Missed Photo Ops.

Last night Mistress and Slave went to an outdoor concert along our City’s wide and meandering River.

But before we headed off, Mistress stopped by my office for some worship. My colleagues, for the most part, had headed home. So our session was a bit more relaxed.

She took her throne, the chair pressed against the door, a blanket laid down to protect her soft skin from the scratchy upholstery; And to protect the scratchy upholstery from her flowing juices.


This sort of therapy seems good for both of us.

It takes the edge of Mistress’s day. She can relax and let me use my mouth and tongue to draw a squirming shuddering orgasm or two from her.

And, after my own day of wheedling, cajoling, threatening (nicely) and scheming, it reminds me that my highest, best and most rewarding use is to pleasure my Mistress.

Then we were off to our show.

The performer was an aging rocker (as it turns out, just about my age) performing old familiar songs with some exotic orchestrations. The crowd was a comfortable one: lots of aging boomers like me. Mistress was at the good end of the age curve for this one, and her Slave was right around the mean.

She was in that short, patterned black and white dress I fancy, with some tasteful heals. And of course, there was no one there who looked nearly as glamorous.

A highlight of the show came when the singer took us on a musical tour through the haunted streets of New Orleans, a full moon on the video above him, as lightening flashed and thunder crashed along our River.

Marveling at the army of performers on the stage, I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. The little one on my blackberry just was not cutting it, and we had seats that would have provided amazing shots of this graying hero.

Which got me thinking about other types of photos.

The Times had a story earlier this week about folks who spend their days screening and scrubbing “offensive” images from the internet. Mostly for social media sites like Facebook. It sounds like a tedious and sometimes disturbing job.

I was wondering about the photos we post here from time to time, and whether the folks at Google have some scrubbers out there pondering whether our HNT posts are H enough for their standards.

There does seem to be a correlation between an increased number of “hits’ and particularly appealing shots of Mistress. Monday’s photo of Mistress with hands tied, and her “bottom cleavage” showing drew more than 200 views, at the upper end of what we typically experience.

But, believe me, there is some self-censorship going on here.

Mistress has the right to screen all of our photos. And she exercises that right when she believes the angle or content casts her in a less than alluring light. Or if the shot is just too revealing. There is both a blush and a vanity test that the photos must pass.

But both of us also have some odd voyeuristic desire to share these images of a body that remains lush and desirable in both a subjective and objective way.

Don’t you agree?

I made a mental list last night on our drive home through thunder, lightening then moon light, of some shots that I wish I could share, if only the camera had been on hand, or if they passed muster with Mistress’s discerning eye:

• The Slave’s eye view last night in my office, Mistress’s legs spread, her naughty parts naked and glistening, colorful panties draped around one ankle.
• Saturday night, driving home, her feet propped on the dash, ankles crossed, black panties hooked over her knees, my fingers buried in her damp cunt.
• Tied hand and foot to our lounge chair on the patio of our undisclosed mountain location, well sun screened, luxuriating in those high desert rays.
• Mistress’s head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, listening to the seductive words of our Western Correspondent as her hand guides her trusty power tool at his direction.
• Or maybe the view of her ass and thigh muscles flexing and churning while I guide the Hitachi through slightly parted legs from behind, to the sweet spot that sends her over the edge.

Well, I guess we’d need a video to capture that one. Hmmmm.

Every Picture Tells a Story

A few months back we started illustrating this page. Pictures seemed to make the page more visually pleasing. Plus, Slave enjoys showing off his Mistress. Mistress must have a bit of an exhibitionist thing going on somewhere inside, and seems flattered by the occasional comments of approval - Like the recent email that describes her bottom as very “spank-able”, and the accompanying offer.

Mistress also enjoys the occasional photo that adds to Slave’s humiliation: like the shot of my rosy bottom with that long hotel shoe horn draped across it. Yes, it is humiliating. Yes, it is a bit of a turn-on for Slave to grovel that way in public.

Mistress requires that she approve each photo of her that is posted. In my view, she has a very hot body. But she is vain, as any good Domme is I suppose, and wants to make sure the photos present her in the most flattering light. No surprise there. Plus, she guards certain key “parts” from public display. The private stash is much more explicit.

With both of us owning phones with cameras, and also a lovely Canon digital camera at our disposal, it’s easy to suggest a stop in the action occasionally to take a shot or two to share with our reader(s).

Yesterday, Mistress stopped by the office for some worship after lunch. She had called earlier to tell me she was particularly horny for me. That advance notice had me anticipating my chance to discharge a bit of that sexual energy.

We kissed chastely in order to avoid mussing her deep red lipstick. Then Slave pulled the chair over to the door, draped a blanket across it, and helped Mistress hike up her the dress, exposing those lovely black tights. Just then the chime on Mistress’s phone went off. A text message? Who could it be? Her would be Dom? She crossed the room to see who was messaging. Leaning over to check the message and showing me that wonderful bottom wrapped in tights, sans panties. I had to get that photo. Here it is.

Having resolved the matter, Mistress was back in the chair, Slave between her legs. We had a pleasant conversation about her lunch and our plans for the evening as I used my lips and tongue to please her. But since I had my stainless steel cage securely locked on, I knew that my own pleasure would be deferred until evening. No matter. It’s good to serve. Though I was more than a little frustrated when the taste of Mistress lingered on face and hands for the rest of the day.

On the way home that evening I called Mistress to give her my ETA, as she requires. She told me she was in a bit of a grumpy mood and had decided to have her feet “done”. All those days on heeled black boots can take their toll. A little pampering was in store. (Yes, Desiree, I know a good Slave should have learned to perform that simple task by now. I need to find an on line “how to” guide).

When Mistress returned, her feet were in her opened toe sandals, with freshly polished toes in dark red. She was wearing very tight jeans that showed off her curves nicely, with a black T-shirt.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress.”

“Well, yes, Slave, of course. But there is a problem. I can’t take off my jeans until they dry”, pointing to her toes.

The jeans were too tight for me to properly fit my mouth between her legs, even if pulled to below her knees. So I suggested that Mistress slide them down a bit and lay on the bed. I retrieved our Magic Wand and lay next to her. As we talked through the afternoon’s developments, I gently applied the wand to her, through the lovely blue panties she was wearing. At some point, in mid sentence, Mistress came with a sudden jerk and moan.

“That’s a very efficient machine, Slave.”

The photo I took as her breathing steadied is below:

Mistress was still a bit annoyed (not at Slave…it’s a long story), and I understood. I offered to be punished if it would help her vent a bit. (Heck, she needs no excuse and it’s good therapy for me). But she passed on the cropping, deciding to leave me in my cage a little longer.

So we fed the teens, trying to draw them out on college choices to no avail. Once the dishes were done we retired to our room. Mistress worked on a blog for her business, I helped edit, and read the Times. Only after her work was done did she offer to unlock me. And who was I to say no.

Lights off, we made love passionately for some time to our mutual satisfaction. At some point, as I was using my lips on her lovely wet folds I reached for our crystal cock. But Mistress demurred.

“You don’t always need a gimmick, Slave.”

It’s nice to know that sometimes Slave au natural works just fine.