Mistress was an early riser today....

So her command that I come to attend to her needs came before I could compose a proper blog entry. Fortunately, I was able to deliver on the "needs attending" front, and received a generous reward.

I could be in for some punishment later for my failure to deliver on the blogging front though, I suppose.

Now the sun is out. bright blue skies. 4 inches of fresh snow overnight.

So this blogger and his firm but fair Mistress are goin' skiing.  Update you on our adventures tomorrow!

HNT/ Mistress Likes a Good Adventure

This week I have been talking about Mistress’s many desirable attributes. And a lot of them are the physical components that make up the very sexy whole.

But there is a more abstract quality that ties it all together: a sense of adventure, her willingness to press the edge of the sexual envelope in a way that always seems to inure to my benefit, too.

Molly does like an adventure. When she was a wee lass she was the type who signed up for summer programs that involved scaling the Grand Teton in Wyoming, and Mt. Ranier in Washington, or traipsing through the wilds of Alaska keeping her eyes pealed for Grizzlies.

But Mistress’s need for a good adventure is not limited to what she does in hiking boots.

What made her connect with this older guy back in the spring of 1988? I was 38 and she was just 23 when she called my bluff. I had been flirting in my dopey way, finding excuses to see her or be seen by her. She was the one who showed up in my office one day to frankly ask me, “So Mick, when are we going to do something about all this flirty stuff?” And from that first encounter, Mick was lost. But she was the one willing to take the risk.

Not long afterwards, when Mick suggested that it might be fun to tie up the little vixen as a prelude to a good fuck, Molly was all in.

I can remember one particularly choice scene in the Smokies in Tennessee, actually involving both sex and hiking boots: Molly tied, back to a tree, her jeans around her ankles, my face buried in her moist cunt.

And she was more than happy to lend me a firm wooden hairbrush to turn her bottom cherry red one day in a hotel room in our nation’s capitol.

Now that the tables are turned, and I am on the “s” side of a more formal D/s relationship, Mistress’s sense of adventure is every bit as sharp.

When I included in our contract a right for Mistress to take other slaves, or even submit to a “Master” of her choosing, it was only a matter of weeks before Mistress was testing the waters, and sharing the sordid and slutty details to drive me bonkers.

Just yesterday, after I brought Mistress her wake up coffee in our rustic bedroom here on the edge of the Sangre de Christo Mountains, Mistress shared with me an email she had received from Sir M. He was confirming their “date” next week, and soliciting another explicit photo as tribute before her return to town.

As we slid into bed together, I reached a hand between Mistress’s legs to discover that her cleanly shaven cunt was already wet and ready.

“Hmmm, Mistress. Already wet? I guess you like those emails, don’t you?”

“I am?” (mock coyness in her voice).

“Yeah…..very wet, Mistress. That email turned you on, admit it?”

“I suppose it did, Slave.”

Soon we were too focused on driving each other crazy with fingers and mouths to continue the conversation.

Later that day, we were up at the top of the mountain, with the surly teens, skis and boards at the ready. The older teen asked to shop for a T-Shirt on sale in the small, snow covered building used by the Ski Patrol as their Mountain Top HQ. We popped off the skis and stepped into the small, well used shack, filled with the detritus of gnarly guys who ski all day and (no doubt) part hard at night. These are guys who buy sunscreen by the gallon, and rope in 100 yard hanks.

Three or four Ski Patrol dudes, unshaven, bronzed and wearing their red and black jackets, chatted us up as my daughter made her selection. One, a guy with a ragged beard, seemed particularly interested in Molly, noting that he had seen her often on the mountain in recent years.

I just stood back and watched Molly deploy her considerable charm.

Back on the ski lift later that Day, Mistress was frank in her assessment:

“If you ever dump me (like that would happen), I’m coming out here for one of those guys.”

“You liked them, Mistress?”

“Oh, yes. That guy with the beard. Definitely.”

“He seemed a little scrawny to me, Mistress?”

“But in VERY good shape.”

“Well you don’t need to get rid of me first to sample his ‘stamina’, Mistress,”

“Of course I don’t, Slave.”





“Do you think he knew you wanted him, Mistress?”

“Hah. They probably see me as some suburban Mom with very vanilla tastes.”

“Wonder what they would think if they saw that shaved cunt of yours. Mistress?”

Not much of a reply. Just a little, “Hmmmm,” from Mistress.

I could tell that she was already contemplating her next adventure.

She's Got Legs....

It may have been Mistress’s long, strong and very shapely legs that made me fall head over heels for her all those years ago.

My first recollection of meeting Molly was at a political fundraising dinner in River City back in the Fall of 1987. She was an (early) 20 something who had recently gone to work for a politico who has since become a rumpled U.S. Senator (yes, he did vote for the health care bill).

I was a late 30’s professional, involved in the local political scene.  It was the age of Reagan and  Iran/Contra. Michael Dukakis had yet to don a combat helmet or ridden in a tank.

We were both married to other people at the time.

I saw her across the room: this young, vibrant beauty with long dark hair, and a stylish short dress that exposed those incredible legs.

