Caged on a Sultry Sunday Afernoon

These days my cock cage usually is required only when Mistress and I are not driving to work together. It must give Mistress an extra sense of security that I won’t be getting into “trouble”. 

And it allows her the always fun text message  sometime during the day, “how is the cage, Slave?” , and it’s de rigeur response, “Tight, Mistress.”

Sunday was an exception to the rule.

We have a rental property in River City’s University quarter. I  lived there for several years during our loathsome “commuter life”. The old house is  charming but not nearly capacious enough for all four of us, particularly considering the storage needs of  our two divas in training.

One particular sore point for Mistress is that  woman, with whom I had inappropriate dealings during that commute, lives a few blocks away.  So it’s a neighborhood Mistress would prefer that her Slave steer clear of, unless absolutely necessary.

On this Sunday the necessity was some much needed yard maintenance. Mistress knew in her mind that Slave would not stray (I hope she knows that by now). And of course she is always welcome to come join in the fun ( or lounge about while Slave deploys the weed eater).  But she had another security precaution in mind.

“I think you should wear your cage today,  Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

So before loading up the equipment, I equipped myself with the steel cage, allowing Mistress to shut the little padlock.

“Good slave. Go do your work and hurry home.”

About two hours later I made it back, a sweaty, grimy mess.

Mistress was in her bikini, reading a book, lounging on our deck splayed across a chaise.

She acknowledged my return with a kiss, and suggested I get out of those sweaty cloths and join her. But there was no suggestion that I retrieve the key to my cage.

So I changed into some shorts, and returned to the deck, NY Times and a cold beer in hand.

We chatted a  bit about the news of the day, and our plans for the week.

She had her I-phone in hand, and took a call from our Western Correspondent. They were planning their phone “date” for later that afternoon.

“Yes….Slave’s right here …. M says hello, Slave.”

“Say Hi for me, Mistress.”

She did and added, “By the way, Slave’s still in his cage….when do you think I should take it off?”

Hmmm.  A Dom/Domme consult. Twitch. Up to that point the cage was a bit of background discomfort. Suddenly it had come to the fore.

“You know, I think you’re right….it stays on until after our date this afternoon.”

Mistress rang off, stood and came over to me, a hand gently resting on my crotch, confirming that the steel cage was still in place. Like it was going anywhere without her little key?

“You don’t mind if I leave it on until later, do you Slave?”

As if my opinion counted.

“Of course not, Mistress. It’s probably good for me.”

“Yes, Slave. You do need to be reminded of your place from time to time.”

The afternoon was a pleasant one. Hot and Humid. We made a nice lunch with some smoked salmon and fresh baked bread. Very Irish.

Around 4 pm it was time for Mistress’s date.

“Could be an hour or so, Slave. I will give a call when you can come up.”

I got a little antsy then. Did some pruning in the yard to distract myself from the twitch of my cock inside the cage as I imagined Mistress with Hitachi in hand being further programmed in the ways of submitting to M’s suggestive voice.

But the hour passed, and I got my call.

“Please come upstairs now, Slave.”

When I arrived, Mistress was lounging on the bed, her bikini bottom off, the top still on.  She had that well fucked smile on her face. And the room was redolent of her arousal. No doubt he had made her come two, three times over that hour.

“Why don’t you strip for me and fetch the key, Slave.”

I was happy to comply, and when she unlocked the cage and helped me work the covering off my cock, she took it in her hands and massaged it gently with her nicely painted nails.  It responded the way you might imagine.

“Oh my….I think it missed me.”

It did.

Thankfully, Mistress seems to enjoy a hard and demanding cock after one of those phone indoctrinations with her Master.

Internal Crystal Combustion

The monsoons stopped, finally. So Mistress and Slave were not going to languish too long in bed n Sunday morning, even though it was switch day.

But there was an assignment for M to complete.

“That description sounds a little impossible, Mistress….” (see yesterday’s blog).

Mistress bent her long, tanned and muscular legs this way and that, tryin to replicate the pose he required. I had warmed her up a bit with my tongue through those gauzy panties, so her moist tunnel gladly accepted the crystal cock we had acquired two years earlier at a very pricey Soho sex boutique.

“How’s that Mistress.”

