HNT/ Mistress asks a Question

The photo featured in today’s HNT is a remnant of Sunday’s interrogation of Mistress. It was sexually fruitful, though it ended with a little emotional blowback.

But with good vibes sent from friends out there we seem to have bounced back to our normal deviant behaviors. Like last night on the way home from work.

Mistress suggested that we call our Western correspondent M as I weaved through the slow and annoying traffic on the way home from work. Mistress dialed the number M had left, and soon he was on the phone from his office out in the shadow of the Rockies.

I got to listen to Mistress and M trade viewpoints in a flirtatious manner on our respective sexual exploits and ambitions. (M subs to his wife B, but has been a Dom in other life activities, and has expressed a bit of interest in taking on Molly if we can arrange a meet sometime this summer).But it was a one sided conversation to me, like one of those old Bob Newhart monologs. Here are some choice responses and comments that stood out:

“That Hitachi really is something …. It works so ….fast.”

“20 orgasms? You’re kidding.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. I am too easy on Mick….”

“we do need to get together …. But what does B think about that?”

“You know, I’m not kidding around when I said I’d ‘do you.’ But of course only if B says it’s OK.”

“ I did get to stop by Mick’s office today ….no the door doesn’t lock, we just push the chair against the door. …. It’s strange to sit there with those associates and secretary’s walking around and talking just outside the door.”

When we got home I was happy to worship Mistress all over again. I can’t get enough of that naked and liquid cunt, which seemed a little damp from the get go after her conversation with M.

Later, after dinner, we went out to a local jazz bar, and Mistress passed the time as we listened by selecting some photos on her camera to send to M.

And during a break in the music, she decided to ask M a question via email that pops from some of the little vignettes and remembrances he has sent us over the last few months:

“Inquiring minds want to know …. Why are you so into fucking in the ass. Doesn’t a tight cunt do? Please explain?

Mistress claims she has never been taken that way. (I have certainly never done it to her that way, and have no reason to believe it’s happened other than on my watch). But all this “ass fucking” talk from M and her local Sir M must have her curiosity piqued.

When we got home, all this chatter had both of us hot and horny, despite the late hour. So it was natural that we did what we do before slide off to sleep. Then again, this morning, when I woke early and let my hands slide between Mistress’s legs to begin a long slow ride to a pre-alarm fucking.

This morning, after I dropped Mistress off at work, we both saw M’s response to her query:



A tight cunt is great. But it’s a power thing. Fucking someone in the ass is definitely a very dominant thing to do. Just watching the look on a lady’s face as she is penetrated is priceless. I think B would say much that same thing when she fucks me with her big blue strapon. Take care. M

Later this morning I visited Mistress at her office. It was a nice walk before returning to mine for a boring meeting. And though her glass walled office prevented any worship, we did hide behind her door for a bit of a clench.

Mistress came down the elevator with me and we talked about M’s response to her question.

She still seems to be drawing the line. But she is a curious girl.

“I believe it’s a power thing to him, not really just the feeling of a tighter grip on his cock, Slave.”

“And is that the way you feel when you use your strap-on on me , Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave. Exactly.”

What is it With Election Nights?

One of my earliest posts was an account of election night here in River City last November. That night, Mistress understandably was disturbed by a sighting of the women that Mick screwed up with. You know, the one responsible for the relationship that ultimately led to my contractual surrender of various rights to Molly. If you missed it, here is the link:

http://undercontracttomywife.blogspot.com/2009/11/election-day.html

Well last night was primary night here in River City. Another election night.

Molly and Mick got together as a result of our political activities. Think Atlanta convention, summer of 1988, the little Greek guy (before the tank), the two tall Texans, the guy who could not spell potato, and the rhyming Reverend. Well we missed a lot of that because we were too busy exploring each other’s bodies at a little Inn off of Peachtree. ….But that’s a different story.

But, more on point, we remain involved in the political world all those years later. So as the ballot boxes got unstuffed last night, we planned dinner and visits to various campaign related parties and activities.

If you caught yesterday’s entry, you know that Mick and Molly were on the rebound from an interrogation gone rogue on Sunday. It took us about 48 hours to clear the emotional decks and get our heads back on straight. But by Tuesday evening, as we plotted a romantic dinner for two at a hip new restaurant, we were back in the zone….

Mistress had set up a date with her Dom for the following week. And I was worshipping her in my office, on my knees, her legs spread, bearing her well shorn and juicy parts.

After my worship was done, Dinner was just up the street from our offices, at an open air spot with seating out on the sidewalk. We got seats right near the entrance, no doubt because the Hostess saw Mistress as the type of eye candy who would surely give the place a good name and fill more seats, if only by association. That’s just how hot she is!

