Dispatch From the WIndy City

Molly and Mick are in Chicago this weekend, at the request of surly teen #2, who celebrates a birthday this weekend.

It’s about a 5 hour drive from River City. Tedious.

Unless your Mistress has a cyber Dom to text with to help pass the time.

The two teens were in the back,, earbuds in place, focused on computer screens or music.

Mick was at the wheel for a good part of the drive,

Molly was teasing and being teased by her Dom, our Western Correspondent.

Of course, when she share some of their repartee, we spoke softly and / or in code so as not to disrupt the image our children have of their Mom and Dad: “too boring for words.”

“He wonders if we can have another conversation like last night?”

“Up to you, dear.”

(I try – hard – to remember not to call her Mistress when the kids are within earshot.)

“Would it be wrong with a hotel room available for the two of us to being doing … that.”

“Not if that’s your desire….your call. Maybe I could be there to ‘assist’.”

“Hmmm….I will explain the options to him ….”

(Mistress seemed to be struggling with the challenge of not calling me ‘Slave’).

AS things developed, Mistress and M agreed on a time – after our family dinner – and that I would be sent out for a drink with maybe some “three way” time at the end. While Slave enjoys participating in their pervy fun from time to time, it probably works better for then when their sessions are their own deep, nasty secrets.

But midway through the trip, Mistress added a zinger---

“He says I’m not allowed to – you know – until our call tonight …..”

My guess is that Mistress shared the same little zing to her juicy parts that those instructions sent o my cock. A twitch of excitement at the thought of my Mistress submitting to another man’s cunning manipulations.

I whispered to her in response: does that make you damp dear?”

She just nodded her head, a little blush seemed apparent on her face.

We finally arrived in the Windy City at dusk, in the midst of a flashing thunderstorm. The kids were dropped off at relatives, and we headed to check into our hotel before hooking up for dinner.

A little private time.

“Slave….you won’t believe what he’s been up to….”

“You mean he got a head start on you, Mistress.”

Yes – and sent me a picture.”

She flashed the I-phone my way, and showed me a photo of a large cock, ready for her.

I chuckled, “I think you like that Mistress.”

“Is that bad, Slave?”

“No….It’s good for you, Mistress. You make a good slut for him, don’t you.”

“I suppose I do, Slave….”

Since Mistress was off limits until her phone call, we cleaned up and met the family for dinner, Indian fare that our daughter craved.

We were dropped off a few blocks from our hotel, and Mistress called M to let him know she would soon be ready for him.

“Your’re not going to blow me off are you?, she asked.

A rather nervy way for a Slave to talk to his Master, don’t you think.

Apparently that was his thought too.

I came back to the room with Mistress, helped her locate and plug in the Hitachi (can’t travel without it – “be prepared “ remains my motto), then grabbed the Times to read at the bar downstairs until called into action.

By the time I was heading for the door, Mistress was already stripped, laying wantonly across the king size bed, trusty Hitachi at her side.

What a wanton, greedy little thing, don’t you think?

She was desperate for his voice and the pleasure he would wring from her.

I asked permission to snap a photo with her phone, so she could text it to him, to see what he had wrought.

Then bid adieu.

At the bar I nursed a Jamieson, read up on the latest grim news about the housing market to distract myself. But the thought of Mistress writhing in pleasure four floors above me had me ---- on edge.

After about an hour I was growing both sleepy and impatient. So I risked the wrath of Mistress, texting her “can I come up now, Mistress?”

She quickly responded: “Yes, Slave.”

I settled my tab, hopped to, and waited impatiently for the elevator.

When I finally clicked through the door she was there, naked, walking about that post-orgasm animation putting a bounce in her step.

“Good. Slave’s back now…..Slave, M and I are just finishing up….take your cloths off. Now.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Soon Mistress switched on the speaker phone, so we could all be heard.

M and I exchanged respectful greetings.

“M says I deserve to be spanked because I was surly to him tonight, Slave. When asked if he was blowing ne off.”

“Would he like me to spank you on his behalf, Mistress?”

“Not until Sunday, Mick”

I made a note to be especially firm with her on our switch day.

But Mistress had other things in mind.

“We forgot the crop, didn’t we Slave. No, M, no shoehorn in this room …. But look. There’s Mick’s belt.”

She told me to get on the bed, bottom up,

I could barely hear M’s voice, but she heard and conveyed his directions.

“He’s lying on the bed now….No slave, M says it’s better to punish you with you on all fours.”

So there I was, on all fours for the second night in a row. And Mistress was wielding the belt.

“Ouch”.

I didn’t want to be a whiner. So took my medicine. It hurt, but Mistress was not too cruel. And at M’s bemused direction, she reached down a few times to fondle my cock and balls.

The carrot and the stick approach.

I’m a sucker for it.

After a about 15 slashes with the belt, Mistress allowed me to be “at ease”, and I offered to worship as she finished up her conversation with her Master.

The speakerphone was off now as they traded some mushy words before signing off.

They really are cute little lovebirds.

