HNT/ The Case of the Busy Body Flight Attendant.

Mick and Molly have survived the trip home, and a day back in the fetid air of this Midwestern River Valley. As I type this, Mistress is upstairs, enjoying a “date” with her Master. In anticipation, she required me to unpack the Hitachi and make sure it was plugged in next to the bed, ready in case she was required to put it to use.

And while I look forward to being called on to provide the hard cock she likes after her sessions of smutty talk and forced orgasms, I might as well fill you in on the events of our trip home to pass the time.

Not long after we left our mountain hideaway, Mistress asked if I would mind her calling M to get her morning fix of his compelling voice. There seems to be a mutual addiction between them.

Of course, she had no need to ask me. And I could only say “no problem, Mistress.”

As they talked, Mistress quickly shifting into that flirty, deferential voice that characterizes their chit-chat, I rested my right hand on her thigh. She was wearing one of those short tie-dye dresses she fancies. And my roving fingers discovered she was wearing the black lacy panties that I find particularly fetching.

“M, you should know he’s fondling my thigh….he can’t keep his hands off of me when we talk…..”

“ I recall doing this on that late night drive up here, Mistress….when you were NOT talking.”

(Yes, I probably should only speak when spoken too, but sometimes it’s hard to stifle my wise ass comments.)

“M says you are just asserting your possession of me, Slave.”

Could be.

In any event, after Mistress lost her call to M along a mountain road  particularly stingy with AT&T service, my hand became a bit more persistent. And soon Mistress was squeezing my hand between her thighs, bucking against my pushy little fingers, as I squeezed an orgasm from her needy, clean shaven cunt. No doubt her talk with M had helped to prime the pump.

As we got closer to the airport, and Mistress’s I-phone came back to life, and she giggled over a  a text message from M.

“He says that I have to refrain from any orgasms on this trip, Slave.  He wants to think of my cunt squirming on that airport seat in frustration.”

Well, that horse was already out of the barn.  But it still might be a long day for Mistress if she obeyed his requirements.

“How does that make you, feel, Mistress?”

“Well ….. I can see that it might be frustrating, Slave.   Knowing that I’m not allowed might want me want it even more.”

“I suspect that’s exactly what he’s thinking.”

But before we boarded the first of our connecting flights, M showed the arbitrariness of a skilled Master.

“Now he says he wants me to come in the plane, Slave.”

Why. Mistress?”

“He says I have been a good slave and should be rewarded.”

“And are you doing it in the restroom, or otherwise?”

“He wants you to help, Slave.”

“I will take that as an order, Mistress.”

And so I did., pleased to be his minion in getting my Mistress/ his Slave off.  It was on the last leg of our trip, on one of those tiny-toons planes that passes for an airliner these days. Tight seating, narrow aisles, but at least we had two seats together with no one too close at hand to work around.

The lights were down, and with our little tray-tables blocking the sightlines across the aisle, it was easy for me to worm my fingers back between  Mistress’s legs.

To add a little fuel to the fire, I asked Mistress to consider what it would be like to visit M’s mountain cabin for a few days, and how he might systematically train her to come at his command. Soon Mistress was humping my hand, stifling her moans into my shoulder.

I was happy to help her fulfill her Master’s requrements.

But then later, as we began our approach to River City, Slave and Mistress got a little too greedy. 

“Spread your legs again, Mistress,”, I said, leaning across her, acting as if I was looking out the little port hole window at the bright lights of our “Big” City.

She was accommodating, and my fingers pressed inside the lace of her panties, finding her oh so wet and squirmy.

But then I heard Mistress whispering to me.

“What’s she looking at?”

I turned a bit to peer over my right shoulder, and there was this grandmotherly flight attendant eyeballing us with a judgmental eye.

I  straightened up , chastened, pulling my hand away.  But I was determined to be undeterred. For the next 5 minutes or so, as the plane drew ever closer to the runway,we played a bit of cat and mouse with  this busybody  crone (really no older than me I suspect). She  kept tromping up and down the aisles, causing me to pull away from Mistress each time she passed by, eyeing us with a certain nosey curiosity. 

Finally, she spoke –

“do you have your seat belt on?”

Hmmmm……well, I guess that had slipped my mind.

So I buckled up. And she finally parked herself for landing. And Mistress got to come one more time just as we plopped down onto the runway.

Now she could report to M she had fulfilled his instructions.

Not long after I finished this, Mistress came down stairs,, that look of ditzy bliss on her face. Smiling. Asking me if I had been lonely.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Two, Slave…. But now I need my cock.”

She did not have to ask twice.

Enjoying Mistress's New Look

Mistress’s submission to her new Dom has provided (at least) one very nice fringe benefit for her Slave: that smooth, hairless look that resulted from his instructions to her last week, and her visit to the waxer.

It can be an endless source of amusement to me, and has increased in a way that I thought was impossible my desire to pleasure her, even to the point where she has been forced to tell me “enough” more than once these last few days.

She requires me to wear no underwear when we are in bed, so lounging about yesterday, obsessed by the goings on in Congress, it was natural for me to press against her, my cock nestling between to hairless crack between her cheeks. It seemed I was almost always throbbing, on the edge of erection.

And my fingers seemed to have a life of their own, always wanting to dip between Mistress’s thighs, to remind myself how smooth she is, and to poke a bit between her folds, teasing at her clit, exploring for some tell tales signs of her arousal.

Yesterday evening, I was reprimanded.

“You can feel all you want, but don’t try to arouse me Slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.” (sulk).

Well it’s not like I had been shut out over the weekend. On Saturday morning, I was allowed to try out the Magic Wand on her clean shaven parts for the first time.

“How’s that, Mistress?”, I asked as I slid the churning white ball between her legs.

“Ahhhh …. It’s even more sensitive Slave.”

Soon I had her thrusting against it, writhing to a lovely, dramatic orgasm.

I already wrote about the nice ass fucking she gave me Saturday afternoon.

Then there was yesterday morning. We had been out late with some new, seemingly vanilla friends, singing along to bad versions of 80’s rock as we closed a local dive. Drinking a tad more than usual for us. So we were both a little groggy when we woke up.

It was my normal switch day, but it seemed neither of us had the energy for anything too elaborate. But I certainly wanted my chance to play with Mistress’s good parts, and their new look.

As she read my blog entry de jour, I buried my head between her legs, enjoying the ready access that her new look gives me, all moist and pink and succulent. And once she put the computer down, she seemed pleased with my efforts, giving me permission to fuck her once she had been thoroughly serviced.

Soon I was off to visit some family members, a weekend duty.

But as I drove around I entertained myself with thoughts of Mistress and her new look, and how her friend would inspect her at their next engagement. I pictured her standing, legs spread, hands bound behind her, eyes closed, as he took his time sliding fingers over, across and into her. No doubt he would comment on how deliciously wet and available she was. A needy little slut, indeed.

Those thoughts made me want to get home ASAP.



Later that afternoon, after my family duties were accomplished, we were back in bed, me reading the Times and Mistress napping. When she woke we were planning a bike ride. But before that I had something else in mind.

“Would it be all right if I tasted you again, Mistress.”

She indulged me. And I recall her hands gripping my hair as I sought to please her, as I pondered her description of her master doing this with her 69 style last week.

When Mistress was satisfied, I slid up next to her and her hand reached for my cock, already hard.

“So you like my new look Slave?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Her fingers were driving me crazy, gripping my balls. Sliding gently along the shaft of my cock.

“Why, Slave?”

