Showing posts with label spelt pizza. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spelt pizza. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Handling the Truth.

We have settled into a nice little rhythm here in the mountains now.

I wake to do my blogging.

Mistress allows that she is now awake, maybe around 7 am here.

I come to share her bed, worship as she reads the blog, then, if she is satisfied (and I make sure she is), I am allowed to take my pleasure from her.

After that a long bike ride, up and down some challenging hills here at 7000 ft.

Some breakfast.

A little telecommuting work, and maybe some chores around the house. Yesterday it was painting an old piece of furniture acquired at a 2nd hand shop for use on our patio.

Mistress of course was out in the sun, naked, making sure I applied sunscreen to that lovely bottom before it got too rosy.

Around 3 pm or so the clouds began to gather for what could have been but never became a pop up thunderstorm. The gods of rain like to tease a lot out here.

Mistress suggested that we move into our chambers.

And she had a surprise.

“You’re going to get fucked in the ass this afternoon Slave…”

“But it’s not Saturday, Mistress…”

“Does it need to be Saturday?”

I suppose it’s her call, isn’t it?

So after a little nap, Mistress made sure I assembled her “supplies”, which I had been told to pack. Soon she was all dressed up in her harness, ready for action.

This got us wondering about Tammy and Carol over at All Mine. There was a bit of a cliffhanger there this weekend. Carol was “babysitting” , and had Tammy acquire a strap-on harness for her use over the holiday weekend. But…. Come on Tammy…. Where’s the update?

In any event, back to our bedroom….

We cuddled and teased a bit before Mistress instructed me to assume the proper position, face down, a pillow under my hips. And then it was Mistress taking me the way she likes. (I’m not nearly flexible enough for that diaper position).

Soon she was having one and then another nice expressive cum as she thrust into me, before she collapsed onto my back, rather satisfied with herself.

“I hope that reminds you who is in charge, Slave…”

I mumbled something expressing consent, from within my little submissive cloud.

“Now go out in your device and get back here and fuck me, Slave….”

I rallied, and hopped to, not wanting to miss that opportunity.

Our evening avoided the collection of friends we had seen Monday, just dinner at Mistress’s favorite Pizza joint: spelt crust with the world’s greatest view.

Over dinner, we talked about an interesting email exchange Mistress had with a reporter from a national publication. The writer, who Mistress checked out to be reputable on her I-phone, was looking to talk to women who would share on the subject of balancing work, kids and a healthy sex life.

She was willing to work with just Molly’s first name and city.

Mistress was intrigued. It’s a subject she thinks is important to talk about. But how much to share?

Should she use her “secret identity” name, or ask the reporter to refer to her as Molly…

And should she just give her the first layer of the truth around the Collins household, or delve into what our readers here know…. The contract, the flirtations with a cuckold lifestyle, bondage.

We played out the interview over pizza and later at a local music venue, listening to some local musicians do their unique country / folk thing.

“So what do you and your husband do to keep things fresh?”

“There’s the office worship…. Then the occasional ass fucking he needs to keep him in line…, you can read all about it in our sex blog.”

My guess is if Mistress went there, the reporter would roll her eyes, label us crazies, and file the interview somewhere in a vault. Then she would go with the more conventional lady describing an occasional “date night” with hubby, where they might “make out” in a parked car and do other “naughty” things.

We left it with Molly giving the reporter a “shallow” view of what it takes to keep things hot at home, and seeing how the reporter handles it.

Somehow, as Jack Nicholson put it in that movie, I doubt this reporter “can handle the truth.”

And I don’t think that Molly and Mick want to risk a whole lot of questions being asked in River City about this lady with the first name who does all sorts of crazy, sexy things with her “Slave” husband.

But we will certainly keep you all up dated.

Sun’s up now here in the Sangres.

Need to brew some coffee and make sure Mistress is properly attended .