And of course now came the good part – at least for me.

After these talks, Mistress has a need for some firm, grade A cock. And all this taunting, teasing, whacking, stroking, Dom coaching, humiliating, and cunt sucking had me in prime condition to service her.

We rolled across the bed, lips locked, one of my fingers probing her firm ass while another hand slid through her juicy folds.. Soon Mistress was succumbing to my fingers for a little preview orgasm.

“How many times tonight with Him, Mistress?”

“Three Slave…”

Yikes. So she had just had her fourth. With more to come.

“And did he come for you too, Mistress?”

“Yes, he did Slave.”

She was rolling on top of me now, letting her lips feel the hard cock that would soon be buried inside her. Teasing herself with it, before the indulgence part.

“And how does that feel , Mistress? When he is moaning and exploding while thinking of you?”

“It feels very powerful, Slave”.

She was on top of me now, impaling herself, moaning with her delight.

“It’s OK if you want to think of his cock now Mistress….I am sure you want to ride that thick cock he was handling for you, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, Slave. “

And at that point all this provocative talk was lost in incoherence as Mistress eyes shut tight, her body slammed against me, and her chest heaved with the power of her climax.

But rather than rest, she kept going against me, building to one more crazy cum as her fingers toyed with my balls, as she no doubt imagines doing to M someday.

When she finally had burned her self to exhaustion on me, I helped her roll off, then took her from above, pumping now with no need to restrain my own release.

“May I come now, Mistress?”

She seemed to like the way I put that.

And I sure liked it when she responded, “Yes, my Slave.”

Was it a Punishment or a Reward?

“Get on the bed Slave. On all fours.”

Hmmm. A Feisty Mistress.

When I got home from the movies with surly teen number 2 – from the too long and unnecessarily violent but still kind of amusing “Inception -  Mistress was in our room, in the buff, pacing, animated, signing off from her date with her Dom, our Western Correspondent.

“Well …. The Slave’s home.  Guess we should say good bye.

…. Yes…..It was fun….. Talk to you tomorrow…..”

She was eyeing me.

I knew that look.

Well otrgasm-ed but in need of a cock.

“Why don’t you strip, Slave, while I get ready for bed.”

“Of course, Mistress”

She took her time. I lay on the bed, waiting for her.

Still in the cage. It had been a long day in the cage.

Particularly after her texts began arriving, mid-morning.

“You are getting punished tonight, Slave.”

My initial response “Why”, was reconsidered, followed by “Of course, Mistess”.

A good Slave would not question her Mistress’s judgment on such matters. Plus, that sort of questioning could just make matters worse.

Later, as I drove home, and Mistress headed to a dinner meeting for work, she let me know that she had plans for later that evening.

“M is home alone tonight. We have a date. You don’t mind do you Slave?”

As if my opinion counted.

“Of course not, Mistress.”

Early that morning I had worshiped her.  Then, as instructed, mounted my cage.  She shut the lock, and tucked away the key. That was about 14 hours earlier.

And while “Inception” was compelling, it was not easy to keep my mind off the thought of Mistress on the phone with M, her sopping cunt dancing to his tune, the power tool close at hand.

By the time Mistress came to bed, little key in hand, I was certainly grateful when she uncaged me, her fingers gently stroking me to life after I wriggled off the tight steel ring and the barred enclosure.

“Go put in your device, Slave.”

Hmmm. She was serious. She did want a particularly hard one.

I lubed it up, slid it home, came to bed to my naked Mistress, who still had that “cat-ate-the-canary” look after a few of those self-administered orgams supervised by M.

“How many times, Mistress?”

“Three Slave”.

“And did he get off too, Mistress”

“Oh, yes….”

She likes that. A lot. The sound of him exploding with her body in mind.

That’s when I was ordered onto all fours.

The crop was handy.

Burt first she stroked my cock with it a few times.

“I think it likes this, Slave.”

‘Well, yeah.”

Suddenly the crop was banging against my ass.  And I was squirming. And my cock ….well.

There were some interesting dynamics at work here ….crop hits ass, ass tightens, clenches in response. Probe in ass squeezes home, pressing that magic button deep inside that sends a jolt direct along the length and to the very tip of my cock..

I tried to explain as Mistress slowed the strokes against me.

“Very good, Slave…..M thought this might ne interesting. He said Mick would probably respond well to p=being cropped on all fours.”

Gee, thanks, M.

And of course the thought of M coaching Mistress on the finer point s of disciplining her Slave created a “curious excitement” as’Nilla would put it.

Come to think of it, that’s the effect it’s having right now.

So Slave is abandoning his homework and heading upstairs to attend to Mistress.

Will complete this entry for you later, dear readers.

HNT / Stripes

After Mistress had her birthday spanks her bottom had a lovely, rosy glow. And the sun filtered through the blinds added a few stripes, enhancing the look .

She lay their quietly, hips slowly writhing against the carpet, her warm skin still tingling from the tracks my palm had left behind.

But soon, after I had revved up our power tool, she was consumed with a different sort of stimulus.


