Lighter Fluid

Because we have been sharing some fiction these last few days, readers may think that Mick and Molly have been slackers in the sex department. But as it turns out, we have been as crazy and compulsive as ever in our inability to suppress our sexual appetites.

We returned from our little mini-break late Tuesday night, tired from the Delta shuffle, and confronted by too much graying snow on the ground, and a house laid waste by surly teens in our absence. I lost track counting the empty pizza boxes.

That did dampen the fire a bit, and when I woke up Wednesday morning, realizing it was Abstinence Day, I knew I would have to keep my mind on other things to make it through the day.

But Mistress did not feel a need to co-operate. I donned my cage that morning, as she requires. The cold metal ring squeezing at the base of my balls was something I had not missed over our long weekend. But it is a nice reminder of my status. And it’s good to know Mistress cares enough to police me this way.

She was back at work too, and after a meeting downtown, she stopped by for some worship. After all, it had been, by then, a bit more than 24 hours for her as well.

And I was happy to please her. She took her place in her “throne”, an upholstered chair pressed against the closed door. And I took my place on my knees, sliding those alluring black tights down to her boot tops, making just enough room for my head to slide between her strong thighs.

By the time she had her fill of my lips and tongue, she seemed refreshed. But all I had to show for it was a very wet face and a cock straining against stainless steel, reminding me that I still had another 18 hours to go.

Mistress was worshiped again that evening. And while she released me from my cage, I was required to wait for more complete release until morning.

When I finally had a chance to take her on Thursday morning, about 48 hours had passed since my last opportunity to come. (I know, for some of you out there, that hardly seems like a sacrifice, but Mistress has me hooked and after only 24 hours ugly withdrawal symptoms rear their head, like Vladimir Putin winging it over Wasilla, Alaska).

The steel ring gripped my swollen balls and cock as Mistress consented to my request to fuck her, making my ultimate explosion … profound.

“Oh my, Slave. That was … impressive.”

Indeed.

After that Thursday morning parole, Mistress locked me away again, and it was off to work.

But what had me on edge through Thursday was knowing that Mistress had a first engagement that afternoon with someone … another man. In this case, she was meeting for a drink a prospective Dom who had contacted Molly after reading our postings.

Our “Contract” (reprinted in the early days of this blog), provides that Mistress has certain privileges that her Slave does not. They include the right to take other lovers, including other slaves. And her rights include her ability to submit to a Dom or Domme, as she chooses.

Now however this develops, what happens between Mistress and others is their business, and not for me to share (unless instructed to do so, of course).

But it’s hard not to comment on how these types of developments impact her Slave in this little world of ours. And, truth be told, Mistress’s outside “interests” do tend to raise the temperature a bit in our bed.

Why that is may be complicated, and way above my psychoanalytical pay grade. But I can only say that when Mistress’s fires are being stoked by the talents of someone in addition to just little old me, she becomes even hotter than her usual, extraordinary hotness. And that makes me even hotter for her. It’s like spraying a bit more lighter fluid on some already glowing coals. Wooosh!

Maybe someday we will get over this condition, but what’s the rush.

So by Thursday evening, when Mistress returned home from her introductory “date”, me still locked away in my cage, I was pretty desperate for my opportunity to worship her.

She arrived home around 7 pm in a black wrap dress, cut in a way to show lots of those enticing legs in their black tights and boots.

Mistress settled onto the bed, with that “cat that ate the canary” look. Things must have gone well, I surmised.

I knelt, and helped Mistress remove her boots, taking her fragrant toes into my mouth, massaging them with my fingers, then working my way up her thighs.

When I pulled her tights down, just low enough to slide my head between her thighs, I could tell Mistress was already quite aroused. I had to wonder how long that had been going on. Hmmm.

Mistress squirmed hard against my mouth, and soon came with a series of moans, and bucks against my probing tongue. It seemed like a series of satisfying quakes before she gently pushed my head away.

“Enough Slave”, she said with a loving smile, rubbing her fingers through my hair. A contented Mistress is my prime directive.

“Looks like you will have to wait until after dinner though…”

Her fingers reached down to settle on the hard contours of my steel cage.

“Let’s just leave this on for a while, until I am ready for you.”

Argh.

“That’s your call, Mistress.”

“Of course it is.”

