or beg him for. For example: ”I want a butt plug and a spanking, please Sir.” Or ”I’ve been a bad girl. Spank me, finger me, then cum on my pink bottom, please Sir.” From time to time Bill will leave one taped to the bathroom mirror or leaning on my laptop keyboard and I know that sometime that day I must say those words and he will follow through.

Oral Sex-That All Occasion Dance of Joy

I suspect that when my Home Economics teacher from high school lectured my class on the importance of developing shared interests with one’s spouse, she was thinking along the lines of cooking or tennis rather than oral sex. But, like any decent student, I drew the pertinent information from her lecture and applied it to my life.  For me the concepts that stood out were sharing, eating, and playing with balls,  and I have applied those lessons well! Oral sex is such a versatile endeavor and one of our all time favorites! Bill is quite fond of me giving him some oral attention on long car trips just to keep things from getting boring as he drives along. He particularly enjoys cranking up his Smooth Jazz Radio or the Jimmy Buffett channel while I pay homage to his very special equipment. Back at home, every once in a while I buy a box of flavored condoms to add some zip to the lick. Banana and pina colada are my personal favorites, and Bill’s rule is that the condom must be rolled onto his penis using only my mouth, no hands...alas, what a hardship. One time I tried those mints that are strong enough to give a little electric shock to the head of the penis. That mistake hasn’t been repeated and Bill made sure I learned the lesson that anything new touching his penis requires prior approval.  It’s all good.

Yesterday morning I found a note under my coffee mug that combined all of these favorites. It was a simple note that said: Crotchless Red Panties. Red Boa.  Paddle. Now.

Any guesses as to what was on his mind? How great is that!

No Accounting for Taste

Over the weekend, our Western Correspondent rose from the bed where he has been (ma)lingering these last few days to share some comments on the end of cage week here at UCTMW.

Of course I was not a direct party to the conversation. I was lying next to Mistress in our bed, reading the paper, when the two of them connected. But I was able to pick up the trail of their conversation.

It seems that M has been known to wear a cage from time to time, when his wife B gets a little feisty.

“So she’s threatened to put you in a vage again, M… well that would certainly mess things up for us….”

True…. Those occasional conference calls could be a little one sided if Mistress had all access, and poor M was on full containment mode.

Then the subject turned to the style of cage M has been required to wear.

Turns out it was the “Curve” one of those plastic devices, from the same folks who made my earlier model the CB-2000.

Mistress laughed at the next part of the story.

“He says they kept breaking on him, Slave….”

No doubt.

It’s hard to imagine mere plastic containing the special occasion cock when it hankers to take a walk on the wild side. And I can recall a few times when those little plastic rings popped even for my more moderate sized work-a-day wonder.

That’s why we upgraded to the stainless steel variety, with the unhinged anchor ring made to my personal measurements. It’s a little harder to get on, but once on, it ain’t going no where, to paraphrase Bob Dylan.

No more “cage failures” for me. Mistress knows that once I am on lock-down, nothing will come loose until she turns the key. Although it can create a problem at airport security or in federal courthouses.

But I was wondering where M was able to get a cage  suitable for his particular appendage.

“Ask him if he had to buy it at an agricultural supply store, Mistress?”

I am not sure either one of them appreciated my humor.

Yesterday, Mistress did stop by for worship after lunch. And when I had finished with my devotions, I took a picture of her: legs spread, tights pealed off, one boot thrown aside, a very smug and satisfied look on her face.

I texted it off to M with the little note “get well soon.”  But as a bad sign of his continued malaise, we heard nothing back. It seems he spent the day in bed again yesterday, on the cruel, confusing edge of consciousness.Sort of like his hero, Dr. Thompson, after a long night in Vegas, but without the preceding fun.

“He does seem pretty sickly, Slave… I’m worried about him.”

So keep those good wishes  and remedies coming. UCTMW does not want to incur the expense of a MediVac unit.

Mistress did have one problem yesterday   She has an ugly allergy to shell fish. And when she came by my office after lunch she mentioned some mix-up with her meal.

“I think they served me lobster bisque, when I ordered the squash soup.”

I expressed some disbelief. To me, it would be obvious: the taste of lobster bisque would be quite different than squash. The alarms would have gone off immediately.

Mistress was not amused at my impertinence, which she reminded me of on our bike ride at the end of the day, with an explanation.

“Slave…. My sense of taste and smell are somewhat compromised….if it looked like squash, and it did, well its quite likely I would not notice.”

It’s something she had never mentioned before: A taste and smell disability of sorts.

But it got my nasty mind going, as we pumped up a rather long hill.

“So in a dark room, if someone fed you a cock, you could not tell if it was mine or someone else’s based on taste or odor?”

“Maybe not Slave…. One cock might be just as tasty as another ….”

Hmmm. If variety is the spice of life, what happens if your taste buds can’t discern the spices.  I guess you accept what you are offered and do your best.

“It’s sort of like that episode of Californication, when David Duchovney went down on one woman, thinking it was his wife, but,  it turned out otherwise.”

“I recall she enjoyed it though….”

And I suspect Mistress would too.

Later last evening, as I was savoring the tastes of Mistress from my proper position between her legs, I tried to focus her the tastes and smells. I suspect that I could tell the difference if offered an alternative morsel.

And I wondered if she would notice if it was another man (or woman) who was feasting on her. (Under those circumstances the quirks of an individual’s techniques and skills should make a difference. At least I like to think so.

But, once again, I suppose that’s why I am the Slave and she is the Mistress.

Is this Just Another Sit-Com?