“Mmmm….nice Slave.”

Her cunt clung to it very efficientl , allowing me to rise and retrieve my camera.

I snapped shots from a number of angles for him. Mistress does like to accommodate her remote Master. No doubt hoping the cumulative enticements and submissions will someday earn her a personal audience. And I like to be her nice little compliant slave in helping her with that goal.

Isn’t it nice when we all know our roles and play them well. Sort of like Ron Artest coming off the Lakers’ bench? OK, enough with the obscure sports metaphors.

Photos taken, I had another experiment to conduct, but figured Mistress would be better bound to the bed for this one. Some long strips torn from a weathered beach towel were good for tying her wrists together, and a leather cord attached them solidly to the top of our bed. She was going nowhere.

I played the crystal phallus in and out a bit, poking for her most responsive spots, while lapping her clit gently with the very tip of my tongue. Soon she was squirming nicely.

“Didn’t he suggest a combination of the crystal cock and the Hitachi, Mistress?”

“Ahhh….yes, I think so, Slave.”

I reached for it where it was parked for easy access under the bed, then switched on the little relentless tool he has been using to train her to be so dripingly responsive to his commands.

“We wouldn’t want to let both of you down.”

What followed was a slowly paced, accessorized assault on Mistress’s needy parts: as I pressed the tool against her with varying degrees of pressure while using another hand to tease and torment her channel with the phallus.

At some point I pulled it out all together and pressed it to Mistress’s lips, even as she squirmed against the Hitachi.

“taste it Mistress….you are delicious.”

She was. I had already sampled her.

“Mmmm…..God, it’s hot slave, feel it.”

Sure enough, the end of the little device was steaming hot.

Somehow Mistress was generating a whole lot of heat inside her desperate little cunt.

“Please don’t melt it, Mistress. That damn thing was expensive.”

It went back inside. It was sucked back inside, truth be told.

Slave was kind enough then to put Mistress out of her squirming misery, as she came in a fit of moans, lurching against her bonds, Confused about whether she should be begging me for permission to come, or demanding the right as my Mistress.

Ah the sublime confusion of a switch day well executed.

And before we abandoned the bed for a long bike ride, I was instructed to send those photos off to her Master.

He seemed pleased with her, but, as feared, she did not get the pose right.

Hopefully he will send an illustration next time.

Field Slave Called into the Big House.

After a good sleep in on a rainy Saturday morning, Mistress paged me from above and her dutiful Slave climbed the stairs and handed her my laptop for her to review our Q and A blog.

She seemed very amused, and I was rewarded with the opportunity to use my fingers to make her come, then fuck her to our mutual contentment. And when it’s been about 24 hours for me, the resulting discharge is always explosive and welcome.  Very  welcome.

The monsoon persisted and lightning flashed, and so  we lazed about in bed. It was still early on the Mountain Time Zone, so Mistress had not yet heard her Master’s reaction to my somewhat satirical description of how he landed his job as our Western Correspondent.

She tapped away an email to him as I cuddled next to her, reading the Times, and it was natural for me to glance over at the keyboard as she typed.  She noticed my roving eyes.

“Slave, does it bother you when you see me tell him ‘I want u”? (and that’s what she had typed, and a bit more too).

“Not unless you don’t mean it Mistress. It’s fine to want both of us….”

She gave me a little kiss, content with my answer. Who could complain about being courted by two guys who need her so completely?

I told her that M has sent me an email the night before in response to my request for thoughts on our switch day activities.  He had  a “suggestion” for a ‘pose’ that he had discussed already with Mistress – something he wanted me  to photograph and then send to him - too hard to paraphrase so I will quote it here:

As always it’s your switch Sunday but I do have a suggestion.  

I think Molly would look good and could be teased and tormented well in a position on her back with her legs rolled all the way over her head and her knees and the tops of her feet flat on the bed.  Kind of a yoga position.  I explained the position  to her and she understands.  ( I have requested a picture of her in that position at some point in the future)  She would be very vulnerable and exposed in such a position and my thought was that she could be teased with any means you want.  eg. lips, cock, hitachi, glass dildo, fingers, etc.  And I suspect she would look very alluring in that position.  Then you could decide (at your own peril of course) whether or not to let her cum.

