Addictions

Mistress has a perverse addiction.

No, it’s not my work-a-day cock.

Or even the WC’s special occasion cock, which she has seen in one dimensional images but has yet to experience in "Sense-Around".

No her addiction is to a strange mixture of sugar and ground almonds that she hunts down whenever she has a chance to prowl the European continent.

The pretext for her trip to Poland and the Czech Republic was to see and experience the landscape where evil manifested itself in unimaginable ways in the mid part of the last century. And she certainly did that, as the photos and stories she brought home show.

But I sometimes wonder if the whole adventure was really just to indulge her addiction to Marzipan.

The folks at Wikipedia have a useful definition for those of you who have not fallen into this strange and compulsive trap, which, at least for me, tastes no more appealing than flavored candle wax.



"Marzipan is a confection consisting primarily of sugar and almond meal. Some marzipan is flavored with rosewater. Persipan is a similar, yet less expensive product, in which the almonds are replaced by apricot or peach kernels. In Goa (formerly Portuguese India) almonds are replaced by cashews. Many confectionery products sold as marzipan are made from less expensive materials, such as soy paste and almond essence.[1]p. 594 German marzipan is made by grinding whole almonds with sugar and partially drying the paste, and French marzipan is made by combining ground almonds with sugar syrup.[2]p. 484 Spanish marzipan is made without bitter almonds.'

On several trips to Europe back in the 1990’s, to charming ski villages in the Dolomites, to Andalusia, or to the hill towns of Tuscany, it seemed a good bit of our evening passagiata was devoted to feeding Mistress’s addiction, by hunting down perveyors of her own personal crack, whether  in charming confectionaries, or  tacky convenience stores which could have been fronts for Al Queda for all we knew.

So it came as no surprise to me that, as Mistress disgorged the contents of her rolling duffel on Saturday evening, it seemed that 40% of its contents was Marzipan in various forms and shapes – some molded into cuddly little animals in fruity colors, others consisting of multicolored slices from what must have been a marzipan log. (Actually I surprised she didn’t find a way to ship a whole log of this stuff home.)
Mistress grudgingly gave a couple of these little morsels to the sullen teens, who seem to share this strange addiction. But she has hoarded the rest for herself.

After arriving home last night from work, Mistress still feeling a bit of the time shift after a long day of work re-entry, I offered to worship, a post-work ritual I had sorely missed while she was away.

“Of course, Slave….”
Soon she had shed her work cloths, and lay across the bed, completely naked legs spread. But before I fell to my knees she had one more request.

“Hand me that slice of Marzipan, Slave….”, indicating where it sat across the room on her desk.

“Of course, Mistress…”

She lay back, content, nibbling at its edges as I began to nibble on her stubble free, folds, gorging on her own addicting juices.

“Ahhh…. this is heaven, Slave….”

Seeing the humour in the moment I paused briefly to take the photo below, just to exemplify our twin addictions.

While Mistress may worship at the altar of that strange almond / sugar concoction, I am more than content to worship at her altar.

Cue the celestial choir.

At Last....

Slave stayed very physically active yesterday, grinding through various maintenance chores… while also delivering Sullen teen #2 to her SAT test …. If only to make the time pass faster until Mistress returned to our World HQ after her tour through Poland and the Czech Republic.

And by the way… all that field slave duty makes this ancient body rather stiff. I guess it’s good that I was allowed to graduate to pampered house slave a few years back. It’s a good reminder to make sure Mistress stays pleased.

Finally, at around 7:20 pm local time, Mistress touched down in our provincial aero-drome here in River City. It was a bit like the final scene in Casablanca, but in reverse, with the girl coming back to her grizzled, taciturn lover, hopefully to stay.

Of course, Mistress was with her sprightly Mother, who apparently kept both her daughters on a very busy schedule throughout, so Slave could not do anything too dramatic to demonstrate his affections as Mistress walked through the security area. A hug and tasteful kiss had to suffice.

At least until we got to the carpark.

I had thought of offering to worship in the shadows between vehicles, since I had a severe hankering for Mistress’s musky nectar, but sadly, there was a security camera not too far away.

I need to remember to case the parking lot more thoroughly if there is a next time.

So we settled for some urgent kissing and groping before I backed the car out and headed back to our World HQ, where, thankfully, the teens were missing, having gone to dinner and a movie together.

(BTW, Mistress saw the question I posted about whether I should arrive in my cage – she texted me that I should be available to her, without cage. Thankfully.)

I hauled Mistress’s rather heavy bag upstairs. It seemed she had decided to become the George Soros of the Marzipan market, hoping to corner a rather obscure market of that strange confection that tastes like candle wax to my less sophisticated taste buds. But it’s hard to figure out how candy can add so much weight to a bag.

Suffice it to say the unpacking waited until later.

Mistress was exhausted after her 18 hour travel day, it was about 3 am Czech time by the time we arrived in our bedroom – though the aches and pains were ameliorated a bit by her first class couchette.

“We need to do that together sometime Slave….it would be like sleeping in a double bed… I’m sure we could figure a way to have regular sex at 30,000 feet.”

I guess that needs to go on the proverbial bucket list.

This was all said as I “helped” Mistress out of her traveling clothes, and got nakers myself.

And soon I was where I belonged, on my knees, her legs spread for me, dipping in and devouring.

“I’m probably a little skunky and stubbly, Slave.”

“Just the way I imagined it, Mistress…..”

After I made sure that Mistress was reminded of the skill set I could bring to the table, she asked for something that also missed her.

“I want to taste my cock now, Slave….”

I was happy to serve it up.

Well I hear Mistress stirring upstairs. So the rest of the evening will have to be left to your imagination.

I have some ideas on how to celebrate Mother’s /Switch Day and would not want to delay implementation for another minute.

And for all you other Moms out there … particularly our Senior Correspondent Donna, and Aisha, ‘Nilla and Sin … here’s wishing you the Mother’s Day of your darkest and sexiest imaginings.