Reading Mistress's Cues

One morning this week, Mistress gave me a not so subtle hint about how she wanted me to fuck her.

After she read the blog, my face buried between her legs as she cooed about parts she liked and laughed at a one liner, she instructed me to go insert my “device”- the little while aneros that makes me particularly hard and needy.

“Yes, Mistress.”

As I came back into our bedroom, I saw that Mistress had rolled over onto her tummy. It was her sign to me that she wanted to be taken from behind, something we do on occasion, though it can sometimes make Mistress’s back a little tender. All things moderation, right?

Her arms were folded under her head, long hair flowing back over her shoulders. Her bottom was wriggling just a bit, still catching some of the left over ripples from the orgasm my tongue had slavishly provided her moments ago.

So, being a Slave well tuned to Mistress’s desires, I followed her cue and settled onto her back, first allowing my legs to straddle her smooth, athletic thigh. That gave my cock the additional pleasure of humping against her, making it all the more firm and ready.

“Can I fuck you now, Mistress….”

“Of course, Slave…”

Mistress spread her legs a bit wider, and I shifted my weight, allowing my cock to slide between those lovely globes, pressing between them, wiggling a bit, guiding with fingers until I found my mark. (Not her tight ass, of course. She is saving that one for M).

Mistress gasped a bit as I slid slowly into her, inch by inch.

My arms took a good bit of my eight, but my face was buried against her strong shoulders, inhaling the rich aroma of her thick hair, and the salty taste of her neck.

And as I pressed further into her, using a rocking motion with my hips to help her grind her cunt against the bed, Mistress’s breathing accelerated, then became more ragged.

What makes taking her this way so different is that I can’t read the cues in her face, or hear her breathing directly in my ear. In a way it’s like driving in the dark, no headlights or moon to light your path.

So, I can only tell when Mistress comes - and when it’s permissible to focus on my own crude objectives - from the raspy sounds she makes into the pillow, and the frantic motions of her hips as she grinds it out against the bed as I drive into her.

It was only then that Mistress – well satisfied –rolled over and allowed me to take my pleasure in a more conventional position.
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Yesterday evening, we let the teens go to dinner on their own, and used that as an excuse to go to our favorite local restaurant, a cross between fine dining and hippie haven, featuring locally grown organic food with Southwest spicing. It’s a place where you might see refugees from a local commune one night, and an A-list movie star with her extended family another night.

The restaurant is in an old, long abandoned Morada (a tiny, adobe Catholic Church), with its rough plastered walls and viga ceiling. The candle lit tables and simple decorations are muy romantico.

Mistress wore a black top, a colorful skirt, and some of her vivid silver and turquoise jewelry. You may be tired of hearing this, but, once again, she was the most strikingly beautiful woman in the room.

We had been talking about some of the comments we had received about yesterday’s blog, on the subject of jealousy and insecurity, and mourning the demise of the intriguing relationship between our compadras in blogging, ‘Nilla and Sin and “D2”.

Mistress had spoken with M earlier in the day on the subject of our blog, too.

“He asked me about that guy in the Bar, Slave…. Of course he has no problem with what you and I are up to, but he gets a little antsy when you mention any other guys…past or present.”

I smiled.

“The thought of a little competition is good for him, Mistress, just like his role in your life has been good for you and me.”

“I am glad you feel that way, Slave.”

That got me thinking….

“How would you feel if both of us were here tonight, wining and dining you, Mistress? You between us, both of our hands roving up your thighs under the table, or leaning over to kiss you, or taking your hand as we sipped our wine.”

“What woman would complain about that, Slave?”

(For those of you paying attention, don’t panic if you hear naught from Mick and Molly this weekend. We are taking the teens camping and leaving our laptops behind. Absent a confrontation with an angry and lethal bear, you will hear from us again come Monday morning. Hope all of you have delightful weekends.)