Slave is off to our nation’s capitol, sitting in a dreary seminar. The sun is out and tulips are brightening the White House lawn. SO far I have NOT sited Mrs. Sarkozy who was in town with her husband for a loose nukes hunt (or something like that).
For trivia buffs, name the former Clinton advisor who got caught up in a scandal involving sucking on his call girl’s toes? I think I am staying in the hotel that was the scene of that petty “crime”.
Meanwhile, Mistress is back in our home state’s capitol, casting her spell on the media over a complicated legislative issue. I pity those fools.
Mistress had to remember to leave in her car the handcuffs I had given her for tonite’s date with her Dom, one of the toys he directed her to bring. It might be a little embarrassing to get stopped at the metal detector in our state capitol and asked why you might have a pair of black handcuffs tucked away in your black Fendi bag. Are they simply fashion accessories? Or do they represent an attempt to kidnap the Speaker of the House?
I guess this is a sort of “do it yourself” submission, when the Dom tells you to bring handcuffs and a blindfold to facilitate your training and more complete submission to him. In any event, I will be thinking about what she is up to as I have a much less entertaining evening here in our nation’s capitol.
But the handcuffs flashed me back to an evening about 18 years ago, when Molly and Mick were married to other folks, but falling head over heels for one another. I had a business trip here. Molly came along (surreptitiously) for the ride.
In those days, when the toys came out, Mick was more inclined to take the D side of our D/s games. And I had tucked a pair of handcuffs in my bag for our trip.
We were staying on the Foggy Bottom neighborhood, and planned dinner at a favorite restaurant several blocks away. It was a lovely evening, though a little chilly. Coat weather. Ah ha!
Molly had dressed in a short, very attractive dress for our evening out. But before she shrugged on her black Burberry trench coat I retrieved my handcuffs.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh.... want to see how these cuffs look on you with that sexy dress, sweetie.”
Before she had a chance to consider her options, and I clicked one cuff closed around her outstretched wrist, pulled that arm behind her back, and took her other wrist prisoner. Her wrists were now tightly cuffed behind her back.
I took some liberties then. Hands squeezing her firm full breasts from behind, another hand climbing a thigh, fondling her through some skimpy undies.
Mistress sighed, and ground herself against my hand, her head resting back against me, mouth looking to be kissed.
“Mick ….Are you sure you want dinner?”
“Of course. I’m famished,” then broke the clinch, much to her consternation.
When she wriggled her wrists at me, indicating it was time to unlock her, I just laughed.
“Here, let me help with your coat.”
“Nooo….”
“Oh, yes….”
She sulked a bit as I slid her coat over her shoulders, then buttoned her up, to keep the coat from sliding off. But you could tell Molly was as much into this little adventure as I was.
I took an arm, with her resisting, and we left our room.
Mistress blushed a bit as the elevator got crowded. No doubt she was wondering if they were noticing the sexy young woman with her arms out of sight.
She seemed more relaxed as we walked down the sidewalk, me clutching her arm. She made a lovely prisoner.
I released her for our dinner, discretely unlocking her in the shadows outside the restaurant’s doors.
But the cuffs went back on for our walk home.
While I can’t remember exactly what happened by the time we made it back to that hotel room, I can assure you that Mick and Molly were both on fire, and that the cuffs did not come off before Mistress’s first of several orgasms.
And now, this evening, I will have to consider what Sir M will have Mistress doing once he snaps those black cuffs on her.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Personal Shopper
One of a Slave’s roles should be to make his Mistress’s life a little easier. A Slave should try to take off her plate some of life’s petty inconveniences. And now that Molly is back to a full time office job, the spare time she used to have has been slashed.
It’s typical that I assist with the cooking and make sure I am the one to clean the kitchen when we are done with dinner. Unloading the dishwasher along with the more manly tasks of grass mowing and other yard work is also on my plate.
But lately I have been asked to take on some more personal tasks. So Sunday night, as we watched the return of the Tudors (will that guy ever run out of wives?), Mistress spread her thighs and I applied the cream designed to remove any accumulating stubble, front, and then back. I let the cream sit for 10 minutes or so, cleaned it off with a warm cloth, then applied a nice coating of cocoanut cream to moisten and soften things up for her. The result was rather smooth and delightful. She had to chastise me a bit when those moisturizing fingers seemed intent on getting a response.
“I think my cunt has had enough stimulation today, Slave.”
Well of course….but it’s hard to resist Mistress.”
The fact that this “naked cunt” development came to us as a requirement of Sir M makes the whole task all the more Slavish and compelling, don’t you think?
Then yesterday, I was asked to take on a new role for Mistress: personal shopper.
