Mile (and a half) High Sex

Mick and Molly have been on the move, and are now at our undisclosed location in the shadow of the Sangre De Christo Mountains.

So here is an update on our travels.

Wednesday was Mick’s abstinence day. After giving Mistress the benefit of my hard, steel ringed cock before heading off to work, I was required to stew for the day, in a state of denial.  I can almost hear your moans of sympathy!

When we arrived home there was some fresh snow to shovel, but finally we were able to relax in bed before preparing some dinner for the teens.

Mistress asked if I had forgotten something….and I probably do try to bury my sexual impulses on abstinence day….

“Sorry, Mistress. Would you like me to worship you?”

“It’s About time, Slave.”

Just as I was helping her pull down those sheer black tights, to get access to her tasty parts, the phone rang. It was her Mother, a figure of somewhat intimidating authority in her own right.

I answered, made some obligatory small talk, then handed the phone to Mistress, who wanted to discuss some career developments with her mother.

But Mistress was still interested in worship, spreading her legs and indicating where I should kneel.

She laid back on the bed, chatting through developments, getting her Mother’s advice, and covering plans for the teens over the weekend.

Meanwhile I was on my assigned task, using lips and tongue to distract Mistress as best as I could.

Fortunately, Mistress is an accomplished multi-tasker. She was able to maintain her focus with her Mother, while I worked her through a series of little quaking, shuddering orgasms. Ultimately, she patted me on the head, like a little puppy being rewarded for retrieving the morning paper from the driveway. Sadly, that was the only reward I was to receive for some time.

We had an early flight in the morning, and Mistress seemed sated, so no more sexual hi-jinks that evening. Instead it was a little more of “Damages, Season One” then lights out.

Nor was there time for any release from my abstinence in the morning. Just off to the airport. Without an upgrade, we were confined to steerage, and  an annoying woman I know from civic life plopped down next to us. An inconvenient coincidence. So Mistress and Slave had to be in relatively good behavior for the long flight west. Bummer.

By the time we rolled our rent-a-car into our little town’s organic grocery’s lot to stock up on provisions, both Mistress and Slave were a bit spacey, and, well, randy.  We climbed out of the car, me dawdling a bit to lock up.

As I walked around the car toward Mistress, I noticed her clutching the arm of another man, blonde, rugged looking, closer to her age than mine, then, suddenly, she backed away.

She turned to me, blushing. The man made a comment, then walked on.

I raised a quizical eyebrow…

“Oh God. I thought it was you. I grabbed his arm  and called him “Slave”!

I laughed.

“And what did he say, Mistress?”

“I think you have the wrong guy”.

Naturally, we kept seeing this hunk-ster as we worked our way through the grocery store. Eye contact was scrupulously avoided. It was fun to see Mistress a bit humiliated for a change!

Once we were safely locked away in our adobe retreat, Mistress imposed a new rule for this weekend: I am to wear no pants or underwear while we are in the cabin alone.

“My cock needs to be accessible, Slave.”

And not long after our arrival, I adapted to her new rules.

Finally, the draught (all 48 hours of it) was coming to an end.

Mistress wanted my cock particularly hard, and instructed me to insert my little white probe. It had the desired impact, and I was thickening before I even slid into bed next to her.

I had the privilege of bringing Mistress to her first orgasm with my mouth, tasting her musky juices  through some skimpy black undies she acquired for Christmas.  Her randiness showed as she bucked enthusiastically across the bed in her final throws, unable to shake my clinging lips.

Then it was my turn to take her head on, stoking our fires a bit with talk about some folks we have introduced ourselves to  over Fetlife, and will meet “live” when we return back to River City. Pictures they posted earlier this week were food for some incendiary fantasy muttered between us. The result was a very, very hot explosion for both Mistress and Slave. A dramatic way to end my fast.

We spent the evening relaxing in bed, sipping some Jamieson, reading, watching a DVD, and were asleep early. It had been a long travel day.

But Slave and his cock seem to stay on East Coast for these brief trips. I found myself awake early, long before the sun rises over the Mountains. And Mistress was awake too.

“Is that a hard cock pressed against my ass, Slave?”

“Seems that way, Mistress.”

My hand snaked down between her legs, from behind. I began to gently stroke her there with greedy fingers, my lips against her neck. Changes in her breathing patterns told the tale of her arousal. And within moments, her firm bottom was bucking against me as she sailed over the edge.

