Mistress Loses Track.

Mistress had a very tough day yesterday. So tough she lost track of her orgasm count.

Let’s try to reconstruct.

Yesterday was my switch day. M had not come up with any instructions for me, so it was “free style”.

Since Mistress had been so gentle and loving of late, I did not have it in me to come up with any thing particularly cruel. So I settled for something I knew would satisfy both of us, while feeding Mistress’s rich fantasy life.

Her wrists were cuffed, and fixed together over her head. Her ankles were bound closely together with another pair of leather cuffs. Neat and efficient, and assuring that Mistress was going nowhere.

I lay next to her on the bed, she on her back, me straddling her, kissing and letting her feel the need of my hardening cock.

Then I rolled her over, to begin a long and slow spanking. Not too hard or frenzied. Just enough to warm her bottom and make her squirm. After a bit I slid my free hand under her sliding a finger along the damp slit that was all mine, for the moment, at least.

“Last week you came this way, Mistress….but not this week. I want you to hold it until I turn on the power tool.”

She moaned a bit, grinding her pussy into the palm of my mind.

“Yes, Slave. I will try.”

I spanked her hard.

“You will do more than try, Mistress. Come on my finger and I am going to hide that power tool.”

She laughed.

“That’s mean”.

I suspected she had some plans for that device with M later that day. It had been a few days for them. She would need the device handy in order to follow his instructions. And I spanked her again, a bit harder.

“Yes, Slave…..I understand.”

As Mistress’s frustration grew, I could tell she was holding back a bit. Trying to still the undulations of her willful cunt. So I showed her mercy, as she so often shows to me.

I pulled the Hitachi from under the bed and switched it on. You could feel the relief and anticipation from Mistress.

She was still on her tummy. With her ankles closely bound, it was a challenge for her to spread her thighs just so to allow the tool to slide between her legs.

“It’s not quite there, Slave”, she said, as I toyed with her a bit, deliberately holding it just short of the spot she needed it to be.

“Oh dear….sorry, Mistress.” Can you hear my sarcasm?

She wiggled and wriggled and squirmed to get the right angle, her frustration mounting. But again I showed mercy, easing into the position that allowed her to press her throbbing little clit against the pulsating white bulb.

“I like the way those butt muscles clench and relax, then clench again, Mistress. You look so desperate…..”

Soon she was in a frenzy that took her where she needed to be.

Her first of the day.

I released her ankles, she spread her legs like a nice little slut, as she might for M under these circumstances ,and slowly slid into her from behind. Pumping away at her, she had at least another one, before I rolled her over and finished the job.

It was raining out, so we delayed our bike ride and did some office type work until I was off to some family visits.

When I called her at some point around noon, she confirmed that she and M had been able to fit in one of their phone “dates”.

“When you get home I will tell you all about it, Slave.”

And of course, hearing that satisfied tone in her voice had my cock twitching like one of Pavlov’s dogs once again.

The plan had been for us to take that deferred bike ride once I got home and Mistress returned from the grocery. We put away the provisions required to feed the surly teens and their friends for the next few days. (Summer vacation has begun and hungry hoards will soon converge on our house.) Then Mistress suggested we go to our room for her to report on her encounter.

“Well it was as you might expect, Slave.”

I understood: her cunt, the Hitachi, his hypnotic voice casting it’s spell with tales of Mistress’s submission to his hard and demanding cock.

“And how many times did he make you come, Mistress?”

“Twice, Slave….is that ok by you?”

She meant it. Mistress is considerate of my feelings on all this. Honesty is our watchword, and she does not want me to get toooo jealous. (well, a little bit jealous and competitive is OK. She does like the concept of two alpha males both trying hard to please and amuse her and drive her to sexual frenzy).

“It’s fine, Mistress.”


And it was. But somehow the bike ride was deferred once again, and Slave and Mistress were naked once again. I needed her then and now.

Add (at least) two more to Mistress’s count.

In the aftermath, I napped for about 30 minutes, in recovery mode, and Mistress worked on her non-kinky blog. (her energy level is amazing). Then we finally took that long bike ride, before settling onto our deck with the Times and a beer to catch the late afternoon sun.

Mistress had her –phone with her, and as the little text chime went off, I could tell that she was in touch with M. An ongoing text message flirtation is a charming off shoot of this D/s infatuation of theirs. And I like the way Mistress’s body squirms a bit when the chime goes off, and she taps off a response.

“What’s he up to, Mistress?”

“I can’t believe it. He says he just fucked B, now she is out of the house, and he wants to talk to me again.”

In this case, “talk” was laden with a different meaning. He wanted to get off with her again.

“I’m telling him we’re busy, Slave.”

