Time Change Challenge

Time Change Challenge

Dear Mistress,

Why is it that my cock has more trouble with a time shift than the rest of me?

We arrived here just short of midnight Mountain Time, surly teens in tow, for our Christmas Holiday. It was a long travel day, though hardly a sexual draught for us. You let me take you yesterday morning, back home in River City, but only after I took my time worshiping your fragrant cunt as you read my morning homework.

There was packing to do and errands to run, but by noon we had that under control, and still 2 hours before heading to the airport. You napped some, I showered, and when I returned from the shower, all clean for you, I slid under the covers, not sure if you wanted to be wooed or left to rest.

Fortunately for me, you were waking from your slumber and turned to me, reaching for my cock. Its very well trained by now, and even the gentlest touch brings it to life. As you cupped me in your hand, I used my hand to tease your cunt through those soft, lacy undies, colored a soft gray that complements your olive skin.

We murmured about upcoming plans and your wandering curiosity, and soon my finger had you coming against it, gasping and jerking in little tasteful spasms as my mouth buried itself in your neck. You then allowed me to mount you, and we were in no hurry to finish the job. It would be a long day before we could crawl between the sheets again.

Traveling with teens does not allow the sort of physical and verbal interaction that we have come to enjoy, though I did take my opportunities to keep my hand buried possessively between your thighs through most of our flights. And as the cabin darkened on the second leg and we napped, you slid your head into my lap. After a few moments I could feel your fingers and tongue softly probing my crotch through those thick jeans. Unsurprisingly, my cock strained against the fabric, and it was hard for me not to squirm in my seat.

After 10 minutes or so of this treatment, a reminder that you have full title to all parts of me, you sat up and gave me a look of triumph, knowing how frustrated I had become, and that we still had 5 hours to go before I could expect to do anything about it. I suppose this was the sort of punishment a Slave deserves from time to time.

By the time we reached our little cabin on the edge of the mountains, it had been a long day. The teens headed straight to bed, I performed Sherpa duties fitting my slavish status, and you adjourned to our cozy wood trimmed bedroom. When I joined you, you had on some sexy nightwear that had been left in your stocking at an earlier Christmas. You told me it was time to strip, and insert that little white probe.

The probe reminds me of your power over me, Mistress. Being penetrated at your command re-enforces that submissive impulse you have used to bring me to heel these last few months. And of course there are certain physical effects when it slides inside me. As I stood next to the bed, you commented on how my cock was getting fuller before your eyes, even without a touch. So true. Then you reached out to handle it, using your fingers to prompt it further. Soon it was more than ready for you.

But it seemed only fair that I take to my knees and worship you first. You shifted your body around, and extended your legs so that they wrapped around my neck and I plunged into the task. I like to draw the orgasm out of you, and so between nibbles and suck I questioned you further about your reactions to your recent “interview”, a subject which seems to get both of our motors running.

Somewhere in midsentence you paused, groaned and let your hips ride a bit harder against my mouth, then relaxed your legs down around my neck and back. Mission accomplished.

With that, I was allowed to join you in bed, and made love with the passion that always has come to us out here, in our little mountain hideaway.

We read a bit, but soon I faded away into to a deep sleep. But when I woke around 5:30 Mountain time it was my hard cock that kept me from rolling over and drifting off again. It was too frustrating to press against you, knowing that you needed a few hours more sleep before we head up to the Ski Mountain. So here I am at my keyboard, the soft light of dawn lighting up the snow on the ground.

Lets hope my cock clock adjusts quickly.

Mistress Joins Slave at Business Lunch

One afternoon this week, I hosted an annual Holiday lunch for some clients and colleagues. It’s an event that has been on my calendar for more than 10 years. It’s always a convivial affair, a chance to say thanks, network, reconnect and celebrate the year’s accomplishments. Sometimes my lunch is at our home; other times at a local restaurant. This year I picked the restaurant option: upstairs in a private dining room in an old German stube, with rich wood paneling, on a hill overlooking our big river.

Mistress (well she was “just” Molly then) would often act as my congenial co-host. And it was always good to have her there. But because of our crazy, nomadic existence  until January 2009, Mistress had gone missing at these events in recent years. So it was very nice to have her at my side, greeting my clients and their staff, 25 or so, as they entered, ordered drinks, milled about, and dug into the potato pancakes  appetizers.

Of course, the last time Mistress co-hosted one of these events, she was my younger beautiful wife. Today she was my younger, beautiful Mistress. And though I was not collared or leashed, I did have my cage locked on tight underneath my stuffy business suit and tie.

Mistress was dressed conservatively, but with style and a certain sexy flair: long hair down and full. Black form fitting dress wrapped around her, ending just above her knees, finished with the black tights and boots that make me want to fall to my knees when she enters the room. You have seen bits and pieces of that look in our pictures.

So how do the dynamics change at a business-y social event, after signing a contract to become my wife’s Slave?

My behavior is evolving, I suppose. And this was an event where I had to appear the Type A, in charge professional, to be trusted with my clients’ most important problems. Groveling probably would not enhance their confidence in me.

But I did noticed that I hovered more closely to her, made sure her drink was fresh, and assuring that she got first dibs on those potato pancakes she loves.  Where in the past we might have circulated separately, talking to clumps of guests, we did more of our circulating together, and I found myself keeping a hand on her somewhere. An arm, shoulder, and when our backs were to the wall, her lovely bottom. Gentle caresses were the order of the day.

 Molly always has made me look better, more accomplished and confident when she is at my side. She is a tall, young, confident knockout compared to her older, stuffier and now balding husband/slave. I can’t help notice men (and a few women) appraise her body, head to toe, with more than passing interest.