Somehow I figured a way to get into her conversational orbit. She must have been chatting up a mutual friend. That was my chance to find out who this heavenly creature with the beautiful legs and luminous smile was. In the conversation that ensued, I can remember commenting on the length of that fashionable dress, how it was something one did not see often in our more conservative, frumpy town.

This was not the sort of conversational theme I would normally have launched into on my first encounter with any woman. But then I was immediately and hopelessly smitten.

She seemed amused, a bit flattered, by my attention.  But wary.  Very wary.

She turned down my obsequious and questionably motivated offer to walk her to her car that night. It was a dark night, in a not altogether safe downtown. I was simply concerned about her well being. Right. I was just looking for a chance to spend some private time with this young lovely.

 Later she told me that she had asked a bellman from the hotel where the dinner was held to do the honors. She was questioning my motivations. And rightfully so.

I will spare you devoted readers the tale of how we ended up in bed with one another within about 9 months from that fateful encounter.

But flashing forward through a lengthy affair, two children, marriage, and sidetracks to Florida and other locales, Mistress’s legs are as compelling as ever.

She keeps then in such shapeliness with lots of biking and other forms of exercise. They are weapons of mass seduction that need to be expertly maintained to retain their seductive powers, and she is an expert.

In years past, and on our witch days, I have enjoyed restraining them, ankles tied to opposite sides of the bed, so I can work my hands and mouth up their full length, watching her squim in anticipation.

In my recently discovered status as her Slave, I enjoy kneeling for her,  her legs spread wide, or maybe draped over my shoulders,  gripping my head, as I use my mouth and tongue to show my devotion to her.

I will remain eternally grateful that Mistress had not worn trousers to that fundraising event all those years ago.

Yesterday an anonymous commenter asked if I had ever “taken Molly up the ass”. The answer is “uh….no.” It’s not something either one of us have been into. I suspect it would take some very powerful persuasion to get Molly interested in that particular experience.

 

Diabolical Fingers

Today’s favorite parts are Mistress’s hands, and particularly those slender, well manicured fingers. She puts them to good use when she strokes my neck on the long drive to our undisclosed destination, or when she uses them to tease at my cock and balls to create a rigid form worthy of her. And of course those hands wield the crop or wooden shoehorn she uses to remind me of my status as her Slave.

The photo is from Sunday's switch, when Mistress was required to submit to her Slave's cropping.

Yesterday Molly put her fingers to good use after a “stressful” day on the slopes.

Mick got in more than his fair share of moguls yesterday, soft and just a tad slushy under the intense Southwestern sun. By the time we slid off the ski boots and headed back down the mountain, we were both ready for some R & R, first out on the patio, soaking up rays while reading books, then back in our bedroom.

“Are you going to fuck me now, Slave?”

“Hmmm….how about a nap first, Mistress. I was nodding off out there.”

Mistress is never one to turn down a nap, and we both dozed a bit before Mistress woke and took a shower. We were taking the teens out to dinner and to hear some local honky tonk music in about an hour. It seemed the window of sex opportunity had closed, and we tentatively agreed we would get back on track after dinner.

But when Mistress got back in bed to read after her shower, my own fingers had trouble keeping away from her smooth shaven parts. It is a wonderful little toy to explore. So I simply toyed with her a bit, while reading my own book.

Soon I could detect some juices beginning to flow. Hmmm.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress.

“I was wondering when you would ask, Slave.”

I slid off the bed, onto my knees. Mistress shifted a bit, spreading her legs.

I did my work, licking with some urgency, savoring Mistress’s delicious honey. And she dragged it out a bit.

“Suck it, Slave.”

I took her clit between my lips and sucked away to please her, her pink parts no longer encumbered by the thick fur that not long ago would have gotten in my way.

Soon Mistress built herself to a strong, powerful orgasm, moaning as she pumped her hips against my mouth.

At this point, I would have been happy to postpone my own pleasure until later, my body still a bit tired from our day on the mountain. But that’s where Mistress’s fingers came in.

She pushed me back onto the bed and began to fondle and tease me with those lovely digits. At some point her mouth came into play too. Soon I was squirming, begging for the privilege to fuck her.

“I want to be on top, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

I was already on my back, and Mistress had no trouble mounting me. When she takes this position, it’s very clear who is in charge. She builds slowly, pressing and rubbing her hips against my swollen cock, moving from slow and sensuous to desperate frenzy. And she was the one who initiated the smutty dialogue.

“How would you like to watch my Dom fuck me, Slave?”

This was a theme we had discussed some over the last few weeks. Sir M has brought it up, but it was also a bit of a fantasy even before he showed up in Mistress’s in box.

“It would be hard, Mistress. But exciting too, I think….”

She’s churning harder against me now, her breathing erratic. Increasingly desperate.

“I’d like you to watch us Slave ….to see you masturbate while he makes me come.”

“Or would you make me wear my cage?”

Her passion is making her voice foggy, farther off now.

“Maybe the cage….you’d be desperate wouldn’t you, Slave?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress. It would drive me crazy. To hear you beg him to come….”

It was about this time that Mistress came, crashing hard against me, moaning, sobbing, tears welling in her eyes, then rolling over, onto her back, still shuddering. It was one of those Mega orgasms, that caught both of us by surprise. Powerful fantasies here.

“Fuck me now, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

And it all started with those diabolical fingers.