Day of Rest?

Sunday Afternoon….

After one of those Sunday morning switch sessions where Mistress is forced to endure a cunning mix of pain, frustration and forced orgasms, it’s not unusual for us to take the “day of rest” concept at its word. But by Sunday afternoon, Mistress was a horny little vixen, and was not to be denied. And who was I to deny her?

Not surprisingly, her prurient mood was stoked by our western correspondent. After we both tended to some weekend errands, we had settled onto our deck. Summer had finally arrived in River City and it was hot and humid.  Mistress planned to recharge her solar batteries and get some color for her killer legs, the ones that go au natural these days. 

The teens were off to a water park, Mistress was reading a book. I was paging through the Times. Then the chime of her text message began to ring.

“He says he won on the golf course again, Slave.”

It’s nice that she keeps me updated.

“He probably would like a blow job as a reward, Mistress.”

I heard her tapping away.

“I told him that if I was there, I would give him a blow job for the win.”

I imagined tM and me involved in a golf match, him prevailing. And oral sex from Molly  was our stakes. Molly would have been happy to kneel on the 18^th green to pay off.

“You are a flirt, Mistress”.

“Does all this bother you, Slave. Should I be paying more attention to you, instead.”

“No…it’s fine by me. It seems to make you happy, Mistress. And for some crazy reason it makes me hot too….”

Yes, I was stirring down there again.

“It does Slave….kind of makes me giddy.”

It’s fun to see this crush Mistress has developed, up close and personal.

And it was not long afterwards that Mistress, her juices flowing, suggested we adjourn to our bedroom.

And the Hitachi was on her mind.  (We should be getting regular product placement checks by now.)

“I think I want it again, Slave…do you mind?”

Of course not. Why not let the machine do the work.

I switched it on, and pressed it against her. But there was one thing more.

“Let’s take a picture for him, Slave.”

Why not. I suspected I would not be getting any that afternoon, but for his little provocateur text messages.

We snapped a shot of the business end of the Power Tool pressed against Mistress’s naked cunt. Then she texted it off to him.

She really is a tease.

This time I felt no need to prolong the “agony”. And Mistress seemed grateful, on her back, pumping her leaking pussy hard against it, building herself to a whopper of an orgasm that had her face all red when I was done.

I asked permission and she allowed me to fuck her. I climbed on top, my cock needing no further encouragement than the sight of her own climax and the friction it enjoyed against he luscious thigh.  I worked at it for a while, hoping to get her off one more time before it was my time to beg.

But she had her own idea.  

“Let me get on top, Slave.”

Hmmm. She was needy. Wanted one of those big ones that only comes with her riding me, grinding away against me, cock buried deep inside.

“Of course, Mistress….and if it helps, feel free to imagine what it would be like to ride M’s cock….”

That seemed to get her going all the more.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, Mistress….”

“Yes, Slave. I would. Is that bad?”

“No Mistress….not at all.”

All I had to do was lay there, and sqeeze a nipple or two, as she built herself to a very big one, grinding hard and desperately against me, until she carried herself  over the top, moaning, lurching down against me. Then she  rode me a bit more, her fingers toying with my balls…I was close myself, but could tell she was exhausted.

We flipped over, me driving into her now, and not long thereafter, begging to come.

Afterwards, we slept a bit, in a heap.

I guess the “day of rest” thing can sometimes be honored in the breach.

To Spank, or Not to Spank

Molly and Mick were out late Saturday night. Maybe had one too many Amaretto’s or Jamieson’s (can you guess who drinks which one?). And as we lay in bed reading the papers, I was trying to decide whether I had the energy to exercise my “switch” option. Then again, maybe my reticence was that I had been so thoroughly taken by Mistress with her strap-on Saturday afternoon that I was in a deeper subbie frame of mind.

Then the text message chime on Mistress’s I-phone went off. It was our Western correspondent, checking in with Molly on his way to an early golf game. (M may be even more into golf than sex, but I am not judging).

As a dutiful assistant in his seduction of Molly, I offered to take a picture for her to share, and snapped one of her breast peaking out from under the lovely black and white silk confection she was wearing.

“This might distract him on that first drive, Mistress.”

She sent it off, and his rapid response reflected his delight.

I thought it might be helpful to get M’s advice on how Mistress should be handled .

