Yellow Carded at the Swim Club

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The Instant Orgasm

On the second day of Molly and Mick’s empty nest extravaganza, we rested. Well, at least we slept in.

Raining.

Hotel room.

No where to be until noon.

So there was some reading (me a compelling book about the MLK Assassination by Hampton Sides).

Blog writing.

Blog reading.

Sex.

Lattes.

More reading.

At around 11 am, Mistress said it was time for a shower.

But I had one more thing I “needed” to do.

Her Hitachi was still sitting on a chair, where she had left it the afternoon before, the detritus of her slutty little phone liaison with her Master, our Western Correspondent.

“Mistress, I want you over here for a minute.”

I suspect she knew from the tone of my voice that I had mischief in mind.

At first, she demurred. She needed to wash her hair, to get it dried in time, and I joined her in the shower, exploiting the chance to play with her dripping body.

But when we were both all nice and clean, she was curious about what I had in mind.

“OK, Slave. What did you want me to do?”

“Stand there against the wall Mistress. Hands over your head, pressed against the wall.”

I positioned her as a Cop would, ready for frisking. She was leaning against the wall, arms overhead, naked, fresh from the shower, her nicely cleaned, damp hair wrapped in a towel.

And the Hitachi was lying next to her. Plugged in and ready.

I leaned against her, hands roaming her body.

“Remember that scenario when M and B (M’s very authoritative wife) had you wait for them naked in that hotel room, Mistress?”

“Ummm. Yes, Slave.”

“Well I want you to think about this. ….B has her Hitachi and you in this position. She commands M to sit still and watch. He’s in the corner, but powerless to help you. You may be his Slave. But he’s her slave, right?”

“Yes…. I understand.”

My hand is reaching around, running a finger up and down her slit. Is it damp from the shower, or are Mistress’s juices already beginning to flow?

I use my foot to spread her legs a bit. My cock is already getting thick, and its pressed between her smooth ass cheeks.

Distracting.

So I stepped back a bit, reached for the power tool and flicked it on, pressing it against the inside of her thigh. Mistress startled a bit, but I held her in place with my left hand, my mouth close to her ear.

“She has you in this position. She uses the Hitachi on you, Mistress….relentlessly…she says ‘ M thinks you’re his little slut ….but by the time I get done with you you’re going to be all mine….you won’t want that cock of his….”

“and you’ll protest….wimpering….you’ll look over at M as if he can save you….but he’ll just watch, he won’t lift a finger, Mistress, as she makes you hers.”

Mistress moaned as I pressed the tool up between her legs. And, out of no where, this smutty little exposition I had planted in her brain, combined with that relentless machine that M has trained her to use, had her coming almost instantaneously, bucking and writhing against it, knees buckling underneath her.

It took all of 20 seconds.

“Whoa, Mistress, what was that?”

We were both laughing. Instant orgasm.

But I was not done with her. All that set up work would just go to waste. So I bucked her up, got her back in position. Spun the story a bit longer, only to have her come again for me in another 30 seconds or so…..

Amazing.

Mistress’s instant orgasms had me going again, so I led her to the bed and had my own fun with her very damp and needy cunt.

So much for showering.

Later that day, after an afternoon picnic with some political types, we were driving back to River City. It’s about a 2 hour trip.

M had let us know he was golfing out west in the morning. I pitied the poor prairie dogs dodging his powerful drives. But about 90 minutes into the drive, Mistress got a text indicating that he was off the course. She elected to call him to chat a bit.

Their talk was not particularly smutty, though I did ask for the phone to tell him about Mistress’s morning experience (and the fact that I had taken a photo he might want to request from her). But I did enjoy watching Mistress’s body language when they chatted, all squirmy, her hand somehow finding its way between her thighs….not exactly playing with herself, but certainly a subliminal demonstration that playing with herself is exactly what she would like to do, if she wasn’t in a car with her devoted husband / slave.

At some point she may be required to shed that false modesty, don’t you think?

In any event I had my camera available and snapped the photo above to show M and the rest of you just what I am talking about. She is a horny little slit for him, don’t you think?

As we approached home, Mistress learned that M would soon be home himself, and things added up quickly.

“Slave, you don’t mind if M and I have a date when we get home, do you?”

Of course I didn’t. As if it was my place to object.

As we arrived home I was told to bring her bag upstairs. Inside was the Hitachi.

Mistress stripped away her traveling cloths. She asked me to plug it in for her. All was ready. I was told I was welcome to stay, but I figured they were entitled to a little privacy.

I settled into my own comfort zone out on the deck, Times in hand, cold beer at my side, figuring this could take a while.

