HNT's and PDA's

Mick and Molly are slowly adjusting to her new work schedule. While it has cut into our morning recreational activities, it has made for more opportunities for activities in River City’s downtown, as we take advantage of our close working proximity.

Tuesday evening was a nice “date” night. After work, Molly picked me up in her Mom-mobile (the black station wagon) and we headed up to a (relatively) hip restaurant in a nearby 1860’s neighborhood, finally being reclaimed from decades of decline. We even ran into a twitter follower (no not for our “UnderContract” twitter site, we do vanilla twiting too), who searched us out after Molly posted a photo of her allegedly “hunkish” husband.

After dinner we headed to a nearby theatre to see a well reviewed drama. The theatre is located on a hillside with a grand view of our downtown. Since we were a bit early, and I was more than a bit horny, we found a secluded picnic table with an excellent view, and began to “make out” a bit. And while there was the occasional car and theatre patron passing by, Mistress used her hands to fondle my cock through my trousers (fortunately it was a cage-free day for me). We kissed, deep and long. My hand rode up the inside of Mistress’s naked thigh, locating the panel of her black undies. As we became more….interested…we almost aborted our theatre trip…. Almost.

Instead we waited until after theatre to finish the job, back in our cozy bed.

Yesterday Mistress had a work related dinner. So she had me wear the cage as a little extra insurance that I would not get into trouble if left to my own devices after work.

But she did have time to see me at lunch. She arrived at my office for a little worship first though. It was one of those rare days when Mistress wore pants. Black, form fitting pants that emphasize her shapely and alluring rump.

I pulled the chair to the door, and draped our handy blanket over it to protect the upholstery from her natural juices.

She pulled down her pants and lacy green thong (damn, should have gotten a picture of that).

I fell to my knees. My eyes fell on her delectable, clean shaven lips, as she spread her legs just wide enough to accommodate my face.

“You look sexy today, Mistress.”

“Oh, really? I thought you liked me in dresses better.”

“Some variety never hurts, Mistress.”

I began to probe her with my tongue, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her arousal.

“Did anyone flirt with you today, Mistress?”

I continued my assault, using fingers to pry apart those lovely, plump lips.

“Well … there was that man in the elevator. Handsome. He said he had never seen me in the building before. Wanted to know where I worked.”

“Hmmm.” I paused briefly in my accelerating attack on the little bud popping up through those denuded lips.

“Does that turn you on when handsome men flirt, Mistress?”

“A little, Slave.”

Then the conversation faded into the little stifled moans of pleasure, and the broken breathing that signals Mistress’s emerging climax. Soon she was thrusting her hips against my lips and tongue. It was a nice one. Such a shame that my cock was locked in its steel cage, the key back at home.

After Mistress regained her composure (as well as her pants and thong), we headed to lunch, picking up a salad and finding an open table on our public square. It was a lovely spring day, sunny, but without the heat and humidity sure to come.

When we finished our salads, I walked Mistress toward her office, but we paused at a very public corner. I kissed Mistress tentatively. Sort of a goodbye peck. There were hundreds of folks within site.

But Mistress would have none of that. She kissed me hard, deep, her compelling tongue invading her Slave’s mouth. And of course I reciprocated. This went on for a while, us standing at the busiest corner in River City, making out for our conservative little world to see. I was waiting for someone to yell “get a room.” I was acutely reminded that my cock was confined until Mistress saw fit to unlock it.

When we finally came up for air, Mistress and I headed back to our respective offices.

I knew it would be several hours before Mistress came home from her dinner. I hope she remembered where she left the key.

Back in the Cage

Over the weekend Mistress concluded that she had been too easy on me since her return to the 9-5 working life. Maybe she had read an email from our “anonymous” commenter, asking why I was not required to wear the cage more often. (Thanks, dude!)

So yesterday morning I was instructed to put on my cage. She seemed to take a particularly perverse delight in closing the lock.

So there I was. In my steel cage. Cock all locked away. And not enough time in the earlier morning hours for me to have sex with her before the hasp was closed for the day.

And there was Mistress. Primping for work. All clean from the shower, her folds all smooth and stubble free. I wanted her. Badly.

I slid my hand between her legs, and pressed a finger between those plump and tasty lips. That finger is well trained by now, and soon it was sliding back and forth over Mistress’s delicious sweet, slick spot. Within moments she was humping and moaning against that finger, enjoying a nice and tidy morning orgasm.

But I was still locked away, my balls swelling oh so painfully against that tight steel ring that serves as the mounting base for the cage that surrounded my cock.