I rose over her, pressing her facedown into the bed, and her fingers helped position  me to slide inside the passage that was so wet and welcoming.

I reminded her of the photo we had seen the night before. A naked woman on all fours, seen from behind. Her master standing over her, flogger ready to caress her, then force her to beg for the hard cock that was sure to come after some firm punishment.

All this talk had the desired effect. Mistress was soon shuddering, admitting how she would like to beg that very same way.

When we were done, Mistress was soon back to sleep. And she still is. It’s still a dark, moonless night here at 7800 feet.

But we have a busy Ski day ahead.

A Different Sort of Casting Call

A few months back, Molly put out a casting call for a part time Dom. She has had several expressions of interest, and, who knows, maybe things will develop on that front.

But today we received the email below from someone who appears to be a producer for the CW (the network that brought us the surly teens' favorite show of the moment, Gossip Girls) asking us to help them find some candidates for a new "reality" show called Secrets.

Of course, Mick and Molly guard their own privacy....while Molly is more than "smart, sophisticated and supremely glamorous", we would never consider coming out of our blog closet to preen on a show like this....We will leave that sort of narcissism to John Edwards and Reille Hunter.

But if any of you out who read this blog have an interest, instructions are below on who to contact. Just don't blame us if you are asked to appear before a Congressional Committee to explain why and how you crashed a White House dinner for a foreign potentate.


Dear Mick and Molly,

I am a tv producer that developing a new CW tv series called "Secrets." The CW, as you probably know, is best known for series like The Vampire Diaries, Melrose Place, 90210, Gossip Girl, etc. Wondering if you might be able to help further broadcast our casting search to your fans through your blog?

We’re looking for truly sophisticated, smart and supremely glamorous women who feel that they are living a double life.

Best and thanks!



– Chloe Steele





The CW television network is CASTING NOW!



The CW television network is looking for successful, professional American women who feel they’re leading a double-life – polished on the outside, out of control on the inside. Women who are keeping a secret from their friends, family and colleagues.

We’re looking for women who manage highly successful careers with a VERY active sex life.

Do you race from the boardroom to the dance floor of the trendiest, hippest night clubs every weekend?

Are you proud of how well you juggle your job and the five+ people that you’re dating?

Are you empowered enough to not even bother dating anyone?

Do you crave sex? Is it all you can think about?

If this sounds like your story please get in touch with our casting team and apply to be a part of this cutting-edge new television series:

www.cwsecrets.com

or shoot us an email at casting@cwsecrets.com and tell them Chloe Steele sent you!

Snow Day

When the phone rings here in the heartland at 5:30 am you know its going to be a robo call from the smarmy local school superintendent, letting us know that something is amiss. Yesterday, she let me know in her best insider’s voice that it was a snow day for the sullen teens. They could sleep in. That gave me a little extra time to finish up my faux expose on Mick and Molly’s Super Bowl adventures. Maybe next year, football fans!

I had forgotten to bring the little steel ring downstairs when I crept out of the bedroom, laptop under my arm, trying not to disturb Mistress. So when I came back p to bed to crawl in next to Mistress, her groping fingers discovered something was amiss.

“No ring, Slave?”

I gave my excuses. She snorted in disapproval at my forgetfulness.

“Lame, Slave. Very lame. I like what that ring does to my cock in the morning.”

But I was allowed to worship nonetheless, buried under the covers as she giggled over my work product – though I am not sure she got the part about our side bet on the Who’s play list.

Then Mistress indulged me by letting me take her with my hard, but un-ringed cock. Truth be told, while it makes it ever so harder to come when the tight steel ring grips my swollen balls, the extra effort is rewarded with a very devastating explosion when I cross into no man’s land and obtain Mistress’s permission.

After my shower, I put on my back-up cage, the CB3000 for those of you looking for product placements. Mistress seemed happy as always to close the little padlock, securing her cock away for the day.

Mistress’s business meeting was canceled due to the “white death” falling from the sky, so she worked from home, while her Slave slogged down the snow covered interstate. She did send me a sultry photo of her in bed, taken with her laptop camera, just to remind me of what I was missing.

When I returned home around 5 pm, she allowed me to kneel and worship her. I was happy to slide her tightly fitting exercise pants down those muscular legs, then bury my face between her legs. She lay back to enjoy my attention. And after she came with some soft little moans as I sucked her clit through my teeth, we relaxed on the bed, shuffling through the Times and Journal like a contented married couple.

