Holiday Party Banter

Last night, Slave accompanied his Mistress to her office holiday bash, at the hip new hotel in town. (Remember those strange statuary photos from a few weeks back).

This is a relatively hip crowd with lots of young creative types all dressed for an evening out. Mistress was. of course, a key part of the fun, chatting up the young things who report to her and introducing me to her more senior colleagues. She was adorned in her black dress, black tights and those kinky lace-up black boots.

At one point Slave offered to fetch drinks for her and a colleague: a woman who is in her mid 40's, and purportedly danced as an NBA cheerleader back in her younger days. She's shorter than Mistress, but fetching in her own way. Her husband was home tending to her kids.

I asked her if she had made the acquaintance of someone that Suzanne and J likely admire, Larry Bird. But apparently their tenure with this particular team did not coincide.

As I returned with their white wines, a beer under my elbow for me, Mistress's boss (an older woman) caught the scene, and commented that it was nice of me to "serve" them.

Slave, always looking for an opportunity to be cheeky, had a snappy retort:

"It's a little crowded here, or I'd be doing it on my knees."

Mistress gave me that little "eyebrow lift" suggesting I was treading on thin ice.

But her colleague - the former NBA cheerleader - did not miss a beat.

"We'll get to that later.....", she said to me with a sly look in her eye.

It made me think that the house husband back at home with her kids may have other duties too.

Taste Treat

Mistress and her lover J finally had an evening together without children to cramp their style last night.  It had been about three weeks, before our trip to the Southwest, and before his son came for an extended visit.

And I suspect there was a certain pent up demand.


I 'd heard the teasing going back and forth over the phone.

"So when do you think we'll get to do it again, J..... Winter 2013.... really .... you think you can wait that long?"

J likes to act like he has all the patience in the world. Mistress finds it a tad annoying, so dishes it right back at him.

"Well maybe my dance card will be full in the winter of 2013, J."

Cute, huh?

You could tell from the banter that this deferred mutual consumption was getting to both of them. But with the departure of J's son, the waiting was over.

Mistress let me know Sunday afternoon that Monday evening she had other "plans". And I used the time to take our sullen teen to the movies again. The new Wes Anderson flick "Moonrise Kingdom. A wonderful, creative confection set in the mid-60's.

On the way home our daughter wanted to know when "Mom" would be home. I said around 10:30 or so. "Wow. That's late.... she's working hard....."

Yes, honey. She is. But tonight shouldn't be too bad.

Mistress came home at about the appointed hour. And I could tell she'd had a good time. She seemed relaxed in a "I think I've spent all my sexual energy for the night, so let's do it in the morning if that's OK"  kind of way.

And a good Slave knows when to be patient.

But then again, as she settled into bed next to me, her lovely body naked and available, Slave had to at least get a little taste.

Sadly, I didn't even ask permission, just sliding my head between her lovely thighs, dipping my tongue into those clean shaven folds.

"I was wondering when you'd do that Slave....."

"Well I do like to taste you after one of these evenings out, Mistress."

I savored and sucked, flicking my tongue through the moist nooks and crannies.

"Do I taste different, Slave?"

"There are some subtle differences Mistress..... only a connoisseur might detect them...."

The mingling of juices, scents. All very exotic. And stimulating, I might add.

I focused on my task, giving Mistress a nice good night cum.

Not that she really needed another.

I'm looking forward to a more complete "de-briefing" this morning.

Pussy Whipped?

Last week Suzanne had a little piece over at All Mine on a phrase that has a certain 60's - 70's tawdry feel to me: Pussy Whipped. You can read here take, Here.

Of course, her perspective was from the purported "whipper",  how her female friends would use the word derisively to suggest maybe Suzanne had her boyfriend a little too tightly wrapped around her little finger. And of course, she also thought of it in the context of how she had her beaus "trained" to tend to her "pussy" with their lips and tongue firs,t before they could expect any reciprocal attention.

But what about from the guy's perspective. When your male buddies used the term, it was usually in the context of a guy who would rather spend his Friday evening, or some summer afternoon, hanging out with his girl-friend rather than with "the guys", maybe at a high school football game, or a pub crawl evening in college.

I can recall a crowded three room suite at my alma mater, when I would appropriate the room I shared with another fellow for an evening with a tall, sexually curious woman for some "everything but" sexual activity. My roommates, who were probably just jealous, would use terminology like "pussy whipped" when it became clear that I'd rather spend time in a horizontal position with this tall but hardly a beauty woman than get high and listen to Quadraphenia with them all night.

Of course, back in those days, Slave had hardly a hint of what real female dominance might involve. I just knew it was more fun to be with a women where there was at least a hint of sexual opportunity than with a bunch of dopey, clueless guys.

But what about the notion that Suzanne introduced: the sexual connotation of the term that suggests that "pussy worship" must always come first as the gateway for any lowly male satisfaction. 

While I was hardly reluctant to deploy that strategy in prior relationship, I have a very vivid memory of the first time Mistress and I "got together" about 24 years ago. 

We were both married to other people. She was in her mid-twenties. I was a "dirty old man" at 38. Our smouldering mutual attraction had finally gotten the better of us, and we arranged to meet at a bland suburban motel for some "private time".  That gorgeous, young Molly even brought snacks,  I can still taste in a strange way: strawberries and red licorice.

But the taste I can recall most vividly was the taste I savored as I lowered my head between those strong and shapely thighs. It was the way we started off that afternoon, and I can recall at least two cycles that triggered an addiction that lasts to this day.

And ever since, it seems we have almost always commenced any sexual engagement with me using my lips and tongue to give her that tasty starter cum, that hopefully leaves her wanting an "entre" involving my work-a-day cock.

Of course, over the years, this "worship" has become a tad more ritualized. Now I'm her Slave. I can get in big trouble if I forget to offer my worshipful services when the opportunity presents itself. And her dominance of our sexual life is reflected in our written contract and the cock cage I am sometimes required to wear (though not nearly enough according to some of our readers).

I suppose I was irreversibly changed the very moment I first tasted those luscious juices the afternoon we met in that bland outside River City. Sort of like Peter Parker and that nasty spider bite.

Does that make me "pussy whipped"?

You bet.