It’s hard to articulate all the reasons, Mistress, particularly when you are driving me crazy like that. Can I just fuck you?”

“Aww. Poor Slave. I thought you liked this.”

The fingers kept up their devious work.

“Give me just one reason, and I will consider letting you fuck me.”

“Well…. Because you did it to please him Mistress. Because he required it and you felt a need to comply.”

“Yes, that’s true Slave.”

She released her grip. And then I was allowed my reward.

I really am her Slave. And she knows it.

Clear Cutting

Mick and Molly have enjoyed striking up some conversations with a variety of our readers. You add some perspective and egg us on. So in some ways this blog has become interactive. We hope that we inspire you us as much as you have inspired us.


Our friend M from out West has been particularly enthusiastic of late in sharing some adventures of his own. Here is what he said after Monday’s posting with a picture of Mistress tied to our bed:

“The switch day pictures are always my favorites, because they always feature Molly's beauitful ass. I must still have a lot more of the dom in me than I admit.

B had a long "conversation" with me over her lap this morning about toping from the bottom. She claims I so it all the time and she doesn't approve. She claims I am still very dominant. She used her hairbrush harder than she ever has to drive home this failing on my part. She said "you don't like this spanking at all do you slave." MO MAMM!!! She said good and proceeded to spank longer and harder. I was pleading and begging her to stop promising to never be dominant again.. She totally ignored me and just kept blistering my bare bottom. B doesn't believe in safe words for spanking and I don't have one. As she says, “wouldn't be a real spanking If I could stop it...would it slave??? “

She then had me get her "huge blue cock". I really is very big 8 inches long and 6 inches around. B said a good long hard fucking may be just the ticket to make me more submissive. She fucked me VERY hard and VERY long. After she came as many times as she wanted she made me "service her bottom." She said that was another good submissive act for her slave to do to reinforce his submission. WOW what a morning. She finally allowed her slave to fuck her and get some relief!.

I'm in love! The harder she uses me the more I love her??? Take care M “

But yesterday, Mistress may have taken that inspiration thing a bit too far. As mentioned yesterday, her new Dom had given her some very specific instructions about how he wanted her bush trimmed before their next encounter (which is this evening). His instructions called for a thin racing stripe of hair running from the top of her lips toward her belly button, a little wider at the top than at the bottom.

We had some “fun” (as described in yesterday’s post) complying with his instructions, and I thought we had done a pretty good job. Later yesterday, M wrote back describing how he and his wife/ Domme get Brazilian waxes to deal with these issues:

“Yes, I think I have told you guys I have been shaving and more reciently getting brazialian waxs for several years. B gets waxed once a month,,, not brazialian but pretty short and close. Its FUCKING HOT. I couldn't reccomend it more highly. Not that you guys need any more way to make yourselves hot..”

Well, Mistress had a little extra time on her hands yesterday, so inspired by M and no doubt anxious to impress her Dom, she made an appointment for late yesterday afternoon. She was going for the wax, a first for her. When I passed that on to M he had some suggestions on what to ask for:

“I think [the Dom] will LOVE it! I think you will too. Most important I think Molly will be very pleased. FYI Molly in... "waxing terms" I would recommend the complete Brazilian including the butt crack and just leave a short triangle right over the genitals. Have them take all the hair to each side of the labia, and all of it from around the anus. HOT. you will love it!”

Well I passed these instructions on, and Mistress was off on her quest.

But when I got home, Mistress was a little red faced when I asked to see the results.

As she lowered her panties, what she revealed was, as M promised, very very hot. But there was a problem: all of her hair was now gone. No little racing stripe.

It was her first time, and it seems she had failed to convey all of the details of M’s instructions.

I was anxious to take Mistress’s new look for a test drive. Quickly her panties were off, she was lying across our bed, and I was on my knees for some worship time.

She was soooo smooth. And her clit was soooo available.

“Did it turn you on when they did this Mistress?

“Yes, a little Slave.”

Right. “ A little.”

My tongue teased, sliding across her.

“Why, Mistress.”

“The thought of him … and you, of course, inspecting me, Slave.”

It was nice to be included.

Soon Mistress was coming for me, her hips thrusting against my head, my face wet from her flowing juices. And not a threat of getting a loose pube stuck in my teeth.

Would you be surprised to know that we then jettisoned our plans for a bike ride so that we could more fully explore Mistress’s new look and texture?

But the elephant in the room is this: Will Dom be happy with the new look? Or will there be punishment in store because Mistress failed to follow instructions?

Forced

Both Mistress and Slave slept a little later than normal Sunday morning, after being out at a later than normal for a party, and adjusting to the dreaded “spring forward” loss of an hour.

Mistress had been dressed Saturday night in one of her Domme-ish uniforms: black tights and boots, a short black dress highlighted by a long turquoise scarf. She turned more than a few heads at a party where guests had been told to wear “pajamas”. Of course, had Mistress actually worn her sleepwear, jaws would have dropped on those turning heads.

When we got home from the party, we were both a little tired and a good bit tipsy. So there was no sex. But Mistress, asked if she should keep her tights on. I have a bit of a fetish in that department, so was glad to sidle up to her in bed, naked as she requires, my cock pressing against the sensuous fabric that covered her strong legs and firm bottom.

The papers were spread across the bed, and both of us were still a tad groggy. But with the surly teens still out at “sleepovers”, I knew I should not lose my opportunity to pounce. It was my “switch” day.



I shared a paragraph from our contract yesterday. Here is the pertinent portion of the contract governing our Sunday AM rituals:


“5. On Sunday mornings for at least 2 hours, and at other times of the week, upon agreement of the parties, Mistress will submit completely and totally to slave, as if she was the Slave and he was the Master/Owner of her under the terms of this agreement.”

I go pretty easy on Mistress most Sunday mornings. And since we were both still a bit groggy, it seemed that this Sunday would be particularly easy duty for her. I pulled out our leather cuffs, locked them on, and affixed them to opposite ends of a long leather strap that wraps around the head of our bed. As the photo shows, her legs were free, her arms lazily spread apart. She had a good range of movement, though it would have been challenging for her to roll over. Hardly stringent bondage, but at least she understood that she was “at my mercy.”

I retrieved our “power tool” from the closet where it is kept to limit raised eyebrows and plugged it in. Mistress raised her eyebrows. She always likes that form of therapy.

Sitting next to her on the bed, I began to fondle her tight ass, making her squirm. I rewarded her squirming with an occasional hard slap to her bottom. That only made her squirm a little more.

“That hurts, Slave.”

“Baloney. You love it.”

I got no denial.

Straddling her I rubbed her shoulders and back. Those generated sighs of contentment.

After Mistress seemed both relaxed and content in her restraints, I reached for the Magic Wand.

My first strokes were to her back and shoulders. Mistress’s lower back can get a little achy. The combination of all that biking and all that sex are probably to blame. So that part of her got particular attention.

Then I mover to her legs, and as the wand played across her inner thighs, the squirming resumed. And I could detect the appealing scent of her arousal.

“I can smell you Mistress. You’re getting a little anxious aren’t you.”

“How do I smell, Slave.”

“Delicious.”

Then I dipped the tool to her right foot, playing it across its lovely curved arch. The reaction was immediate.

“Hey….stop that.” Her foot tried to squirm away. A discovery: Mistress’s foot was ticklish and the tool was driving her crazy.

Like the crazy Congressman from NY, I had to take advantage. There ensued a few minutes of Mistress straining at her bonds, and me grabbing her foot with one hand and applying the wand with another. It’s always nice to discover a new way to “torture” my occasional “Slave”.

