Mick and Molly broke from our routine yesterday by posting a little “make believe” story derived from Mistress’s fantasies of exploring the sub side with a part-time Dom.
I was not sure how Mistress would react to my story. But the results were quite pleasing. Of course, Mick enjoys the smutty comment and emails he received suggesting that the erotic heat my story generated was felt several states away. Barack spoke about alternative energy sources in his SOTU. I am glad to have played my small part.
But this blog’s primary target is Mistress Molly. And my fictional cruise missle seemed to hit its target. I liked the flush on her face and the not so subtle squirm that seemed to spread through her body as she read on to the end, first my original work, then the revised version, with a somewhat expanded ending, posted later on Friday.
After her second read, when I was under the covers, toying with her through those clingingly damp black tights(see the helpful illustration), Mistress told me that she wants to find out what happens next. And I promised to expand on the story of Mistress’s rendezvous with Robert sometime soon.
Question: should the continuation be a first hand narrative, or the story of what happened as recounted by Molly to Mick as he kneels between her legs later that night? Or both?
As you might imagine, the little stories and speculations we sometimes share tend to quicken our desires for one another all the more. As if that’s possible.
An example: on Thursday Molly received an email on her “FetLife” posting (under MollyCollins if anyone wants to check it out) from a dominant fellow who lives on the other side of the River with his fetching Slave / wife. “I am intrigued by the cuckold lifestyle”, he told her, “It wouldn’t work for me because I am sexually dominant. But the idea of tormenting some poor husband while his wife is made to serve is interesting.”
Yes. Very interesting. Not long after we discussed his message, and Molly’s desire to respond and meet this couple for drinks sometime soon, Slave was buried between Mistress’s legs, and she was working through a series of mini-explosions as she pressed her self against me as I sucked her oh so responsive parts tightly between my teeth and lips.
Molly then gave me permission to fuck her, and asked me to describe my speculations on how a meeting with this couple would go.I will spare you the long version, but it involved Mistress bound, on her knees, being required to served both this assertive Master and his lovely Slave. That thought had Mistress demanding to be on top, so we reversed positions and she worked her self hard and long against me to the type of moaning crashing explosion that leaves her shaking and teary eyed. That’s my favorite kind.
Yesterday Mistress visited me again in my office, after a morning and lunch hour of some dreary meetings with one of her clients. She seemed eager for worship and I was happy to oblige. It was cold here, and both Slave and Mistress needed some warming up. As I prepared her throne, the talk turned again to my story about her and the fictional “Robert”. Those thoughts seemed to accelerate both of us, and as I knelt between her legs and tasted her through those black tights, I had the now familiar sensation of a hardening cock checked by the cold steel of the cage she had locked for me that morning.
Once Mistress’s tights were pulled down to provide my mouth with more direct access, Mistress wound her hands into what is left of my hair (there is some in back) and pulled me fiercely to her. The diabolically contented, look on her face from my perspective on my knees after she explodes for me in my office may be my only reward….but well worth the wet face and that time on my old, achy knees. Another day at the office.
(A break from our usual programming. A story. It's made up stuff. The names and places are figments of imagination....aren't they?)
The cell trilled on my desk. I was across the room, pensive. Looking out across the City, from my 25th floor perch.
Of course, I knew Mistress’s ring. But why? She had just left only 15 minutes earlier. I could still taste her on my lips and tongue.
And she was a sight. Smokey black stockings. A black suit just shorter than appropriate for a workday in River City. If she leaned over those stocking tops would catch a few wandering eyes. When I raised an eye at her outfit, she confessed she had been instructed to dress “slutty”. So she had.
I lurched for the phone, knowing she was just across the street. Didn’t he show? The thought of an aborted “mission” with her new “Sir” sent an agonizing mixture of relief and disappointment through me.
“Yes Mistress?”, I answered, unsuccessfully trying to draw on my Mr. Cool, professional voice.
“He wants to meet you.”
“Why?”
Avoiding an answer, she murmured, “You know where we are. Come over. Now. Please.” I couldn’t read her voice. Not scared. Embarassed? Maybe. He must have been sitting right next to her.
“Yes, Mistress”, I mumbled, but the connection was already closed. I had my orders.
I slipped on my jacket. Pocketed the phone, hustled to the elevator bank. I nodded off greetings from the regulars behind the security desk, no time to chat, then spun through the doors and jaywalked across the street to the little boutique hotel where I knew I would find her.
I spotted them in a booth in the Bar area, relatively empty at mid day, near the back. Discrete.