We ordered drinks, and settled into some mussels, to be followed by some overpriced designer hotdogs.

Then she arrived. I saw her coming first, and felt obliged to point this out to Mistress.

She apparently was meeting a female friend, and they parked on a couch on the sidewalk, only about 20 feet from us.

Fortunately Mistress seemed better prepared this time, a sign that her authority is more firmly in place.

After some (truthfully) critical comments about this woman’s physical appearance, outfit and hairstyle (“She really is a mess, Slave. How could you?), Mistress took out her tweeter and posted a comment about having a dinner compromised by some “bunny boilers”. Ouch.

And she was right, of course. This woman was showing a lot more and unappealing skin than appropriate for a Tuesday night in River City. Her willingness to do this in such close proximity to us was, well, just plain tacky.

Later Mistress emailed our Western correspondent, M summarizing the bad position I had put her in:


We are at the board of elections dealing with some primary issues. We came to dinner before, at which time the bitch who Mick fucked showed up and preened in what I might add was A hideous dress barely covering her 52 year old legs. Ugh
Anyway, I now need scotch delivered through an iv and Mick will be punished. Hot ski photo too. I'd be happy to do u!

Molly

(M had recently sent us an ancient photo of his ski exploits. Very good form, that clearly impressed Molly).

Naturally, she showed me the emails she had sent. Something I clearly deserved, along with the punishment she threatened.

Election night ended uneventfully. (Most of) the good guys won. We headed home, and we were both a bit tired, so passed on intimacies for the night.

But early this morning, Mistress woke and called for my services.

After I gave her a suitable orgasm with my fingers, our bodies entwined, Mistress gripped my cock, and debated with herself over whether to impose abstinence for the day as part of my punishment. Somehow the threat of stimulation without release makes a morning cock even more of a morning cock.

“Well we could call yesterday abstinence day, mistress, because that’s the way things turned out.” ( I had to be out the door at 6am that morning for election duties).

“Oh…I am sure you’d like that Slave. You are just so undisciplined.”

But I could tell she was teasing. As her tormenting grip brought me closer and closer to an unsanctioned discharge, I began to beg.

“Please, Mistress, can I make love to you?”

That went on for a while, as her wicked fingers drove me to the brink.

But ultimately she relented. And as I fucked her I had a few questions:

“Remember when you asked if I wanted to go by myself on election night?”

That was Monday evening, when we were still picking through my Interrogation overreach.

“Yes, Slave. That’s when I was pissed off at you.”

“Were you planning a visit to Sir M if you did not come with me?”

“Well Tuesday is his most convenient night to see me Slave.”

:So what are you saying?”

By now I was getting Mistress close to another orgasm with some nice grinding thrusts against those lovely naked parts of hers.

“Well, I certainly would not have stayed home alone, Slave. You would have worn your cage. And I would have made ‘other plans’”.

“My guess is you would have enjoyed kneeling to suck his cock, Mistress.”

“yes, Slave. I would have….. I do.”

Her eyes were shut tight now, and I imagined her envisioning that cock, sliding into her mouth as she knelt at his direction.

“Why do you like that so much, Mistress?”

“I like the way he gets so excited for me, Slave.”

And I could understand why he does.

Soon Mistress was coming again, visions of thick Dom cock dancing in her head. And I was begging and receiving my own opportunity to join her in her bliss.

So we seemed to get over our election night encounter, though I still await (and look forward to) the punishment I deserve.

Inquisition takes Unexpected Turn

Some of our comment makers and correspondents have expressed curiosity about the outcome of Sunday’s interrogation. Of course, the one sure thing was a mighty climax to the whole affair with Mistress, as always, going first. (Not to telegraph the ending).

But the little plot line I had been developing in this blog and with Mistress over the weekend required something more elaborate, and took a devilish and unexpected turn for us.

First the set up: Mistress slept in a bit later than normal on Sunday. Was it because we had been out late listening to some Rockabilly music at a seedy bar with friends? Or was she delaying the “inevitable”.

When I finally went upstairs, NY Times and computer in hand, she awoke, and we cuddled a bit, going through our local paper in the few minutes it deserved, then shifting to my laptop. She read with somewhat uncomfortable giggles my entry posted earlier that morning.

But soon it was time for the “interrogation” to begin.

Mistress had slept naked, so there was no need for me to rip the cloths from her luscious body. A shame.

I locked her red leather cuffs to her wrists, linked with a little metal clip, then pulled them over her head. They were secured with a leather thong to a steel eyebolt at the center of our bedhead.

I rolled her over onto her stomach, sliding a pillow under her hips to give her smooth and sexy ass sufficient “loft” for what I had in mind.