Thursday night, as Mistress, her Slave and our WC toyed with one another between episodes of The Office and Parks and Recreation, I realized that the primitive appeal of the network Sit-Com has a lot in common with what makes those of us in this little community keep coming back to each others’ blogs, day after day.

Whether it was Taxi, Seinfeld, Mary Tyler Moore, or the current more exotic crop of shows like Californication, the appeal of those silly confections is the same: a familiar, endearing, yet quirky cast of characters, doing what they do, week after week, year after year, with only a subtle change up, or new character thrown into the mix to extend the shelf life just a little longer.

After a while, characters like Sam Malone, Mary Richards, George Castanza and the rest become part of your extended “family”, imaginary as they may be. You develop a bit of an addiction to see what might happen to them next.


So what are we all doing here? (Actually, the better question is what are YOU all doing here?)

Here at UCTMW we really don’t do much every day that is all that different. Sex in the morning. A little afternoon worship. Occasional phone sex with the WC before bed, or over the weekend.

I try to throw a change-up every now and then. And there are often some cheesecake photos of the lovely Mistress to distract and amuse…..

But we are not inclined to a whole lot of self-analysis or introspection. What do you expect from an aging Irish guy who picked an Irish street fighter as his blog-o-sphere namesake? Navel gazing? No way.

Yet we still are getting more than 1000 page views everyday. More than 600 “unique” visitors stop by most days. And about 150 of you are repeat voyeurs daily.

I suspect what draws you here is a certain familiarity and comfort with our “characters”, despite a very thin plot line.

Will the WC recover from frozen cock syndrome?

Will Molly ever jump on a plane for a surprise visit to our Western office to conduct an audit of his expense account and inspect that Special occasion equipment?

Will someone ever try to open Mick’s office door just as Mistress is coming?


It’s not unlike wondering whether Lou Grant will ever make a pass at Mary Richards?

Or whether Sam will finally end up in bed with Diane?


We may well be the Burns and Allen of sex bloggers. But we are having fun, and our aim is to spread the good humour and kinky vibes to a broader audience.

And why do we follow you?

We are amazed by Tammy’s seemingly unlimited willingness to submit so completely to the demands of Suzanne, Jay and all those friends and relatives?

And we need to know whether Suzanne will end up being the subject of our Western Correspondent’s ass-fucking tutorial after the Super Bowl?

Over at “Jumping on In”, we follow SFP’s revolving cast of characters, which are taking on the quirky depth and variety of Jerry Sienfeld’s stable of dates.

And we wonder if Aisha will negotiate her way into the clutches of the mystery Dom who lives so far away.

Of course, one difference is the opportunity to comment, email, text and phone one another, that allows us to barge onto the pages of another little blog world and kibitz a bit. Our chance to meet Aisha and D, and visit their down river dungeon, was almost like Lou and Mary showing up on the set of “All in the Family”. Improbable, but lots of fun.

But enough of this over analysis. True to the spirit of this entry, I need to catch you up, if briefly on events here on the Collins family set.

First, Molly blushed a bit to all those lovely comments you left yesterday about her Ass. Yes, I feel like the comedian who holds one hand up to stop the applause, while the other hand is inviting more.

And at some point yesterday morning, she texted me about a specific comment.

“Sin wants to see that picture of you in the cock-cage. …We’ll see.” It’s on her phone, so it’s up to her to pass it on, folks. So far I have been spared.

And M and Mistress were tossing other photos back and forth via text and email during the day. It seems that M and his wife B dined at a restaurant in their hometown at lunchtime. When M described it to Molly, she passed on a photo of she and her Slave dining at the very same place in the summer of 2008.

Odd Serendipity.

After a trip to the gym at the end of the work day, Mistress and Slave had a “picnic” to catch up on the latest episode of “Big Love” (dark, very dark this season), then retired to bed.

Actually, Mistress retired first, as I cleaned our dishes. What else would a Slave do?

As I entered our bedroom, Mistress was under a blanket, naked. And on the phone.

“It’s M, Slave…. He asked me to call.”

“Would you like me to go downstairs and give you two lovebirds some privacy, Mistress?”

“No Slave…. Just get ready for bed.”

They chatted as I stripped down, then settled into bed next to her. I picked up my laptop to review your comments and to check out Suzanne’s weekend plans. Like her at the end of the day, Mistress was still a bit sweaty from our trip to the gym, and I planned to make sure she was tongued clean before bedtime.

Mistress and M talked about the comment he had left on our blog, asking UCTMW to treat him to the attentions of a $500/hr. massage therapist to bring that sad, frozen cock back to full health. I couldn’t resist making a comment.

“That’s higher than your hourly rate, Mistress….”

“M… the Slave says that’s too much … why don’t I just come out there and give you all the therapy you need…. And I could audit your expense account records while I am at it?”

At about this point, after leaving a few pithy comments on some of your blogs, I had to intervene. Setting aside the laptop, I settled in between Mistress’s tangy, salty thighs.

“He’s at it again, M…. what is a Mistress to do?”

But she hardly pushed me aside, and I could tell M had gotten with the program. Soon Mistress was cooing back at him with all those “Yes, M….. I would M……” phrases, that tell me she is getting into the “zone” with his highly skilled verbal assistance.

And I don’t need to tell you what happened next…..the bucking, moaning, the scissored legs squeezing my balding head. Clearly, two guys can do Mistress much better than one.

And once Mistress and M signed off, I received the dividend.

Hopefully, M got his own reward before the night was out.

And since this blog was a bit of a retrospective, I’ve added a photo above from the UCTMW annals that is a bit of a flashback, particularly for our Western Correspondent.

It appeared very early on these pages, back in  2009.