“Well you could do it out here, but one of the surly teens is just inside. She might see.”

I did like the idea of Mistress toying with herself, in rapture, out on our deck. Another time, maybe.

“But if you want, go inside. I will be fine, Mistress.”

You could see that Mistress was struggling with this. Her little needy cunt was twitching again. It wanted her to comply with his desires.

But her brain was telling her, “you shouldn’t leave your slave all alone out here.” Cute.

I had a feeling her cunt would win this “argument”. And it did, with my encouragement.

“Mistress, I have a beer and the NY Times, and we’ve already had sex twice today. I am more than happy. Plus aren’t you curious to know if he can do it for you after he just had sex with B?”

Of course she was. Off she went. Already dripping, I suspect.

About 25 minutes later, she came padding down to me. Still a bit flushed. She kissed me.

“Well, Mistress?”

“He did do it, Slave. Impressive.”

“And you, Mistress?”

“Yes….but only once this time.”

Truth be told, even I could have done it again at that point. I find that I always want her again after these little “dates”. But I figured “why be greedy….”

As we settled into bed that evening, I was more than satisfied, but offered to worship Mistress. I do like the taste of her on my lips before going to sleep. But she demurred.

“I think I’ve had enough today Slave.”

But when I asked, she really could not remember the count.

Mistress and Slave's DC Adventures (cont'd)

Yesterday I ended the blog on a sidewalk in our nation’s capitol, with two 20 something’s wondering what made two folks (or at least one of us) old enough to be their parents so hot for one another on a sultry Friday night.

I did not want to leave too much to your imagination.

We finished our long walk back to our hotel from dinner, a bit tipsy and with a sheen of perspiration from the warm humid air. We slid off our cloths and into bed.


“Do you want me, Slave?”

“Absolutely, Mistress.”

Soon I was between Mistress’s legs, dug in for a long siege.

I know there are some guys who say this is not their favorite sex act. Our Western Correspondent is one of them. And I have heard of (but never met) women who find it less than compelling. (Thinking of you SFP).

But for me, there is nothing like the Zen like experience of focusing all of my energy and attention on bringing my Mistress to a slow and intense orgasm with my mouth and tongue.

On a night like our Friday evening , when there are no other demands, or the need to wake up early or otherwise, “get on with it”, I like to use my mouth to tease and torment a bit, and draw it out of her slowly. And when Mistress is a little tipsy, it’s all the more fun. Whatever inhibitions she might have (and there are not many) are thrown to the wind and surrendered to her pleasure centers.

So with the glow of the National Cathedral shining through our hotel room window in the distance, I began my worship. This would be a high mass.

It involved a slow and languorous sucking of her rosy clit between my lips, teased on occasion by the very tip of my tongue. I knew I was getting to her as her hips began to rise each time I created a little vacuum to suck her sensitive bud even deeper into my mouth.

AS she got closer to the edge I would slow the rhythm a bit, then speed it up again to keep her tilted but not quite ready to plunge over the precipice. And somewhere along the way, my thumb found it’s way into her sopping canal, where it poked and probed to find that spot that makes her crazy.

After 10 or 15 minutes of this, Mistress was thrashing about a bit, getting a tad desperate. Finally, I showed some mercy, and pressed her over the edge with some additional attention with my tongue.

Her vocalization was well worth the effort, as she came in one enthusiastic spasm against my clinging mouth, and then went through a series of mini-crashes before settling down onto the bed. I had the satisfaction of a job well done, when I heard her raspy demand “Come and fuck me now, Slave”.

It’s always nice when I am not required to beg for that privilege.

As it turned out I was more than ready, and mounted her without hesitation.

And we fucked for quite a few minutes that way, me on top of her, varying the speed, mauling her tits, pressing my face into her neck to enjoy her lovely aroma, that mingled her musky perfume, the salt of the day’s sunbathing, and the tang of the sexual juices that had spread just about everywhere by now.

But this was not exactly what Mistress needed.

“I want to be on top, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”


On that night, her needs were only going to be quenched by riding my cock. And she rode it with a vengeance.

I had a sense that in her mind she was imprisoned in M’s mountain cabin. Collared. Chained to the bed. At his disposal.

And he had required her to ride him this way, maybe with her hands tied behind her back, so that she could take her pleasure only by grinding and sliding against him, building and building until she was mad with desire, but coming only after she begged him for the privilege.

And my attitude was the following (and I have expressed it to her this way): If Mistress gets this hot with thoughts of fucking another guy, and I am the beneficiary of her naughty sexual fantasies, then fantasize on, my love.

At some point she drove herself to yet another devastating climax, collapsing onto me, seemingly exhausted, but knowing that she owed me one.

So we rolled over again. And I quickly found my mark.

