At exactly 4:20 pm yesterday my text message chime woke me from my focus on a dull text I was revising. It was Mistress:
“Look forward to fucking. Western guy has gotten me hot.”
Hmmm. There would be an interesting story behind this one.
When we climbed into the car for the ride back home, I politely asked about the business lunch she had attended, but was way more interested in hearing about what had gotten her motor running in the midst of her work day.
“So what happened today with ‘Western guy’ Mistress?”
“Oh he started texting….and it got pretty raunchy, Slave.”
“Would you like to share?”
She pulled out the I-phone from her elegant little black leather backpack. (a very Domme-ish accessory, come to think of it. Think of the tools it could hide.) Then she scrolled through a long stream to find where things began.
As she read I could only focus on the highlights, as I navigated through traffic in a pop-up thunderstorm, while squirming a bit in my seat as my pants seemed suddenly much tighter.
The text exchanges she read to me featured his repeated references to her as his “little slave”, a description of some sordid plans he had in store for her, and his requirement that she respond with a “Yes, Sir”, when replying to his insistence that she not cross her legs or otherwise seek to relieve the building sexual tension. And there were some comments about the story he had in mind when they had their next phone sex session this weekend.
Mistress wanted to confirm that their dialogue was also turning him on. She is considerate that way, as I well know. And sure enough, Western M, let her know that the turn on was mutual.
“So all of this made you pretty horny, Mistress?”
“Yes Slave. Is that bad?”
(Our readers should know that Mistress is and always has been very considerate about this. While our contract clearly allows her to “play the field”, a right I do not have, she seems almost too concerned about my feelings. She knows from empirical evidence that I enjoy her adventures (almost) as much as she does. Yet she is always taking my temperature to make sure I don’t get squeamish about it. Nice, don’t you think?)
“No, Mistress. Not bad at all. Very hot stuff.”
And, in fact, tossed into the text exchange were some little comments about how he had gotten her in the mood to fuck me ASAP. Western M egged her on. He has my back, so to speak.
On the highway by now, I reached my hand over to where Mistress thighs met her skirt, that had hiked up in a high and revealing way. My fingers settled on their junction, against her silky black “work” panties. Damp it seemed. Was it the rain she had walked through on her way to meet me, or the work of Western M. As I toyed with her a bit, I enjoyed her little squirms. She was a horny little slut this afternoon.
When we got home the thunderstorm had cleared.
“Bike ride, Mistress?”
“”Uhhhh….for some reason I am not feeling the need today.”
“Sex?”
“Yes, Slave. That’s the need I am feeling.”
Now this was unusual. Mistress rarely passes up the exercise opportunity. She really was turned on and in need of a hard cock. I was just lucky to be the one available.
We went to our room. Mistress was out of her cloths in a flash. And so was I.
She lazed across my body, at a right angle, her head on my chest, my hand buried in her clean shaven cunt. And I began to rub …. and rub, occasionally sucking her left nipple into my mouth, holding it between my teeth. Mistress was very needy but she was going to build to something special. No quick and easy orgasms today.
Our conversation focused on Western M, his wife B and their plans for Mistress.
Her sitting on Mistress’s face, as M toyed with her cunt.
Both of them taking turns spanking her, their hands dipping between the cheeks of her ass to confirm how wet and desperate to come she was.
Mistress collared, hands tied, on her knees, serving them both with her mouth.
Or maybe locked in some basement dungeon by them, on call to serve their kinky needs.
“Imagine what it will be like to meet M on some trip out west someday, Mistress. He will have you so well programmed with his voice, that you might just fall to your knees the minute he opens his mouth.”
“Hmmmm….maybe so, Slave.”
I kept rubbing. Mistress was so very close, whimpering a bit. But holding back. AS if she was struggling to delay orgasm until someone not in the room at the time gave her permission. Oh so hot she was.
“Would you like the Hitachi, Mistress?” (By now my hand was getting a little tired but I knew she needed more from me, not less).
She was conflicted, confused, in a lust filled haze of desire.
“Uhhhh…..no……well …maybe ….yes….do you mind, Slave?”
“Of course not, Mistress”.
I popped up from the bed. Observed Mistress lying there, legs spread, knees bent, damp all over, her hips slowly undulating. Needy. Oh so needy. I had to put her out of her “misery”. The power tool was her only hope.
I found it in its little hiding place, plugged it in and slid in bed next to her.
“Relax, Mistress this will only take a minute.”
She moaned at my bad joke, but seemed very happy when the machine kicked on with its dull roar and I pressed it against her clit.
It did only take about a minute from there. Mistress had lost the battle of resistance and within seconds her hands were over mine, pressing the soft white bulb hard against her self, directing the action. Her leg muscles were very well defined as she used them to force the device home even harder. And then exploded against it, throwing her head back in surrender to her needs.
In this case, I felt that I was giving Western M the assist, since he had gotten this ball rolling hours earlier with his smutty little text messages.
She caught her breath, still writhing a bit with the aftershocks, and said “Give me the cock now slave.”
I was happy to oblige.
“It’s good to know my cock has not been made obsolete by all this technology, Mistress.”
“No Slave. That’s what went wrong with my little lesbian adventure a few months back. The orgasms are nice, but I need a nice hard cock to finish the job.”
AS I slid into her , Mistress took over the verbal provocations.
“Maybe when we have that phone sex tomorrow, I will tie you to that chair over there.”
“Hmmm….that would be …interesting Mistress.”
“How would it feel to listen to him talk me to an orgasm, Slave. Yo hear me call him Sir and respond to his voice….”
“That could be hard, Mistress.”
“would it make you jealous, Slave.”
“Well, I guess…but not in a bad way.”
“Good…it’s good for you to see that other men want me.”
And that you want them, Mistress.”
The talk was getting us crazy all over again. I was pumping. Mistress was coming, again. And soon I was begging for permission. I just barely made it under the wire, and came with a series of shudders, spent, collapsing onto her.
After we came down, and were getting ready to take a sullen teen to dinner (her friends are drivig her crazy, she claims), I picked up the laptop and sent an email to Western M, thanking him for all his priming of the pump.
We had worked Mistress like a winning relay team, and I was the lucky one holding the baton on the last leg, for the celebration at the finish line.
Or maybe one of those WWF tag teams? Need to work on that metaphor.