M says that when he saw it, he knew that Mick and Molly were in territory not too far from his own. Apparently it piqued an interest that led, step by step, to his current and ever evolving relationship with Mistress and UCTMW Enterprises.

Considering how long it took Diane to finally nail Sam Malone (or was it the reverse?), there is plenty of time to draw this little comedic soap opera out.

Home Alone

Surly Teens were absent here last night, and there are good prospects that both will be gone for this long weekend. One is visiting  friends in the Sunshine state (already texting us with taunts that she will be adopted by a family down there, but might honor us with her company on weekends); the other was over-nighting with a friend who goes to our local University.

So Mistress and her humble Slave came home to an empty house, with the prospect that things will be rather “lonely” here all weekend. 

Huzzah!

Of course, I had been in my cage all day. When Mistress had called to check on me at around 11 am, one of my first questions was how her telephone “date” with our Western Correspondent went.

“How many, Mistress?”

Ohhh…. Several, Slave.  Several.”

Sounds like Mistress had lost count. And also that M had been able to deploy and exercise his special occasion cock, something that makes Mistress all the hotter.

This sort of talk, and reading over Will’s sordid tale of cuckoldry, had Slave more than anxious to be sprung from his cage when we got home to our teen-less household . After all, while Mistress’s embargo had lasted about 20 hours, I had been left high, dry and caged for going on 32 hours by now…. But then who’s counting?

Our plan was to lounge in bed a while, then prepare dinner.  It did not take me long to strip down to my undies. Mistress, who was decked out in a lovely black dress, tights and boots, was just beginning to peel off her layers when she got a text message.

“It’s M, Slave…. He wants me to call.”

“Of course that’s up to you, Mistress….. would you like me to leave the room … or maybe go to a corner, like Tammy at ALL Mine?”

She laughed….

“No, Slave. You can stay here …. M’s had plenty of time with me solo today.”

AS she talked she asked me to unzip her rather form fitting black dress, which I was happy to do, taking the liberty to run my hands over her breasts, and tweek her nipples just a bit.

She seemed to like that.

“Don’t stop, Slave….”, she said as I tried to step away. So I lingered a bit, before she moved to drop her dress, all the while chatting with M in that girly, flirty voice she moves to when her long distant Master is on the phone.

Somehow we ended up lying on the bed, Mistress, head toward the foot, still in her black tights and bra.

I had my head propped against the top of the bed, perusing some of your blogs as they chatted amiably about weekend plans.  In fact I noted the WC’s comment on Suzanne’s blog and pointed it out to Molly.

But at some point, my impatience got to me. That lovely body was so close, so tempting.

I found myself setting the laptop aside, and pressing my face against Mistress tight covered ass as she continued to talk with M, inhaling her musky aroma. And discovering that Mistress had on those peek-a-boo tights again. 

Too delicious.

During their conversation, they discussed Will’s intriguing story about a three way involving Mick and Molly…. Well a two way that Mick gets to observe would be a fairer description.

“We could reenact that right here this weekend, M…. I’m happy to pick you up at the airport.”

Unfortunately, other duties call for M. though I suspect the thought has a certain appeal to him.

By now, Mistress was getting increasingly saucy herself, grinding her ass against my face, and stretching one of her feet out to caress my crotch with her toes.

Then she reacted in surprise.

“Ohh dear… I forgot, Slave still has his cage on….”

“No foolin’ , Mistress….”

She laughed with M.

“M wants to know if you are straining against the cage, Slave….”

“You could say that, Mistress.”

That seemed to make them even more jolly. 

Fuckers.

My face pressed against her ass again, a tongue probing between the fold of her tights to find some nourishment.

“M, I think the Slave wants to worship…. Is that OK with you?”

Apparently the answer was “Hell, Yes.”

“Then let me get in a proper position.”

She rolled over, spreading those tight covered thighs, allowing me an “All Access Pass” to her promised land. And of course by now, my cock really was getting rather uncomfortable inside that steel cage.

I went to work though, confident that a job well done would be rewarded. 

Mistress screwed her eyes shut, focusing on whatever magic spell M was casting… and the lips and tongue plying their craft between her strong and shapely thighs.

Soon she was tipping over the edge, moaning into the phone, bucking against my mouth.

Afterwards,  lingered a bit there, making sure Mistress had been played out, all those little post orgasm after shocks exhausted, until she said, “Enough Slave.”

Their conversation went on a while, but she was in a generous mood.

“Slave, why don’t you unlock your cage now….”

At last.

When their conversation concluded, I commented on her rather dramatic orgasm.

“Mistress, you seem to come quicker and more enthusiastically when he’s on the phone than when it’s just me worshiping….”

“Of course, Slave…. I’ve got too of you working on me… double the pleasure.”

“And what was he telling you when I was down there?”

“I was sucking his cock, Slave…..”

Ahhh… the special occasion cock.

The Holy Grail of UCTMW.

Fortunately, Mistress still had some energy left for me. Indeed, she always seems to want her Slave’s cock after one of these “double headers”.

And I was allowed to fuck her through the aperture on her tricked out tights. A “Holy Grail” of sorts if you have a tights fetish like I do.

Suffice it to say, a good time was had by all on our first night Home Alone. 

We will keep you posted.

Comforting Rituals

Molly and Mick were all wiped out on their first Monday back to “reality”. The time shift and recovering from all those hours on our crammed steel and glass capsule, hurtling through the time and space across a good chunk  of America had  us a little off our game.

And of course there was the return to our offices, where our colleagues almost forgot who we were and what the hell we did there.

But there were some comforting rituals that helped us make it through the day.

When I arrived at the office, there was a lovely email photo of Mistress's cunt, swaddled in some lacy green undies. I figured our Western Correspondent got a copy too, but that did not bother me. At least I was on the distribution list.