But there was snow to shovel. Wet heavy snow. I suited and booted up, and took my time. This would be my exercise for the day, and it provided plenty of cardio – effort. When I came back upstairs, Mistress and I both napped a bit before throwing together a late dinner for the teens.

After adjourning to bed, we lazed about some more, watching yet another episode of Damages on our little screen. No sex but compelling characters.

When our show ended, the lights went out. Slave was a bit tired and lazy, but certainly wanted to take his pleasure from Mistress with Abstinence Day on the horizon.

We turned off the lights, and clung to one another, kissing deeply, my thigh pressed between Mistress’s leg, my hand drifting back over her ass to poke into her little brown hole, teasing her a bit in a way that made her hump against me all the harder.

I could sense her breathing tempo accelerate. A good tell that Mistress is getting hotter and hotter. To take her to that first orgasm, I slid my other hand between her legs. With fingers working her from front and back I soon had Mistress sliding over the edge, burying her head in Slave’s chest with little gasps of pleasure.

Mistress worked my cock a bit more, and then gave me permission to climb on board. It turned out to be a long, slow pleasurable session, with Slave getting more and more frustrated as I came so close, only to be held back a bit by diminished energy. I guess it’s what happens when a 59 year old has as much sex as I am allowed. And shovels snow too.

Of course, Mistress was amused. By now she had enjoyed several orgasms, while I was doing all the work.

“Frustrated, Slave?”

Yes, Mistress.”

I stopped for a moment, to take off my T-shirt.

Mistress took a brief break too, climbing from the bed.

“Keep it hard, Slave.”

I used my hand to follow her directive.

When she lay back down next to me, she cupped my balls with her soft, knowing fingers, and told me to keep going.

“Maybe I will have you come this way, Slave.”

I kept working with my hand on a desperate cock. Close.

“Or maybe I will make you watch me masturbate myself. Yes, that’s what I will do…”

Sadly, she moved her hands away from my aching balls, and to herself, laying back, working her hands between her spread legs.

The sight of Mistress pleasuring herself that way has always been a turn on for me….she knows what she’s doing and there are lessons to be learned.

She worked at herself hard, insistently, throwing her head back against the pillow, eyes scrunched tightly closed.

After a few moments, Mistress had one of those shattering explosions that bring sobs from her chest, tears streaming down her face.

I wanted to hold and comfort her. To kiss those tears away.

But I wanted to fuck her even more.

She gave me permission. My energy restored, my imagination inspired, I was soon begging for permission to come.

Now it’s morning, another snow day according to my private robo – caller. I did remember my ring this morning. Mistress will be pleased.

Mick and Molly's Super Sunday

Mick is a football fan. And that means suffering through the hype of the Super Bowl year after year. I am old enough to have watched at least a chunk of all of them, going back to the days of Bart Starr, Len Dawson and Joe Namath.

Of course, the venue and the company have changed over the years. College dorm rooms; Friends’ homes;  A Hotel room in the Big Apple one year, when the Redskins were still a politically correct and competitive team; our living rooms on four or five different houses.

 Molly is no football fan. I have pictures of her at my alma mater’s stadium  (a college football icon fallen on hard times) reading a book. At NFL games she has nodded off on my shoulder, making it hard for old Mick to follow the action when the drunks in front refuse to sit down on 3^rd down.

But here’s a story about a special Stupor bowl, Mick and Molly’s first after we signed our contract.

“Can’t believe we are home alone on a Sunday evening.  Wasn’t it nice for  grandma to have the girls over for dinner and to watch the game…just think if the trouble we can make in an empty house, Slave.”

“Uhhh, yes Mistress. But we are going to watch the game, right?”

“Is that your priority, Slave.”

Mistress was obviously disappointed. Slave was not sufficiently focused on pleasing her.

After some lengthy negotiations (yes, I know fellow Slaves, attempting to negotiate with your Mistress is a violation of a prime directive of D/s), we settled on some rules for watching the big game:

1)If Slave wanted to watch the game, he would be naked, locked in his cage throughout.

2)Slave would prepare dinner, assure Mistress’s comfort at all times, and sit at her feet when not fetching her food or beverages.

3)Mistress would pick her “team”. (In this case she picked the Saints, for all the obvious reasons, including the fact that Mick and Molly have had some very hot sex in the French Quarter over the years, and sex is hardly on Nap-town’s calling card).