“Ask him whether you should be spanked or not spanked this morning, Mistress?”

Mistress giggled, and tapped away.

In a few minutes, the response came back.

“Spanked….definitely. But I have some other ideas too.”

“Yes?”, Mistress responded.

We waited a bit. Was he washing his balls? Ah….golf balls, I mean.

“My assistant should insert that little white probe into your ass and move it in and out as he spanks you.”

Well, of curse I was willing, but Mistress likes to keep her ass virgin, at least for now.

“No….my ass stays out of this action,” she responded. She is going to hard to break on that account. But I am not counting M out.

So I had my instructions, and went to work. The red cuffs were locked on, and Mistress’s hands were affixed over her head. Then she was rolled over toward me. We were cuddled close, her bottom readily accessible. And the spanking began.

I took a good bit of time building it to a nice rosy glow, all the while murmuring in her ear about what M would do to her if he had the chance.

“I suspect he and B would take turns on your bottom, Mistress.”

“I am a little afraid. I think they could be pretty cruel.”

“Well certainly they would spank you harder than me, Mistress. But it might be good for you. And I bet you would like it when they slid their fingers between your legs to see how wet you were.”

“I suppose I would, Slave.”

I did just that from time to time, making Mistress squirm. She was sopping.

Once her bottom showed some nice red marks on each cheek I stood and took a picture. Then showed it to her.

“Let’s send that to M, Slave.”

She is a little tease.

I settled back on the bed and picked up the Hitachi. Mistress did not complain, it’s become her favorite toy, no doubt in part because M is so insistent on its use. A model of orgasmic efficiency, that little power tool.

Mistress was still on her tummy, and I slid the big white bulb between her legs.

“Ahhhh….yes Slave right there.”

She moaned, and ground herself against the tool. Oh, she is so into that feeling. I made sure she had a nice taste of it, then abruptly pulled it away.

“Hey….stop that.”

“What’s the rush, Mistress? We have about an hour before our busy day begins.”

She said some bad things. Petulance becomes her. I slowly reapplied the tool to her, which changed her tune a bit, until I pulled back again.

Her hips were still moving against the bed, frustrated.

“That is so mean.”

“I’ll bet M and B could make you suffer like this for hours, Mistress.”

After a few cycles of this I had her begging for release. The sound of desperation in her voice is so endearing.

Of course, you know how this ends. I am neither cruel nor foolish. And by now my cock was sending a “get on with it fool” message to my hand. I went in for the kill.

And when Mistress is that needy, the first orgasm –thrashing against the bed, leg muscles clenched, pulling at the cord binding her wrists to the bed – is just a prelude to another and another, until she begs me to pull that damn machine away. What a lovely show.

“Fuck me now Slave. I need your cock.”

“Delighted to, Mistress”.

I took her from behind for a while, watching her reddened face pressed into the bed, taking in her addictive aroma as my face pressed against her back. Then finished Iourselves off after rolling her over. She seemed to come at least two more times with those little cries of her’s, before I begged for permission to come as well.

We collapse in a heap, and I think I slept a few minutes on top of her. Both exhausted from our play.

I was thankful that M had jumpstarted me out of my early morning lethargy. The dynamics of this odd, “evil” triangle can lead in unexpected, but very satisfying directions we are learning.

“Hand me my phone, Slave. We need to send M that photo.”

She examined the shot, and approved, poking at the little faux keyboard and sending it off.

“Let’s hope he’s not teeing off when his text chime goes off, Mistress.”

“Oh, that would be even better.”

A few moments later we got his response.

“Wow!”

(There were further adventures Sunday afternoon, but it is now time to awaken Mistress, so that will wait until tomorrow’s entry).

Mistress Takes, Then Gives the Orders

Mistress and our Western correspondent were at it again Saturday.

At around noon I arrived home from some morning errands, young grandson in tow. It was his day to hang out with “grampy”. I could see Mistress up on the deck. Stripped down to shorts and sports bra, taking in some of the sun peeking through heavy humid clouds. She had her phone to her ear.

She stood, smiled down at me. “It’s Mike …. He wants to know when we might be available this afternoon.”


Hmmm. So the question was….did Slave want to sit in as Mistress had suggested, bound to a chair, and watch the next act in their remote, mutual seduction. Or would I choose to pass, let them have their fun, and hear about it later.