And I particularly enjoyed ignoring her “demands” that I stop.

All that squirming also seemed to be taking its toll on Mistress’s cunt. Her breathing was more rapid. The scent of her arousal was more pronounced. So it became hard for me to resist, releasing her foot to get to some of the better parts.

As the Wand slid up Mistress’s black tighted thigh, her body tensed. She knew what was coming.

With her hands tied, she still had the ability to move her hips, and with the wand pressed under her and between her legs, Mistress’s movements became more frantic, with her thighs gripping hard against my hand and the buzzing tool it held.

Soon Mistress was tipped over the edge, moaning into her pillow. She hugged the device too her until she was done with both the main event and a series of aftershocks.

Then her muscles relaxed.

“Enough Slave.”

But I was not quite done with her.

Rather than pulling the Wand away, I began to press it against her again, rubbing gently, then more insistently.

“what are you doing, Slave?”

“I’m not so sure you’ve had enough, Mistress.”

I was going to force another one out of her. And I think she liked the idea that she was not in charge of this one.

Soon Mistress was more in the spirit of my re-assault, her hips sliding too and fro against the device. And then she was moaning and writhing all over again.

I cuddled against her, turning off the Wand. I had made my point. Then I released her and helped her roll over.

I was not quite done.

Deploying the Crystal.

Mistress’s photo of that upscale sex shop in Soho inspired me to reach for one of our favorite toys yesterday evening.

We had planned a bike ride, but it was raining out, so some indoors recreation made sense before feeding the surly teens.

Both of us relaxed on our bed, after a busy work day. I helped Mistress out of her black pants, then her silky black undies.

She already seemed aroused by the time my head slid between her legs, and my tongue darted out to get its first taste, since that morning’s “wake up” sex.

I made sure Mistress was squirming and juicy before sitting up and reaching for the elegant box that sits on the little table next to Slave’s side of the bed.

“What are you doing now, Slave?”, she asked a bit petulant about her interrupted service.

“Getting out the crystal cock”, Mistress.

“Ummm.  Haven’t used that I a while, Slave.”

No, we had not.

Since acquiring the Hitachi Magic Wand, we had been a little too reliant on its diabolical efficiency. In comparison,  the crystal cock is sort of like one of those old style hand cranked egg beaters lined up against a Waring Blender.

Pulling the drawer of the little box, where the crystal cock sits nestled in its little groove, I thought back to when we had acquired it. We were in the Big Apple in the Fall of 2008. Not long after our trip to Denver for the Democratic Convention. Mistress had a business trip, and I met her there. It was one of those beautiful early fall weeks when the heat had subsided, the sun was shining, and folks were still going to work at AIG and Lehman Bros.

We were still living a crazy commuter marriage and trying to re-group after my infidelity fuck-up. Our experiments in a Mistress/Slave relationship were just beginning. But the sex was very hot and we were on the market for accessories to make it even hotter.

We did a google search for sex shops and located Kiki de Montparnasse, a place that had been written up in the NYTimes a few months before. It’s always nice to have a “mission” on a trip to Soho. http://www.kikidm.com/shop/home.php

We have been in several shops over the years specializing in sex goodies and bondage equipment, But Kiki  stands out  for its high lux setting and displays,  and, of course, the high prices to go with it.  Yesterday’s blog shows its swanky window display. Inside is every bit as elegeant, with staff  decked out as if they were at Bonwit Teller. The tasteful lingerie was tempting to Mistress. And the accessories were even more amusing. Sterling Silver cock ring anyone?  Fine leather restraints? You can find all the goodies on the website.

We soon focused on the crystal phalluses. Some curved. Some straight. All with nuanced colorings and useful ribs. We adjourned later that evening to our Hotel room to try out our acquisition. I recall that Mistress was tied to the bed for the occasion. That was before she put me in my place.

But I digress.

Back in our bedroom, I slid back next to Mistress, crouching over her. And as my tongue teased her clit, I gently and slowly slid the crystal cock inside her. He hips seemed to rise to meet it as I began a gentle in and out, still licking, then sucking at the moist parts between her spread lips. A little additional upward pressure….Mistress was breathing harder now.

As compared to the power tool, the crystal cock takes a little more finesse, a little more time. It’s the difference between painting a portrait  and spray painting a wall. But things turn out the same in the end don’t they? Mistress ultimately succumbed to my manipulations, in a series of little explosions, her hips thrusting against the head parked between her legs.

“Good, Slave.”

“My pleasure, Mistress.”

I lay the crystal cock against her thigh, and took the picture above to share with you.

Tortured

Last night Mistress and Slave had a busy evening. A political event. Dinner at a local trendy spot. Then an obscure musical theatre piece at a small community theatre in our downtown.

Things went well until we happened to observe a woman with her father that we like to avoid. The woman who Mick mistakenly got involved with a few years back while we were doing our commuter marriage thing. It’s a chapter in my life I deeply regret, and that caused a good deal of pain for Molly and jeopardized our marriage.

Fortunately, we have been able to turn that page. And the irony is that it also triggered this whole D/s thing that has ignited our sex life in a way that always makes me feel unworthy.

Nonetheless, it was a bit jarring for both of us to sit through the theatre with this woman lurking there, just a few aisles away. I know it made Mistress uncomfortable. And that made me uncomfortable. And, as it turned out, the play kind of sucked too. The fact that it was a one-act play eliminated our chance to bolt at the interval. All in all, we should have gone home early and hit the sack.

Did I mention it was my Abstinence Day?

It had been deferred a day. Earlier that night it occurred to me that Mistress might give me a pass if I played my cards right. But once this discomforting part of our history reared her head I knew that I could give up that aspiration.

I also knew that I owed Mistress some special attention.

During a break in the inaction I whispered in her ear “I look forward to worshipping you tonite, Mistress.

“Good, Slave. But don’t thing I am letting you off the hook early.”

When we arrived home, I suggested that Mistress keep her tights on, and allow me to do the ultimate unpeeling. She was happy to take that suggestion.

AS we crawled into bed, we clung and kissed and knoodled a bit. Mistress was squirmy with desire. I was very hard already. Something about knowing that gratification will be deferred makes it harder to rein that impulse, and sliding against the fabric of her tights …. Well. Argh.

Then I decided on a change of plans, and reached down for the trust Hitachi Magic Wand (aka WMO).

“I thought I was going to be licked, Slave.”

“Your call, Mistress. But this seemed like a better option”

“Feel free, Slave.” 

Mistress does like her WMO.

I decided to take it slow and easy, and dragged out the process for Mistress.

We talked a bit about her Dom, how their next engagement has been delaed a bit. I think that frustrates Mistress, who is interested in what the next step of her “training” may hold for her.

I got her to confess that she enjoyed it when he made her ask permission to come, just as she requires me.

All the while I was pressing the head of the wand against her, gently, then harder, making her squirm for the gratification she craved.

When I had her repeat the  words  he requires her to use, “May I come, please”, Mistress dropped over the edge, stifling a moan, gasping in release. It was a good one.

At this point I was particularly hard, but know that I would have to wait until morning. And I was hoping that Mistress would drift off to sleep once she was satisfied.

But she had other things in mind.

She reached for my cock, gently holding it in her hands.

“Oh, you are so hard Slave. Don’t you wish you could fuck me now.”

“Yes, Mistress. Very much so. Would you like me to take off your tights and do just that?”

She did her cruel laugh for me.

“No Slave. It’s Abstinence Day. Remember?”