He was as she had described. A bit younger than me. Fit looking. Heavy wool blue blazer and tie. Costumed as you would expect a tenured faculty member at one of those small Colleges spread through the heartland. His was not far from our town.
They had stumbled upon one another over the internet. She had decided to exploit her rights under our contract – the right to take other lovers – and he was offering to scratch that itch she had to walk on the submissive side for a change.
I had asked only for the right to know what was going on. “Don’t leave me wondering”, I had asked. And in truth she knew that sharing some of the details of her budding flirtation seemed to throw fuel on our already incendiary sex life.
Mistress had shown me some of their steamy texts. Their sordid emails. Told me about some of the calls. How he persuaded her to touch herself. Then denied her “permission”, until she had to beg. I could tell she was hooked. And he was reeling her in slowly, diabolically.
They had met once before. An interview, she called it. He was a gentleman. She must have passed muster. But this was the day. He expected her to submit. “Completely”, he had required. She agreed. Could not do anything else by then. She was lost.
But both of us were anxious. What did he mean by “complete” submission. She had some ideas about what to expect. He was plain about his own needs. She would be in her knees. Bound. Require to Beg. There were some understandings between them. But still…
They sat opposite one another. I could tell she was uneasy. Squirmy in her seat. As I approached, they rose. “Mick, this is Robert”, she said, avoiding eye contact. We shook hands briefly. Hard to touch him, knowing he would soon be touching her. And that she wanted that touch.
He indicated I should sit down, next to my Mistress. My hand draped under the table over her lap, reaching for and clutching her hand. Hard. She seemed as wired as I was.
“So you’re Molly’s Slave?
“That’s me”. It’s not something I had publicly admitted to anyone in person before. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. The humiliation had begin.
“She’s told me about you. And of course, there’s your blog. Interesting stuff.”
“Yes. She requires it. It’s my daily homework.”
“You understand that Molly is here to submit to my control, don’t you?” The small talk was over.
“Yes, I understand that’s why she’s here.” I squeezed her hand tighter. Looking at her. She, glanced at me, blushing, then looked away.
“She’s agreed to be mine, at least when we can arrange to be together. just like you are her Slave, she is now mine. Isn’t that right, Molly.”
Molly nodded. He looked at her, a flash in his eyes.
“Yes, Sir. I will be – am - your Slave.”
“That’s better. And Mick, you have no problem with that do you?”
“That’s her right, under our contract.”
“Of course it is”. He smiled. Smug asshole. I didn’t like him. Not that it mattered.
“Are you wearing your cage today, Mick?”
Another blush of humiliation crossed my face.
“Yes, it’s on.”
“Where’s the key, Molly?”
“At home.”
“Good. …. Well it’s good to know we all understand one another. Molly, nowcome sit next to me here.”, he said, patting the space next to him in the leather upholstered booth.
It took a moment for his order to sink in. I slowly loosened my grip on her hand. As Molly rose, I caught a glimpse of those magnificent legs and the tops of her stockings. Argh. Why had I agreed to this, to the contract?
She slid in beside him and he quickly closed the space between them. I could see his hand moving to her lap, but could not see exactly where he had placed it. There was the rustle of her stockings pressing against one another.
“Molly is a dream Mick. Quite a girl. I am lucky to have her, don’t you think?”
“Of course. I love her. She’s everything to me.”
‘Well I promise to take good care of her….and train her well. She might learn a few things to make her a better Mistress. Though probably more demanding. Stricter. She is pretty easy on you, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is. “
“Well that may change. Slave’s need a firm hand. Don’t you agree, pet?”
By now I could sense his hands moving on Mistress’s lap, and her breathing seemed a bit more labored.
“Yes…Sir.” She gasped. Startled by something, no doubt that hand hidden from me.
“Spread your legs a bit, Molly”, he instructed.
She looked at him, embarrassed. Eyes pleading.
“No. Not hear, Not in front of him.” She seemed sad, desperate.
“Didn’t you agree to submit…. completely?”
His hand had not pulled away, but held its position.
“Yes”, she conceded. Surrendering.
I could tell Mistress was aroused, almost broken. She shifted in her seat. I knew her legs were opening. I imagined how his fingers were caressing her. Taking her down. Then I heard her stifled gasp, the sound she makes when she is oh so very close. Her eyes were closed, head pressed against the back of the booth.
But she was holding back. For me? No, for him.
“You can’t come without my permission, Pet. You understand that don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir”. Her head was down. She wouldn’t look at either one of us. But I could tell she was desperate.
“Do you want to come now, Molly”.