By now, Mistress was making some noises that were new to me. Sobbing was the best way I could describe it to her over breakfast the next day. But not the sobbing that comes with tears. That happens sometimes for her, after a particularly intense climax. This was something all together different. I interpreted it as “Slave, I have had more orgasms than a Mistress can handle, but I am still going crazy with you fucking me.”

In any event, I did go on, until I was begging for permission, and she was granting, then I was exploding into her in a series of spasms that seemed to go on forever.

After that, well …..

We woke the next morning, wondering what exactly happened.

We found ourselves on the wrong side of the bed. (old married couples like us have their “sides”. Exactly how we acquired them is now shrouded by the fog of time).

As best we could reconstruct, we both sort of passed out simultaneously. Maybe our mutually generated sexual energy had sucked us into an odd time warp or another dimension. But we came back in good order, no limbs rearranged. Our nation’s history not altered, at least as far as we could tell. The oil was still leaking. The media still demanding that Barack “do something” and “act more pissed.”

And, before heading out for a walk through Georgetown, we made sure that our sexual organs were still working. Thank goodness, they were.

Now we are back in River City, our brief getaway over.

We have a lovely photo of Molly on the steps of JFK’s Georgetown home to show for our trip. Mistress’s tan lines are a bit more pronounced. And I am considering what exactly to do to her on Switch Day. We will keep you updated.


BTW, check out ‘Nilla’s blog (Vanilla Mom’s Blog) today for a fictionalized account of the adventures of Molly, Mick and our Western Correspondent. We no doubt will all be inspired by this today. Hopefully Molly and M will have a phone date today to go over the plot line in some detail. It’s probably fortunate that the Hitachi has had a few days off to rest its circuitry.


Mountain Top pt 1. « Van#D55BB8

Mistress in Repose

Put Molly and Mick in a hotel room in a distant city and you know what to expect : Lots of hot, leisurely and robust sex.  And yesterday was no exception, though Mistress made sure she got some R and R time in too.

I woke around 6:30 or so, pressed against Mistress from behind , my hand resting on her hip.

The first words from her sleepy voice was something to the effect of “Is that a hard pcock I feel?”

Well, yes.

Soon we were at it, with my conventional assault - mouth and tongue squeezing a starter orgasm from her - before asking for permission to fuck her.

But at some point, as I was sliding into her and hearing those lovely little sounds she makes, I decided that she needed to roll over and take it from behind.

Maybe it was talk  of our Western Correspondent that got us going in this direction. In any event, I slid easily into her, as wet as she was from our introductory fucking, and as I pumped away I asked her to consider how much M would like to have her this way, possibly collared and tied to his bed in that little mountain cabin of his somewhere in the Rockies.

That seemed to take Mistress over the edge for two successive orgasms.

At some point I slipped out of her in my enthusiasm, and as I reoriented myself, she said “wrong hole, Slave.”

“Oh dear….don’t want to do that, that one belongs to M, doesn’t it Mistress?

“Ohhh….Yes, Slave, it does.”

The thought seemed to send shivers through her.

We had a lovely breakfast in an open air café, before Mick had to attend a rather dreary seminar. Mistress planned a walk on the sunny boulevards of this hot and humid capitol city, and would meet me at the pool at lunchtime. 

Mistress does like her sun. So when I arrived at the pool, I found her luxuriating there in her bikini, blissful.

I had switched into my swim attire, and was loaded down with a book and the Times. We had talked about going to a museum or two. But this was a sunny day and the chaise lounges were too tempting for Mistress.

“I talked to M, Slave.”

“Yes, and how is he?”

This was no surprise. They seem to talk regularly, and my attitude is that if it makes Mistress as content as it seems, it’s all good.

“Fine, Slave. He asked what we were doing, and I told him the options. He said that as your mistress I should make the call. And my call is sitting by this pool as long as the sun holds.”

“Good advice Mistress….I am happy to oblige.”

So we lay at poolside, me working through the Washington Post and a book, while Mistress lazed in the sun, reading her own book. And of course we made our obligatory checks of email.

At one point, Mistress noted an email “request” from M.

“He wants a picture, Slave.”

“Of you lying here at the pool?”

“No, it’s kind of humiliating.”

She read to me the image he wanted. Acrobatic. Mistress on her back, her legs pulled up and back. Her bottom raised, displaying “your two holes. The ones that are mine.”

Hmmm.

“I don’t think I can do that Slave, Its too explicit….too humiliating.”

“Do you really have a choice, Mistress?”

I laughed. Why did I know this was going to happen when we got back to our room. She really could not resist.

