HNT / The Nipple Clamp Conundrum.

One of our more compelling and intriguing challenges here in Molly and Mick land is understanding and managing the dynamics of our unusual but very sexy three way relationship with our Western Correspondent.

M appears to be a man who knows what he wants. But,  unlike Mick,  he can get a little proprietary if someone else wants it too.

If course, he wants Molly. And, and as far as she and I are concerned, he is welcome to take his fill of her.

The only parameters I have set in my conversations with Molly on the subject (as if I have any right to set parameters) came in the following little dialog a few weeks back:

“You really would not get your nose out of joint if I visited him, Slave?”

“Well, Mistress. Hypothetically – if you went to visit for a week or so, then called to say you weren’t coming back any time soon…..I know that would upset me. I would miss you. Worry that I had lost you.

Plus, I might get tired of being in the cage.”

She laughed at that last point.

But I think she got the message. I don’t want to lose Mistress. I need her. But sharing is fine, if it makes her happy to be shared.

“Other than that …. A long weekend in his clutches. A week at his mountain cabin, fucking under the stars.  That is something that would not offend me Mistress.  It is your right. Go for it.”

And Mistress does seem to be happy - very happy - having M as another presence in her life these days. Their relationship seems to be broader and deeper than the erotic highlights that I describe on these pages. All good.

But here is a confession:  I can be a bit of a troublemaker. I do  take some devious pleasure in  sending out little signals through this blog (or otherwise) that might stir up some controversy, and throw off some sexual sparks between them. Selfishly, I suppose, I know that those sparks always seem to get thrown in my humble direction too.

Example: our switch day this past Sunday. Scroll down a bit and you will see Mistress stretched out, bound, forced to endure Hitachi induced orgasms, yadda, yadda, yadda.

With Mistress permission (as always) I sent M a “preview” photo, the one above, showing her firm and lush breasts all tricked out with those diabolical nipple clamps I “forced” on her once she was suitably restrained.

And I made sure to mention Mistress’s protests about those tight nipple clamps that I fastened on her when she had no ability to squirm away from me.

Is it possible that someone who so dearly wants to make Mistress his little  cock- sucking Slave might get s little antsy at such a scenario?

Mistress reported later that M had counseled her on the subject:

“M says that I should just use my authority as your Mistress to order you not to use those nipple clamps on me anymore, Slave.”

“Hmmmm…. I thought I was simply exercising my contractual switch privileges, Mistress.” (he drops a footnote for you[1]), I said innocently.

“I suppose that’s true, Slave.”

“Of course, I would never want to hurt you, Mistress….. are they unbearable?”

“Well, not exactly unbearable , Slave.”

“Didn’t they seem to add to the quality of that great big orgasm you had when I crammed the power tool between your legs, Mistress?”

“Well … could be.”

She had that cute faraway look in her eye, as she recalled her Sunday morning plight.

“But I suppose M is right….He must have read our contract. You do have the right to alter  the rules at your arbitrary discretion…. At any time. [2]

That’s your right, Mistress. Should I draw up an amended contract so you can ban any nipple clamps on future switch days?”

She thought a moment.

“I guess not, Slave….it is your switch day, after all.”

So, I ask you, dear readers, was Slave stirring the pot?

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[1] 5. On Sunday mornings for at least 2 hours, and at other times of the week, upon agreement of the parties, Mistress will submit completely and totally to slave, as if she was the Slave and he was the Master/Owner of her under the terms of this agreement.

[2] 5. Amendments to this agreement, shall be made in writing, signed by Mistress and Slave. If Mistress elects to impose additional rules on slave as allowed by Section III, they will be added to this agreement and both parties will sign.

A Slave Can't Take What is Promised to Another

Last night, after her wanton display on the ride home, Mistress was committed to a bike ride and swimming laps at our community swim club.

My offer to worship was deferred.

“I know all that activity probably made you a little horny, Slave”, she said in her teasing voice.

“True, Mistress…..how did you guess?”

She laughed a bit at my need. She likes me needy for her.

“But I’m going to make you wait a while…is that OK?”

As if my opinion counted.

So after biking, swimming and some pasta whipped up from what could be found in our cupboard, Mistress finally got around to what I had been waiting for.