“Yes….Please. Please”, she moaned squirmed, trying to conceal her desperation from the post lunch stragglers mingling at the Bar. I swear I could smell her arousal in the air.
I was in agony for her. Wanted to help. But she was in his hands now. And it was then I noticed that my own cock was hardening, pressing against the steel cage. Crazy.
Suddenly, he pulled his hand away. She moaned, startled to have been abandoned.
“Maybe we should let Mick get back to work now.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, extracting a thin piece of cord.
“Slide off your jacket, dear”. She was startled. Shook her head.
“Don’t make me ask again…you are already due a punishment.”
Mistress gave in again. She shrugged out of her jacket, and he turned her, gathering her wrists behind her, crossing them, binding them.
“It’s what you want right?” Mistress just nodded, head down, face buried in her flowing dark hair. He slid the jacket over her shoulders.
“Keep your arms up high and no one will notice. Not that I really care if they do,” he chuckled.
They rose. He steadied her. Took her by the elbow.
“Later, Mick”, he said over his shoulder as they stepped away from the table. She just looked at me, then turned toward him. Leaning into him.
I sat there. Watched them walk across the lobby toward the elevator bank, aching inside that cage, wondering when I would get her back; who I would get back.
Wednesday is my Abstinence Day, when it’s my job to pleasure Mistress without a return on my “investment”.
The concept came to us a few months back, when Mistress had to refrain for a few days for medical reasons, when we discovered that desire deferred heightens our sexual experience. (No real surprise there, of course, but we had just been doing it so damn much it was a “rediscovery”).
When Slave suggested that we recreate that experience with a day off once a week to drive us crazy, Mistress concluded that what might work for the Goose was not necessarily required for the Gander.
“Maybe we just let you abstain, Slave. I can’t think of a good reason why I should.”
And since the Slave no longer has a vote on such matters, the course was chosen.
Some weeks Mistress relents in her mercy before the end of Abstinence Day (check out last week’s entry). Yesterday was not one of those days.
It began early, with Slave cramming his goods into the steel ring of his cage. It’s something that needs to get handled almost immediately after I wake up, or the cold morning air will make me contract. When that happens, the job just can’t get done right.
Mistress put me on notice the night before that I would be expected to fuck her with a nice hard cock before heading to work. But I would have to control myself and hold to my vows.
The anticipation of my duty, and the tight grip of the steel ring at the base of my cock and balls had me thick and squirmy by the time it was time to wake Mistress. As I slid into bed beside her, I remembered she still had those lovely stockings on from the night before. Argh. As their fabric rustled against me (and she made sure it did), I became instantly “fuck-worthy” hard.
Mistress picked up her lap top and read my homework. I slid under the covers and pleasured her with enthusiastic tongue and mouth. In the back of my mind, I speculated that if I did a good enough job I might be spared the obligation of fucking her without a “reward”.
Nope. After Mistress came with some nice little moans and thrusts against my mouth, I sidled up next to her for a comforting cuddle.
Her hand quickly snaked down to grasp me. Her fingers teased for a few moments, making me shudder. Already close. And of course the tight grip of the ring made me all the harder.
“Ummmm. Nice. Just the way I like it. Now you can fuck me, Slave.”
I knew my duty called, sliding on top of her, slowly allowing my cock to fill her. I took pride in her moan of delight, and all those little sounds she emits as I began to move more quickly against her open legs.
Now this was not exactly torture. I do enjoy the sensation of being so close and so hard inside Mistress. And I take great pride in reducing her to a panting, moaning, demon when I take her this way. I just knew how hard it would be to stop once she was done.
I took her up and over the mountain once, slowed, then one more time. As we rested a bit, me still hard inside her, I asked her to consider how it would feel to be tied to some would-be Dom’s bed as he fucked her over and over again, all day, all night, relentlessly, while denying her the permission to come.
This story line made Mistress all the hotter and I had her moaning and bucking one more time.
Finally we realized that about 30 minutes had passed. Teens were getting ready to leave for school. It was time for Slave’s exit strategy to be implemented. So, reluctantly, I declared victory and retreated to the shower. Still hard. Very frustrated.
Of course that was not the end of this sad tale of Slave’s denial.
Mistress was downtown for work and planned to pay a visit. She appeared at my office door after lunch, with a local poobah in tow, who wanted to have a word with me. He offered to leave Mistress and I alone for a few minutes to take care of our “business”, though I doubt he contemplated what we had planned. But we demurred, and I advised my old friend on his plans, before sending him on his way.