I showed Mistress his “suggestion” and it got her squirming a bit.

“Yes …. I think I know what he wants….”

Of course it might be a suggestion to me, but it was clearly a requirement for her.

“How does it feel to pose for him this way, Mistress?”

“A little humiliating, Slave.”

A little?

“But I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it?

“I suppose so, Slave.”

And of course it reminds me if my ‘place” when I get to be the photographer and accommodate my Mistress’s humiliation.  Delicious, isn’t it?

“I’ll bet he might open up those lurid little photos to play with his cock, Mistress…don’t you think?

“I don’t know Slave….” Mistress was getting that far away, turned on look in her eye.  She did need him. But I was happy to be the surrogate.

Then I showed her the response I had sent to M:

“excellent thoughts. She was telling me you required a picture with the crystal cock, so we will definitely do that.

I enjoy assisting her and you in fullfilling your wishes, and it makes her very hot when you make a request like that, as I think you know..

This does make for an interesting relationship, with Molly at the center of it. She likes and needs the attention, and we both seem to bring something different to the table.

I really am very grateful for the way you have handled this ( and her). Hope it has not been too disruptive to your own life, but it has worked well for ours. 

Of course, as I have warned, once you let Molly get into your head, it's hard to get her out.

The slave of your slave, Mick

“Hmmm. The slave of your slave.  I like the sound of that.”

She kissed me again, her hand roaming to my cock. It was thickening at her touch.

But while round two of the morning was increasingly tempting, it was time for Molly and Mick to run some Saturday errands. So off we went.

By the time we got home, at around 12:30 or so, Mistress was in need of a nap, still fighting that cold, and her Slave was interested in watching the grudge match between our Yanks and the arrogant Brits.  I figured we were due more than a little revenge for the mess their company is making in the Gulf.

 Mistress also needed to rest up for the phone date she had planned with M for later that afternoon. So as she napped, I watched the game. The ending tie was a cruel consolation for an Irish nationalist like Mick.

Sort of like kissing Maggie Thatcher.

As the game was ending, Mistress showered, prepping for her date, and the date we had planned for the  movies afterwards.  As she showered her text chime went off. I dutifully reported that her I-phone screen showed a one word message from M:   “call?”

He was ready for her. Mistress smiled. I excused myself.

“I will be out doing some yard work, Mistress….”

“Ok, Slave. I will come for you when we are done.”

I was toiling and sweating in the hot and humid sun, cock twitching  a the  thought of Mistress upstairs, legs splayed, Hitachi in hand, and responding to his verbal commands.  Then my cell phone rang.”

“Why don’t you come in now, Slave.”

Ah. They were done.  A little quicker than I had expected, but fine by me. 

I shed my shirt, sweat dripping from me, as I climbed the stairs.  Mistress was naked in our room. She liked my “field Slave” look, and snapped a shot. 

“He’ll like this”, she said . “I’m telling him I called you in from the fields to service your Mistress.”

In this case, that was the truth.

It did not take us long to become prone, hands all over one another.

“How many times did he make you come, Mistress.”

“Only twice, Slave….”

Only.

By now I was between her legs. Lapping up some of those accumulated juices.

“And how does that work, Mistress””

Well … we start to talk … about ….whatever….and he reminds me to use my fingers between my legs….”

I figured Mistress did not need much reminding.

“Does he let you come with your fingers, Mistress?”

“No….I have to wait.”

That could be a little hard.

“Then….when he thinks I am ready….he tells me to turn on the Hitachi, Slave.”

I did not need further details. I knew how crazy our power tool makes her.  And by now my teeth and lips were clinging and tugging at her clit and she was coming for me.  Not as hard as for the Hitachi, but she seemed pleased.

“I want to taste my cock now, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress. It’s yours”.  And I rolled onto my back, letting her have her way with it. 

Soon I was the one doing the squirming. She knew I was more than ready to fill her.

“Why don’t you get on top, Mistress.”

“Good idea, Slave.”

Then I cruelly exploited her fantasy numero uno these days, squeezing her nipples, I worked the story line.