Then I used some strips of a beach towel we had mutilated last fall at a Michigan B & B (necessity being the mother of invention), to tie first one ankle and then another to the posts at the foot of the bed. Mistress legs were spread very, very wide, ankles affixed to opposite ends of the bed. (Watch for these illustrations in a posting soon).

Now Mistress could squirm all she wanted to, but could go no where as I proceeded with my inquiry.

A few slaps to her ass with my hand warmed her up.

“I just have a few questions for you, Mistress.”

“I am not hiding anything, Slave”, she exclaimed, all cocky and confident.

“I recommend saving your confession until I have proceeded a bit further.”

Unhooking the riding crop from a nearby doorknob, I flexed it in my hands, making sure Mistress knew what she was going to experience next.

I unleashed a series of quick strokes to Mistress’s bottom that had her ankles straining against the ties tightly binding her to the bed.

“That hurts, Slave.”

“Does it loosen your lips some, Mistress?”

“I really have nothing to confess, Slave.” But she was sounding a bit less sure of herself.

“I hope that is not your final answer, Mistress”.

I used the crop to shower a series of far gentler blows to the plump and fluid lips protruding between Mistress’s legs. This resulted in some very nifty jerking and whining.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Her bottom squirmed from side to side. My fingers replaced the business end of the crop.

“You are very, very wet, Mistress.”

She ground herself against my digits, which emerged dripping. She seemed to like this part of the inquisition.

Soon I realized that my crop would not result in a “confession”. So I decided to change my tools of persuasion.

It was time to crank up the Hitachi Magic Wand.

As the machine began a low buzz in slow speed, Mistress raised her head off the pillow, craning her neck in my direction.

“Oh no, not that…”, But her tone was dripping with sarcasm, not fear.

I was determined to make her regret that haughty tone. She would not get the sort of orgasm the power tool delivers unless I got what I was looking for.

I used some sleight of vibrator hand at first. Sliding the white head of the tool directly between her legs, exactly where she wanted it to be.

“Nice, Slave”, she murmured.

The crop and my fingers had warmed her up to the point where a quickie climax could be had very promptly. But just as she began to pump with earnest against the churning device, I pulled it away, and let it rest against her inner thigh.

“Nooo…”

“What’s the problem, Mistress?”

“I want it slave. Don’t stop now.”

“What do you want, Mistress?”

“You know … I want to come. I want to come against that damn thing.”

“Well then …. You need to make it worth my while, Mistress.”

A dialogue developed in which Mistress asked me to be more specific. What did I think was going on? What did I want to hear? Did I expect her to make something up?

All the while I toyed with the device, gently sliding it to the apex of her thighs, then pulling it away as Mistress got a tad bit closer to her objective. Her mounting frustration was a marvel to behold. Isn’t this where the corrupt and lecherous Spanish Priests would require the sexy Jewess to sign the confession that had already been written up for her. I guess I should have come prepared with such a text.

Ultimately the confession was rather mundane. Yes, she had been in touch with her old flame E in recent weeks. He wanted to talk, To apologize for his fickle behavior in the fall. For getting her all hot and bothered and leaving her twisting in the wind.

Mistress had taken his call(s?). Had humored him, but with caution.It was unclear whether this was an ongoing flirtation between them, but I was not going to press my advantage any farther.

And yes, Mistress confessed that the thought of E taking her over his lap, punishing her with a nice firm spanking, and then making her suck his cock was still a powerful turn on for Mistress.

I told Mistress that all of that was fine with me. That I only wanted to feel included, rather than excluded from the cyber action.

I was satisfied with the candor I had wrung from Mistress. And she was to be rewarded.

She was still squirming as I took her “confession” and granted my absolution, my hand between her legs, gently fondling her and marinating my fingers in her juices.

I picked up the humming device and thrust it between her legs, then under her. Right where she wanted it.

Her leg muscles strained against their bonds, desperate to give her leaking parts better purchase against the vibrating head of the device.

I watched with delight as her ass humped against it, felt the tension in her leg and ass muscles build, and heard the muted roar building low in her lungs then bursting out into moan of satisfaction, which she tried but failed to bury in the pillow under her head.

She moved her hips back and forth against the tool to wring out the last of her orgasm, and I could hear her sobs of relief to have her “trial” over.

And I kept the device buried there for a while, wondering if I could get a two-fer out of her. But that was pressing her luck. She was exhausted.

“Off, Slave….please, turn it off.”Now she really was begging.

So I showed her mercy. At least for a few moments.

I let her rest a bit, as I stripped away my jeans and t shirt. Then I mounted her from behind, slowly sliding my hard cock into her soaking cunt. Of course, she was more than ready to be taken that way, and I rode her to another satisfying orgasm, first for her, then for me.

But that is not the end of the story.

Later that day, Mistress shared with me her trepidations about what had transpired.