Ah…of course, Mistress.”

“Remember, Slave,  Abstinence Day was your idea.”

Actually it was. Crazy.

“Well it does make me more your Slave.”

All the while, Mistress’s body was undulating against me, her tighted thigh sliding between my legs, her fingers tormenting my cock and balls. Though I didn’t admit it to her. I was so very close.  But, of course, I had my duty to contain myself.

“And, you like being my Slave, don’t you?”

“Of course, Mistress. “

“Well I think I will read a bit now. Slave,  keep your cock pressed up against me until we go to sleep.”

She rolled over a bit, picked up her magazine. I was tired, but still very hard. And I slid up against her, my cock pressed between the cheeks of her firm bottom. She kept up her gentle little squirms against me as she read. No doubt she knew exactly how crazy she was driving me.

Double Argh.

HNT ( a little early): The Vue

This Slave woke up a little groggy this am, for no particular reason. So my writing muse did not come to my assistance. Instead, after slipping on the hard steel ring for my cage I climbed upstairs a little early, and into bed with my awakening Mistress.

She had given me a one day reprieve for abstinence day. I rewarded her mercy by dipping my head under the covers, and servicing her with tongue and lips until she grasped me by my thinning head pf hair and pulled me away. She seemed satisfied.

By then my cock was thick and hard, and my balls were swelling against the tight ring. Ouch. But a not unpleasant ouch. Mistress seemed to enjoy the impact that ring had on my cock, as first she handled it, then allowed it access to her well lubricated cunt.

Once she was satisfied again, and I won my own release for a job well done, the cage was locked onto the ring and it was off to work.

Luckily, Mistress had to be in River City's downtown today, and stopped by on her way to lunch. We only had time for some quick and dirty worship. Mistress slid her tights down to her boot tops, hiked up her skirt, sat in her throne and put her Slave to work. Of course, I was on my knees.

Mistress seemed pleased by the time I was done, and the upholstery was wet from her juices and my somewhat sloppy assault. I took this photo with my trusty blackberry of the view from my knees after worship was completed.

Enjoy!

The Power of Humiliation

Last night, when Mistress and her Slave were having their way with one another, the subject of humiliation came up. It was after I had used my lips and tongue to bring Mistress to a series of little orgasms, and had mounted her (with permission, of course) for the main event.

Being taken down a notch or two is a powerful part of this whole D/s thing for us. Both of us are classic Type A types in many ways. Though I have mellowed over the years, its natural for me to “take charge” at a meeting of colleagues, or in my political and civic endeavors. It takes an effort for me to slide into a “back bench” role, as much as I admit it’s time.

Likewise, Mistress is a powerful presence in her work life and community endeavors, not just in the bedroom. Folks defer to her judgment, and not just because she is a stunner. She can intimidate with her thoughts and words as much as with her lovely bod and fashionable look.

The hidden (and somewhat surprising) thrill when I elected to submit to Mistress was the idea of surrendering my Type A personality and following her lead. It started with my obligation to ask for her permission to fuck her, and then to come when we have sex. She is no longer someone I can just “take”.

The expressed titles of “Mistress” and “Slave” help get us there, as well. And although those are private names, sometimes they inadvertently slip out in a public context, causing a blush and a rush.

The occasional spankings and croppings administered by Mistress, which make me squirm and whine a bit, certainly make the point.

And of course, when Mistress decides its time to use her strap-on …. Well that certainly turns Mick into a groveling fool.

This blog has enhanced my sense of humiliation too. There are a 100 or so hits most days, folks who now know us by our Mick and Molly names, and about my 2nd class status. We have even emailed with some of you.

Last week, when we met two of our new friends in the non-cyber world it was a humiliating little kick to share D/s war stories, including how we picked out my cage. Hearing Mistress call me her Slave, and being able to call Molly by her proper title in public had my cock straining against those stainless steel bars.

Now that Molly is trying out her own Part time Dom, I think she gets the humiliation buzz too.

Last night as I pumped a very hard cock into her, I asked Mistress if her new Dom got her to beg for a fucking:

“Yes, Slave….he did.”

“How did that feel, Mistress?”

“It was very …humiliating.”

By now both of us were getting close, and my thrusts had turned into a hard grind against the apex of Mistress’s thighs.

“And when you were ready, did you have to beg to come, Mistress?”

Yes….he made me beg.”

“Did you have to beg, like you make me beg, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave.”

“It is humiliating, isn’t it?”

“Yes….”

“That’s what makes it so hot though….”

“Yes, Slave….”

Mistress’s sudden moan and thrust as she came against me seemed to spring from her own recollection of that humiliating drill.

And when it was my turn, I did it with some bells and whistles.

“May I please come now, Mistress.”

AS we caught our breath in a sweaty heap, me still on top and inside of her, Mistress complimented:

“That was very good Slave ….. you said please and thank you.”

Mistress experiences the "cruise missile"

On Sunday mornings, Mistress likes to sleep in. And what type of Slave would interfere with that sort of simple pleasure.

When Mistress finally called down stairs for me, she was groggily waking from her slumber. We spent some time in bed reading our local paper, disappointed that the Times delivery man had failed us yet again.

Then it was time for me to exploit my Sunday “switch” privileges.

Now that Mistress has taken the first steps to submit to her new Dom, Slave is a little sheepish about the full bore “tie her up and spank her” Switch. Shouldn’t that be his privilege? If I get too assertive, even on Sunday mornings, will that confuse Mistress (and Slave) about our roles?

It may take a little while to work that out, but in the meantime, at least I can write a less domineering script for our Sundays. After we took the 10 minutes or so required to scan our local rag for what passes for “news” hereabouts, I tucked the paper away and announced that Mistress was going to experience our power tool this morning: the Hitachi Magic Wand, aka, WMO (weapon of mass orgasm).

Mistress had no objection, apparently relieved that she would not be spanked. She was still a little sleepy, after all.

Instead she lay back, and allowed me to shower her with kisses, as my hand used the WMO to massage her inner thighs. As I teased and pulled on her ripe nipples with my lips and teeth, the little white bulb on the machine slid more firmly against the parts that mattered. Mistress began to squirm and moan. She was getting close, but a little too quickly for my taste …. What was the rush?

I turned the machine off. She whined a bit. We continued to fondle though, my thigh sliding over hers, allowing her to pump her sopping cunt against me a bit. Enough to keep her hot, but hardly what she needed to get her self off.

I rolled away then.

“Where are you going, Slave?”, a bit of pout in her low, sexy voice.

“Time to accessorize.”

The WMO comes with a little attachment: A blue, phallic device with a bit of a curve at the end. Sort of a cruise missile variation, aimed at a woman’s g-spot if properly targeted.

I slid it in place, and re-started my engine. Vroom.

Mistress was very very wet, by now, so it was easy to slide the churning blue invader inside her.

“How’s that feel, Mistress.”

“Ohhhhh ….good, Slave.”

The blue tip pressed inside her, as I angled the device so that the base was vibrating close to but not exactly on her clit….she was getting a little crazy now.

“Did you like it when he made you beg, Mistress?”

“Yes Slave.” She mutters through her labored breathing. “Is that OK?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Apparently I was not providing the pressure against her clit that Mistress now demanded. Her hand shot down to the WMO gripping it over my hand, pressing it harder against herself.

“Oh no, not yet, Mistress. Aren’t I doing a good enough job?”

I pulled back on the device, denying her the pressure she sought. Mistress moaned in frustration, her hips bucking up to meet the WMO.

