(Not) Sparing the Rod

On our trip back home on Wednesday, Mistress got a text from M – a photo of a dangerous looking black paddle, the kind with the holes drilled in it. (Sort of like the one in the picture, but black and a little longer).

“Man…. That looks pretty nasty, Slave….He says that B was tired of his grousing about her new work schedule, and how he had to do more kid driving now. So she used this on him in the morning….”

“Ouch…. I’ve seen those before…. Must have hurt big time.”

“Yeah, he says his bottom is bruised… he thinks he got almost a hundred thwacks from it….”

Well, I had a little trouble believing that she administered quite so many …. B’s arm would be sore after that many strokes. Not to mention M’s ass.

Back in the early days of my career, when I dealt with lots of school teachers, most of them had paddles. It was the day when “spare the rod and spoil the child” was still an accepted rule of thumb, and most school boards had a policy that prohibited the EXCESSIVE use of force.

In some communities, parents actually encouraged teachers to clobber their little darlings when they got out of line. Those phone calls from teachers asking them to do something about little Johnny’s behavior wer more irritating than listening to their kid whine about his 10 strokes from Mr. Miller’s paddle.

But there were rules: no more than 10 strokes at a time; not on bare skin; a witness had to be present (i.e., another teacher, or administrator), and no holes in the paddle.  Apparently the holes reduced aerodynamic drag, and could leave more distinct marks of bruises. 

And there were some sadistic teachers out there who enjoyed playing the game.

I do wonder whether a whole generation of spanking fetishists were spawned from these in school paddling rituals, which have long since been confined to the dust bin of history.

Of course, there are some teachers and parents who claim that once unilateral disarmament was imposed on teachers, discipline in schools deteriorated severely.

I don’t know the answer to that one, though I do know I would not want a teacher to lay a hand on my daughters.

On the drive home last night, M and Mistress chatted a bit as I chaufered.  It had been a busy day for both of us as we re-merged from our odyssey out west,   so they had little time to chat during the day.

Mistress had those black tights with the little opening in, and those high, tie-up black boots, her legs stretched onto the dash.  And as she talked to M, I noticed that tell-tale squirm of her shapely ass against the seat, and the way her free hand finds its way between her thighs.

He does bring out the horny in her.

Mistress sometimes acts as a sort of family counselor to M, and she shared some of our experiences in balancing work and family schedules, to help ease the transition from B working part time to full time.

“You need a plan M…. I’d be happy to come out there and help you and B work one up…. But you’d have to fuck me silly in return….”

From this I could imagine the birth of a new reality series: “Super Nanny with Benefits”.

Of course, I could not hear M’s response.

But by the time we arrived home, with some bags full of Deli food for dinner in honor of the Jewish Holiday, I could tell Mistress was in need of some attention.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress…”

“That would be good, Slave.”

She settled onto the bed, hiked up her dress, and spread those wondrous thighs, her boots still on, the opening of her tights giving me ample access to her damp and wanton parts. And she let me build her to a nice throbbing climax, her hips lifting off the bed as my lips clung to her, leaving my face nice and juicy. It was a lovely appetizer in advance of latkes and Ruben sandwiches.

The surly teens actually seemed glad to have us home (or maybe it was glad to have us put a meal on the table), and lingered with us, filling us in on at least some of their activities over the weekend.

(I didn’t cross examine them about the bottle of spiked lemonade I’d found in the garbage).

Then Mistress watched an episode of Dexter before retiring to bed.

It had been almost 36 hours for Slave…. A seeming lifetime of denial of you live in the Collins household, so I was more than anxious to have at my Loving Mistress.

“Go put in your device, Slave (our aneros)…. I still think you deserve a spanking for forgetting it to bring it on our trip.”

I already was hard for her, so when I lubed up the little sucker and pressed it out, Slave’s work-a-day cock was suddenly supersized.

Youch.

I slid back into bed, sidling up against Mistress, who still had those hot, peek-aboo tights on…. The friction of that fabric against my thigh and balls brought me all the closer to critical cock mass.