There were  the little affectionate text messages that popped up on my cell from time to time. 

Or were they taunting?

In a  mid-afternoon meeting, my cell beeped and I scanned the message:

“M is sending me pics of assholes, Slave.”

For a minute I was confused. Why would M send Mistress a photo of someone like Don Rumsfeld or Dick Cheney? Or was it Bret Farve?

Then I realized what she was probably referring to….

“His?”, I responded. I tried to imagine our WC positioning himself for such a shot. But then maybe he had hired a free lance photographer that would show up on some future expense report.

“No… just random ass holes.  He’s trying to provoke me.”

Ahhh…. The provocative image  of being taken from behind by the special occasion cock. I suspect that may well have gotten Mistress’s juices flowing, even in her exhausted state.

After my meeting, I decided that the return trip downtown to my office was a bridge too far. So I simply headed home, getting there around 5 pm. Mistress was still out, having sought refuge at her nail salon for the full appendage treatment.

“After all that skiing, my feet are a mess, Slave…. And those broken finger nails form all that cold weather…. “

“Enjoy, Mistress. Just checking emails.”

When Mistress returned home, she found me on our bed, sorting through work emails. She collapsed next to me, and together we scanned some of your blogs, before mustering the strength to whip together a suitable emal for the teens.

It was only after we read and expressed admiration for Suzanne’s kinky choreography at ALL MINE, aligning cocks and tongues so dramatically with her stable of men, that I realized I had ignored an important ritual.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress?”

This was something we had fallen off the wagon on during our ski trip. Slave had not spent nearly enough time on his knees. And it probably showed in my slovenly and disrespectful attitude.

Mistress had already shed her work outfit, so all I had to do was remove her lacy green undies.. But even then I had to be corrected, since my initial approach was to part her legs on our bed and slide between them/

“Is that the proper position, Slave….”

“Oops.”

I tossed a pillow on the floor, knelt and she embraced my head with those delicious thighs.

It seems her luscious nectar always tastes better when I am down on my knees, focused solely on her pleasure.

I parted her clean shaven lips with my tongue, tasting the first flow of her juices, then proceeded to devour her, suctioning her little bud between my lips until she was writhing, then bucking against me. When she approached her peek, she squeezed my head hard with her thighs, then collapsed back on the bed, spent.

I slid up next to her then, embracing her, as she came down.

“Slave, I know you’re exhausted too. so no sex for you tonight. Save your energy for the morning. And since we can’t drive together in the morning, you need to wear your cage.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

So here I am, sufficiently rested, the steel ring that seats my cage already in place, snugging my cock and balls in its tight embrace.

Let’s hope Mistress is indulgent when I wake her up. Otherwise it could be a very long day.

Full Moon Rising

Mistress woke yesterday in a troubled countenance.

I had a bad dream, Slave….”

Uh Ohhh..  I kind of knew what the subject was.

“I dreamed you left me….”

I wondered if all that talk about poly relationships and insecurities through comments on Sin’s blog the other day had reopened some subconscious paranoia for her.

“Of course, you know I won’t Mistress…. You are stuck with me.”

Then I tried to prove with tongue and cock that my devotion was still quite real. Hopefully it exorcised those demons, at least for a while.

After a morning of skiing, and some mid-afternoon R & R, the Collins clan headed into town for some grocery shopping, and to pick up some holiday gifts on order for us.

The little plaza was all lit up with farolitos and a full moon was rising over the dramatic mountain that  looms over this community, founded all those years ago as a staging area for ventures into the vast wilderness.

It’s the sort of scene that Molly and Mick swoon over. But our surly teens? Well…. From them it’s “when are we leaving…. It’s cold out…. And are we really going to have to drive all the way home?

I am a little concerned that they might conspire to poison one of us in order to get a Medivac flight back to River City.

We opted to drive this time because the airlines have rigged the pricing system for tickets so badly that holiday flights are absurdly expensive. And also to teach the teens something that they need to learn: life isn’t always about taking the cushiest solution to any specific problem.

But after we had filled two grocery carts with provisions for some big communal meals this week with visiting friends, we stopped for Pizza at a funky joint that makes a crust of spelt that Mistress is fond of, and  the teens were in a more chipper mood.  The elder teen even took some photos of Mistress on her I-phone between slices, scanning and responding to text messages, just like the teens do at many of our family meals.

“Who is texting you? “, they demanded to know. Mistress provided a cover story about her friend Sarah back home, but I suspected otherwise.

On the drive home, Mistress muttered to me, “Slave, do you mind if I call the WC when we get home…. He’s desperate to talk to me….”

Well it’s hard to imagine the WC putting it that way, macho dude that he is, but I got the point. Mistress was pleased to get the attention. And of course what sort of Slave would have the temerity to say “No”.  I did wonder if the girls had heard her call me “Slave” though.

So as one surly teen helped me stow our provisions, Mistress shuttered herself on our room. I put on some Christmas tunes to make sure her voice could not be heard on the other side of our door.

Once my tasks were done, I settled down in front of the fire place, with laptop and book. And soon Mistress joined me. She had some answers to the questions haunting our readers: how was it that M’s brother was able to slide his finger up the ass of not one, not two, but three suburban moms at that weekend party?

“He says that his brother is the happy-go-lucky sort, who’s always buying the drinks and taking folks to dinner…. So it would not be unusual if, after a few drinks, he would ask a woman if it was ok to slide his hand down the back of her pants.”

Ok, so it’s a strange Midwestern social obligation playing itself out…. and it’s just a matter of manual dexterity and happenstance that a finger ends up the subject’s ass once the initial permission is granted.