“You’re driving me crazy, Slave”, she whined. “Why can’t I use my hand to help down there.”

“Why don’t you squeeze your nipples, Mistress.”


She obeyed, moving her hand away from the device, sliding her well polished fingernails to her breasts, toying with them delightfully, all the while her hips churning. I accommodated her needs by pressing the buzzing tool back into her, giving her a little more of what she needed.


After she had squeezed her engorged nipple a bit more, I relented. She seemed so very desperate.

Her hand shot back down, clinging to the Magic Wand, pressing it much harder than seemed comfortable to me against herself, cunt thrusting hard against it. She had turned into a very needy little slut for me. Nice.

“Can I come now, Slave.”

“Is that what you really want, Mistress?”

“Oh ….yes.”

“Well then don’t let me stand in your way, Mistress.”

She must have been holding back a bit, as if she really felt she needed my permission. How considerate of her. Because once she got my “green flag”, she took her gyrations to yet another level. Both of our hands clung to the device, but hers took the lead. She came in an explosion that began with her head bent back, her hips thrust off the bed, and ended in a series of after shocks that left her on her back, red in the face, demanding that I fuck her.

And I was more than ready.

"Tell Me What You Are Thinking, Slave."

I woke up early this morning, around 5:30 am. Mistress seemed groggily awake too. We were cuddled close in bed, my cock soft, but a little twitchy, nestled against her firm ass.

“I’m getting up now, Mistress.”

I planned to leave her sleeping. She needs her beauty rests.

She rolled over, clung to me. As my face pressed against her lush, full breasts, I had second thoughts.

So my mouth began to work a bit on Mistress’s firm nipples. Something that made her squirm. When she failed to push me away, or roll over, I took that as a “go”. Instead, she made some encouraging sounds. When she rolled onto her back, my hand snaked between her legs. Very wet.

As I worked my fingers there, I mentioned something that had come to mind as I woke.

“You’ve been keeping the cage on me longer these days, Mistress.”

Wednesday night, she kept it on me through our meet up with our new FetLife friends, releasing me only so I could fuck her when we got home, around 11 pm or so.

Thursday had been my Abstinence Day, and Mistress was feeling a bit under the weather. So the cage stayed on until she was in the mood to be worshipped, well into the evening. And while I took off the “cage” part, I left the steel ring on overnight, because …well it was just easier to leave it there, gripping my cock and balls through the night.

Then the cage was back on Friday morning, after Mistress had the benefit of my full and firm cock before I headed to work. It stayed on through some evening activities in our downtown, to be unlocked only when we slid into bed at around 10 pm.

“Yes….I suppose I have. It’s good for you, Slave. Seems to make you want me more.”

“Maybe so…. Is that it….or….”

My fingers were still working, picking up the pace. Mistress convulsed into a nice little explosion for me, though I kept at it a bit longer, helping her through the aftershocks.

“What, Slave?”

Now her hand was on my cock. It was already firm and ready. But she likes to play a bit, and who am I to object.

“I keep thinking of you stripping for him, Mistress.”

“Yes … does that turn you on, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress. Did it turn you on? ….you said you weren’t going to … not the first time.”

“It did turn me on, Slave.”

“Did you feel compelled…like you had no choice?”

“Yes… I … needed to do it … once he asked me. Is that OK?”

“Of course, Mistress”.

Mistress’s fingers on my cock were driving me crazy. Fortunately, she rolled away, onto her back again.

“Why don’t you fuck me now, Slave.”

She did not have to ask twice.

As I slid into her, she moaned with delight, and I pressed hard against her, doing the things I knew would bring her close to the edge.

“What are you thinking, Slave?”

She likes to make me talk about it. Knew exactly what I was thinking about.

“You liked him fucking you, didn’t you Mistress?”

“Yes … it was …good.”

“You want him again, don’t you?”

“I do, Slave.”

In fact, they had emailed yesterday, setting up another meeting.

“You’ve been thinking about his cock too, haven’t you Mistress?

“I have Slave.”

“Does that make you wet?”

“It does.”

Mistress and I were clutching one another now, me buried inside her, sliding against her as I listened to her ragged breathing, so close to the breaking point.


“and you liked him using his fingers on you, didn’t you, Mistress?”

“Oh, yes.”

I pulled back a bit, still inside her, but giving my own fingers some space to play with her clit, rubbing it as out bodies slid against one another.

“What was it like begging for him Mistress ….did it turn you on to beg for the right to come?”

She moaned. But I could here her affirmation in the moan.

“How does it feel to beg him, like the way you make me beg?”

”Good, Slave. Very good”. And then Mistress came for me, quaking and moaning, her head thrown back, eyes slammed shut.

And soon I was doing the begging.

MIck and Molly Make New Friends

This week Mick and Molly met for drinks with a charming couple we “friended“ on fet life. They live across the river that our River City smacks up against, not too far away.

D and N moved here not long ago from out West, much to our consternation. Nothing like trading in 300 days a year of sunshine for the gloom of the heartland. But family called.

D, the male part of the couple, is the strong but seemingly laid back Dom. N is his cute and very feisty Slave. He’s a bit younger than Mick. She’s a bit younger than Molly.

Their FetLife page intrigued us. They are very much into the “Lifestyle”, wheras Mick and Molly keep all this stuff very private (unless you happen to read this crazy blog). They have posed for and posted lots of provocative photos: N's naked bottom glowing red; kinky costumes; various restraining devices; and plenty of implements of “punishment”. Interesting stuff.

Then there was D’s message to Molly, sent after he perused her posting and a bit of our blog:

“I am intrigued by the cuckold lifestyle. It wouldn’t work for me since sexually I am clearly Dominant. But the idea of tormenting some poor husband while his wife is made to serve is interesting.”

Mistress got back in touch, and we agreed to meet.

When we finally sat down with D and N in a local bistro, the real buzz was in actually talking about what we do and how we do it, face to face with real folks.

Mistress was a natural in taking charge, leading the conversation and “grilling” our new friends about their lives in the BDSM world. They seemed happy to share with us naive newbies.

Hearing Mistress call me her Slave outside the privacy of the bedroom, was … arousing. Calling her “Mistress” in public was a thrill.

They talked about how they met, some of the rules she must follow, and how they work their 24/7 relationship into their family and work life.

They told us about the public and private play parties that we have only speculated about. Interesting, though we are a bit hesitant to “go public” in what is a small town.

And they described the “secret” dungeon hidden behind some cabinets in their basement.



Mistress had me locked away in my cage, and when she talked about how we found it on line, and got the measurements right, my cock was twitching against the cold steel.

When we parted we agreed to meet again soon, and show them some of the attractions on our side of the River.

I think Molly was intrigued, and tempted, when D talked about his training in the arts of bondage and “impact play”, and the psychology of training and commanding a female slave.


Who knows … maybe someday D and N will give us a tour of their dungeon.

The Day After

I woke up this morning, pressed against Mistress’s delightful bottom, my cock throbbing for her. Mistress was twitching about herself in her sleep, and the motion of her firm cheeks against me were getting me harder. Hmmm.

The fact that it was my deferred Abstinence Day was already troubling. Rather than press the point or wiggle away, I climbed out of bed, grabbed my laptop, and the steel ring of my cage and came downstairs to do my “homework”.

Before Mistress went off on her adventure with her new Dom on Tuesday, she spoke “Wife to Husband” to me for a few moments.

“You know I don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow morning angry at me.”