I did not want to advertise my desperation, so used my fingers to slide and glide a bit to give Mistress a little intro orgasm…. But her own fingers found my hard and needy cock.

“Wow…. Slave…. Miss me or something?”

“It’s been since yesterday morning, Mistress….. that’s a whole lot of abstinence.”

AS she used her hand to fondle and caress I was getting all too close to the edge….I pulled away…thinking of the faltering Irish economy as a hedge against an accidental explosion.

“Mistress you may want to elt me fuck you now….”

“If you must Slave….”

“Ohhhh …. I must…. Believe me.”

Mistress takes a certain perverse pleasure in such desperation, giggled a bit at me, then rolled onto her back, spreading those thighs, helping me pry open the “hatch” in he tights, as I pressed home with more determination and skill.

And as I fucked her hard, long and with abandon, I think she got some reasonable return on her investment in her Slave’s frustration.

In this case, she was not spared the rod….

Thanks-Ticipation

First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….

We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.

Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.

Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.

We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.

Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.

For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.

“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”

“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “

I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.

Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.

But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.

Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?


Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.

“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”

I had to respond:

“It depends on how you define sex.”

After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:

“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.

Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.

It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.

“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”

“And what did he say, Mistress?”

“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”

“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”

At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.

Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.

So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.

“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”

“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”

We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.

“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”

It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.

It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.

So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.

That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.

As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.

Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.

And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.


So who’s left?

There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.


There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.

There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.

There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.

And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.

So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?

Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?

Should Slave wear his cage?

With or without the butt plug?

Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)

Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.

But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.

That’s another thing to be thankful for…..

HNT / Deploying Our Crystal Cock

Yesterday morning’s blog made me realize that crystal cock at our bedside table must have been feeling underutilized.

So when I brought the laptop up to bed to my snoozing Mistress, and woke her from her sleep, I slid the pink, translucent ridged wonder out of it’s little cozy coffin shaped box.

Mistress took care of her business, and slid back into bed with me ready to read the blog. And as she scrolled through it, I slid under the sheets, to begin grazing on her sumptuous folds.

To fuel my fetish, Mistress had decided to sleep in those black tights with the strategic opening. My cock had pressed against it for much of the night. And, well, I was kind of horny for her, as you might expect.

But first things first….

Mistress squirmed and stretched a bit as I began to lavish her with attention from my tongue, poking, probing, sliding to and fro to open her up to me. Then, with my right hand, I began to probe with the business end of the crystal cock through the opening in her tights, as it wormed it’s way to it’s destination.

“Ohhh…. Cold Slave…”

Yeah, the thing is a little cold until body heat warms it. Not like a real 98.6 degree cock. But much harder.

There is a trade-off I suppose.

“It will warm up Mistress.”

I gave her clit a firm suck, tugging it between my lips, then slid the crystal cock in a bit deeper still. That seemed to distract Mistress from the temperature differential.

Soon she had put the laptop aside, and was focused on the combined assault of my mouth augmented by those little ribs inside her bumping along her inner contours.

The orgasm that resulted seemed to clear the cobwebs from her brain. It took a good bit of digital dexterity to cling to that crystal cock as she bounced against my mouth.

I consider that a sign of a job well done.

And she must have felt the same, because my dedication and skill were richly rewarded.

“Give me my cock, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

HNT / Oops.

Slept later than normal today, dear readers. So you get a larger, more sumptuous image of Mistress's well exercised legs, and a little less of my prattle.  That's probably a very good trade for most of our readers.

She did get lots of attention yesterday.

When she read the blog lying in bed, before we headed out for a daybreak bike ride.

About 90 minutes later, Her peek-aboo tights gave my roving fingers access on the drive downtown to work. Mistress shuddered nicely as she tried to avoid the curious eyes of a trucker we passed just as my fingers found their mark.

Then she stopped by at my office for some post lunch worship. It's so much more effieient when the boots can stay on and all she has to do is spread her legs.

There was the before dinner, Mistress lays back on the bed, pages through the paper and Mick takes to his knees worship.

And of course, after bedtime, when Mick was finally rewarded for all that veneration.

I promise to wake up earluer tomorrow to provide some remnant memories of our Dungeon adventure.