When Mistress met me at the end of the work day for our ride home, She told me about a call she received.
“The Dom called Slave. He confirmed we are on for Wednesday night.”
“Good. Now you will have something to do while I am out of town, Mistress.”
“But he asked me to do something you might be amused by, Slave.”
My ears perked up.
“He told me to go to that adult store downtown, and get some handcuffs and a blind fold.”
So I surmised his training of my Mistress is cranking it up a notch. Gulp.
“And what did you say, Mistress?”
“That I was busy at work, but….”
“That maybe you could get your Slave to handle this task?”
She smiled.
“What a wonderful idea, Slave. You are very helpful.”
Last night I found a pair of handcuffs we had used in a prior life (pre-contract certainly). They are functioning well (though I am concerned about the potential for bruising Mistress’s lovely wrists). Mistress now has them stowed in her purse for her next meeting with Sir M.
Before lunch today, I wandered over to River City’s downtown “adult” boutique and found a faux leather blindfold, for Mistress to take along too.
I will give it to Mistress when she stops over for some worship this afternoon. Her new job has been a little stressful – lots of balls in the air – so I am sure she can use a little stress relief therapy.
It’s typical that I assist with the cooking and make sure I am the one to clean the kitchen when we are done with dinner. Unloading the dishwasher along with the more manly tasks of grass mowing and other yard work is also on my plate.
But lately I have been asked to take on some more personal tasks. So Sunday night, as we watched the return of the Tudors (will that guy ever run out of wives?), Mistress spread her thighs and I applied the cream designed to remove any accumulating stubble, front, and then back. I let the cream sit for 10 minutes or so, cleaned it off with a warm cloth, then applied a nice coating of cocoanut cream to moisten and soften things up for her. The result was rather smooth and delightful. She had to chastise me a bit when those moisturizing fingers seemed intent on getting a response.
“I think my cunt has had enough stimulation today, Slave.”
Well of course….but it’s hard to resist Mistress.”
The fact that this “naked cunt” development came to us as a requirement of Sir M makes the whole task all the more Slavish and compelling, don’t you think?
Then yesterday, I was asked to take on a new role for Mistress: personal shopper.
When Mistress met me at the end of the work day for our ride home, She told me about a call she received.
“The Dom called Slave. He confirmed we are on for Wednesday night.”
“Good. Now you will have something to do while I am out of town, Mistress.”
“But he asked me to do something you might be amused by, Slave.”
My ears perked up.
“He told me to go to that adult store downtown, and get some handcuffs and a blind fold.”
So I surmised his training of my Mistress is cranking it up a notch. Gulp.
“And what did you say, Mistress?”
“That I was busy at work, but….”
“That maybe you could get your Slave to handle this task?”
She smiled.
“What a wonderful idea, Slave. You are very helpful.”
Last night I found a pair of handcuffs we had used in a prior life (pre-contract certainly). They are functioning well (though I am concerned about the potential for bruising Mistress’s lovely wrists). Mistress now has them stowed in her purse for her next meeting with Sir M.
Before lunch today, I wandered over to River City’s downtown “adult” boutique and found a faux leather blindfold, for Mistress to take along too.
I will give it to Mistress when she stops over for some worship this afternoon. Her new job has been a little stressful – lots of balls in the air – so I am sure she can use a little stress relief therapy.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Dinner Party?
Mistress’s Domme-ish behavior on Saturday afternoon, when she utilized her strap-on to good and potent effect, must have messed with my mind a bit.
I completely forgot to exercise my switch privileges yesterday, despite several choice opportunities. I suppose I was entranced in Sub-space longer than normal.
So when I finished my morning homework, I came upstairs and fell into bed with her, a tad horny from the fresh recollection of our activities the day before. Her warm body and the tight grip of her fingers on my cock erased any thoughts of tying her to the bed, or spanking her until her bottom glowed, that might otherwise have popped up. She even demurred on the “Power Tool” which I offered to deploy. So soon I was simply showing my devotion with head buried between her legs.
Afterwards, we took a long bike ride in the sunshine, the air still cool here in the morning. And then I was off to do some family visitations.
When I returned in early afternoon, Mistress was on our deck, working on her tan and reading the Times. But soon she was suggesting that we go upstairs for some indoor recreation.
As we undressed, Mistress said she was still working on scheduling her next meeting with Sir M. She was hoping to arrange a meet one evening this week when I am off on some work related travel. Something that would likely drive me to distraction while away from River City.
“You know, he asked whether he could visit me at my house sometime.”
Hmmm.
“Well, I guess it would have to be sometime when the girls are gone, or out of town.”
