First off, those of you who follow the adventures of Molly and mick need to check out Vanilla Mom’s blog this morning, a little birthday gift for Mistress.
It continues the adventures of a vaguely familiar threesome at a remote mountain cabin. Very compelling for those of us who have been following their travels.
Now for an update from our somewhat tamer adventures in River City …..
Our surly teen number 2 came home Thursday evening from her month on the continent. The poor dear has the life of a refugee from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, updated for text messaging and facebooking. But it was good to see her safe and sound.
But her return to the nest means that Mistress and her Slave are back to a more furtive life style, hunkered down in our bedroom for unseemly periods of time, rather than wandering naked through the kitchen, or hanging from rafters in our rambling home here in River City.
But that’s not to say that we have pulled our horns in.
Yesterday gave me ample opportunities to savor and satisfy my addiction to Mistress’s natural juices – something ‘Nilla references in her posting this morning.
We left work a little early, determined to take a pre-dinner bike ride despite the oppressive river valley heat and humidity.
Mistress had stripped off her work cloths, and was lounging on our bed, naked, handling some final emails of her work day. But first things first….
“Would you like me to worship, Mistress?”
“Yes, Slave. I was wondering if you would ask.”
I was already in some riding shorts, and tossed a pillow on the floor to accommodate my knarly knees.
Mistress spread her legs, and lay back, arms over her head, in sort of a kinky yoga pose, eyes screwed shut, ready to accept my tongue’s homage.
Yum. Without her patch of fur, Mistress serves up her pure erotic essence for me. It’s maddeningly addictive, feeding so many of my senses.
Can’t get enough.
Mistress was not in a hurry. As I applied my tongue and lips to their task, she let herself build to a slow but steady boil. And, as the pot bubbled over, I felt her thighs squeeze my head for all it was worth as she thrashed about, losing that Zen like composure with which she had begun this exercise.
“Nice, Slave. Very nice.”
“Always proud to be of service, Mistress”.
And to satisfy my own addicted senses.
Of course, my baser needs would be deferred until later, after we took to the hills of our neighborhood, exposing our lungs to the hot and sordid air as we pumped up and down our neighborhood hills.
The deer we encountered along the way looked like she needed a gas mask.
When we returned, the shower called us both
Then Mistress called my damp but clean body to bed. Sex before our little picnic dinner was in order.
“I think I want to use the Hitachi on you, Mistress. It’s been a while….”
“Hmmm…. I guess you are right. There was that date I had with M on Tuesday evening, but that was just a quicky….”
This was not going to be a “quicky”.
After a bit of warm up smooching, I reached for the handy power tool, all ready and plugged in next to our bed, and Mistress laid back, legs spread wide.
(It seems that is a recurring motif in today’s entry, doesn’t it?)
Then I began our little dance.
“You’re all over with that thing , Slave….”
Was that a little mew of frustration?
“What’s the rush, Mistress?”
“Uhhh… no rush…it’s just that….”
I slid the device a little closer to the special place she likes. Suddenly the whining stopped. At least for a moment.
As I teased her with the device, Mistress’s body began to focus on how to maximize contact between churning white ball and little needy nub. She was bobbing, weaving, muscles flexing, then relaxing. As we progressed, Mistress’s breathing became more ragged.
But soon the tool was taking its relentless toll, and Mistress’s body began to surrender to it’s demands … suddenly with a sob and a gasp, her head thrown back, Mistress was the one doing the churning, her legs hugging that little device for all that it was worth.
Wonder how the folks at Hitachi do their product safety testing to make sure the clever tool can handle this sort of abuse?
As the aftershocks began to subside, Mistress pushed the device away.
“Please, fuck me now, Slave”.
Ah, that voice. Deep, Needy. A sound from her soul.
Her body was still shaking a bit, face red with some tears as I mounted her.
“That was a big one, Slave….” She murmured as I filled her.
That’s what a Slave likes to hear.