4)When her team scored, Slave would take all steps necessary to give Mistress a suitable orgasm. 

5)When the other team scored, Mistress would use her wooden shoe horn to punish Slave, with the number of strokes matching the accumulated score for the opposing team.

There were some obscure side bets on the Who’s play-list. As an example of they played a chunk of “Love, Reign O’er Me” from Quadrophenia,  the cage would come off, the TV would be shut down, and Mistress and Molly would revert to role playing involving a high, semi-naked Co-Ed who stumbles into her boyfriend’s roommates bed by mistake. (This apparently was based on an unfulfilled fantasy from the early 70’s, when Mick was a draft card burner and Molly was in 6^th grade).

Kids out the door, we settled in for the kick-off.

I assured that Mistress’s wine glass was full.

She had on a cozy nighty and some smokey black stockings. No undies blocked access for what she hoped would be her frequent reward as the Saints lit up the scoreboard.

Sadly, the first two scores were by the Colts.

When their opening drive sputtered, I was grateful that my bottom would only suffer three strokes as a result of a Naptown field goal. Mistress had me lean over a side table and laid into me, adding a fourth stroke to compensate for her building frustration. After all, it had not been since morning, when Mistress had to “suffer” through a session with our Magic Wand.

“I thought the Saints had some type of high flying offense, Slave.”

We settled down again, but after A Saints receiver spoiled a drive by letting a 3^rd down pass slip through his buttered fingers, the Colts were on the move again.

This time a touchdown. Ouch. 10 times ouch.

By now sitting at Mistress’s feet was getting a little dicey, as Slave squirmed his sore bottom on the carpet.

Fortunately for Slave’s welted bottom, the tide began to turn.

The Saints came back with a field goal.

Mistress settled back into the couch and I buried my head between her legs. She was already wet and ready for me. Was it those dorky “Go Daddy” ads, or the building anticipation that sooner or later Drew Brees would have his way with the crafty Colts cornerbacks? Mistress took her time to allow my face and tongue to build her to a proper explosion. It was well worth missing a few Budweiser commercials and the faltering Colt offense’s next drive.

After the Saints’ kicker made another long field goal before the half ended, I was back on my knees, and Mistress was feeling much better about her concession to her Slave’s desire to watch the game.

At half time I served up some of my copyrighted Green Chili Stew, and we enjoyed the Who’s truncated set. Pete and Roger looked  more like aging history professors who could no longer persuade their female students to meet after class for a pint, than rock stars. But it was nice to be reminded not to be fooled again. I keep forgetting.

I was hoping for a Colts shutout in the 2^nd half. When the Saints came up with that on-side kick as the half began, I knew my butt had dodged a bullet. You don’t want to set Peyton Manning up at the 50 yard line.

When the Saints took the ball to the end zone on that first drive, Mistress elected my tongue for desert.

Sadly, the Colts were not done yet. Another Manning TD pass to that guy from Haiti. Mistress made me lean over our kitchen counter and take 17 hard strokes. Double ouch.

“You really must like football, Slave.”

“This may cure me Mistress.”

“Well if they score again, you can elect to turn it off, and come to bed with me.”

Was Mistress getting tired of my tongue? Longing for the hard tool that was by now straining against the harder steel cage?

 As the clock ticked down and the Colts moved into position for a TD to tie the game, I was considering  my options.

Did I want to risk 24 more strokes? My butt was fully tenderized already.

Or should I turn off the TV, take Mistress to bed and Use my unlocked cock on her.

But my inner football fan geek could not pass up the chance to watch what might have been the first Super Bowl OT.

Luckily for my bottom, Manning tossed that devastating interception, putting the game out of reach.

“It’s over, Mistress. Your Saints are gonna win.”

I switched off the TV, calculating that the chances of a Colts’ comeback from 14 down with 3 minutes to go was very, very low. Plus why risk 24 strokes if the Saints gave up a garbage TD in the final seconds?

But Mistress was due some attention from that last TD, and took her final orgasm upstairs in our bed, the old fashioned way.

“I could become a football fan yet, Slave.”

Hmmm. That might not be a good thing. Not sure my bottom could handle a high scoring shootout.  Maybe it’s good the season is finally over.

(OK, so this was an early April Fool entry. I made it  up, but for the Green Chili Stew. We had family and friends over to watch the game. In 100 years will Super Sunday be the new Christmas? Don’t tell Jim O’Reilly I suggested that might be so).