So once we wandered back to our room, 4:30 or so, there we were, Mistress posing for me, me snapping the photos. Mistress sorting through the images. Finding the one that showed her “two holes” and her lovely thighs to their best effect. And then, seemingly anxious to fulfill her  “sordid duty”,  She texted it off, asking him if she had followed his instructions,

His response, was something to the effect of “Yes you did.  Send it to me via email too.”

“Why does he want it by email, Slave?”

“No doubt because he wants to look at it in a larger version, on his computer.”

This seemed to please Mistress, and she quickly linked the photo to an email for him.

His acknowledgement of the photo included a thanks to “the photographer”, and directions that she treat me well.

No problem there. By then we were at it one more time, no doubt fueled by Mistress’s submission to M’s humbling request.

Though I think Mistress was still anxious to hear from M that indeed, the photo of her/his two lovely holes was very hot indeed.

After a little post-coital rest, Molly and Mick dressed for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants here. We have enjoyed it for so many years – including a few visits while married to others- that one of the surly teens is named after the place.

Sitting in the romantic dining room, sipping wine, I asked Mistress of she remembered our first time here.  She has a frighteningly good memory for such things.

“It was March, 1989. We had a weekend here. I don’t remember how we pulled that off. But I do remember a red dress (an unusual color for her) and that you used that wooden hair brush on me that weekend.”

That was before our Contract obviously. Now the hairbrush is in the other hand.

Dinner was lovely, and we took a long walk back up Connecticut Ave. to our hotel. I recall pausing in from of an open air café, taking Mistress in my arms and kissing her. It was a long, wt and passionate kiss, Mistress’s body moving against mine. My hand lingering on her ass. 

As we broke the kiss, I looked down to notice two 20 something girls sitting at a table, smiling at us.

“Have a nice night” one of them said, tongue planted in cheek.”

“Sorry”, I apologized for breaching PDA standards on a busy sidewalk.

“Oh , no. that was nice.”  They both smiled at us, seeming a bit jealous.

She could have said, “get a room”. Thankfully, we already had one. And  put it to good and enthusiastic use one more time that night.

Now Mistress is awake, and calling me for action. So I will leave what happened next to your imagination.

Waiting for Mistress

Was it Willie Loman who said in “Death of a Salesman” that “the masses of men live their lives in quiet desperation?” In any event, by about 9:30 pm last evening I felt I was one with those masses.

Mistress had taunted me a bit during the day, sharing a photo of her precisely shaven cunt, with the caption “Shaved and ready for you Slave.”

I suspect she probably shared it with her Master, M, as well, but likely with a different caption.

The corporate weasels  at Delta had cancelled Mistress’s first flight to DC. The re-booked flight, 3 hours later,  left 30  minutes late. Then, when it arrived by 8:30 pm, the “airline” was too lazy to move parked planes away from gates, so made Mistress and the poor passengers with her sit on the tarmac for another hour as  in bound flights took turns using the gates that Delta chose to make available. 

Finally, while I was mentally drafting a lawsuit for false imprisonment, Mistress emerged from air travel hell, looking amazingly radiant in a black dress, showing  a bit of nicely tanned and muscular thigh.

She smiled, kissed me. The taste of her lips and warmth and gentle undulations of her body pressed against me, made my wait more than worth it.

On the cab to our hotel, Mistress filled me in on her day. Sounds as if our Western Correspondent kept her entertained as she sat in the passenger lounge back in River City.

“Did he try to get you to touch yourself, Mistress?”

“Yes….he wanted me to go to the restroom and get myself off, Slave.”

“And did you?”

“No …. I figured it would be a little risky….”

I imagined that conversation, Mistress squirming a bit in her chair as she resisted his importuning.  I amsure she was sorely tempted. But discretion prevailed. No doubt I would soon benefit from the undischarged sexual energy.

“And he had some suggestions on how I should deal with you, Slave.”

We were pressed against each other in the cab, my hand tracing small circles on her thigh.

“And what were those, Mistress?”

Well, for one, he says I am too easy on you. That I need to be a much firmer Mistress.”

“I have no problem with that Mistress.  Did he have any suggestions?”

“He said I should make you worship me when we get to the hotel, but then tell you have to wait until after dinner….”

Well, dinner plans had been shot because of the plane delay, but the thought of M coaching Mistress on how to be a firmer Dom was certainly intriguing.

When we got to our hotel room, I poured us some wine, and Mistress and Slave shed their day cloths. It felt heavenly to lie with Mistress, our bodies  pressed together.

Soon I was performing my oral worship.  And after Mistress enjoyed my attentions, She did allow me the opportunity to fuck her with the desperation built up over the last 48 hours. And she generously gave her permission when my time came.

I suspect she will be taking her coaching cues from M in the days to come, but it was nice to catch a break last night.