Upstairs, in our bedroom, she had slipped into something black, short and silky.

Nice.

I stripped away the shorts and T-shirt.

“Go put in your device, Slave,” she ommanded, eyeing my naked form.

“Yes, Mistress.”

I retrieved the little white probe, lubed it up and slid it home. The effect is both physical and mental, as I suspect some of our readers can appreciate.

Sliding onto the bed, I positioned myself to suck on her needy little cunt. But Mistress had other ideas.

“Why don’t you get on the floor Slave. …. I like that angle, better.”

“Absolutely, Mistress.”

I positioned a pillow on my floor, knelt and began my worship with a long, languorous stroke of tongue to spread Mistress’s clean shaven lips.

Yum.

And the probe on my ass seemed to have its usual effect, making my cock full and firm before any physical stimulation.

I sucked Mistress’s little bud between lips and teeth, and to change things up a bit, moistened a finger in Mistress’s cunt with a subversive purpose.

Mistress and her Master seem to do a lot of talking about his preordained taking of her virgin ass. That “forbidden” act only the thought of which made Mistress squeamish in the past - and which she denied to her “starter master” several months ago – seems to be something that she now craves.

M has certainly reengineered her desires in a compelling way.

And it would be wrong – so very wrong – for her Slave to take something that she has promised to another.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t stoke her desires and fantasies with a little digital stimulation, does it?

So that moistened finger slid up and inside her as I turned my sucking up a notch. And – lickity split – no pun intended – Mistress was moaning and coming and moaning and coming for me.

When she settled down, Mistress gave her instructions, in a sultry, far away voice.

“I want you to fuck me now, Slave.”

I liked to hear the need in her voice.

And that was a command I was ready, anxious and able to fulfill.

A Wanton Display

By Sunday night I could tell Mistress was getting a little … edgy. She and M had been unable to arrange one of their phone “dates” over the weekend. Schedules and stars did not align correctly.

It had been on, then off in Sunday evening. So instead of begging for release as he muttered scenarios of her debauchery over the phone, the Hitachi churning between her legs, Mistress ended up excavating the layers of refuse and tank tops in surly teen number 2’s bedroom. 

She went from the sublime to REAL torture, and not the kind involving nipple clamps.

Of course, Mistress had  more than fair share of orgasms over the weekend, as one could see from our postings. But she had not had the proper balance of Slave and Master that she seems to crave these days.

Monday morning we were off to our respective offices.

 Focus, Focus, Focus.

There was just time for one of those shower orgasms for her, when I slide my fingers between her wet folds, kiss her passionately and get her off with a little shudder and giggle. 

Hardly enough to get her through the day.

And from the reports I was receiving her day was a series of long and boring meetings, with little time to engage either M or me in any smutty diversions.

When I came down from my perch and met her in the lobby of my office tower at around 5:30, I found her looking a bit frazzled, though amply fetching, in a black and white patterned cotton dress that flitted about her thighs.

But what she said took even me by surprise.

“M wants me to get me off  on the ride home, Slave.    I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

Well …. I suppose I wouldn’t.

“He’s been trying to get me all day …. But I’ve been so busy. So he said, let’s just do it on your drive home.”

“Fine with me, Mistress.”

“Yes….I told him you would love it.”

We took the elevator down to the bowels of the building where my car was parked against a wall. Mistress quickly climbed inside, and hiked up her dress.

“I’m taking off my undies, Slave….”

Yes, she was. Her feet askew, ass wriggling,  her black panties sliding down her legs,  and then off.

Very efficient. She had swiftly transitioned from frazzled but focused business executive to his little wanton slut, desperate to dig her fingers into what must surely have been a sopping cunt.

I would have liked to dig in too, but I was focusing on navigating the car out of the garage before one of my colleagues caught a glimpse of Mistress’s naked cunt, now on full display, through the passenger side window.

Before we even pulled onto a downtown street, Mistress was dialing M up.

“We are a few blocks from the highway, and there are lots of folks and cars around us. But I know you are in a hurray…..”

My sense was that M had a tight schedule now, but had a need to get Mistress off as much as she needed him.

“I’m slidng the seat back, M.”