I don’t think I will be trying this trick at home…. But you have to admire the audacity.  This guy needs his own blog!

AS it turned out, Mistress and M just had a chat …. No orgasms involved.  But Mistress did share something else.

“I told M about my dream, Slave.”

“And what was his reaction….”

“He said I need to stop worrying about you… that you are devoted to me and would never leave me…that the blog is a great love story about the two of us.”

“It’s all true, Mistress.”  And I was glad that our WC had my back on this.

Because Mistress had not broken out the power tool in her conversation with M,  I felt she needed some therapeutic attention.

After she completed her evening ablutions, I offered to worship.

“That would be very nice, Slave….”

She settled back on our bed, in a black nightie, sans panties. Spreading her thighs, her well groomed folds were on wanton display for me.

Yum…

Our Toy Collection

Finally had the chance over the weekend to dump our toy collection on the bed and rise to the challenge from SFP and Sin last week.

Of course there are a few things missing, as I realized after I shot the photo and put our collection back in the bags and drawers where they languish between use: my cock cage was on me at the moment. (Mistress had me wear it Saturday when I went down to rake leaves at a rental property we own; it’s a helpful reminder to me to “behave”, and some extra security for her too.) The Hitachi was parked under the bed, all ready for the date Mistress would have later that afternoon with our Western Correspondent. And Now I remember another batch of items that have not been put to use in a while – an obsolete vibe or two muscled aside by Mistress’s preferred power tool of the moment.  But you get the picture.  There are lots of goodies useful for the restraint and discipline of a recalcitrant Slave.

And I was reminded that those nipple clips had not been put to good use in a few months.  Maybe next Sunday?

Yesterday Mistress made an amusing revelation when she came to my office for worship.

She was sitting on her throne – a chair pressed against the door with a thick soft blanket underneath to absorb all those juices we create – and sliding off her clingy black trousers (only one leg really, enough to give me access to her slick and fragrant folds).

“M said he loved the blog this morning, Slave…. And the photos…well….”

“Yes, Mistress?”

I was on my knees now, ready to “dig in”. I confess: I am an addict, and the font of my addiction was right there in front of me now, taunting. I wasn’t too intent on a lengthy conversation. But my curiosity was piqied.

“Well he said that he blew those photos up on his computer and …. You know….”

I laughed.

“Got himself off?”

“Yes Slave… that’s what he says….”

“Impressive Mistress…. How does that make you feel? The thought of him focusing on that delightful ass of yours while taking the special occasion cock for a little joy ride?”

By now I was grazing a bit, letting my tongue slide over that moist clean shaven skin, provoking her little pink clit, that would soon be gripped possessively between my needy lips.

“It’s pretty hot, Slave….”

No doubt.

I could tell Mistress’s mind was mulling over that scenario as I began to assault her in earnest with tongue and lips, pulling at her clit now, her hips rising as I suctioned it out of it’s little hiding place. 

“Do you think other men  …. Our readers … do the same thing when they see those photos of you, Mistress…. All vulnerable and aroused?”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands were grabbing at my hair (the little of it left) her thighs squeezing my head….and then she was coming for me, stifling her moan so as not to alert my colleagues outside in the hallway about what their graying, sober compadre and his delicious young wife were up to now.

Afterwards, as Mistress was tidying up, she gave me a little more details on M’s photographic preferences.

“He said he liked that one with you gripping my hand, Slave…. With my bottom all ready to be spanked.”

“I’m sure he did, Mistress….”

“He mentioned my nails …. ‘you really have nice ones” he said.”

She does… lots of maintenance makes for nice nails, and other yummy body parts too.

“And he mentioned that you must have given me a hard spanking for a change, because my bottom was so red.”

“I’m glad our Western Correspondent appreciates my effort to follow those instructions, Mistress.”

AS she left to return for work, we returned to the question I had posed earlier: are there other guys out there who “get off” on Mistress’s lovely body parts? And which are their favorites? It would be nice to hear.

“You know, Mistress, there could be women out there who delight in those photos too?”

“I guess that’s possible, Slave.”

Would it be interesting to hear from Mistress’s male (or female) admirers?

Could be.

Just Another Friday

Our readers will be happy to know that Mistress seems to be her feisty self again after that scary headache sequence a week ago….she’s hungry for my tongue and cock, and what Slave would not relish rising to meet her hunger.

Yesterday started very early for us. Surly Teen # 1 was going on her Senior class trip to DC. I was assigned the task of getting her up and out by 4:30 am to catch the bus with her classmates.

Mission accomplished, I was fully awake, so coffee was brewed and I got the blog done and posted for her and all of you loyal followers. I noticed that Aisha was up early too!

Of course, all that smutty writing and reading got me a bit …. Agitated. So I climbed the stairs around 6 am, and Mistress seemed happy to see me. She read the blog, I showered her slippery folds with attention from lips and tongue…. I suspect you know where that led us. And afterwards, there was still time for us to fall asleep, clinging tight and close, before we finally climbed out of bed and took a pre-work bike ride around 7 am or so.

Mistress was back for more after lunch though…. Stopping by my office for some mid-day attention.

As she sat in her “throne” and wriggled out of those black tights…. Yes, ‘Nilla they do drive me crazy…. A theme she picks up in her story this morning 'Nilla: Domme Wife….she mentioned talking to our Western Correspondent earlier in the day.

“Was he glad I applied his sentence for you last night, Mistress?”

“Yes Slave…. He likes it when he can trigger some ‘epic’ sex for us…. But he says he would have given me a much crueler spanking….”

“No doubt, Mistress….”

