On Saturday afternoon she was consigned to attend a wedding shower for her devoted Slave's niece - the daughter of my dearly departed younger brother. When we originally accepted the invitation, it was under the assumption that it was one of those more "modern" co-ed showers, where the groom to be, husbands and male friends were also welcome. But, no.... it was not until after we sent an affirmative response that Mistress learned to her horror it was a "girls only" affair.
Someone once said about the Collins clan that it's like the Hotel California: you can check out, but you can never leave. Sure enough, Mistress texted me not long after the party commenced that the attendees included: my ex-wife, my brother's ex-wife (along with his widow, the mother of the bride to be), and a couple of his former actual and/ or wannabe girl friends (we are not sure if the wannabe ever actually got into my brother's pants, but it seems likely). Although we now get along on fairly cordial terms with my ex-wife, Mistress always notes a certain chill from other family members when she and my ex are in the same room - as in "is it cool to be cordial to Molly when the ex is there?" By now, after about 20 years you would think some folks would "move on", but one should never over-estimate the generosity of the human spirit.
As you might imagine, Mistress has no patience for these sorts of shenanigans, or for the whole "hen party" concept in the first place. "When I left they were playing some silly game, Slave.... ugh..."
I suspect I have earned a good cropping for having sent Mistress on this mission with too many catty women on a perfectly good Saturday.
Fortunately, she had a good excuse to bail out early - we had planned a birthday dinner for our cute co-ed and several of her sorority girl friends up the road on her bucolic heartland campus. I suppose I could say the tables were turned there: Slave was the only male at the table, and there were few males in the entire restaurant, since this apparently was some sort of "Moms' weekend" for several of the sororities. Not to worry though (as if you would), once Slave adopted to the ultra- high decibel level of all those squawking girls and their moms, I was treated to some tasty eye candy: lots of cute sorority girls in their too short dresses out for a Saturday night. Some of the Moms weren't so bad either, though none of them held a candle to Mistress. So while it was too loud to hear much of the conversation from my end of the table, Slave never got too bored.
It was too late by the time we finally got home from our campus excursion for some "night cap" sex, but we made up for it in Sunday: Mistress was treated to a little "power tool" action before she headed to her spinning class; and later in the afternoon, after a much needed nap, Slave used his un-powered tools to provide a little extra worship. Fortunately, Mistress was kind enough to return the favor, and we got in one more round of fucking during the extra daylight that the time change provided us.
Hopefully I can figure a way to make it up to Mistress for consigning her to that nasty wedding shower.
It was a rich and full day for us. And a long night. So be understanding if I dribble out parts of our day - and night – over the next few episodes here at UCTMW.
Lots of material to work with.
And Slave is a bit groggy. Mistress is still snoozing on the other side of our room.
For the moment I will simply slide past our Saturday morning sex, and the entertaining conversation Molly had with our Western Correspondent on the drive down here to meet Aisha and her Sir D.
But it was clear he wanted to stay in touch as long as he could. M was living vicariously, and maybe a little anxious that his loving little slut might fall under the spell of a more accessible Dom.
Cute. And who could blame him.
So when we got to our hotel room here, a bit on the seedy side, romantically reminiscent of Molly and Mick’s “forbidden affair” days, M was in the mood to play …. With himself and us. He was exercising some authority.
Molly me read her text message from him and laughed.
“He wants to have a sex chat with us, Slave. In about 45 minutes…. And he says no coming until then.”
“Of course, Mistress….”
I offered to step out with the newspaper in the event Mistress wanted some private time with her long distance Master, but she demurred.
“No Slave…. It’s our weekend together. I’m sure M won’t mind if you join in. And by the way, he says ‘ditch the cloths’”.
We both did. Soon I was naked, and Mistress was down to sexy black panties.
We took a brief nap, then I got Aisha on the phone to firm up our rendezvous time. And I was talking to her, M called Molly, all ready for action. And Mistress was too.
“Slave, help me off with my panties.”
I fumbled with my phone, abruptly signing off with Aisha as I focused on preparing Mistress and her supplies for her slutty little session with M.
Sorry, Aisha. It seems we have cut you off this way more than once.
Following Mistress’s direction I found the Hitachi (be prepared!), and plugged it in. Mistress was laying back, legs spread, Hitachi already buzzing.
“M says you should worship my feet as I play with the Hitachi, Slave.”
Easily done. So as Mistress listened to M’s guidance, Hitachi pressed against her succulent folds, I knelt on the floor laving her toes and the smooth and sensuous arch of her foot with my tongue.
Yum.
Soon Mistress was begging M for permission to come. And he was no pushover. I loved the increasing desperation in his voice.
And when she finally persuaded him, she exploded, writhing and moaning on the bed, before flicking off her power tool, she was in the mood for my cock, that was certainly in the mood for her.
The fucking seemed to go on quite a while, and I could hear the faint sounds of M’s own release through the I-phone pressed hard against Mistress’s ear.
And of course this was just our warm up act.
Soon Mistress had signed off with M, and she was primping for our evening.
My get-up was simple and at her direction: cock cage, jeans, blue shirt, black cowboy boots.
Mistress had layers and accessories to shed or add as our evening progressed.
And yes, it was all in black. (The photo above is Mistress after the night was over. No photos in the dungeon, of course.)
We hooked up with Aisha and D, as arranged, at a lovely Italian restaurant in a funky urban neighborhood.
As you can imagine, Aisha and D are charming and great fun to be with. I worked on my deference as dinner progressed, modeling my behavior after the lovely Aisha. It was interesting to let D and Molly carry and guide the conversation. Though Molly noted more than once.