Ski Patrol III ( A little more fiction)

Our reader, M, no slouch on the slopes himself, has been following this little adventure and contributed Part III. Molly gave it her (leaking) seal of approval, so we are sharing it with the rest of you:

Satisfied that his conquest was securely stretched across the picnic table, bottom exposed to the elements in this private “out of bounds” glade, Mike walked around behind her, using his fingers to gently pry apart her lips. Then he took two finger from his other hand and roughly shoved them deep up her cunt. As he expected, Molly was soaking wet.

“My, my, what a hot little slut you are”.

Molly just moaned, squirming against his hand, but with her hand tied down, and her feet anchored in her heavy boots and skis, she had no way to evade his invading fingers.

He fucked her hard with those fingers. She was getting so close, moaning, bucking her hips, muscles tensing ----- ready to cum, ---almost there---

But, abruptly, he pulled out his fingers, leaving her ass humping at the chilly mountain air ….

“PLEASE” she begged, gasping in frustration.

He just laughed, hands sliding up her back, into her dark flowing hair, he walked forward, where he could look her in the eye.

Mike had a smug look on his face as he pushed the two fingers in her mouth.

“Clean them.”

Humiliated, Molly was forced to taste her own juices, shutting her eyes, embarrassed to look at him.

“My particular fetish is orgasm denial. Some call it ‘edging’. You know what that is don't you?

Still tied over the table she silently nodded yes.

“Yes, I thought you would.”

“As it turns out, it’s your lucky day, Molly. I am on duty to spend all night on the mountain. ‘On call’, so to speak. In case some crazy boarder gets lost, or the groomers have a problem. I get to sleep in that hut with a nice warm fire”.

And as my lucky guest, you are going to spend a long agonizing night, with your needy little cunt dripping and frustrated. “

Molly shook her head, struggled against the rope restraining her.

“I can’t…my husband….”

“ Oh, I am sure he will understand. And he has all that work to do! Which pocket do you have your cell phone in?”

She told him. He fished out the phone, while a hand rested on her ass, an ass that had resumed its unsubtle squirming. By now she knew he wouldn’t let her hump her way to an orgasm, but….

“Under what name do you have your husband listed?”

He found the number, pressed send, and held the phone to her mouth. It rang.

“Tell him you are going to spend the night with some hunky ski patrol guy you met.

“You can also Tell him what I plan to do to you. You can add that I intend to blister your bare bottom, then use your ass again and again.”

“Tell him how I am going to keep you on edge and frustrated all night long.”

Just then he slid his hand under he heaving chest, grasping and squeezing one of her already hardened nipples. She hissed with the pain.

“Tell him while you are hissing. Tell him to pick you up at 9:00 AM at the main lodge”

She did, talking to her husband, trying to filter out the strange combination of pleasure and pain as she mumbled into the cell phone. Her husband, her obedient little Slave, took the news surprisingly well.

Mike could overhear him say “Yes, Mistress.”

Then he snapped the phone shut. Molly, eyes were pressed shut, chest heaving in surrender. While she was relieved when Mike finally released her nipple, she knew there was much more torment to come.

“Are you ready, you little slut?”

Mike stepped back, pulled off his big black leather belt, doubling it over as she watched with wide eyes. Holding the belt in one hand he unzipped himself, revealing a full and very hard cock. Molly eyed it greedily.

“You want to kiss and suck that don't you, Molly?”

“Yes” she hissed.

Fiction Friday: Ski Partrol II

(a fictional adventure that began in last Saturday’s posting…..make sure you read part one if you want to make any sense of this silliness).

Fortunately, Molly was a good skier. Her balance and skill made up for the fact that her hands were lashed to the center of her ski poles, as she slid off the lift seat, right behind her new Ski Patrol-man “pal”.

Common sense told her to stop and ask some dumbfounded tourist to release her hands. Let Mike have his laugh at her expense with his other ski patrol buddies over a Sierra Nevada at some local watering hole once the lifts shut down for the night.

But…. he was moving faster down the trail. He sure could ski. Something about those graceful arching turns and the sway of his body over his skis was almost hypnotic. Molly could not help but follow, arms joined in front, like some silly beginning skier in lessons. She was mimicking his turns, falling into a rhythm with him that was ….