(Yes, that does happen sometime.)
“Of course, I told him that.”
But it also had me wondering where Slave fits in. Do I go bowling? To the movies?
“But where would I go, Mistress?”
“Wouldn’t it be interesting to have him over for dinner sometime?”
She clearly had contemplating my being close at hand. I was imagining myself cooking risotto, while Sir M chatted us up, a hand on Mistress’s ass. Exercising his rights to her. Argh.
This talk was having the exact effect Mistress no doubt desired. My cock was beginning to twitch. Verbal foreplay.
We climbed into bed, clutching one another, my fingers between her legs, fondling those smooth, squishy, cleanly shaven parts he liked her to display for him. My cock hardening against her silky thigh, so recently warming in the spring sunshine.
“So how would that work, Mistress?”
“Not sure, Slave….How do you think you would react?”
Good question.
How would Mistress want her Slave to react? All manly bristling. Defending her honor? Or passively and slavishly allowing events to unfold as her Dom and she desired. Is there some protocol or Miss Manners’ canned response for this type of delicate social situation?
“Well …. Mistress. You would have to give me pretty clear directions on how to behave. It would be an interesting dynamic …. he’s your Dom. He would expect you to follow his directions. Submit to his desires. And I would be your Slave, doing what you told me to do….I think.”
“Of course you would….you would do exactly what I said.”
“Yes, Mistress. Would I wear my cage?”
“Hmmmm …. We would have to think about that.”
“I think you want me to see him fuck you, Mistress.
“Yes, Slave. Wouldn’t that be interesting?
“But Why?”
“It would be so humiliating, wouldn’t it, Slave.”
“Oh, yes.”
It was around about this time that Mistress succumbed to my pumping fingers, gasping in a nicely explosive orgasm. Then she directed me to fuck her. That was an order I had no problem following.
I completely forgot to exercise my switch privileges yesterday, despite several choice opportunities. I suppose I was entranced in Sub-space longer than normal.
So when I finished my morning homework, I came upstairs and fell into bed with her, a tad horny from the fresh recollection of our activities the day before. Her warm body and the tight grip of her fingers on my cock erased any thoughts of tying her to the bed, or spanking her until her bottom glowed, that might otherwise have popped up. She even demurred on the “Power Tool” which I offered to deploy. So soon I was simply showing my devotion with head buried between her legs.
Afterwards, we took a long bike ride in the sunshine, the air still cool here in the morning. And then I was off to do some family visitations.
When I returned in early afternoon, Mistress was on our deck, working on her tan and reading the Times. But soon she was suggesting that we go upstairs for some indoor recreation.
As we undressed, Mistress said she was still working on scheduling her next meeting with Sir M. She was hoping to arrange a meet one evening this week when I am off on some work related travel. Something that would likely drive me to distraction while away from River City.
“You know, he asked whether he could visit me at my house sometime.”
Hmmm.
“Well, I guess it would have to be sometime when the girls are gone, or out of town.”
(Yes, that does happen sometime.)
“Of course, I told him that.”
But it also had me wondering where Slave fits in. Do I go bowling? To the movies?
“But where would I go, Mistress?”
“Wouldn’t it be interesting to have him over for dinner sometime?”
She clearly had contemplating my being close at hand. I was imagining myself cooking risotto, while Sir M chatted us up, a hand on Mistress’s ass. Exercising his rights to her. Argh.
This talk was having the exact effect Mistress no doubt desired. My cock was beginning to twitch. Verbal foreplay.
We climbed into bed, clutching one another, my fingers between her legs, fondling those smooth, squishy, cleanly shaven parts he liked her to display for him. My cock hardening against her silky thigh, so recently warming in the spring sunshine.
“So how would that work, Mistress?”
“Not sure, Slave….How do you think you would react?”
Good question.
How would Mistress want her Slave to react? All manly bristling. Defending her honor? Or passively and slavishly allowing events to unfold as her Dom and she desired. Is there some protocol or Miss Manners’ canned response for this type of delicate social situation?
“Well …. Mistress. You would have to give me pretty clear directions on how to behave. It would be an interesting dynamic …. he’s your Dom. He would expect you to follow his directions. Submit to his desires. And I would be your Slave, doing what you told me to do….I think.”
“Of course you would….you would do exactly what I said.”
“Yes, Mistress. Would I wear my cage?”
“Hmmmm …. We would have to think about that.”
“I think you want me to see him fuck you, Mistress.
“Yes, Slave. Wouldn’t that be interesting?
“But Why?”
“It would be so humiliating, wouldn’t it, Slave.”
“Oh, yes.”