Her feet were up on the dash. Her knees spread wide, giving her fingers free and ready access.  The seat was in full recline. Mistress was  providing a lascivious view to anyone who bothered to peer through our window.

I wanted to watch the action, but I was also steering through some end of day traffic, and trying to make sure that we did not come to a stop next to some teenaged girls in the car in the lane to our right, who’s wandering eyes might be a tad shocked.

The sounds I heard were the squishing of fingers against damp flesh, and mumbled  responses to her Master’s compelling voice.

“Yes”.

 “Ummmm”

“Of course I would…..”

“I’m listening….”

Then a burst of impassioned  moans.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Mistress’s hips rising off the car seat. Her thighs were scissoring and squeezing against her roving fingers.

When she came down she thrust a damp and musky finger between my lips, letting me savor her musky taste.

We had not even made it onto the expressway.

“That was fast M.”

An understatement. 

They talked a bit more. Mistress’s legs were still spread wide, her feet still parked on the dash.

A minute or two later, as I navigated up the expressway, taking particular care to zip past truckers who would have gotten an eyeful of they had glanced our way, the cycle began anew.

“He wants me to do it for him again, Slave.”

Her head was back against the seat, eyes screwed shut, focused on his voice and the fingers that were sliding with purpose through her glistening folds.

And, again within moments she was coming for him, moaning her passion, her hips bouncing from side to side in her leather bucket seat.

Hopefully the lady in the pickup truck next to us was not too distracted.

Sadly, M had to ring off. Mistress allowed me to savor her flavors by licking off her fingers again.

“So what was he telling you, Mistress that made you so hot?”

“Oh the usual, Slave”

She was underselling, probably a little embarrassed at how quickly she can succumb to him.

But if she had let her fingers rove below my belt line at the moment, she would have understood that “the usual”  worked for me too.

Mistress is Forced to Obey

With no surly teens at home and my switch day dawning, I felt an obligation to Mistress and you, dear readers to provide a “special” experience. If not exactly on the scope and scale of our “Naked Sunday” out West, I try in my humble way to make an impression on Mistress that we can both retrieve from memory at the right moment.

So as Mistress slept in, I was busy downstairs preparing a little trap for her.

When she finally woke, around 8 am, I brought up the morning papers. We lay in bed a bit catching up on the (not so much) fun times in River City. And after Mistress read our morning blog, I pulled out our bag of goodies and gadgets.

First came the red leather cuffs for her wrist, locked on, and then joined together with a seperate lock, instead of the steel fastener Mistress is used to making that connection.

“Why the lock, Slave?.”

“Because you are sometimes a little too eager to disconnect your hands yourself Mistress. Only the key can let you loose now.”

I let that sink in.

Then I said, “time for us to go downstairs now, Mistress.”

I helped her out of bed, then led her by the elbow, down the stairs, through our kitchen, to a threshold between the kitchen and family room.

Positioning her there, I lifted her arms.

It was then she noticed the firm hook I had screwed into the rough hewn woodwork that morning .

“Oh My, Slave…..”

Once I had her wrists fastened over the hook, Mistress was stretched and very vulnerable, up on her toes.

“Uhhh….. this could get uncomfortable, Slave.”

She really could not have wiggled loose, even if she had tried.

Delicious.

“Don’t worry Mistress, I won’t let you linger in agony there TOO long.”

But to make her a little more secure, I fastened her ankles together with another pair of leather cuffs.

And I wiggled a thick cushion under her feet, to give her a little more flexibility for her arms.

I did not want to cause her too much discomfort

Not TOO much.

I took her in my arms from behind, and let my hands wonder over her, sliding up her thighs, over her full breasts. Making her squirm back against me, as my mouth burrowed her into her neck, taking in the aroma of her long tresses.

Yum.

Then I broke away.

“Back in a moment, Mistress”

She was a tad annoyed.

“Where are you going, Slave!”

“I forgot a few things.”

I walked away, glancing back over my shoulder to watch her struggle a bit. She was going nowhere.

Lovely.

A few moments later I slid in stealthily behind her. Secreting one of my toys. And brandishing the riding crop for her to see.

But before I applied it to her bottom, there was a matter of those little black nipple vices.

Mistress had a little hissy fit when she saw them. In my hand

“No….not those damn things….are you kidding!”