My friends and clients surely must wonder how she settled for me all those years ago. And I suspect some say to themselves: “If Mick landed her, he must have something going on….” Well there is something going on. But I doubt any of them suspect what our readers know about how this relationship has evolved.

As we sat for lunch, I made sure my chair was right next to Mistress, and we enjoyed chatting with the folks to our right and left. They were curious about Mistress’s work exploits these days, and she shared some common experiences with our lunch companions in her clever, competent manner.

What they did not see, was how my right hand had burrowed between her thighs, possessively, obsessively stroking the fabric of her back tights. You see there was something else driving Slave a bit crazy.

Mistress told me late that morning that she had arranged her initial, in person interview with her prospective Sir, to commence when our lunch concluded. An escalation in their interaction that took me a bit by surprise, but that I welcomed. This development had me on edge, driving me a bit crazy actually, with those confused emotions I have written about.

 Mistress was a bit anxious too about her “date”.  But she is a person of action, and was committed now to satisfying her curiosity about this fellow who had vowed to “own” her.

As my hand stroked her thigh, I thought about whether someone else might be handling her that way before the day was out. That thought made my cock twitch and strain inside that little cage.

Soon it was time for Mistress to go. I walked her to her car. Kissed her goodbye with a ferocity that fit the occasion, and wished her well. I had been tempted to slide her off into an adjoining room to give her a quick orgasm, but did not want to take the edge off her building sexual tension. We promised to stay in touch by text to assure all went well. And we did. And she came back safe and sound and interested in what the next step might be.

But what, if anything, happens next between Sir and Mistress is between them, and not for this correspondent to tell.

Mistress Gets her Gloves Out

Cold day here in River City. Mistress's gloves have many uses.

Mistress's Robo-Cock?

Dear Mistress,

Because of our spontaneous middle of the night activities, it seemed I slept a little later than normal this morning. And you have asked me to wake you up early for pleasuring because of a breakfast appointment on your busy schedule. So today’s homework is a little abbreviated. It does not do justice to a very eventful day for us in and out of bed. So I may take the option available to the bloviators in Congress to “revise and extend” my remarks later today, or over the weekend.

You suggested the title of today’s entry – “Robo-Cock” – when you giggled and teased me as my penis stiffened again last nigh,t during some discussion we were having about Vanilla Mom’s blog. You liked her recent story “Under Contract” and we wondered if she had noticed the title of our blog before she wrote it.  In any event, we both were flattered by her recent comment.

But the part of the discussion that got me going again concerned the potential Dom you had “interviewed”  yesterday afternoon. Sounds like he was interviewing you as much as you were interviewing him. And that’s how it should be. The issue was “titles”. If your exploration proceeded, what would he expect you to call him? Sir, Master? Or did it matter? What would he call you? Slave? Pet?

The question is not yet resolved, but I must confess the thought of it all, and our playful discussion of it did begin to harden me, even though we had made love  vigorously and with great satisfaction only an hour or so earlier.

You noted that about a year ago, when we spent too much time away from one another, and  were struggling to get beyond my own felony offense, I was more than happy with one performance a day. Two at most. You said I would whine that a guy in his late 50’s was doing pretty well “getting it up” once a day.

So here we are, in the same town and my “problem” is that I am turned on or on-able at the drop of a sly remark, the taste and fragrance of the back of your neck, or the gentle caress of your fingers against my shaft as I head to work, suited up for battle.

Of course there is no one answer to my accelerating addiction to you in recent months. You have always got me going, Mistress, going back to the evening we met more than 23 years ago, when I spotted that early-20’s hotty in her stylish short dress, who lit up that rubber chicken political dinner. I could not tear my eyes off you once I noticed you at the next table. Thankfully, you decided to talk to me, because the late 30’s lawyer I was then was too intimidated to approach you.

It took quite a few months before I finally had the chance to see you out of your stylish attire. And the rest is torrid history.

But these last few months has taken that to a new and surprising level. What makes me so much more combustible? It must involve my decision to put all my mental and sexual energy in one basket by submitting to you completely. No more Mr. remote, aloof, disengaged for me.  I know, your reaction: “It’s about time”. And it was long past time. The best decision I ever made.

That submission evolved over the months since July, 2008, and was enhanced to a large degree by our Contract, which I take very literally. It turns me on just to review it.

All of your little tricks helped me get there: the strap-on you use to remind me of your power, kneeling to worship you, sometimes with my hands tied behind my back, the croppings from time to time, and of course the cage you lock for me in the mornings before work, which contains and controls me through the day. The fact that you respond so dramatically in a sexual way to our activities is an important re-enforcement. I do love to please you, Mistress.

Finally, there is the recently discovered component involving your potential involvement with someone else. Why does that  turn me on? Confusing emotions are involved. In part I like the added sexual energy you get from the attention of someone else. It’s quite noticeable. There is also “validation” for me to be confronted with the knowledge that someone else desires “my” woman. And the potential humiliation of having to share you with another man, and hearing about your exploits with him, compounds the submission and “slavish” feelings that have triggered all this crazy sexual energy in me. And you saw evidence of that last night from ”robo-cock”.

A hard cock doesn’t lie, Mistress.

Oops. Deadline has arrived. And I don’t want to lose my opportunity to share the hard cock that this writing has generated.

This morning, you read this blog before we made love and headed off to our respective work days. Our sex was overheated by our ongoing dialog about whether you will allow Sir to “own” you from time to time, and whether his training has already begun.

You looked particularly hot in some sexy undies as you slid on those tight black jeans. My cage was already locked on, and as we kissed goodbye, the subject of this blog and the hard to articulate reasons your interactions with Sir turn me on came up again.  I said “Maybe if I think about it really hard I will figure it out, and the effect will go away.”

You responded “Don’t think about it too hard, Slave”. 

My response: “Yes, Mistress.”