It was around about this time that Mistress succumbed to my pumping fingers, gasping in a nicely explosive orgasm. Then she directed me to fuck her. That was an order I had no problem following.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
What would they think?
Last night, Mistress and Slave attended a charity event that attracted a good chunk of River City’s gay and lesbian society set . A fun evening with goofy, over the top spring costumes. We stood out as sore thumbs among only a handful of the bland, vanilla couples.
I sipped a vodka and tonic and watched my charming wife commiserate with a very attractive female couple we have come to know. She shared a story with them about my comment when I saw an emailed photo of them with Molly. When it arrived, Mistress and I were lying together in bed over the Holidays (naked of course, a detail Mistress was sure to add).
I said something to the effect that the taller of the two was “stunning” (and she is). Mistress reported the comment, and acknowledged that she took some offense at the time. For me the truth was a defense. It was no different than our conversation about a recent photo spread of Grace Kelly in Vanity Fair. Wow!
But the acknowledgement of a classic beauty takes nothing away from the fact that Mistress is and always will be a knock out. She has been my my primo fetish object since I met her all the way back in 1987.
The two women laughed.
Mistress said, “I think he takes me for granted.”
They shook their heads. They knew better.
“Hardly, I grovel for her….”
They smiled, laughed again, one said, “I’m sure you do.”
Hopefully Mistress was paying attention.
The night evolved into lots of dancing to all those cliché gay anthems, from Cher to Leslie Gore and the rest, played by a cross dressed disk jockey who seemed reluctant to move for fear his poufy wig would hit the floor.
Watching the joyously writhing bodies, it was hard not to imagine how Mistress’s lesbian friends would react to the site of Mistress’s clean shaven cunt, and what they might do to make it perform its slutty tricks.
Would they be surprised to learn that this straight couple, who had not gotten the funny costume memo (or at least not taken it to heart) were over in the corner sharing comments on the latest email from her Dom, or trading observations on how this side relationship Mistress is cultivating makes both of them hot for one another too?
And what would they think if they had seen Mistress sporting her strap-on earlier that afternoon, reminding her Slave of his place?
Our morning had begun with a provocative email from Sir M, which Molly read to me when I returned from dropping a surly teen off for one of those dreaded college admissions exams.
As I recall the message, he noted his pleasure in how Mistress’s clit became engorged with blood as he massaged it on their last date. He asked for her comments on what she likes about his cock and his manner of fucking her with it.
These were notes that I could relate to. Now that the forest has been cut, its interesting to observe the “before” and “after” view of Mistress’s pink clit poking from between her paler lips. But why does the knowledge that he had been massaging my Mistress’s leaky cunt, and pushing her to an orgasm or four with fingers and cock turn me on too?
These words had clearly cranked up Mistress’s arousal in my absence. Fortunately it seemed she had waited for me to help her scratch this itch. So we were soon working our magic on one another, spending our passion before taking to the hills for a long bike ride.
Later that day, after some yard work for me, and a trip by Mistress to find a prom dress for a surly teen, Mistress reminded me it was time for a Saturday ritual that we had missed on our trip out west.
“It’s time for me to fuck you in the ass, Slave.”
I had showered and was lying on the bed, naked, ready for her, the way she likes.
Mistress took her time, assembling her tools and sliding into her harness. This was the sight that I wondered how her lesbian friends would react to….Would they invite her to “bring it on”, or would they like to use one on her? Probably both.
Mistress and I kissed and snuggled a bit. She likes me nice and hard before she takes me this way. And when she was ready….
“Tell me what you want, Slave?
“I think you know Mistress.”
“Remind me.”
With that, her grip tightened on a hardened cock.
‘Fuck, me in the Ass, Mistress.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, Mistress. Please fuck me in the Ass.”
I know, it sounds pathetic. But it’s our way.
She positioned me, a pillow under my hips to give her the right angle.
She needed a little help finding her target. It had been a few weeks.
And my ass seemed a bit tighter than normal. She filled and stretched me real good.
“You need this, don’t you Slave?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Explain….”
She’s thrusting now. Hard to focus on a Q and A, but I try.
“It reminds me that …. I am yours, Mistress. That I …..that …you are in charge. You can take your pleasure from me as it pleases you….”
“Yes I can, Slave.”
She’s thrusting harder now, and then explodes against me. Is it the power, the angle, the leather harness pressing and rubbing against that highly exposed clit? Who knows, but this was a very big one.
As she comes down a bit, her body straightens and her thrusts get even harder, deeper. Ouch.
“Enough, Mistress”.
She responds, slowing then withdrawing. But she threatens punishment later….