Hard choice. But I opted for door number two: despite my overwhelming curiosity, I was thinking that M needs to train Mistress a bit more deeply – get her compulsively hooked on the command and control of his voice, before I joined the party. At least that was my choice on a day when I was given a choice. Mistress certainly had the authority to tell me exactly what to do, at least until she surrenders that authority to someone else.

“Why don’t you proceed without me today Mistress. Of course, I could be downstairs…somewhere else in the house.”

Now into the phone: “He says he does not need to sit in today….but could be downstairs.”

The rest I did not hear as Mistress sat back down in her chair. The thought that they were excitedly planning their afternoon “cyber-date” had my cock getting all thick and needy, even as I was unloading some groceries and the little grandson.

Later that afternoon, I announced I was taking him to his next stop. Mistress kissed us both goodbye, and I could tell she was moving onto her next engagement.

“Looking forward to your report.”

She gave me a hug and another kiss, with a bit of tongue thrown in. Then a whisper into my ear.

“Oh you will hear ALL the details, Slave. And then I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

Yikes. I tried to put that out of my mind so I could focus on the drive to the next set of grandparents’ home, where they would take over grandson duties. But the drive back seemed interminable. My mind was filled with images of Mistress, guiding the Hitachi between her legs under his command. And the plans she had in store for me afterwards.

At home I found Mistress on the deck again, phone in hand.

“Well, Mick’s home now, so I guess I should hang up. We have some plans….”

She laughed, then signed off, that “cat that ate the canary” look in her eyes once again. Then she turned to me.

“Why don’t we go upstairs, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

In our room, she lounged on the bed, stripped to sports bra, but nothing else.

“Why don’t you fetch my harness and strap-on, Slave. I’m going to need it after I tell you how things went with M.”

I dug her equipment out of the closet, found the lubricant, and began my Q and A as she was sliding into it and tightening the belt. Mistress looked very dominant once she was fully suited up. Then she settled into bed next to me.

“So how did it go, Mistress?”

“Good slave …except I probably came too fast ….he didn’t get to finish the story.”

“How were you dressed, Mistress?”

“He asked that…in a sports bra, but nothing else.”

“And what did he tell you to do first, Mistress?”

“Turn on the Hitachi and put it against my clit, Slave.”

“Ahhh. The direct approach.”

By now Mistress’s hand had drifted to my cock. Her newly polished nails drifting oh so lightly along it’s expanding length. This was the indirect – drive slave crazy approach.

“Yes, he’s very direct. Knows exactly how to call the shots, Slave.”

Of course, she knew that this was driving me crazy, as I involuntarily pumped myself against her hand seemed to tighten its grip. Argh.

“And the story, Mistress? What did he come up with?”

M had told her on Friday that he had taken things into his own hands, so to speak, while mentally composing the story he would tell her. And of course Mistress got very turned on at the thought of our Western correspondent taking time from his busy day to jack off with thoughts of her in his head. What proud and sexy woman would not?

“He had me getting on a flight to Denver. Checking into a hotel. When he and B called to say they were coming up, I was to be naked and wait for them.”

I imagined the scene, Mistress stripping, anxiously awaiting. Maybe told to kneel and await them. Or perched on the bed, on all fours.

“And then Mistress, what did they do to you?”

“They arrived. Inspected me. It was all very humiliating.”

In my mind, Mistress was held by one of them, arms pinned behind her back, as the other used fingers to explore, pinch and probe all the good parts, slowly turning my Mistress into their squirming, leaking slave.

“But you would have been very turned on, I’ll bet, Mistress.”

“I am sure I would be, Slave.”

Her fingers were still gripping me. I was using teeth to gnaw on her hard nipples. We were both writhing a bit. Not wanting to rush to the next phase until the story was done.”

“And what else did the story include, Mistress?”

“I was told to lick B, make her very wet. Then M would fuck her a bit while I watched. At that point I was told to clean the juices off of M’s cock with my mouth.”

“How would that taste, Mistress?”

“Good Slave…very good.”

“and while he was telling you the story, Mistress, was he telling you what to do with the power tool.?

“Yes… pressed and moving against my clit, Slave…..it’s around then that I came….he said it was too fast. He didn’t get to finish the story….”

