Looking for (kinky) America....

Mistress and slave are on the road, passing through the flatlands of Kansas, on the way to our SW hideaway. Our daily wake up sex came in the pre-dawn hours.

Last night we came to ground in Abilene, home of Dwight Eisenbower, in  a classic "no tell Motel", reserved via Travelocity. The friendly clerk handed me a key without even asking for an ID or credit card.  My guess is cash would have worked too.

Later we went to dinner at a joint we had been introduced to by a local policeman on a prior trip,  Mr. K's Farmhouse,  had been a favorite of the former President, the type of straight shooter who might have had an affair with his WWII WAC driver, but would never have paid off a porn-star or bragged about "grabbing her by the pussy".

One feature of this place is the collection of paddles.  Tradition is that when you come to celebrate your birthday, your waitress will give you at least one stroke after the staff sings you "happy birthday". We actually saw this little ritual, involving a pre-teen boy who collected a few strokes.

So I had to ask our charming 20's something waitress sporting an "I Like Ike" button,  "So if I told you it was my wife's birthday, you'd give her a swat?"

"Sure.  But only if she said it was OK."

Mistress blushed at the thought.

I guess I was fortunate that she didn't remember that we had just celebrated my birthday.

Kinky Kansas

Mistress and slave are driving west to our SW hideaway. We crossed Indiana, Ill and MO yesterday, coming to ground at about the halfway point in Abilene, KS.  That's the home of Dwight Eisenhower, who is doing back flips in his grave, on the grounds of the Presidential library here in Abilene, over the shenanigans of the current POTUS.

After checking into our rather rustic but very cheap local motel, we headed into town to find a place for dinner.  Just look for the grain elevator if you're looking for "downtown" in these parts.  But as we were rubbernecking through the town's historic district, I caught the dreaded sign of a flashing red light in my rear view mirror.

Busted.

The officer took his time to amble up to my car, with the "alien" license plates. After asking for my driver's license and registration, he informed me that I had been clocked going 31 in a 20 mph zone.

"Really?  I thought I saw a 30 mph sign...."

"A lot of people get confused because there's a sign back there reducing the limit to 20 mph in the downtown...."

Oops.  He asked what we were doing in "these parts". And I explained our mission and that we were looking for a place to eat.

After running my license to confirm I was not a terrorist on the lam, he showed us some Kansas nice mercy, giving us only a warning.  Then he upped the courtesy.

"If you're looking for somewhere to eat, The best place is the "Farmhouse" out  west of town.  It's where all of us in the Department go for lunch."

I asked for directions, but he said "just follow me." We both took u turns on the wide downtown avenue, and he led us out of town, and right up the drive of this funky old restaurant. The officer said Dwight and Mamie dined there when they visited town (back in the day).

It turned out we were late diners - the only guests there at 7:30 pm.  Our very courteous waitress pointed out the chairs autographed by Dwight and Mamie, and served us some tasty chicken fried chicken with mashed potatoes. (I didn't question the redundancy -- isn't "chicken fried chicken" the same as "fried chicken"?)

But the odd thing I did have to ask about was all the paddles hanging from the wall.

"It's a tradition. If you eat here on your birthday, you get a discount and a paddling."

She  explained that even  Ike got paddled when he stopped by, by the original owner, "Aunt Lena". Ike must have had a very tolerant Secret Service detail!

As we checked out, Mistress noted the paddle on the counter, with several autographs.  Our waitress(the only waitress), a 20 something country girl with a pleasing smile, explained that when a guest gets paddled he/she signs the paddle. She pointed out several buckets stuffed with paddles covered with autographs.

So it seems there are a surprising number of Kansans who indulge in public displays of corporal punishment.

"Now that Lena's not around, who does the paddling?"

She gave me a little quirky smile.

"Your waitress, of course."

As I paid our very reasonable tab, I mentioned that Mistress's birthday is coming up in a few weeks.
"I won't ask for the discount, but maybe you could give my wife her birthday paddling?"

She seemed willing, but Mistress gave me that "are you crazy, slave" look.

Ah well, it would have made a good story, particularly if Mistress was required to pull up her dress and pull down her panties.

Sex (Blog) Tourism

Yes, we re still in the road, safely ensconced in a Best Western smack dab against a Wal-Mart Super Center, in an Illinois town that I can neither spell nor pronounce (but it does remind me of that Disney animated movie about a rat who aspires to be a gourmet chef).

Thursday night we ended up in Abilene, Kansas, at an off the beaten path motel that our daughters would have rejected as "sketchy". But the bed was comfy, and we found a rather seedy restaurant for some hearty grub a little too crammed with flat screen TV's,  a trend that sadly seems to have infected America's eataries from sea to shining sea. The staff was very chipper though, if a little on the TMI side. (When a customer  asks for his waitress I'm not sure I want to be hear that "she's cleaning the restrooms, but will be done in a minute")

Back at our motel, I opened a bottle of Tequilla for Mistress, who needed to wash that greasy food taste out of her lovely mouth. Soon we were in bed, and after some worship as a digestive, she got a little feisty.

"I want to ride my cock now, Slave...." And ride she did, taking her good old heartland time to take her self to Oz and back. When she had her fill of her "mount", the tables were reversed and Slave took his pleasure, working out the kinks from a long day in the car. While we had missed checking off "sex in Kansas" from the punch card on our way West, that mission had now finally been accomplished.

We highly recommend it.

Friday morning I had an early conference call, walking the quiet streets of this former "cowtown", which was at the top of the Chisholm Trail, the place where the cattle raised and fattened in Texas would be placed in rail cars for the trip east. (I did notice this sign at our motel, and am still wondering what it means. any help?)

When my call was done, I was able to wake Mistress with a little more worship and some wake-up sex before we headed out to the Eisenhower library and Museum, just a few blocks away. It was pastoral, and well suited to the bland fellow I recall as a kid, but not nearly as engaging as the Truman Museum we visited on our trip West. I noted two people missing from all the memorabilia and narrative: Ike's VP, Dick Nixon, and his reputed "girlfriend", the WAC driver Kay Summersby. (Mistress was a little shocked when I shared that story from my old guy memory bank).

After our tour, we were back in the car. And Mistress had a backlog of text messages.

The WC was sharing details of his "epic" sex, doming his wife, B, both of them inspired by the book Donna had sent, written by the Master of LaDomaine.  Donna, maybe you should give us a review?  It sounds as if the WC got to put his ass fucking tutorial to use.

And of course, she also herd from Francois, who is warming her up for her return to River City (yes, folks, we will make it back, by Sunday, after a brief detour today for a football game at my alma mater).

On the drive we even skyped with our daughter in Belgium, who described how she and her new buddies often stop off at a little cafe after school for a beer to decompress. I guess she's not in Kansas anymore.

Nor were we. By dinner time we were on the banks of the Mississippi, in Hannibal, Mo. the boyhood home of Samuel Clemmons, aka, Mark Twain. It was an opportune time to stretch our legs and walk around this cute, if touristy, little river town, that was all things Twain. But of course there was also "The first coffee shop (with wi-fi) West of the Mississippi.

Mistress is still snoozing, but I think it will soon be time to wake her.... most likely with a tongue wiggling it's way between her lovely thighs.