“Shhh, Mistress. No point in arguing with the inevitable.”

She knew she was nicely fixed. And her arms were already feeling a little stretched out. This was a fix she could neither squirm away from , nor talk her way out of.

My trap had been sprung.

And despite continued verbal protests, Mistress passively submitted to this new twist in the plot.

Some ice from the nearby freezer helped cool and firm up her sprightly nipples.

With one hand I popped her left nipple through the aperture of the vice, then used the other hand to screw it down until her little bud was squeezed firmly and held tight.

“Oh shit…that hurts.”

But there were no tears. Mistress took her medicine stoically.

M would have been proud of his little Slave.

I repeated the process with the other nipple.

“OK, Mistress?”

“Yes….But my arms, Slave. They are starting to hurt.”

“Patience, Mistress…patience.”

I picked up the camera and snapped shots from various angles. I figured Mistress would enjoy perusing these shots later that evening. And that our readers would enjoy them as well.

Then I picked up the crop.

It was a pleasure to watch Mistress’s bottom squirm, side to side, while limited in its range of motion by the tension on her arms and the little vices swinging from her breasts.

I gave her about ten relatively mild strokes. Watching her bottom begin to glow with some nice red stripes.

But I was not going to let her hang there too long without some pleasure to add to the pain.

That’s when I picked up the Hitachi magic wand that I had plopped onto the couch behind her.

I pressed my body against her from behind one hand sliding along her flank, the other wielding the churning power tool, sliding it up between her legs to the sweet spot that undulated against it.

Mistress’s reward quickly came, as she writhed in my arms, stretching her arms even more to purchase the right point of contact that took her over the edge, then collapsing back against me, distributing her weight on her arms and against my chest and hips, head thrown back.

What a fine little subbie she had become, at least for a few moments on a Sunday morning.

But I did not want to hurt those lovely arms, so I helped them off the hook, then pulled her over to the nearby couch, onto my lap, bottom up.

“Hope those arms are OK, Mistress. But you did look very sexy up their”.

“I did, Slave?”, she said with a certain tone of pride.

Mistress does like her compliments.

I was slowly stroking her bottom with my hand, tracing the little red welts left behind by the crop, already beginning to fade.

Soon Mistress’s bottom was squirming to my touch.. Her manacled hands were stretched out in front of her. Her ankles were still linked. She was still very much in my control until I decided to release her.

And I wasn’t quite ready to set Mistress free. Not just yet.

Instead I began a nice firm spanking that soon had her crying out, and squirming all the more.

But this time the pain and pleasure would overlap.

Where I had settled her onto my lap was almost exactly where I had placed the Hitachi, so it was easy to grab it with my right hand, while continuing to spank with my left.

Mistress was more than happy to wiggle her thighs and hips a bit to accommodate the power tool as I slid it between the tops of her thighs and underneath her.

And it was amusing to watch her confused muscle response as she tried to absorb my spanks with her limited squirm range, even while her bottom and thigh muscles were flexing and relaxing in response to the “cruel” vibrations that her cunt was being forced to absorb.
She swiftly built herself of to one of those powerful cums that had her quaking, shaking and moaning with delight, her head buried in a pillow at the end of the couch. And for good measure I kept the Hitachi in play to squeeze yet another one out of it.

I like to hear her plead for me to stop when her plesure center is overwhelmed with stimulation.

I let her rest there for a moment, gently massaging her bottom and lower back. But I suspect she could feel my firm cock pressing up against her, still inside my shorts.

“Fuck me, Slave”, I heard her softly murmur into the pillow.

“Of course I will, Mistress. Let me help you up.”

I unfastened her ankles, but kept her cuff wrists together. (the key was upstairs, in any event).

I spread a fluffy pink blanket sitting nearby onto the carpeted floor, and took my prize then and there, as Mistress stretched her bound wrists overhead.

I liked her moan as my cock, hardened by deferred gratification, filled her.

Afterwards, as we lay there on the floor and I soothed her well used parts with my tongue, I offered a form of an apology.

“I hope I was not too cruel, Mistress.”

“No …Slave…. It was …. Pretty impressive….”

I always like to leave my Mistress with a good impression of my work.