“That is a shame….Did he make you beg.”

“Yes, I was required to call him Sir, and to ask permission, Slave.”

“And did he say ‘yes’….”

“Of course, Slave, I would not have come otherwise.”

I was imagining what would happen if M had said “No”, or if he had told her to turn off the Hitachi once or twice during the proceedings, to extend Mistress’s ‘misery’…make her beg a little more, grovel a little deeper. Now that would have been very interesting to watch.

By now both of us had had enough of all this talk.

“Get in position, Slave. It’s that time.”

She stood, smeared some lubricant on her tool, as I slid onto that little too puffy belly you all saw on Friday, a pillow under me to give her the right angle of attack.

She repositioned me a bit and then climbed on top, efficiently finding her mark.

“How’s that Slave?”, she whispered, her mouth not far from my ear, as she gently then more forcefully began her assault.

“Good Mistress ….I suppose I need this every now and then…”

“Why Slave?”

“To remind me….”

“To remind you of what, Slave?”

She was taking me harder now, more deeply. And I could tell she was close.

“That I am yours, Mistress. That you are in charge…. You can use me for your pleasure as you wish.”

About this time Mistress had a shuddering moaning mini-orgasm, then she slowed a bit, before picking up the pace, leading to a stronger one that left her gasping at rest on top of me. After a moment she tossed her harness on the floor.

“Put in your device, Slave. Then get back here and fuck me….”

And I was anxious to do just that.

Later that evening, after a stop at a relative’s home for a cook-out we headed to a local bar, populated by a younger crowd out to hear a local rock band. It seemed that at every table one or more of the 20 and 30 something’s had their “electronics” out, tapping away. So it was not too bizarre for us to pull out our own devices as we waited for the band to end an interminable sound check.

Mistress scanned her texts and emails, and composed one for our Western correspondent. She showed me her message before hitting send:

“Mick is good with all this. I am willing to hop on a flight out west anytime. That’s the kind of babe I am. I live to serve. Sweet dreams. Molly.”

Yes, she is a woman of action. That’s my Mistress.












“

MIstress Gets Tag Teamed

At exactly 4:20 pm yesterday my text message chime woke me from my focus on a dull text I was revising. It was Mistress:

“Look forward to fucking. Western guy has gotten me hot.”

Hmmm. There would be an interesting story behind this one.

When we climbed into the car for the ride back home, I politely asked about the business lunch she had attended, but was way more interested in hearing about what had gotten her motor running in the midst of her work day.

“So what happened today with ‘Western guy’ Mistress?”

“Oh he started texting….and it got pretty raunchy, Slave.”

“Would you like to share?”

She pulled out the I-phone from her elegant little black leather backpack. (a very Domme-ish accessory, come to think of it. Think of the tools it could hide.) Then she scrolled through a long stream to find where things began.

As she read I could only focus on the highlights, as I navigated through traffic in a pop-up thunderstorm, while squirming a bit in my seat as my pants seemed suddenly much tighter.

The text exchanges she read to me featured his repeated references to her as his “little slave”, a description of some sordid plans he had in store for her, and his requirement that she  respond with a “Yes, Sir”, when replying to his insistence that she not cross her legs or otherwise seek to relieve the building sexual tension.  And there were some comments about the story he had in mind when they had their next  phone sex session this weekend.

Mistress wanted to confirm that their dialogue was also turning him on. She is considerate that way, as I well know. And sure enough, Western M, let her know that the turn on was mutual.

“So all of this made you pretty horny, Mistress?”

“Yes Slave. Is that bad?”

(Our readers should know that Mistress is and always has been very considerate about this. While our contract clearly allows her to “play the field”, a right I do not have, she seems almost too concerned about my feelings. She knows from empirical evidence that I enjoy her adventures (almost) as much as she does. Yet she is always taking my temperature to make sure I don’t get squeamish about it. Nice, don’t you think?)

“No, Mistress. Not bad at all. Very hot stuff.”

And, in fact, tossed into the text exchange were some little comments about how he had gotten her in the mood to fuck me ASAP.  Western M egged her on. He has my back, so to speak.