“I don’t know that I like you telling me when you’ve had enough Slave.”
Point well taken.
Reflecting on this last night as the music swelled and the bodies bumped, I wondered what our fellow revelers would think about the “real” Mick and Molly.
I sipped a vodka and tonic and watched my charming wife commiserate with a very attractive female couple we have come to know. She shared a story with them about my comment when I saw an emailed photo of them with Molly. When it arrived, Mistress and I were lying together in bed over the Holidays (naked of course, a detail Mistress was sure to add).
I said something to the effect that the taller of the two was “stunning” (and she is). Mistress reported the comment, and acknowledged that she took some offense at the time. For me the truth was a defense. It was no different than our conversation about a recent photo spread of Grace Kelly in Vanity Fair. Wow!
But the acknowledgement of a classic beauty takes nothing away from the fact that Mistress is and always will be a knock out. She has been my my primo fetish object since I met her all the way back in 1987.
The two women laughed.
Mistress said, “I think he takes me for granted.”
They shook their heads. They knew better.
“Hardly, I grovel for her….”
They smiled, laughed again, one said, “I’m sure you do.”
Hopefully Mistress was paying attention.
The night evolved into lots of dancing to all those cliché gay anthems, from Cher to Leslie Gore and the rest, played by a cross dressed disk jockey who seemed reluctant to move for fear his poufy wig would hit the floor.
Watching the joyously writhing bodies, it was hard not to imagine how Mistress’s lesbian friends would react to the site of Mistress’s clean shaven cunt, and what they might do to make it perform its slutty tricks.
Would they be surprised to learn that this straight couple, who had not gotten the funny costume memo (or at least not taken it to heart) were over in the corner sharing comments on the latest email from her Dom, or trading observations on how this side relationship Mistress is cultivating makes both of them hot for one another too?
And what would they think if they had seen Mistress sporting her strap-on earlier that afternoon, reminding her Slave of his place?
Our morning had begun with a provocative email from Sir M, which Molly read to me when I returned from dropping a surly teen off for one of those dreaded college admissions exams.
As I recall the message, he noted his pleasure in how Mistress’s clit became engorged with blood as he massaged it on their last date. He asked for her comments on what she likes about his cock and his manner of fucking her with it.
These were notes that I could relate to. Now that the forest has been cut, its interesting to observe the “before” and “after” view of Mistress’s pink clit poking from between her paler lips. But why does the knowledge that he had been massaging my Mistress’s leaky cunt, and pushing her to an orgasm or four with fingers and cock turn me on too?
These words had clearly cranked up Mistress’s arousal in my absence. Fortunately it seemed she had waited for me to help her scratch this itch. So we were soon working our magic on one another, spending our passion before taking to the hills for a long bike ride.
Later that day, after some yard work for me, and a trip by Mistress to find a prom dress for a surly teen, Mistress reminded me it was time for a Saturday ritual that we had missed on our trip out west.
“It’s time for me to fuck you in the ass, Slave.”
I had showered and was lying on the bed, naked, ready for her, the way she likes.
Mistress took her time, assembling her tools and sliding into her harness. This was the sight that I wondered how her lesbian friends would react to….Would they invite her to “bring it on”, or would they like to use one on her? Probably both.
Mistress and I kissed and snuggled a bit. She likes me nice and hard before she takes me this way. And when she was ready….
“Tell me what you want, Slave?
“I think you know Mistress.”
“Remind me.”
With that, her grip tightened on a hardened cock.
‘Fuck, me in the Ass, Mistress.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, Mistress. Please fuck me in the Ass.”
I know, it sounds pathetic. But it’s our way.
She positioned me, a pillow under my hips to give her the right angle.
She needed a little help finding her target. It had been a few weeks.
And my ass seemed a bit tighter than normal. She filled and stretched me real good.
“You need this, don’t you Slave?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Explain….”
She’s thrusting now. Hard to focus on a Q and A, but I try.
“It reminds me that …. I am yours, Mistress. That I …..that …you are in charge. You can take your pleasure from me as it pleases you….”
“Yes I can, Slave.”
She’s thrusting harder now, and then explodes against me. Is it the power, the angle, the leather harness pressing and rubbing against that highly exposed clit? Who knows, but this was a very big one.
As she comes down a bit, her body straightens and her thrusts get even harder, deeper. Ouch.
“Enough, Mistress”.
She responds, slowing then withdrawing. But she threatens punishment later….
“I don’t know that I like you telling me when you’ve had enough Slave.”
Point well taken.
Reflecting on this last night as the music swelled and the bodies bumped, I wondered what our fellow revelers would think about the “real” Mick and Molly.
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