By now I was on my knees, sliding my tongue through Mistress’s ripe and juicy parts. AS she came, Mistress wrapped her left leg around my neck, pulling he all the closer.

It’s nice to feel wanted.

On the drive home, we listened to a radio story about the “outrage” of the latest TSA airport screening procedure. Wasn’t it just a year ago that folks were whining about the security breech involving the “underwear bomber”? Now the outrage is that the security dudes might be looking at nakey scans of us, or groping our underwear?

Memories are short.

But it gave us something to talk about.

“I wonder if M’s special occasion cock would be the sort of ‘anomaly’ that triggers a hand frisk of his ‘junk’ Mistress?”

She just raised an eyebrow.

“Bad, Slave.”

“How do you think they would react if they saw my steel cage under there, Mistress?”

She laughed.

“They’d go crazy, Slave.”

I’m waiting for the Tea Party types to propose a “free market” solution to this whole intrusive TSA search thing. Let the Airlines decide whether they want to have security or not. Just let their passengers know so they can decide whether to assume that messy risk.

So airlines could decide to sell tickets for flights with or without security searches, sort of like their “refundable” vs. “non-refundable” options. My guess is that some of us would assume the risk and buy the cheaper tickets. I’ll bet there would be some empty center seats on those flights! And ample room for your AK-47 in the overhead compartment.

But I digress with my rant….

By now it was Friday night. One teen was off on her excursion. The other was heading to a friend’s house. Mistress and Slave had nothing on the schedule.

You can imagine what that meant.

The luxury of pre-dinner sex and then a nap…. After all, we had gotten up early!

Soon we were naked. Sliding against one another, me spooning against Mistress warm, firm bottom, a hand wiggling it’s way between her legs, finding her already wet and ready for me.

You know where this went, don’t you?

Later we had a picnic in front of out TV, and I got to introduce Mistress to an old, favorite movie, Nashville. Lot’s of great music and funny 70’s double-knit leisure suits.

She lay there next to me on the couch. No undies. Legs spread casually. The musky fragrance of her recently fucked cunt was a low level distraction for me. And it wasn’t long before my fingers couldn’t resist the temptation to probe and fondle.

So Mistress got her last orgasm of the evening that way, while listening to Henry Gibson and Ronee Blakely croon a country chestnut.

I’m not sure she liked the movie. But she did seem to like what my digital attention.

Catching Up....

It was an eventful weekend here in River City, and I know I have been a little lazy in my reporting, so let’s try to catch all of you up on the ups and downs of the past few days. I don’t want to earn the WC’s reputation for sloth. At least not until I qualify for Medicare.

Sadly, that seems just around the corner now.

Friday did not bring an auspicious start to our weekend festivities.

Mistress and my family had gone out of their way to plan my “Mick’s Over the Hill” celebration. But our Friday date night turned into an unexpected trip for her in the dreaded MRI tube.

Molly had been having some strange (for her) headaches the last few days. When they became debilitating Friday morning, I prevailed on her to stay home, then got her to her doctor. He checked her out, wrote some script, but prescribed the whole MRI experience to rule out some potentially ugly things.

So there she was on our normal “picnic and a movie” night, in that dark tube, hearing all those bangs, thumps, and rings for the next 30 minutes or so. Believe me, if you don’t have a headache when they slide you into that contraption, you are sure to emerge with a doozy.

So we headed home, Mistress in pain, both of us worried about what the word would be from her Doc after some Radiologist, probably sipping thick tea in some squalid apartment in Mumbai, read the results over the internet and gave her brain the thumbs-up or down.

What was comforting through this process was that our Western Correspondent was on the edge of his seat too – or at least appeared to be through the anxious texts he was sending us from some Tex-Mex joint in the Mountain Time Zone.

Mistress was bleary eyed and in no shape to respond to them, so she had me type reassuring reply messages to M as we waited at home for the Doctor’s call.

And he seemed almost as relieved as we were when we got the call that Mistress’s brain scan was “normal”. At least as far as the trained eye could detect.

The Doc, of course, was not including Mistress’s pervy wiring in that clean bill of health. But at least we knew that these headaches could be medicated away and did not portend anything scary.

Little emergencies like this do make you consider your priorities in life though. It reminded me how lost I would be without my Molly. How much I treasure her and rely on her to get me through the day.

And what was charming about M’s text messages that evening was the sense of their deepening attachment too.

Very nice.

By Saturday morning, Mistress seemed to be on the mend, and was in the mood to allow me to take her with my hungry cock – gingerly of course – before our morning bike ride.

Later that afternoon, while watching my alma mater put some whoop ass on an overhyped opponent on the gridiron, I got an unexpected surprise: my daughter from our nation’s capitol had sprung herself loose to visit her aging father for his birthday.

Lovely.

But because she was spending the night at our house – just down the hall – her presence put the Kabosh on too exuberant a “Switch Day” on Sunday morning.

I did take the occasion to “force” an orgasm or two from Mistress with her favorite power tool. I made sure she got a good taste of my firm and needy cock with those skilled, full lips.

Then I gave Mistress an order that took her by surprise.

“Ride my cock, Slave”.

She seemed a little stunned. These apparently were words she did not expect to hear. At least not from me.

“You just called me Slave!”

“Well it is Switch day….”

“I suppose you are right, Slave…..OK.”

She slid over me, slowly impaling her self on my firm, work-a-day appendage.

Divine.

And I love it when she picks up the speed, slowly working herself into a frenzy.

My hands were free to roam: pinching at nipples, pulling at her hips to deepen my thrusts into her.

And soon Mistress was moaning as she tipped over the edge, shuddering her release, as her fingers reached back to tickle my balls so cunningly.

