It was another busy day here at our undisclosed location.
Molly and Mick went biking. (The illustration shows her well formed ass and athletic thighs, for those of you who appreciate such things.)
The teens went rafting on the River, still moving swiftly with the extra volume added by a week of afternoon thunderstorms.
Molly and Mick kept their tivas dry, and had a quiet lunch together in a charming, crumbling little adobe town. Then we visited a local winery, set in beautiful foothills, surprisingly lush from the flow of a beneficent aceqia. Soon it was time to collect our sodden but happy brood.
After dinner, we settled into bed to watch “Easy Rider”, a cultural artifact I had not seen since my college days in the very late 60’s. And of course, Mistress was barely out of kindergarten when it was first run. Legend has it that a good chunk of this ode to “freedom” was filmed in this neck of the woods. We wanted to look for that local ambience.
And sure enough, there deep in the background, in an open cocaine peddling sequence supposedly set in Mexico, was the distinctive face of the mountain parked in our back yard.
Later, buzzed to the max, Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda cavort in the Mamby Hot Springs with two hippie chickas they encounter at a real local commune called “New Buffalo”. They were splashing naked in the same springs, with it’s crumbling rock walls, where I was able to cleverly got Mistress off this past Friday.
Karma?
The film with its long musical interludes and psychedelic flash backs and forwards harkened back to the day when the toughest challenges seemed to be how to “get our shit together”, and deciding whether a guy with long hair looked more like a girl than a gorilla.
Mistress was stretched naked in our bed as we watched on my little computer screen. Outside a dramatic thunderstorm was gathering over the mountains, flashing and growling like a warm up for a long lost offensive on the Western Front.
When the movie ended, (badly for our heroes, I might add), I persuaded Mistress to bring that lush body outside to watch the real excitement.
Under our portal, wind whipped at us, moist and cool. Water was already dripping off the roof. It was pitch black, but for the flashes of that cosmic artillery that backlit the distant mountains at increasingly frequent intervals . I sill had on shorts and a T-shirt, and I pulled Mistress against me to warm her dampening skin.
A few moments ago we had been watching Hopper and Fonda tripping and stripping in a moldering New Orleans cemetery, fondling Karen Black and another woman they had procured in a New Orleans brothel.
We were under our own erotic influence though, no chemical enhancements required.
My fingers slid between Mistress’s legs, gliding with a devious purpose through slick folds, my teeth nibbling at her neck.
But Mistress was not content to just throw her head back and enjoy. She was fumbling with my belt, unfastening my shorts. Grappling and groping.
“What are you doing, Mistress?”
“Looking for my cock, Slave.”
It wasn’t too hard to find.
But Slave beat Mistress to the punch. And soon she was gasping, jerking her hips against my probing fingers, collapsing against me.
“Why don’t we go inside now Mistress?”
I guided her back across our dark porch, into the door that led to our chambers.
By now Mistress was regaining her composure, so recently compromised, and was reasserting her command.
“Go put in your device, Slave.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
When I came back to her, my cock was showing its pavlovian response to the device filling me from behind.
She reached out to fondle it, as I stood beside the bed, waiting for my invitation to join her.
“Slave, I think I have been too easy on you lately.”
“How do you mean, Mistress?”
“You’ve been a bit uppity lately. Not as attentive as I need you to be.”
All along, her fingers were lingering on my increasingly rigid cock. She certainly knows how to create the proper atmosphere for turning the screws a bit tighter on her Slave, doesn’t she?
“I am always happiest when you assert your authority, Mistress.”
She pulled my cock a bit, indicating I should slide into bed with her, and of course I was happy to do just that.
As I suckled a ripe nipple, Mistress went on with her thoughts about a tighter regime.
“Maybe I should not give you permission to come tonight, Slave.”
“Well that’s your right….we haven’t done abstinence day in a while.”
“When we get back, I think it’s time to start abstinence day again, Slave. I like how desperate it makes you.”
And it certainly does.
But that left tonight’s activities clouded in ambiguity.
As we talked I had used my fingers to give Mistress another lovely cum, and it was the time when I might normally ask permission to fuck her. Her hands and mouth on my cock had certainly put that option front and center in my simple, slavish brain.
“Ummm….So what about tonight, Mistress. Do I have permission? Or not?”
“Well why don’t you fuck me for a while and when you get to that point, you can ask permission. That’s when I will decide your fate…”
Did I verbally moan? Not sure. But Mistress was laughing a bit at my plight.
I proceeded as she suggested. And, not wanting to give myself too much credit, I believed I fucked her hard and well.
She certainly came again in rather dramatic style (at least setting aside the power tool enhanced variety), If she had been thinking of Vanilla Mom’s recent story about a fictional M taking a fictional Molly’s virgin ass to help her get there, all the better.
(You can find that here. Very hot., ‘Nilla)
http://vanillamom.wordpress.com/2010/08/02/the-mountain-pt-6/
I came to that inevitable point. I really could not have gone on much longer without exploding inside, Mistress.
“Mistress, may I come.”
So close. So very close.
“I’m not sure Slave….”
Argh…. Do I pull out or ask again? Time was short. Very short.
“Oh God, Mistress. Please may I come?”
She seemed to like the pitiful desperation she was hearing from me.
“Alright Slave. You may.”
Ahhhhh.
Quite frankly, I don’t know what would have happened if she had said no.
But I suspect it would have led to a very harsh punishment.
.