But only about 10 minutes later, Mistress poked her head out the door. She was naked, but for a swim suit top.

“He got interrupted, Slave. So…well …. Let’s go for that bike ride.”

I could tell Mistress was a little … frustrated. I offered to help solve the “problem” then and there, but we agreed to take care of that after a bike ride and swim.

It was a hot day and the sun had come out. We lounged about our pool for an hour or so, and headed home around 5 pm. And the first order of business back in our empty nest was taking care of Mistress’s unfinished business.

The Hitachi was where she had left it on the bed. We both quickly stripped away our damp bathing costumes.

Lying on the bed next to her, I picked up the tool again and asked her to explain what had gone so terribly wrong.

“Exactly where did you leave things off, Mistress?”

“Well I was lying here, Slave. On your side of the bed (next to the outlet)”.

“And did he have you using the tool yet, Mistress?”

I had flipped it on and was resting it just south of her favorite spot. She squirmed a bit, hoping to make better contact. But I held back. No instant orgasm until the story was out of her.

‘Yes, Slave….it was on. He had me pressing it against my clit.”

“And was his cock out, Mistress? Had he applied that expensive lube of his?”

M reputedly uses primo lube. $50 a container. He’s a man who clearly has his priorities straight.

“Yes, Slave…”

That turns you on, doesn’t it Mistress?”

It’s a powerful thing for her to know that this dominant, alpha dog is out in the Rockies, responding to her voice in just the way she responds to his. And I was now applying the tool in ways that had Mistress getting a little distracted. If properly used this device is better than sodium pentothal to get the truth out of a squirming vixen.

“Yes, Slave….it’s very hot….”

“But then you were interrupted?”

“His kids came home….he had to stop….but he told me I could finish without him….”

“and did you Mistress?”

“No….I figured that could wait for you, my Slave….”

She was buttering me up. Shameless.

“You mean you stopped this…..I pressed the churning head of the tool against her clit. A direct hit. She was moaning pressing her pelvis up against it.

“Yes….don’t you believe me?”

“That sounds very … implausible, Mistress….”

I pressed my advantage.

“You sound….accusatory…Slave.”

“No Mistress. It’s just that I know how much you like this….it makes you crazy doesn’t it?”

At that point the interrogation was effectively over, because Mistress was coming hard against the tool. In fact, she was coming so hard and with such energy that her gyrations made the tool break contact with her “good parts” a bit too soon, to her great frustration.

Climaxus Interruptus.

“Argh…..Ohhhh…. Put it back, Slave,” she moaned at me.

We regrouped. And soon we got it done right, to Mistress’s relief. Sad to think that both her Master and her Slave had frustrated her on one hot afternoon. Hopefully I redeemed us both.

And for the record, I do believe her when she says she did not finish the job without him. The machine would have gotten the truth from her if she had been lying to me.

One Lucky Mother******

It was just after 5pm. Mistress and I were walking a few blocks to a reception in our flat and not as dull as it used to be state capitol. The streets were crowded. Many folks were headed home, ready for the weekend to begin. And others were flocking to a raucous Gay pride festival winding up just north of downtown.

Mistress was wearing an electric blue one shouldered dress that fell just above the knee. It showed off her tempting body and delightful curves in a very appealing way.

As we passed along the sidewalk in front of the state capitol building, a rather bland marble edifice that looks like they still need to stick a dome on it, a homeless “gentleman” squatting on a park bench that he seems to have occupied for a dozen years, called out to me with a leer in his voice:

“Man, you are one lucky motherfucker.”

I waved and agreed. “You got that right, pal.”

And  of course, I am. A lovely, oh so sexy Mistress to squire about town. Our two surly teens off on another continent. And three weeks of “empty nesting” ahead of   us.

As we walked I asked Mistress about how her “date” with M had gone that afternoon, while I was stuck in a conference and she was idling away back in our hotel room.

I had heard them plan their get together  on the drive up that morning.

As she had chatted with him and  I listened to the USA  struggle for a nil – nil result against mighty Slovenia, I picked up some of the details. She was required to be naked in preparation for his call, the porn channel running, the Hitachi at the ready.

“I understand, M. No coming until you call. Only with your permission.”

It’s nice that someone can impose a little discipline on this horny little Mistress of mine.

As I sat at my conference, trying to concentrate with mixed results,  her text messages kept me up to date. The absence of a plug near the bed might require some adjustments…., and after they talked, she let me know she was now in need of my cock.  Frustrating.

When I got back to our hotel room to pick her up for that reception,  and dinner afterwards with some friends, there was no time to fuck, but I did see the Hitachi draped across a chair, parked in front of the TV.  It was like a crime scene.