I could tell she was tiring now, so pulled her down on top of me, letting her after shocks play out then building her up to another powerful cum.

“Why don’t you role over now Slave and let me finish the job on top.”

She did not protest.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. We had a long bike ride, which, fortunately did not re-trigger Mistress’s headaches.

When we got back I offered to worship. Mistress seemed inclined to accept my offer, sliding down those foxy black riding tights to give me access. I took the shot above before diving in to do my “job”.

Funny how switch day ends so quickly around the Collins household, isn’t it?

Later I collected my nearly 4 year old grandson for some hanging out time. He played with our toy collection as his mouldering grampy watched our local NFL pussycats blow another game.

Mistress snoozed on the couch.

At some point she woke and rolled onto the floor with us.

“My Slave’s not giving me enough attention this afternoon”, she whispered into my ear.

We kissed as the cute grandson focused on arranging stuffed animals and tiny furniture, while grazing on a bowl of fruit loops.

It was then that I realized that multitasking on my part was quite doable.

Mistress and I were lying there on the floor. I could shield her body with mine. Cute Grandson was oblivious as I slid my fingers into Mistress jeans, and proceeded to fondle and probe her as I have been trained to do.

Mistress’s eyes were scrunched closed. Her MRI certifiably “normal” brain was focused on something other than the large guys banging into one another on the TC screen.

Soon she was shuddering, gasping quietly.

“Ummmm…. That’s much better Slave.”

Words that are music to a devoted Slave’s ears.

HNT / Oops.

Slept later than normal today, dear readers. So you get a larger, more sumptuous image of Mistress's well exercised legs, and a little less of my prattle.  That's probably a very good trade for most of our readers.

She did get lots of attention yesterday.

When she read the blog lying in bed, before we headed out for a daybreak bike ride.

About 90 minutes later, Her peek-aboo tights gave my roving fingers access on the drive downtown to work. Mistress shuddered nicely as she tried to avoid the curious eyes of a trucker we passed just as my fingers found their mark.

Then she stopped by at my office for some post lunch worship. It's so much more effieient when the boots can stay on and all she has to do is spread her legs.

There was the before dinner, Mistress lays back on the bed, pages through the paper and Mick takes to his knees worship.

And of course, after bedtime, when Mick was finally rewarded for all that veneration.

I promise to wake up earluer tomorrow to provide some remnant memories of our Dungeon adventure.

Mistress Exploits Her Slave's Fetish

Mistress has been mercilessly exploiting my craven reaction to those black tights with the strategic opening since she acquired them for her get up for our Much and Dungeon trip last weekend.

When she sees a little opening (no pun intended) that will further enthrall her Slave she goes for it, sort of like a WWF wrestler “heel” exploiting the bad knee of his opponent in the ring . And I am so easily drawn in, even though I know exactly what she is up to. What else to expect from the stupid, if greedy, Slave that I have become to her.

So yesterday, before our planned lunch together, Mistress popped into my office. Looking ravishing in her black boots, black dress, and black tights. Nothing unusual there. But I was soon to discover exactly which tights she was wearing.

I pulled her favorite chair up against the door, draped it with the maroon blanket well marinated with her fragrant juices, and she sat, pulling up her skirt.

“I guess we can do this with my boots on today, Slave.”

Sure enough her pink, full lips, already glistening, were there on full lascivious display, peeking through that clever opening, all ready for my worship.

Before I fell to my knees, I knew we had a moment to share with our Western Correspondent. He’s usually in need of inspiration. I positioned Mistress, legs spread, skirt hiked up, her naughty parts peeking out between those well tighted legs.

Snap.

Then I texted it to M.

“Mistress in her tricked out tights.”

That’s when I got to work.

“Yum, Mistress.”

“Glad you appreciate it, Slave.”

Oh, believe me, I do.



And when we were done, and Mistress was off to her office, and then to a dinner meeting afterwards, I was left to contemplate her waltzing about downtown, or dining with some male colleagues and clients, with her parts all shiny and damp, peeking out at the apex of those athletic thighs.

Gulp.

I took one of the teens to the movies after dinner, as Mistress did her dinner meeting. We both arrived home around the same time, at about 9:30. I was more than ready to redeem my credit for our earlier worship in bed with her.

As we shed our cloths, Mistress had a generous offer:

“Would you like me to sleep in the tights, Slave?”

“Sure…. If it’s not too uncomfortable, Mistress.”

“They’re very comfortable, Slave…. And I know what they do to you.”

“True, Mistress….”

We lay in bed a bit, catching up on emails. Mistress read Aisha’s entry about our evening at the Dungeon. We reminisced a bit about the remarkable things we had seen and heard.

That seemed to get us both in that mood, and I found myself grazing under the sheets, between Mistress’s thighs, my senses drowning in the taste of her arousal.

Unlike my daytime, work-a-day worship, we had no deadlines or fears of interruption, so I took my time working her over with lips and tongue: probing, poking, suctioning her tender clit between my lips, let her build to a shivering quaking series of climaxes as a finger sought out her tender little spots inside.

I get in my own little Sub zone in these moments, not unlike what Aisha describes as she let D and his young acolyte wind her into a cocoon of soft ropes on Saturday evening.

When she was satisfied, Mistress pulled me up to her, feeling her way down to my cock, gripping it firmly in those tender fingers

“Ohhh…. You’re so hard, Slave….. would you like to fuck me now?”

“Of course, Mistress….”

I slid onto her, thrilled by the friction of that opaque black fabric against my thighs, belly, and balls. She used her fingers to help me get past the opening and sink deeply into her. Then, buried inside, I did what a good slave is supposed to do at these moments: fuck her silly.