Yes, the sex was good. Spectacular.

But Mistress felt that I was accusing her of dishonesty. And it brought back in a traumatic way her recollection of my own betrayal of her about 2 years ago. Somehow my suggestion of a lack of candor reminded her of my own lack of candor, back in those dark days for our relationship.

And though I had intended it all to be playful fun, to amuse ourselves and our readers, Mistress took the whole episode quite differently once all the sexual energy had been fully discharged.

So a lesson was learned by me about the limits of this switch thing. The reason I am the Slave and she is the Mistress goes back to my breach of trust.

A bridge was crossed during my interrogation that should not have been crossed.

In the last 48 hours, Mick and Molly have struggled with the consequences, and, thankfully, are on the mend. Hopefully those of you out there following these adventures will send some good vibes our way to help with that process.

Your encouragement, support, and snarky and/or smutty repartee have made life better for us and will surely help us through a challenging patch. (You know who you are!!).

Planning My Interrogation

Mistress seemed half part nervous and half part turned on about my announced plans to use my Sunday switch privileges to  interrogate her yesterday. After I showed her the entry about my intentions for her on Saturday morning, she appeared rather anxious to get her “story” out there –

“Oh , those pictures…..yes, I did take them.

…Well I suppose they were intended  for Sir M. ….But the wifi connection back in Florida was bad….then I just, well ….forgot about them, Slave.”

I told her that I did not want to talk about it at all, until I had her suitably “prepped” for my questions.  By that I meant … vulnerable.

As she had read, my head was under the covers, buried between her smooth, thighs, already slick with the combination of her juices and my saliva.

“I think I am going to have you lick me for a while, Slave.”

No problem, there. It’s something I enjoy. And I did. For a while. Until Mistress was churning against my mouth and she exploded with a lovely orgasm.

I asked for permission to fuck her. My cock was hard and ready. And she had me mount her, our conventional approach. But after a while, and as I was getting close she changed the order of battle.

“I want to be on top now, Slave.”

“No problem, Mistress.”

We rolled over, and Mistress began one of those long, slow and steady climbs to the type of climax she controls. It takes some effort, but the results always seem dramatically pleasing to her.

As she ground her cunt against me, my cock buried deep inside her, she asked

“What are you thinking about, Slave?”

Sometimes it takes a while to gather my thoughts in the midst of that sort of action. Was I thinking at all? Or just buried in the sensation of her strong, powerfully sensual body sliding along the length of mine? But I had an obligation to answer:

“Thinking how you did this with your Sir, Mistress….about you grinding so hard against another cock.”

That thought reminded me to play with her breasts, squeezing her nipples, the way she describes Sir M doing to her. Soon Mistress was reaching her crescendo, a muted roar coming from deep in her lungs, her back arching back, then her fingers toying with my balls from above as she came down to earth.  Nice. Very nice.

Later that afternoon, after a visit from my grandson, we retired to bed for a nap, resting up for a late afternoon bike ride, then evening on the town.

Mistress had threatened to fuck me in the ass, but when we woke, we were in a more mellow mood, and found ourselves making  a gentler form of love as the cobwebs cleared.  But then Mistress elected to mount me again.  And repeat the sort of earth moving orgasm that she had in the morning.

Our conversation turned to our Western correspondent, M, who had confirmed via email that he would be more than delighted to fuck Molly, but only with his very dominant wife’s permission:

“I bet you would like them both take charge of you, wouldn’t you Mistress?”

“That would be … ummm ….interesting, Slave.”

Yes , it certainly would. I imagined Mistress tied to a bed somewhere, these two randy and domineering westerners taking turns tormenting, then driving my mistress to erotic distraction. Again and again. They even have their own Magic Wand. Mistress likes that power tool.

Soon Mistress had built her slow ans steady pace on top of me to a frenzy, collapsing against me. Then we reversed positions and it was my turn to share in the fireworks.

That evening, we headed for a sushi dinner with some friends in an old neighborhood getting back on its feet with the help of some urban pioneers. On the way, Mistress again questioned me on my plans for her this morning.

“What do you think I have to confess, Slave?”

“Well we will find that out in the morning, Mistress.”

“Since you seem to get off on me fucking other men, why wouldn’t I tell you about anything that was going on?”

“That’s what we need to get to the bottom of Mistress….”

“What if I just make something up to get you to relent?”

“I hear that happens all the time, Mistress.  Then I will have to question you more, and see if I can verify your story…. This could take a while.”

All of this was getting her flustered. And hot, I suspect.

And the really good news: the surly teens spent the night with friends. Any screams of  pleasure or pain will fall on deaf ears. Wish I knew where you could rent a waterboard by the hour.

Can you hear my evil laugh?