Damn, she thought to herself, this fucker has me skiing really hot, and hot and bothered to boot. Trouble. And he hasn’t even turned around to notice I am following, doing exactly what he said….asshole.

Within moments they were alone on a gently sloping trail, a part of the mountain that did not seem familiar to Molly. He slowed, sliding off onto a side trail into a glade of pine and aspen trees.

“Hey”, she called, wanting him to stop. Molly was never into this crazy tree skiing that Mick and the girls liked.

But he kept sliding and skidding deeper into the forest, the trail narrowing. Her heart beating faster. She was getting out of her comfort zone. She was now somewhere on the mountain from which it would not be easy to find her way back to the beaten path.

Suddenly he pulled up, where the trees opened to a small clearing. A tiny cabin / mountain hut with a single window, a picnic table standing next to it.

He clicked his boots out of his skis with a quick motion, but said to her, “Leave yours on for a moment, Molly.”

He strode toward her, closing the gap quickly. Molly was a bit out of breath from navigating the tight trail behind him, and as he approached her heart beat a little faster…the was very vulnerable, but her hardening nipples told her something else.

With one hand, he gripped her hands where they were lashed together, holding them down at her waist. He unclipped the chin strap of his helmet, tossing it onto the snow, near his skis. He slowly walked her back, sliding her against a thick aspen, her skis on either side of the trunk.

Leaning toward her pulled off her sun glasses, sliding them into her pocket.

“Wanted to see what those eyes would tell me, Molly”.

She wriggled her wrists a bit, half heatedly trying to pull away. His grip was strong.

She played it tough, trying to seem unmoved, aloof. It was hard.

“And what do they say?”

“You like it rough, right?”

Molly just blushed, shaking her head. Engaging in a little more futile tugging. How did he know?

He used his unencumbered hand to slowly unzip her black ski shell, down to her waist. It was a warm day. Underneath she wore just a thin, silky black turtlenek. He snickered as he saw the outlines of her hardened nipples, probing through the fabric of her bra and top.

His fingers grabbed one. Massaging at first. Then squeezing, hard. She gasped. It hurt, but …. well… why was her body arching against his, trying to find contact. She was gone.

As her mouth opened to curse him, demand that he stop, his lips pressed against hers. Taking her with a probing tongue. And she was returning the kiss with a scary desperation.

Abruptly, he pulled back, one hands still grasping her bound hands.

“I guessed you were a hot little slut…. You know how often the guys have talked about nailing you?”

Molly face was red. She needed him now. But he wasn’t quite ready to give her what she needed.

He pulled her by the wrists toward the picnic table. She struggled a bit, but he was strong. Relentless. So she relented.

He slid her face first against the picnic table, her skis trapped underneath. He pulled her arms forward over the table top, then grabbed a line of additional rope from his waist belt, attached one end to her wrists, and pulled her face down onto the table, securing her there. She struggled some more. But she knew she was stuck. And vulnerable.

He just laughed, and cooed at her in a patronizing way, his hands running down her back, to her bottom. Smug asshole.

He slowly walked around behind her.

His hand moved up the inside of her thigh, making her squirm. It lingered between her legs. She squirmed more. Shameless, now, she thrust her ass against his hand, longing for something firmer.

“You were a little tease on that chair, Molly.”

“No”, she said, moaning as his hand toyed with her.

“And you need a nice spanking to teach you the error of your ways.”

“Oh no”, louder. Molly was not into pain.

His hands reached around, finding the button and zipper of her black stretch pants, pulling them open. She struggled more intensely, but what could she do?

He yanked them down hard, pulling her slinky black tights down with them, just below her knees.

“No undies, Molly? Naughty.”

Her firm, strong ass felt the brisk mountain air. But it was not cold enough to damp the fire between her legs. Not when a finger frankly probed her, pulling away damp and sticky.

“You do like this, don’t you Molly.”

She shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes, all the while moaning as his fingers toyed with her. So fucking close.

“I’m thinking 20 hard swats, then we will see about your other needs, Molly.”

HNT / Apres Ski "Switch"

Monday was Mick and Molly’s last ski day on our little “mini-break”. Most of the weekend crowd had headed home, and we made sure to exploit the bright sun and softened snow on wide open slopes.

Early in our day, Mistress taunted her Slave about a particular tall and buff skier dressed in black who had scoped her out in the locker as she slid on her boots.