Soon the door was closed, Mistress was in her throne, dress hiked up, tights pulled down. And her Slave was on his knees worshiping, with my cock pressing against the metal bars of my little cage. Ouch.
Together we went to a reception for a local educator, and it was enjoyable to see several other men strip Mistress out of her lovely black dress with their eyes. I stood close, enjoying the occasional opportunity to lightly caress her bottom.
At home we ate an abbreviated dinner laid out on our bed, enjoying the pre-game coverage of the Hope Monger’s SOTU presentation. Mistress had stripped away her dress and tights, and was in her black bra and panties. Before the main event commenced, I offered to worship one more time, and she gladly accepted. She splayed herself across the bed, me kneeling on a pillow, still caged.
Mistress relaxed as my tongue and lips caressed her to a pleasing climax, but I maintained my position waiting for her permission to arise. It was obvious as we talked that Mistress was not done with me just yet, so I reapplied my mouth to her sodden lips, a finger sliding inside to aid me. After a few more minutes of this pleasant duty, Mistress bucked and sighed with pleasure, and allowed me to rise. She asked me to retrieve the key to my cage and released me.
But there was no offer of clemency from my vows. She had enough for one day. I just had to wait until morning.
Mistress likes to press my buttons in different ways. She knows what turns me on, and all those little turn on’s make me all the more devoted to her. And she has found most of them after more than 20 years “together”.
Most nights she wears a little “costume” for me: some skimpy lingerie that I have bought for her for a birthday or other special occasion. Or something that we have picked out together. Paging back through this blog, you will find bits and pieces of those costumes.
Now there is nothing like a naked Mistress to play with. It’s like having an “all access” pass. But I do like unwrapping the package too, sliding off those lacy panties she likes, or shoving the crotch aside to make room for a tongue or finger.
Last night’s costume was particularly fetching, as the photos attached show. Mistress had bought some stockings prior to the big wedding in the Windy City, but time slipped away, and they stayed in their little package.
When I came upstairs after doing my assigned kitchen clean up duties, I found Mistress prepping for bed. She wore A lovely black silk top I had found her for Christmas, along with some smoky gray stockings. Yum.
This Slave has always been a “leg-man”.
My fixation on stockings, and particularly that fleshy space of white where the stockings end, is well known to Mistress. I am old enough to remember the fidgety 8th grade girls in My Catholic elementary school, with hose pulled up to mid thigh, and the large brute of a Nun who had to loudly remind me more than once “eyes where they belong, Mr. Collins.”
“Yes, Sister”, I would stammer, blushing as the girls in class giggled and fidgeted all the more.
And I can remember my high school girlfriend sitting next to me in my Dad’s T-Bird, on our way home from the movies, spreading her thighs just enough to indulge me as my hands slid up over her knee to find that spot where silky nylon ended and warm flesh began.
Mistress learned early on in our relationship to tease and torment me with her lovely and muscular legs and various forms of coverings.
Last night as we slid under the sheets, I sidled up to Mistress and felt the caress of her stockings against my own legs. She tormented me a bit by sliding a knee between my legs so that my thickening cock was caressed by the soft fabric.
I decided to return the torment. We kissed for a long time, clinging to one another, as I used a single finger to very gently stroke her inner thighs and the folds between her legs. The scent of her arousal became all the more apparent with the heightened urgency of her kisses.
When she pressed her hips harder against my finger, I took that as a signal to slow down. No rush. Make her a little more desperate, I thought. Like she does to me.
I knew Abstinence Day was over the horizon, so I wanted to make this last.
But Mistress is crafty. After a few more minutes of gentle teasing she captured my hand between her thighs and pressed her juicy cunt against it, taking herself over the edge with a moan and shudder.
“Do you want to fuck me now, Slave”, she asked in a voice filled with her arousal.
“Yes, Mistress”, and I was more than ready. I slid her blue panties off her hips and down her legs and mounted her. Mistress had instructed me to insert that little white probe, and as I pressed and pumped into her, my ass clenched against the probe, making my cock throb as it plunged away.
The soft texture of her stockings scratching against my balls as I exercised my privilege was all the more stimulating.
I made sure Mistress got a proper return on her investment in those stockings, sliding a finger between her legs to take her over the top one more time. Then it was Slave’s turn, and my cock exploded for her in a way that had Mistress, saying, “My, that was a good one Slave.”
She instructed me to wake her a little early today to pleasure her before we drive downtown together. I have the ring to my cage on already, and know I will be required to fuck her until she is fully satisfied while stifling my own desire until tomorrow morning. Duty calls….