I gave her my assurances. Told her that I did not think that would be a problem. I wanted to honor my contract, and suspected that if anything, her adventure would bring us closer together and make me want her all the more.

But, truth be told, neither of us knew how we would feel once Mistress gave herself, no matter how briefly, to another.

Well, on the morning after, I let my cock do the thinking. And it was very much purpose driven. It was on a reclamation project. And fortunately, Mistress had given me a one day reprieve from my Abstinence Day obligations.

Mistress had shared some details: how after some talk and a description of his rules, she had been led to his bedroom and told “it was time” to submit to inspection.

She thought she would say “no” on this first private encounter, as he said was her right. But when the time came, he must have been persuasive. She described how she had slowly stripped for him, under his appraising eye, as he sat watching her. And how he required her to kneel to allow him to touch and stimulate her tits and nipples.

“Did that make you, wet, Mistress.”

“Yes. He commented on that.”

“How, Mistress?”

“He touched me there. Told me how wet I was.”


As I sat down here with my coffee yesterday morning, the hard steel ring collecting my cock and balls, those thoughts inspired my prose and had me up the stairs early. Mistress seemed impressed with when she reached for my cock and discovered how hard and determined it was to take her cunt back, at least for the time being.

It slid where his fingers and cock had been the night before. And by the time we were done, I believed my reclamation project had gotten off to a nice start.

When I got out of the shower, I presented myself to Mistress for her to secure the lock on my cage. She clicked the lock shut, then mentioned that she had received an email from her Sir.

“Did he seem happy with you, Mistress.”

“Yeah. Seems so. I forwarded it to you. Tell me what you think.”

As I ate my breakfast, I thumbed through my emails on my blackberry and found Sir’s message. He described how, like me, he woke in the morning with a cock that was full, with thoughts of his fingering and fucking my Mistress’s tight cunt. He asked whether she enjoyed tasting and touching his cock and balls. And whether she wanted him to take her again.

My own cock strained against its steel restraints. It might be a long day.

As I kissed Mistress goodbye, I asked whether she enjoyed knowing that two men had hard cocks for her this morning.

“It’s a nice thing, Slave.”

Mistress stopped by my office before lunch, before heading home after an early meeting. I was ready to devour her, and quickly pushed the chair against my door, laying the fleece blanket down to absorb our juices and kneeling. She must have been anxious too, because she had already pulled down her dark brown tights to give me access.

As my mouth worked away at her, I muttered a question that had been eating at me all morning.

“So did you respond to your friend’s email Mistress?”

“Yes”.

“And”.

“I told him I would like to see him again.”

Soon Mistress was coming bucking against my mouth. And when I looked up she had a very devilish look on her face, as if to say “aren’t you a desperate little Slave.”. Mistress has both the right and a canny ability to press her Slave’s buttons.

When I got home, the teens were off to visit their trainer, and Mistress was napping. She was tired. I lay down next to her and we rested together. Mistress commented that all those orgasms must haven taken their toll. I tried to sympathize.

She kept my cage on for our engagement later that evening: a first meeting with a charming and intriguing couple found through the crazy world of FetLIfe. (Will talk about that later this week).

We got home near 11, and on many such late “work night” evenings it might be natural for us to defer any sexual activity until the morning. But Mistress and I were both a little randy. All the talk we had shared with this couple about the “lifestyle”, and Mistress’s frank description of some of the otherwise hidden details of our life had put both of us in a serious state of arousal. And of course my imagination was still working overtime as a result of Mistress’s adventure.

Mistress instructed me to insert my probe, making me all the harder for her. The power tool was deployed, driving Mistress to full throttle. By the time we were done … well, I felt that my reclamation project was in full swing.

Mistress Submits

Yesterday was an …interesting ….(also a little scary, exciting, apprehensive) day for Mick and Molly.

If you have been following us for a while, you know that Mistress has been on a bit of a quest in a hit or miss sort of way: she has sought out someone to help her explore her sub side.

Of course, our contract gave her the right to seek out (or be sought by) other lovers. When the contract was signed, that was just a hypothetical possibility. But it only seemed right that when a Slave fully submits, he also surrenders any claim of exclusivity. I was happy to do that to show my devotion to my Mistress.

Once she acquired that right, it was only natural for Mistress’s eyes to open a bit. “Use it or lose it” may be a proper mantra.

So she has acquired more a bit of a roving eye over the last few months, and her Slave takes a perverted delight in hearing when someone catches that eye.

But of course, Mistress is particular. There was an initial cyber / phone flirtation with an old lover from College days, who lived a few hundred miles away. Mistress was willing. He got cold feet.

But their chats and e’s and texts opened Mistress to the concept of her own submission to what she referred to as a “Part Time Dom.” It was an itch that needed to be scratched, a concept to be explored.

We wrote up a “job description” and posted it here back in late November. (You can find it on MollyCollins at FetLife too). There were some contacts with a few folks, even an interview with someone who talked a bit bigger than he was prepared to act. Etc. Etc. Not much developed.

More recently, Mistress had engaged in a dialogue with someone who passed her initial screening test. They met last week for a drink and talk. Her comfort meter (and curiosity) gave her a green light.

Yesterday was the day that Mistress was persuaded by this prospective Dom to visit his home. They had met once She was apprehensive, but adventurous enough to take the bait.

His email suggesting how this first meeting might go was …provocative. Particularly the establishment of rules, the need for permission to come, and the “full body inspection” to make sure she met his standards.

Mistress balked a bit at that. But they agreed things would go slowly, at her comfort level. He was a Dom who knew that Mistress needed to jump, and could not be pushed.

All this had this Slave a bit on edge. The concept was exciting. Deep psychological stuff going on, but all this cuckold talk and my submission to Mistress has been incendiary for our sex life. Very very incendiary. But in practice….we both knew that could be tricky.

Mistress was very sensitive to this…. She did not want to proceed if it would create issues down the road. But our open discussions (hopefully) gave her reassurance. I was game for something that would give her pleasure, and would get my own psychic and physical “reward” afterwards, as she shared any sordid details she decided to share with me.

I was to be locked in my cage as the day unfolded. As Mistress engaged with her new Dom she could reflect on my cock locked away until she chose to release it. And no matter how frustrated I became at the thought of what Mistress was up to, I could not handle myself without her key.

When she stopped by my office yesterday around noontime, I devoured her as she sat in her throne. When she had her fill of my lips and tongue, Mistress has a very pleased look on her face. We clung to one another before I walked her to the elevator. She was off on her adventure….

Her new Sir had instructed her on a recommended outfit….short skirt, no panties or tights. Blouse without bra. But Mistress is pretty strong willed (this could be a problem down the road), and it being 40 degrees or so here yesterday, bare legs were out of the question as far as she was concerned.

When she called while on her way (she had shared the directions with me for security purposes), she described her outfit, which was one of my favorites: short dark brown cashmere dress, dark brown tights, brown suede boots. Very hot. She had primped and he would not be disappointed. Argh.

Mistress texted me when she arrived.

“Here. Yikes”.

My response: “Good luck. Desperate for U, Mistress.”

And I was.

I was nervous too. She seemed to be in good, if firm hands. We had done some vetting. But still….

As the afternoon turned to evening, I was increasingly anxious, and as aroused as the cage would allow. I fed the teens, trying to focus on their chat about their “boring” day at school. I assembled and broke down all those documents needed for our tax return (an anti-aphrodisiac if there ever was one). I watched some women’s bob sledding. Things designed to keep my imagination from wandering.

There must have been a break in the “action” at some point. Mistress texted.