“I know you like to think about him making you  ride his cock this way, Mistress. Feeling him throb deep inside you, forcing you to rub yourself hard against him but making you wait to come until he decided it was time…..you need that don’t you, Mistress?”

Somewhere in the midst of her moaning, writhing climax I heard something that sounded like “Oh…yes, Slave…I do.”

I let her slow a bit, then slid my fingers down from her nipples,  massaging  her needy little clit insistently even as she continued to rub hard and desperately against the cock buried deep within her..

“Just imagine him filling you this way, Mistress….demanding that you continue to ride him until he had enough of you….I’m sure that would take some time, wouldn’t it?”

In a few more moments, she was coming one more time, with another exuberant moan climbing from somewhere deep inside, then collapsing onto me, exhausted.

I let her rest a bit before we rolled over, and took the time required to redeem fully the field hand’s reward for a solid workday.

And in my mind, I had to thank M for priming Mistress so thoroughly for me.

Q. and A. with Mick and Molly

Yesterday was a bit of a rare sexual semi-washout for us. First Mick, then Molly have been stricken by a cold/flu passed on by a grandson.

Well…we did have sex Friday morning. And Mistress did make me wear my cage, since we were driving separately. Not that she needs an excuse. Hopefully that earned her some Domme brownie points with her trainer, M.

But when we got home….Mistress crashed with this flu. We both had a brief nap, followed by dinner for 10. Then to bed at 1 am, tired and tipsy. So a pass was well in order.  Hopefully Mistress will have a good sleep in this morning.

But I hate to leave you loyal readers without something to consume on a Saturday. It might make you turn to the dark side --- maybe the BP spill cam. How tedious.

So here are some of the questions we have heard (or you may have), with our “candid” answers:

Q. Do you guys really have sex that often?

A. Actually we have it more often than reported here. But if I wrote any more it would cut into our sex time. (and life too.)

Q. Why the blog?

A. To please Mistress. It allows Mick to say some things that my taciturn Irish guy demeanor does not always allow through the spoken word. Like how much I worship Molly. Truly.

That I am hers.

Forever.

That I like what she’s wearing.

That she always, always, look’s nice.

That I am very lucky to have her.

You get the point. And it is all true. But sometimes as we hunker down through the rigors and tedium of daily life, the words don’t spring from my tongue as often as they should. With the blog, Mistress can read it all and also get a few laughs each morning, usually with my tongue worming it’s way between her clean shaven folds.

Of course it’s had some other interesting fringe benefits, including meeting an interesting rogue’s gallery of characters, some of whom appear on these pages. It also eggs us on. Variety makes for interesting things to write about. So we create variety.

Q. How did the Western Correspondent get his job?

A. After journalism school M’s resume asserts that he did several internships in the mountain west, some that involved clever uses of his reputedly perpetually rigid cock. We are a little sloppy, so I never checked his references. But, as you have learned, he does talk a good game.

When he learned of “Under Contract for his Wife” as an emerging, if deviant, voice in the blogo-sphere, he impressed both of us with his clever comments. Not long after his comments appeared, he began emailing us tales of his exploits, including with his wife B, who has been known to wield a painful paddle. We began running some of M tales and commentaries as part of the blog.

Of course, M has since begun to play a much more intimate role in Molly’s life. That began with a phone call while Molly was on a long road trip. And now the mere sound of his voice, or the chime of one if his salacious text messages seems to get her cunt all damp and her pelvis all squirmy. He’s doing an excellent job of training her to be his slave in sex. The folks at Hitachi should consider hiring the two of them as spokes-models. Can’t you imagine them doing X- rated infomercials?

In any event, it’s an inspiring “lurker to master” story of internet hi-jinks, don’t you think? Hopefully Mistress will recover in time to participate in a phone date with him later today.

Q. Where is River City?

A. Well, we do like to preserve our anonymity. Let’s just say it’s not on the Rivers that Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young or Randy Newman sing about.

Q. The other night, did Mistress actually let Mick come after all that teasing?

A. She has authorized me to waive on her behalf the Mistress Slave privilege. Yes, she was merciful. Despite M’s recommendation, she did allow me to come. She says she did so because she likes it when I come with her permission, not necessarily to end my frustration.

Is it a wonder that I worship her so deeply?


Please let us know if you have any other questions.