Fortunately, after a good bit of mutual silliness, Mistress gave me permission to come the very first time I asked.

The Western Correspondent Hijacks Our Sunday NIght

I do plan to get back to a better description of the sights and sounds of our Dungeon visit with Aisha and D, but while all this is fresh…..

I could be in a bit of trouble with Mistress.

Sunday morning – after I posted that rather long entry about our evening down river with Aisha and her D (or should I say D and his Aisha) – I slid back onto bed with my snoozing Mistress. We had the advantage of the time shift, and it seemed like a very good idea for me to drift back to sleep along side her, all spooned together.

When I woke about an hour later I realized two things: Mistress still had those fetching black tights with the strategic opening; and the friction of flesh against that soft, seductive fabric had given me a raging hard on.

She was waking too. And soon my fingers were sliding from behind, between her legs, poking and probing for that generous opening…..

Well you can imagine what ensued.

Mistress was coming with a soft, moaning shudder.

I was asking for permission to fuck her.

And then I was feeling that fabric all up and down my thighs, caressing my balls as I took her quickly and with mucho gusto.

I think I’ve mentioned my hose / tights fetish before. It probably dates back to 7th grade in a catholic grade school. When the girls started showing up in stockings and ‘r over the knee socks, and it was all the rage to steal glances of their fleshy thighs.

By high school, stealing glances had turned to attempts to cop a feel as one‘s girlfriend sat next to you in the bus to an away football game, or in the bucket seat on the passenger side of Dad’s car.

Ahhh. Those were good days.

And of course Mistress knows how to push all my smutty little buttons all too well.

Well I succumbed to it big time yesterday morning.

And afterwards, as we clung and cuddled and contemplated packing up and hitting the road, Mistress had a question:

:What happened to my Switch Day, Slave?”

Oops. A little too eager. Slave deserves to be punished for his negligence. Mistress counts on that time as much as I enjoy it.

Indeed, I’m wondering if the dungeon is ever open on Sundays?

(Come to think of it, I should have bushwhacked her at the stroke of midnight Saturday…. Bound her to a St. Andrew’s cross, and worked on some impact play. I had the Hitachi in our little kinky kit bag…. But no extension cord. Next time!)

On the drive home we called Aisha to express our thanks, and M gave Mistress a call to get a full report. He seemed relieved that Mistress had not been waylaid by some Dom on the hunt to extend his stable. AS I drove they talked about the difference between a BDSM scene focused on torment and pain, and a place like Hedonism in Jamaica where sex was the main course and the BDSM accoutrements were merely the accessories.

Molly is clearly interested more in the latter.

“Just tell us, M …. Mick and I will be there in a heartbeat….”

Our afternoon was devoted to helping surly teen number one with college applications, and reading the desultory news in the Times.

After dinner, as I cleaned up, Mistress got a text from M.

“He must be home alone, Slave, and wants to talk….”

“Of course, Mistress…. I will finish up here.”

While Mistress need not ask my permission she is always considerate of me. She then headed out onto our deck, and sat out there as the sun went down and the leaves swirled, catching up privately.

They need (and deserve) some private space to nurture their flame. And I was happy to watch a little football and read Frank Rich’s latest whiney screed as they did.

Mistress came back inside in about 30 minutes, and we headed up to our chambers, where the plan was to read, maybe watch Boardwalk Empire, until sleep caught up with us. We were both pretty fried so sex was not top of mind.

Until the phone rang.

“Hmmm, it’s M again…. he must be lonely, Slave.”

She laid back, in her short black nighty, phone to her ear. I was paging through the sports section, watching the Raiders and Chiefs in OT.

“What are we doing… Mick’s here watching football …. I’m reading.”

Dhe was curled on the bed, focused on his voice. I was focused on a long reception by an Oakland receiver, well within field goal range. This would be a short OT.

“Really …. Hmmmm …. Mick, M says turn off the TV….”

I could go with this. Not really a Raider or Chiefs fan.

“Yes, Mistress….”

“Now he says you should lick me Slave…. You know where.”

Of course, I knew exactly where. I positioned her just so, knelt on the floor and went about my assigned task.

Mistress was focused on whatever sordid tale M was spinning. I was teasing her rosy clit between my lips, sucking hard, pulling it not so gently side to side.

And soon Mistress’ thighs were wrapped around my back and she was thrusting at me, describing her bliss to M, as she came and came….

Tag teamed again.

“I think my Slave should fuck me now, M….”

And, surprise, surprise, I was suddenly in the mood.

But M ad other ideas.

“Slave, did you unpack the Hitachi….”

I found it, plugged it in, handed it to her. She was deeply under M’s spell now, conveying his direction that I should focus on her feet as she took her power tool for a spin.

I sucked and massaged her feet and toes as she writhed and wriggled on the bed, the churning tool trust against her undulating cunt.

She came hard again, moaning, asking me to climb up next to her.

“Can Slave fuck me now, M…. I need his cock.”

She was tying with it with her fingers, making it even harder.

“What am I doing…. I’m playing with his cock, M…. it’s so hard.”

Uhhh, yeah.

“You don’t want me to touch it….Slave, play with your cock for me….lying there…. Just keep it hard …”

I did just that… a rarity for me under my “no touch” regime.

“What are you doing M…. Ummmmm ….. this is perfect for me …. My two men both playing with their hard cocks …. Thinking about me.”

I guess it was an intriguing situation for Mistress. And when they finally signed off, my cock was still ready for her.

When we were done, we both had that “what was that?” look on our face.

Somehow our quiet Sunday night had been delightfully hijacked by our Western Correspondent.

Do you think he will send in a request for holiday pay?