Slave and
Mistress were finally re-united last night around 11:30 pm. She flew into the
airport up north of here, after completing her sad but inevitable mission of
turning our recent grad over to the next phase of her life. It sounds like
things went well. The boyfriend
has a new job down in one of those GA towns that General Sherman visited back
in the day. Mistress reports that the two lovebirds have a very nice apartment,
and that the boyfriend had already furnished it. Sounds much more “civilized”
than the apartment I inhabited the year after I graduated from college. And
while Mistress had a long two days of travel, she probably needed some
reassurance that our no longer so little darling is living in a manner to which
she has become accustomed.
As for slave, I was on lockdown from around 7:30
am until about 10 pm on Friday, night, when Mistress gave me the go ahead to
find the key and self-release from that hard steel cage. I was certainly grateful not to have
to see whether I could “sleep
through the night” in that infernal device as our friends Terri and Diane over
at “A Married Sissy” put it.
Fortunately, the timing of Mistress’s return was
just right. We get to celebrate Valentine’s Day in our suddenly (and a little
sadly) emptied nest. No big plans here though, other than some wake-up sex,
some exercise, and a relaxing dinner at home. We plan to have a more lavish Valentine’s dinner in a few
days, when we return to our romantic SW hideaway starting Tuesday.
I am feeling a little badly for our Senior
Correspondent Donna, who will spend V Day on the last day of her 7 day Super
Bowl bet induced quarantine from the use of mechanical stimulation. Last night this report of her sad plight
was slid under my E-door:
It has been six long days since my beloved dildos and vibrators were packed away thanks to the bet I lost on the Super bowl fiasco last Sunday evening. To say I have missed them would be a significant understatement. To make things even more difficult this week, my Keurig coffee maker died. No vibrators and only instant coffee, my world has come undone. Then, to add insult to injury, my friend with benefits was out of town this week. Alas, alas. Woe is me.
WC suggested I use my fingers, just as he uses his fists and
fingers along with gallons of lube every day. But fingers for women just
don't offer the same ah, Ah, AH, experience as vibrators, especially a vibrator
known as a magic wand.
But tomorrow I cut through the duct tape to release the dildos, the vibrators, and my magic wand.
Oh, and Mick, I will be submitting the bill for the special shipment of duct tape I had to have delivered to adequately seal my collection of vibrators into a rather large box.
But tomorrow I cut through the duct tape to release the dildos, the vibrators, and my magic wand.
Oh, and Mick, I will be submitting the bill for the special shipment of duct tape I had to have delivered to adequately seal my collection of vibrators into a rather large box.
No problem, Donna. But the next
time this happens, consider using the duct tape to seal your lady bits away
from the temptation of mechanical assistance, rather than the other way around.
It might work like this.
I must add that last night, Donna sent a follow up email, wondering if "vegetables" were also quarantined as part of the wager. I used my discretion to consider the matter, and ruled that since vegetables were "organic" they were not considered to be among the mechanical aids that she had agreed to forego for a week if Cam Newton fizzled and let "The Sheriff" prevail in Super Bowl L.
I have a feeling that there is a well worn cucumber sitting somewhere near Donna's bed this morning. Or maybe one of those skinny purple eggplants?