“I am fine. See you around 9 Slave.”

I was dying of curiosity, responding impertinently:

“Wet?”

20 or so minutes passed. No word. I figured she was off in sub land again, maybe getting fucked silly. Then a response:

“My Wonderful Slave… u will get to hear the whole sordid story when I get home to u”

Somehow, that made it seem better. I knew Mistress was safe and enjoying herself, as she should. But that she would be with me again soon. Very comforting.

She called on her way. But all I got was small talk.

“We’ll discuss when I get home, Slave.”

I could hear the tease in her voice. There was a story to share.

I put away my jumble of papers. Cleaned up the kitchen a bit. Those last 30 minutes seemed to take forever as I waited for her return.

When I saw her walking up the stairs, I took in my delicious Mistress – attired in the elegant and alluring outfit I described earlier. I pulled her to me. Her face seemed to delight in my devotion to her. Her smile betraying the secrets she would share.

Once we bid the teens good night, Mistress had me strip. I offered to kneel and worship, but she demurred, and we laid together on the bed. She unreeled the story slowly, frustratingly, toying with a very hard cock all the while.

And it was sordid.

Mistress had “succumbed”.

She had passed his inspection. And so much more.

And it seemed to please her very much.

And when the story was told, I undressed her, tasting what was left, then sliding into my incredibly tempting Mistress. As we made love I debriefed her further…deploying my cross examination techniques for some of the juicier details she had left out in her first narrative.

Oh my.

Lighter Fluid

Because we have been sharing some fiction these last few days, readers may think that Mick and Molly have been slackers in the sex department. But as it turns out, we have been as crazy and compulsive as ever in our inability to suppress our sexual appetites.

We returned from our little mini-break late Tuesday night, tired from the Delta shuffle, and confronted by too much graying snow on the ground, and a house laid waste by surly teens in our absence. I lost track counting the empty pizza boxes.

That did dampen the fire a bit, and when I woke up Wednesday morning, realizing it was Abstinence Day, I knew I would have to keep my mind on other things to make it through the day.

But Mistress did not feel a need to co-operate. I donned my cage that morning, as she requires. The cold metal ring squeezing at the base of my balls was something I had not missed over our long weekend. But it is a nice reminder of my status. And it’s good to know Mistress cares enough to police me this way.

She was back at work too, and after a meeting downtown, she stopped by for some worship. After all, it had been, by then, a bit more than 24 hours for her as well.

And I was happy to please her. She took her place in her “throne”, an upholstered chair pressed against the closed door. And I took my place on my knees, sliding those alluring black tights down to her boot tops, making just enough room for my head to slide between her strong thighs.

By the time she had her fill of my lips and tongue, she seemed refreshed. But all I had to show for it was a very wet face and a cock straining against stainless steel, reminding me that I still had another 18 hours to go.

Mistress was worshiped again that evening. And while she released me from my cage, I was required to wait for more complete release until morning.

When I finally had a chance to take her on Thursday morning, about 48 hours had passed since my last opportunity to come. (I know, for some of you out there, that hardly seems like a sacrifice, but Mistress has me hooked and after only 24 hours ugly withdrawal symptoms rear their head, like Vladimir Putin winging it over Wasilla, Alaska).

The steel ring gripped my swollen balls and cock as Mistress consented to my request to fuck her, making my ultimate explosion … profound.

“Oh my, Slave. That was … impressive.”

Indeed.

After that Thursday morning parole, Mistress locked me away again, and it was off to work.

But what had me on edge through Thursday was knowing that Mistress had a first engagement that afternoon with someone … another man. In this case, she was meeting for a drink a prospective Dom who had contacted Molly after reading our postings.

Our “Contract” (reprinted in the early days of this blog), provides that Mistress has certain privileges that her Slave does not. They include the right to take other lovers, including other slaves. And her rights include her ability to submit to a Dom or Domme, as she chooses.

Now however this develops, what happens between Mistress and others is their business, and not for me to share (unless instructed to do so, of course).

But it’s hard not to comment on how these types of developments impact her Slave in this little world of ours. And, truth be told, Mistress’s outside “interests” do tend to raise the temperature a bit in our bed.

Why that is may be complicated, and way above my psychoanalytical pay grade. But I can only say that when Mistress’s fires are being stoked by the talents of someone in addition to just little old me, she becomes even hotter than her usual, extraordinary hotness. And that makes me even hotter for her. It’s like spraying a bit more lighter fluid on some already glowing coals. Wooosh!

Maybe someday we will get over this condition, but what’s the rush.

So by Thursday evening, when Mistress returned home from her introductory “date”, me still locked away in my cage, I was pretty desperate for my opportunity to worship her.

She arrived home around 7 pm in a black wrap dress, cut in a way to show lots of those enticing legs in their black tights and boots.

Mistress settled onto the bed, with that “cat that ate the canary” look. Things must have gone well, I surmised.

I knelt, and helped Mistress remove her boots, taking her fragrant toes into my mouth, massaging them with my fingers, then working my way up her thighs.

When I pulled her tights down, just low enough to slide my head between her thighs, I could tell Mistress was already quite aroused. I had to wonder how long that had been going on. Hmmm.

Mistress squirmed hard against my mouth, and soon came with a series of moans, and bucks against my probing tongue. It seemed like a series of satisfying quakes before she gently pushed my head away.

“Enough Slave”, she said with a loving smile, rubbing her fingers through my hair. A contented Mistress is my prime directive.

“Looks like you will have to wait until after dinner though…”

Her fingers reached down to settle on the hard contours of my steel cage.

“Let’s just leave this on for a while, until I am ready for you.”

Argh.

“That’s your call, Mistress.”

“Of course it is.”

Fiction Friday: Ski Partrol II

(a fictional adventure that began in last Saturday’s posting…..make sure you read part one if you want to make any sense of this silliness).

Fortunately, Molly was a good skier. Her balance and skill made up for the fact that her hands were lashed to the center of her ski poles, as she slid off the lift seat, right behind her new Ski Patrol-man “pal”.

Common sense told her to stop and ask some dumbfounded tourist to release her hands. Let Mike have his laugh at her expense with his other ski patrol buddies over a Sierra Nevada at some local watering hole once the lifts shut down for the night.

But…. he was moving faster down the trail. He sure could ski. Something about those graceful arching turns and the sway of his body over his skis was almost hypnotic. Molly could not help but follow, arms joined in front, like some silly beginning skier in lessons. She was mimicking his turns, falling into a rhythm with him that was ….

Damn, she thought to herself, this fucker has me skiing really hot, and hot and bothered to boot. Trouble. And he hasn’t even turned around to notice I am following, doing exactly what he said….asshole.

Within moments they were alone on a gently sloping trail, a part of the mountain that did not seem familiar to Molly. He slowed, sliding off onto a side trail into a glade of pine and aspen trees.

“Hey”, she called, wanting him to stop. Molly was never into this crazy tree skiing that Mick and the girls liked.

But he kept sliding and skidding deeper into the forest, the trail narrowing. Her heart beating faster. She was getting out of her comfort zone. She was now somewhere on the mountain from which it would not be easy to find her way back to the beaten path.

Suddenly he pulled up, where the trees opened to a small clearing. A tiny cabin / mountain hut with a single window, a picnic table standing next to it.

He clicked his boots out of his skis with a quick motion, but said to her, “Leave yours on for a moment, Molly.”

He strode toward her, closing the gap quickly. Molly was a bit out of breath from navigating the tight trail behind him, and as he approached her heart beat a little faster…the was very vulnerable, but her hardening nipples told her something else.