And so, as we walked we talked about her little afternoon delight.

“So how many orgasms did he let you have, Mistress?”

“Four Slave….is that bad.”

“He is very indulgent of you, Mistress.”

“I suppose he is….but then it seems to get him off to hear me come at his command, Slave.”

No doubt it does.

“And did he play with himself throughout this little conversation?”

“Yes….he did.”

“Did you like that….the sounds he makes?”

“Yes, Slave. You men make very …interesting … sounds when you come like that…remember ….you used to do that for me when we had those video chat sessions….it’s very hot.”

And it was, being told by my Mistress to play with myself…to ask permission when I was ready to come…and be reminded that she needed to hear me vocalize my pleasure for her.  But I digress.

“What was he talking about as he made you come Mistress?”

“well he asked me to describe the porn on the screen …. And he has this fantasy going where I come with him as his slave to that Jamaican resort…that’ s always something that turns us both on, Slave.”

“You would like to be on his leash, wouldn’t you, Mistress. And to be taken whenever he wants you….in public.”

“Oh yes, Slave….”

At our reception, Mistress and her Master traded occasional text messages and photos of the evening’s activities. It’s fun to see them in touch, and she keeps me in on their banter, which makes her Slave feel included  as a part of this strange and kinky three-way.

We had dinner with some old friends. One of them brought up the name of a gentleman from Molly’s past, D, with whom she had a rather torrid affair in a prior life, before she met me.

I gave Mistress a sly raised eyebrow when that name came up. She once told me that D had the largest cock she had ever experienced, almost too large for her greedy little cunt. Almost. But not too large for her to go back for more.

I keep wondering if she will run into him here someday on her ventures to the state capitol, and if the memories of that large cock will have any subversive impact when she does see him again.

Finally, our evening of socializing was done. It had been since morning that I had last been allowed to fuck mistress. And though we were both tired and a little tipsy, I was not going to pass on the opportunity.

We snuggled close in bed, both naked. No tools or toys. Just two bodies anxious to mesh as one.

My fingers snaked between her legs and teased open her lips finding her soft, warm and liquid for me. She probably did miss that cock after all those Hitachi driven orgasms.

And after my fingers produced one orgasm, she was anxious to return the favor.

“Can I suck your cock, Slave?”

“Of course,, Mistress….you don’t need permission. It’s yours.”

Every Picture Tells a Story

I am always thrilled when Mistress stops by for some worship. The other day she wanted to share te thrill with her Master, our Western Correspondent. So as out ritual proceeded, Mistress had her I-phone in hand. I was told to snap a photo from the "slave's eye view", on my knees, her lucious clean shaven cunt open before me. The first photo did not meet her standards, so I was aasked to try again.

When she was finally pleased with the frame, I was placed on task - pleasing her with tongue and lips- while she sent it off to M.

Then she took this second photo to share with him (and you dear readers) her legs stretched  across my shoulders and back making sure I did not stray until my job was well done.

One benefit of these mid-day worship sessions is having the musky taste of my mistress on face and fingers for the rest of the work day.  Yum.

Another nice ritual we have been following on these warm weekday summer mornings is a little post bike ride worship.

Mistress likes an occasional early morning ride. Her Slave likes to exercise, but these aging bones and muscles prefer the afternoon. So as she rides I might peruse the paper or work on this blog.


When Mistress returns she is ripe with her exertions: it's hot and humid here in River City.

And I am one of those guys who likes the salty, semi-skunky taste of her ripened cunt after her hard ride is done. So I ask for permission to peal off the sodden tight black running shorts and get the full fragrant taste of her.  Double Yum.

And while riding mornings usually mean we are in a bit of a rush to get off to work, Mistress usually takes the time to allow me to indulge this desire.

Our final photo today shows what Mistress has packed for a little getaway we have planned for this evening. We are sleeping in a bit this morning, will go for a joint bike ride, then will drive up to our flat as a pancake state capitol. Mick has an afternoon conference to attend, Molly can lounge about our hotel room, then we are taking dinner with some friends this evening.

Molly has some very specific instructions from M: She was told to pack the Hitachi (all packed away as you can see) for a date they will a=have this afternoon while I am working. She was told to flip the Hotel TV set to some porn for a warm up act (no coming of course, not until he allows it), and be prepared to describe what she saw.

Mistress seemed more than happy to comply with these requests. And she is taking his "advice" on another matter.  I am told that I will be caged for the day.

So I guess it will be me trying to focus on my afternoon's work, while contemplating Mistress splayed across the hotel bed, responding to his verbal cues.  Could be a long day in that cage.