On the highway by now, I reached my hand over to where Mistress thighs met her skirt, that had hiked up in a high and revealing way. My fingers settled on their junction, against her silky black “work” panties. Damp it seemed. Was it the rain she had walked through on her way to meet me, or the work of Western M. As I toyed with her a bit, I enjoyed her little squirms. She was a horny little slut this afternoon.

When we got home the thunderstorm had cleared.

“Bike ride, Mistress?”

“”Uhhhh….for some reason I am not feeling the need today.”

“Sex?”

“Yes, Slave. That’s the need I am feeling.”

Now this was unusual. Mistress rarely passes up the exercise opportunity. She really was turned on and in need of a hard cock. I was just lucky to be the one available.

We went to our room. Mistress was out of her cloths in a flash. And so was I.

She lazed across my body, at a right angle, her head on my chest, my hand buried in her clean shaven cunt. And I began to rub …. and rub, occasionally sucking her left nipple into my mouth, holding it between my teeth. Mistress was very needy but she was going to build to something special. No quick and easy orgasms today.

Our conversation focused on Western M, his wife B and their plans for Mistress.

Her sitting on Mistress’s face, as M toyed with her cunt.

Both of them taking turns spanking her, their hands dipping between the cheeks of her ass to confirm how wet and desperate to come she was.

Mistress collared, hands tied, on her knees, serving them both with her mouth.

Or maybe locked in some basement dungeon by them, on call to serve their kinky needs.

“Imagine what it will be like to meet M on some trip out west someday, Mistress. He will have you so well programmed with his voice, that you might just fall to your knees the minute he opens his mouth.”

“Hmmmm….maybe so, Slave.”

I kept rubbing. Mistress was so very close, whimpering a bit. But holding back. AS if she was struggling to delay orgasm until someone not in the room at the time gave her permission.  Oh so hot she was.

“Would you like the Hitachi, Mistress?” (By now my hand was getting a little tired but I knew she needed more from me, not less).

She was conflicted, confused, in a lust filled haze of desire.

“Uhhhh…..no……well …maybe ….yes….do you mind, Slave?”

“Of course not, Mistress”.

I popped up from the bed. Observed Mistress lying there, legs spread, knees bent, damp all over, her hips slowly undulating. Needy. Oh so needy. I had to put her out of her “misery”. The power tool was her only hope.

I found it in its little hiding place, plugged it in and slid in bed next to her.

“Relax, Mistress this will only take a minute.”

She moaned at my bad joke, but seemed very happy when the machine kicked on with its dull roar and I pressed it against her clit.

It did only take about a minute from there. Mistress had lost the battle of resistance and within seconds her hands were over mine, pressing the soft white bulb hard against her self, directing the action. Her leg muscles were very well defined as she used them to force the device home even harder. And then exploded against it, throwing her head back in surrender to her needs.

In this case, I felt that I was giving Western M the assist, since he had gotten this ball rolling hours earlier with his smutty little text messages.

She caught her breath, still writhing a bit with the aftershocks, and said “Give me the cock now slave.”

I was happy to oblige.

“It’s good to know my cock has not been made obsolete by all this technology, Mistress.”

“No Slave. That’s what went wrong with my little lesbian adventure a few months back. The orgasms are nice, but I need a nice hard cock to finish the job.”

AS I slid into her , Mistress took over the verbal provocations.

“Maybe when we have that phone sex tomorrow, I will tie you to that chair over there.”

“Hmmm….that would be …interesting Mistress.”

“How would it feel to listen to him talk me to an orgasm, Slave. Yo hear me call him Sir and respond to his voice….”

“That could be hard, Mistress.”

“would it make you jealous, Slave.”

“Well, I guess…but not in a bad way.”

“Good…it’s good for you to see that other men want me.”

And that you want them, Mistress.”

The talk was getting us crazy all over again. I was pumping. Mistress was coming, again. And soon I was begging for permission. I just barely made it under the wire, and came with a series of shudders, spent, collapsing onto her.

After we came down, and were getting ready to take a sullen teen to dinner (her friends are drivig her crazy, she claims), I picked up the laptop and sent an email to Western M, thanking him for all his priming of the pump.

We had worked Mistress like a winning relay team, and I was the lucky one holding the baton on the last leg, for the celebration at the finish line.

Or maybe one of those WWF tag teams? Need to work on that metaphor.