“There’s a nice one, Slave.” She had that lascivious little grin, and  eyes that sparkled with lust. She likes the rugged “mountain man” types.

I took note of Mistress’s roving eye. She feels enabled by her contractual rights. That seems to get her imagination (and juices) flowing. And I like it too.

As the sun settled lower in the sky, we headed back down the mountain to our little adobe cabin.  This is the time of a ski day that both of us treasure: a little wine, a nap, some activity between the sheets, appreciating yet another big sky sunset. In no particular order.

I stoked our Kiva fireplace. Poured some wine. We read a bit. 

After about an hour of R & R time, I pulled out the red leather cuffs with their little locks.

“Remember my rain check, Mistress.”

She grumbled a bit, but surrendered as agreed. The cuffs were locked on in front of her, clipped together.

I positioned one of our Mexican chairs and a hassock in front of the fire, and placed two pillows on the floor.  Then I yanked the black long underwear Mistress was lounging in down around her muscular calves.

“Kneel, slut.”

Mistress’s eyes sparked in defiance for a moment, but she was in no position to defy me.

She assumed her position, her arms stretched in front of her, head resting on the seat of the chair. The warmth and flickering light from the fire only a few feet away made the flesh of her warm, firm bottom glow.

I kneeled next to her, using my hand to gently stroke that lovely ass. He little undulations against my hand suggested she enjoyed my attention.

“You liked that tall, rugged skier in the locker room today, didn’t you, slut.”

“Ummm, Huh”.

“I bet you would like to be presenting your lovely ass to him just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe”.

I kept stroking, then dipped a finger between her legs. Wet. Very.

“It turns you on just to think about him, and what he would do to you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re turning me on, Slave.”

“But his strong , strange hands exploring your body would make you even hotter, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe.”

“No doubt.”

I began to spank her, a lighter touch at first, then harder.

She took it for a while like a good little slut, but then began to whimper and complain.

“That hurts.”

“That’s the idea. Do you think your big buff skier would stop spanking you at your first complaint.”

I slapped her reddening bottom again. The hardest yet. She squirmed, her bottom bouncing high off the hassock.

“No.”  

Not in her dark and dirty imagination he wouldn’t.

“he’d spank you even harder if you complained, wouldn’t he, slut?”

“Yes.”

She was moaning now, her ass squirming between my strokes. The scent of her arousal mixed with the aroma of burning pinon. (An interesting concept for a musky new perfume, no?)

I let up for a moment, holding her firmly in place with one hand while I reached for the little V shape vibrator I had parked close at hand on the floor.

My fingers discovered just how wet she had become during this little ritual. One end of the vibe slid easily into her, with the other end nestling between her folds, against her thickening clit. The device  was already churning away, and my strong Mistress was turned into a squirming little slut as I resumed her “punishment”.

My left hand administered just a few more spanks, as my right hand pressed the vibrator into her, making sure that her desperate gyrations would not dislodge it.

Mistress buried her head in the cushion of her chair, as her body surrendered to confusing mixture of pleasure and pain.  I had to press my hand down hard as she bucked against me.

She thought she was done. Wrong. After letting her come down a bit, I resumed the spanking, harder still, with that little vibrator still buried in her.

She came again, moaning all the more. Her muscles relaxing as I slowly slide the vibrator from her dripping opening, then switched it off.

I let Mistress catch her breath, then pulled down my own black long johns.

We had talked earlier in the day about the common D/s scenario of a Slave kneeling to suck her Master’s cock. It’s something Mistress had contemplating doing for the lucky Master who might pop up someday with the chops to make her submit. It’s a particularly  compelling fantasy for her.

I suggested she might want to get some practice.

So I pulled Mistress from the chair, and had her kneel in front of me as I stood over her.

Maybe she is too tall (5’6”). Or I am too short (5’11’). But the kneeling / standing position did not align well. Mistress had to slide onto her ass to take me into her warm, luscious mouth. But that worked nicely. Mistress knows how to use her lips and tongue to get what she wants.

I was soon more than ready for the next course.

“He’d make you beg to fuck him, wouldn’t he, Mistress?”

“Maybe”.

“And you would, wouldn’t you, like a good little slut.”

“Of course.”

I pulled her to her feet, toward our bed.

“Well Let’s practice that next.”