“You’re not talking much Mick!”
I guess I can be a little dominant in the typical social situation. But exercising my will to take on a different role in the company of folks who are clued in on our “situation” was, to tell you the truth, kind of …. hot.
I wonder if Aisha gets the same vibe.
At some point during dinner she was required to disclose that D had tied her into some type of crotch rope …. Something that required adjusting when she went to the lady’s room. It made her blush …. And blush some more when D gripped her hair from behind.
I so wanted to see it, but such a request would have been rude.
And of course I made full disclosure about my cage, which seemed to grow just a bit tighter when I acknowledged it.
Our dinner was filled with the mundane personal geography lessons, and more colorful talk about our little band of bloggers.
Were your ears burning? I assure you it was all good. It’s clear we love this odd little community we have created. We wish you all had been sitting around the table.
After dinner we followed D and Aisha to the local munch. We found a robust and diverse crowd of more than 130, above a local wine pub in an old warehouse district along the River. Maybe more on that later, but suffice it to say it was like a Kinky Kiwanis, with old friends catching up, new ones introduced, and announcements of upcoming events that had Molly and I suppressing our grins and raised eyebrows.
A Master / Slave duo made an oral presentation on creating and maintaining that type of relationship.
It was more Dale Carnegie than kinky, but emphasized the need to “write it down.”
“We’re ahead of them, Slave….”
True. Maybe we should offer a CLE course on Slave contract law at some future Munch.
Then …. Drum roll …. It was onto the play party.
The local dungeon is an expansive place, in a 70’s era warehouse. D clearly is a leader in the local community, and introduced us to an intriguing cast of characters as the evening progressed. He and Aisha gave us an initial tour, describing how all of the various devices and furnishing worked: the pillories, stocks, rope beds, etc.. So many possibilities.
There was a vendors area with all sorts of leather goods and implements of punishment.
And both public and more private play and meeting spaces.
This was clearly a big investment for the local community in their particular “pursuit of happiness”. Is that what old Tom Jefferson had in mind? He did have his needs, as Sally Hemmings might testify.
As play began, Mistress and I got into more appropriate attire. She stripped off her skirt, down to those lovely black tights (with the discrete opening) and Black leotard. She had my slide on her long black leather gloves.
And I buckled on my collar. Mistress attached the leash, and kept me close at hand through the evening.
It was show time.
It felt good, and we really did fit in better that way than if we had gone with vanilla.
I’ve been at this for a while now, and there are far more details to share.
But I have to mention the last part of the drama, before we excused ourselves at around 1 am.
D was waiting some time for access to the suspension rig.
He gently reminded a “supervisor” that the current users had been there for a while. Word was passed. “Don’t bogart that suspension rig, my friend.”
You could see D’s mind churning with his plans. And you could also see Aisha mentally preparing herself for what was to come.
The three matching sorority sisters were finally unbound by their older master who alternatively had been flogging and fondling them (Don’t worry, we’ll go into that tomorrow).
And then D went to work.
He clear is a world class master when he gets out his ropes.
He spent a good but of time unpacking and sorting all the ropes and carabineers required for his demonstration, all the way whispering softly to a very attentive Aisha who was intently focused on his every word.
D was tutoring a younger man – a guy who seemed no more than 25 and looked eerily like my son-in-law – and explaining the process to him each step of the way.
At D’s direction, Aisha was shedding her skirt. Then her top. Then her bra. But she seemed oblivious to the crowd milling about, or the surround sound of implements slapping flesh all around her.
Amazing focus, Aisha!
Soon D and his assistant were wrapping Aisha up. Bands of colorful soft rope wound around her- above and below her breasts, around her waist, hips and thighs. Binding her ankles too. But her arms remained free.
And then she was in the air, suspended parallel to the ground, in her own gravity resistant world. That song from Peter Pan came to mind. “I’m Flying.”
And she was flying, and spinning. And D was on the ground, lying in a blanket underneath her, playing with her, talking to her, coaxing her through it all.
Some very intimate communications in a very public setting.
At about this point, as we stood and watched, I pulled Mistress close to me, in a tight embrace. We kissed long and deep. And my fingers found the opening between her tighted thighs.
I was not sure if the “no sex” protocol covered what I was doing, but it seemed that folks had much more interesting things to look at than Mick and Molly. I slid my fingers into, between and against those sopping folds until she was shuddering against me, still clinging to my leash, her hips grinding against mine.
By now, D had undone all that complex rope work. And Aisha was slowly being lowered to the ground. His Assistant found her a chair, and D wrapped her in a blanket, to warm her after her “ordeal”.
AS we thanked them and said goodbye, I could tell Aisha was in that zone she describes so well to us in all those wonderful blogs.
And now I’m going to go look and see how she describes the wonderful evening we shared.
That is, if she is up yet and has the energy left to type.
Fortunately, she had a good excuse to bail out early - we had planned a birthday dinner for our cute co-ed and several of her sorority girl friends up the road on her bucolic heartland campus. I suppose I could say the tables were turned there: Slave was the only male at the table, and there were few males in the entire restaurant, since this apparently was some sort of "Moms' weekend" for several of the sororities. Not to worry though (as if you would), once Slave adopted to the ultra- high decibel level of all those squawking girls and their moms, I was treated to some tasty eye candy: lots of cute sorority girls in their too short dresses out for a Saturday night. Some of the Moms weren't so bad either, though none of them held a candle to Mistress. So while it was too loud to hear much of the conversation from my end of the table, Slave never got too bored.
