This lovely campus apparently failed that test.
Afterwards, we hit the highway to our next stop: The summer home of Molly’s in-laws near the banks of one of those great lakes.
We had assumed that the sleeping situation would put us in close proximity to the teens, so planned on a vanilla weekend. I did not even bring any implements of bondage or torture for Switch Day (oops, there go our stat counts for Monday).
But instead we ended up in this sumptuous suite apart from the rest of the house, with a huge four-poster bed. My kingdom for some clothesline!
But, fear not, we were able to have some delicious post sort-of-three way sex yesterday morning, in that old campus mansion, while the teens slept in before their tour.
As Mistress read the blog, her Slave worshipped, kneeling on the floor to get the proper leverage. But…the poor dear was rather tender from all that abuse the night before.
“Owww…. Be more gentle Slave….”
I stopped sucking clit between my lips, and reverted to a softer laving with my tongue. That seemed to do the trick.
And, once given permission to fuck her, I used it as an opportunity to do some cross-examination about her college days’ encounters with her Journalism Prof.
“So who made the first move, Mistress?”
“I suppose he did…. We were spending a lot of time together …. In class. Working on the school paper… and I was in his office ….. and he just kissed me.”
I imagined Mistress, young, passionate, those long tan legs. Relatively innocent, but clearly open, even at 19, to a little adventure. Once she turned on the charm, gave that little signal of availability, this guy would not have had a chance, just like me back in the days of Mike Dukakis and Dan Quayle.
“Did he ask for permission to kiss you?”
“I don’t remember that… it was just one of those moments.”
“And was it hot, Mistress?”
“Yes, Slave…. He was a kittle quirky, but he was smart…. The older guy who seemed kind of cool.”
“And did you do it then with him?”
All the while, Slave is sliding in and out and against Mistress, listening to her little moans of delight as I take her down memory lane, early 80’s edition.
“No… it was a few days, maybe a week or two later.”
Good… patience. Planning. Anticipation. I imagined how hot both of them would be once they found each other in private again.
“And where did you do it?”
“In his office…. I remember that when he closed his door, there were all these academic robes hanging there… for graduation I guess. A weird thing to remember….”
“Did you do it on the floor? On his desk?”
“No… he had a couch.”
“Hmmm… How convenient.”
“And did he lick your cunt like I do, Mistress?”
“I don’t remember that… not as many men are into that the way you are, Slave.”
I guess it’s good to have a unique skill set in this tough economy.
“Did he like it when you sucked his cock, Mistress?”
“I am pretty sure he did Slave….”
Mistress must have developed those skills early on.
At this point the story line got lost …. Soon I was begging for permission to come, and Mistress was in a charitable state of mind.
Later, as we walked around the campus, Mistress pointed out to me the building where her illicit shenanigans had occurred. And she looked through the faculty roster. Her old Journalism Prof seems to have moved on. I wondered whether his “dabbling into female students” ( as a certain whacko Senate candidate might put it) had caught up with him.
The sort of behavior that was commonly winked at prior to 1985, one of the fringe benefits of academia, has long since become grounds for termination on U.S. campuses.
“Did you feel he had exploited you, Mistress? In retrospect was this sexual harassment?”
She laughed.
“No Slave…. I had a boyfriend who was pretty nasty to me at the time…. This was a nice outlet… it was fun. It made me feel good. ”
Mistress told me that he and the Prof “did it” a few times. He was married. She had the boyfriend. There were no expectations, she says. And she could not recall why they drifted apart.
Of course, I wonder how I would feel if my own daughter got caught up in this sort of teacher / student romance. Now that I think of it, I know exactly how I would feel. Pissed. Demanding retribution.
But sometimes a parent has to let go. Kids need to learn from their own experiences and make their own mistakes. For Molly this did not seem to be a mistake at all. But I am curious to know what some of you out there think about it.
Changing subjects….
Yesterday, Sin and Aisha wondered how Molly could handle the conflicting roles of sub / Mistress in our 3M sex-capade Thursday evening.
It seemed confusing but rather incendiary for her.
She had trouble with titles. Was the guy on the phone whispering who knows what into her ears, “Sir” or “M”? Was I “Slave” or “Mick”?
It seemed at some times I was her Slave … responding to commands about when to lick or fuck her. Then again, in her mind I may have been M’s surrogate, taking her in the way M was describing how he would take her.
And then, later, I was doing things that M had her tell me to do …. Like slide a finger into her little tight hole while the other one was impaled by my cock.
It was all very befuddling for poor Molly. And her orgasms kept on coming. Yikes.
The best comparison I can make is crossed jumper cables. If you mistakenly hook the red cable attached to one car battery’s positive knob to the negative knob on the other car’s battery ---- oops. Stand back and watch the sparks fly.
Mistress’s poles got crossed the other night and it was a wild and crazy thing to behold.