It was a busy day at work for me. Lots of crud had piled up on my desk while I was in DC. And there was an unanticipated lunch with a local Congressman and a delegation of corn processers from China. At least the Chinese food was tasty.

Mistress was busy too. No time for worship.

So when I got home, I reminded myself of my obligation.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress.”

“Of course, Slave.”

I placed a pillow on the floor. Mistress reclined on the bed, spreading her legs. From my knees I had convenient access to my favorite parts. Only after my task was completed to her satisfaction did she reach for the key and release my twitching cock from its little prison.

Then we were off for a bike ride. It was a sunny evening and Mistress and her Slave need that aerobic exercise to stay fit for the long haul.

After that dinner, and catching up with Sunday’s episode of “Treme”, the new HBO series set in New Orleans. Great program, btw.

Only after that did Mistress make herself available to me.

“Why not insert your little device, Slave.”

As if I needed help at that point. But I know that the super-hardness it produces pleases Mistress, so I lubed it up and slid it in.

First I used my fingers to provide Mistress with a warm up orgasm. By then my cock was more than ready to meet her standards, and I was allowed to slide inside.

Ahh. Nice. Very nice.

At that point I took my time. It had been a long day of denial.

Avoiding "Misson Creep".

“Do you like me calling you Slave all the time?”

“Of course I do, Mistress….that’s my role  isn’t it?”

“Yes, Slave. And don’t forget it.”

We were talking over the weekend about my title. Mistress routinely calls me her “Slave” now, as in “When will you be home, Slave”, or “Thank you, Slave” when I hand her something she requests. And when she is being solicitous herself, it might sound like, “I’m getting some ice tea, can I get you something, Slave?” (I know, she should have told me to get her the darned ice tea).

And I do like it when Mistress calls me her “Slave” out of habit. It’s a nice reminder that we have fallen into a relationship that we both feel comfortable in, based on love, respect, and lots of lust. And I think I reciprocate by referring to her as “Mistress” almost as frequently (an occasional “dearest” or “love” will slip in. I need to work on that).

Of course, the risk is that the words may slip out in front of teens and others. It’s something that has happened from time to time, requiring a little backing and filling to cover our tracks.

During the Obama campaign, that well oiled organization had a phrase derived from a basketball cliché “stay in your lane”. It meant – do your job; let other folks do their jobs. Don’t freelance.

And there is another phrase I heard from a young Obama staffer I know during my DC visit last week: “Mission Creep”. It’s when a team member begins to expand his or her portfolio to influence events that might not be in her “lane”.

That comes up in the context of our Sunday “switch” days: for the 2^nd Sunday in a row, I have “forgotten” to get out the cuffs and crop and treat Mistress to a bit of her own medicine. Could it be that now that Mistress has her own Dom, I have figured that acting all Dom-ish is no longer in “my lane”?.

So instead of binding, teasing and spanking Mistress yesterday, we had some lovely and gratifying but sort of vanilla-ish sex yesterday morning and again in the afternoon, before hauling a surly teen and her friend to a concert in a semi-metropolis to our north.

I simply enjoyed the opportunity to lick and finger Mistress to orgasm, and then, with her permission, have my way with her.

But in the process  I did get a chance to question her a bit more about her date last week with the more take charge guy in her life.

What Mistress seems to like about that “other” relationship is the notion that someone else is desperate for her. Very desperate.  And while I have a great appreciation for Mistress’s many physical attributes, I suspect Sir M. is enjoying her the way I did all those years ago – he can’t believe his good fortune.

“So how did he fuck you this time, Mistress?”

“He let me ride his cock, Slave….”

“Hmmm….I bet you liked that didn’t you?”

Mistress always comes very, very dramatically that way.

“Did you come riding him, Mistress?”

“Oh yeah ….”

Now I was pumping into her and she seemed to be getting close, no doubt inspired (at least) in part by her memory of these events.

“and how did he like that, Mistress?”

“Well he kind of went crazy Slave….he was squeezing my breasts and nipples.  He does seem to like my breasts.”

And who wouldn’t?

Getting back to my theme today: I suppose now that Mistress has someone to tell her to kneel and suck his cock, or give her permission to come, I should avoid mission creep, stay in my lane, and focus on being as good a Slave as I can be.

Keeping it Smooth

Mistress is doing an excellent job of keeping herself smooth and available, all at the direction of Sir M. And Her Slave has been happy to enjoy the fringe benefits. So what that it means sometimes I am expected to help with teh personal grooming.

Today the Times had an interesting article on Brazilian waxing that we thought our readers might enjoy:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/18/fashion/18sisters.html?scp=1&sq=Brazilian%20wax&st=cse