With one hand, he gripped her hands where they were lashed together, holding them down at her waist. He unclipped the chin strap of his helmet, tossing it onto the snow, near his skis. He slowly walked her back, sliding her against a thick aspen, her skis on either side of the trunk.

Leaning toward her pulled off her sun glasses, sliding them into her pocket.

“Wanted to see what those eyes would tell me, Molly”.

She wriggled her wrists a bit, half heatedly trying to pull away. His grip was strong.

She played it tough, trying to seem unmoved, aloof. It was hard.

“And what do they say?”

“You like it rough, right?”

Molly just blushed, shaking her head. Engaging in a little more futile tugging. How did he know?

He used his unencumbered hand to slowly unzip her black ski shell, down to her waist. It was a warm day. Underneath she wore just a thin, silky black turtlenek. He snickered as he saw the outlines of her hardened nipples, probing through the fabric of her bra and top.

His fingers grabbed one. Massaging at first. Then squeezing, hard. She gasped. It hurt, but …. well… why was her body arching against his, trying to find contact. She was gone.

As her mouth opened to curse him, demand that he stop, his lips pressed against hers. Taking her with a probing tongue. And she was returning the kiss with a scary desperation.

Abruptly, he pulled back, one hands still grasping her bound hands.

“I guessed you were a hot little slut…. You know how often the guys have talked about nailing you?”

Molly face was red. She needed him now. But he wasn’t quite ready to give her what she needed.

He pulled her by the wrists toward the picnic table. She struggled a bit, but he was strong. Relentless. So she relented.

He slid her face first against the picnic table, her skis trapped underneath. He pulled her arms forward over the table top, then grabbed a line of additional rope from his waist belt, attached one end to her wrists, and pulled her face down onto the table, securing her there. She struggled some more. But she knew she was stuck. And vulnerable.

He just laughed, and cooed at her in a patronizing way, his hands running down her back, to her bottom. Smug asshole.

He slowly walked around behind her.

His hand moved up the inside of her thigh, making her squirm. It lingered between her legs. She squirmed more. Shameless, now, she thrust her ass against his hand, longing for something firmer.

“You were a little tease on that chair, Molly.”

“No”, she said, moaning as his hand toyed with her.

“And you need a nice spanking to teach you the error of your ways.”

“Oh no”, louder. Molly was not into pain.

His hands reached around, finding the button and zipper of her black stretch pants, pulling them open. She struggled more intensely, but what could she do?

He yanked them down hard, pulling her slinky black tights down with them, just below her knees.

“No undies, Molly? Naughty.”

Her firm, strong ass felt the brisk mountain air. But it was not cold enough to damp the fire between her legs. Not when a finger frankly probed her, pulling away damp and sticky.

“You do like this, don’t you Molly.”

She shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes, all the while moaning as his fingers toyed with her. So fucking close.

“I’m thinking 20 hard swats, then we will see about your other needs, Molly.”

HNT / Apres Ski "Switch"

Monday was Mick and Molly’s last ski day on our little “mini-break”. Most of the weekend crowd had headed home, and we made sure to exploit the bright sun and softened snow on wide open slopes.

Early in our day, Mistress taunted her Slave about a particular tall and buff skier dressed in black who had scoped her out in the locker as she slid on her boots.

“There’s a nice one, Slave.” She had that lascivious little grin, and  eyes that sparkled with lust. She likes the rugged “mountain man” types.

I took note of Mistress’s roving eye. She feels enabled by her contractual rights. That seems to get her imagination (and juices) flowing. And I like it too.

As the sun settled lower in the sky, we headed back down the mountain to our little adobe cabin.  This is the time of a ski day that both of us treasure: a little wine, a nap, some activity between the sheets, appreciating yet another big sky sunset. In no particular order.

I stoked our Kiva fireplace. Poured some wine. We read a bit. 

After about an hour of R & R time, I pulled out the red leather cuffs with their little locks.

“Remember my rain check, Mistress.”

She grumbled a bit, but surrendered as agreed. The cuffs were locked on in front of her, clipped together.

I positioned one of our Mexican chairs and a hassock in front of the fire, and placed two pillows on the floor.  Then I yanked the black long underwear Mistress was lounging in down around her muscular calves.

“Kneel, slut.”

Mistress’s eyes sparked in defiance for a moment, but she was in no position to defy me.

She assumed her position, her arms stretched in front of her, head resting on the seat of the chair. The warmth and flickering light from the fire only a few feet away made the flesh of her warm, firm bottom glow.

I kneeled next to her, using my hand to gently stroke that lovely ass. He little undulations against my hand suggested she enjoyed my attention.

“You liked that tall, rugged skier in the locker room today, didn’t you, slut.”

“Ummm, Huh”.

“I bet you would like to be presenting your lovely ass to him just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe”.

I kept stroking, then dipped a finger between her legs. Wet. Very.

“It turns you on just to think about him, and what he would do to you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re turning me on, Slave.”

“But his strong , strange hands exploring your body would make you even hotter, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe.”

“No doubt.”

I began to spank her, a lighter touch at first, then harder.

She took it for a while like a good little slut, but then began to whimper and complain.

“That hurts.”

“That’s the idea. Do you think your big buff skier would stop spanking you at your first complaint.”

I slapped her reddening bottom again. The hardest yet. She squirmed, her bottom bouncing high off the hassock.

“No.”  

Not in her dark and dirty imagination he wouldn’t.

“he’d spank you even harder if you complained, wouldn’t he, slut?”

“Yes.”

She was moaning now, her ass squirming between my strokes. The scent of her arousal mixed with the aroma of burning pinon. (An interesting concept for a musky new perfume, no?)

I let up for a moment, holding her firmly in place with one hand while I reached for the little V shape vibrator I had parked close at hand on the floor.

My fingers discovered just how wet she had become during this little ritual. One end of the vibe slid easily into her, with the other end nestling between her folds, against her thickening clit. The device  was already churning away, and my strong Mistress was turned into a squirming little slut as I resumed her “punishment”.

My left hand administered just a few more spanks, as my right hand pressed the vibrator into her, making sure that her desperate gyrations would not dislodge it.

Mistress buried her head in the cushion of her chair, as her body surrendered to confusing mixture of pleasure and pain.  I had to press my hand down hard as she bucked against me.

She thought she was done. Wrong. After letting her come down a bit, I resumed the spanking, harder still, with that little vibrator still buried in her.

She came again, moaning all the more. Her muscles relaxing as I slowly slide the vibrator from her dripping opening, then switched it off.

I let Mistress catch her breath, then pulled down my own black long johns.

We had talked earlier in the day about the common D/s scenario of a Slave kneeling to suck her Master’s cock. It’s something Mistress had contemplating doing for the lucky Master who might pop up someday with the chops to make her submit. It’s a particularly  compelling fantasy for her.

I suggested she might want to get some practice.

So I pulled Mistress from the chair, and had her kneel in front of me as I stood over her.

Maybe she is too tall (5’6”). Or I am too short (5’11’). But the kneeling / standing position did not align well. Mistress had to slide onto her ass to take me into her warm, luscious mouth. But that worked nicely. Mistress knows how to use her lips and tongue to get what she wants.

I was soon more than ready for the next course.

“He’d make you beg to fuck him, wouldn’t he, Mistress?”

“Maybe”.

“And you would, wouldn’t you, like a good little slut.”

“Of course.”

I pulled her to her feet, toward our bed.

“Well Let’s practice that next.”