On the drive home, her devoted Slave could tell Mistress was in a bit of a funk.

The claws had been out at her female dominated work place.

No, not FemDom. Just a concentration of female “peers” who find themselves in management roles, and who seem compelled to point fingers at one another when the going gets tough.

Call me sexist, but my observation is that women “colleagues” can be particularly cruel and catty to one another.

And Mistress, with all of her many qualities, has trouble letting that sort of cattiness roll off her well toned shoulders.

The other babes at work had clearly gotten her testy. Annoyed. Out of sorts.

I knew it was Slave’s duty to help salve Mistress’s wounds.

Worship helped.

Mistress stretched across our bed, naked, arms above her head, fingers intertwined. Legs spread. My tongue and lips spreading moist lips, teasing out her little bud, then, when she was getting close, a finger probing and poking for the right little button to push to get her over the top.

I could feel a bit of the tension starting to fade….but we still had work to do.

Then ….

A Bike ride in our hot, humid, pungent River valley air.

40 minutes of lap swimming for her in our community pool.

Dinner of grilled chicken, reheated mushroom risotto. Stir fryed green beans coated with some garlic and fresh lemon juice.

A glass or two of some oaky California Chardonnay.

A hot shower to wash away the salty residue of perspiration and chlorine.

The latest episode of Hung, watched as I laved her tasty (and now clean) toes with my tongue, and massaged her feet with my right hand, while my left hand teased at her twin tight orifices.

(Complicated to imagine: Her head is at the foot of the bed; mine is at the head, where I have a lovely view of her firm and ripe bottom.)

By the time the episode was over, Mistress was purring like the kitten she can be, the thoughts of the sharp elbowed bitches at work finally in the proper perspective.

“Why don’t you go put in your device Slave. I want that cock very hard.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Missed Photo Ops.

Last night Mistress and Slave went to an outdoor concert along our City’s wide and meandering River.

But before we headed off, Mistress stopped by my office for some worship. My colleagues, for the most part, had headed home. So our session was a bit more relaxed.

She took her throne, the chair pressed against the door, a blanket laid down to protect her soft skin from the scratchy upholstery; And to protect the scratchy upholstery from her flowing juices.


This sort of therapy seems good for both of us.

It takes the edge of Mistress’s day. She can relax and let me use my mouth and tongue to draw a squirming shuddering orgasm or two from her.

And, after my own day of wheedling, cajoling, threatening (nicely) and scheming, it reminds me that my highest, best and most rewarding use is to pleasure my Mistress.

Then we were off to our show.

The performer was an aging rocker (as it turns out, just about my age) performing old familiar songs with some exotic orchestrations. The crowd was a comfortable one: lots of aging boomers like me. Mistress was at the good end of the age curve for this one, and her Slave was right around the mean.

She was in that short, patterned black and white dress I fancy, with some tasteful heals. And of course, there was no one there who looked nearly as glamorous.

A highlight of the show came when the singer took us on a musical tour through the haunted streets of New Orleans, a full moon on the video above him, as lightening flashed and thunder crashed along our River.

Marveling at the army of performers on the stage, I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. The little one on my blackberry just was not cutting it, and we had seats that would have provided amazing shots of this graying hero.

Which got me thinking about other types of photos.

The Times had a story earlier this week about folks who spend their days screening and scrubbing “offensive” images from the internet. Mostly for social media sites like Facebook. It sounds like a tedious and sometimes disturbing job.

I was wondering about the photos we post here from time to time, and whether the folks at Google have some scrubbers out there pondering whether our HNT posts are H enough for their standards.

There does seem to be a correlation between an increased number of “hits’ and particularly appealing shots of Mistress. Monday’s photo of Mistress with hands tied, and her “bottom cleavage” showing drew more than 200 views, at the upper end of what we typically experience.

But, believe me, there is some self-censorship going on here.

Mistress has the right to screen all of our photos. And she exercises that right when she believes the angle or content casts her in a less than alluring light. Or if the shot is just too revealing. There is both a blush and a vanity test that the photos must pass.

But both of us also have some odd voyeuristic desire to share these images of a body that remains lush and desirable in both a subjective and objective way.

Don’t you agree?

I made a mental list last night on our drive home through thunder, lightening then moon light, of some shots that I wish I could share, if only the camera had been on hand, or if they passed muster with Mistress’s discerning eye:

• The Slave’s eye view last night in my office, Mistress’s legs spread, her naughty parts naked and glistening, colorful panties draped around one ankle.
• Saturday night, driving home, her feet propped on the dash, ankles crossed, black panties hooked over her knees, my fingers buried in her damp cunt.
• Tied hand and foot to our lounge chair on the patio of our undisclosed mountain location, well sun screened, luxuriating in those high desert rays.
• Mistress’s head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, listening to the seductive words of our Western Correspondent as her hand guides her trusty power tool at his direction.
• Or maybe the view of her ass and thigh muscles flexing and churning while I guide the Hitachi through slightly parted legs from behind, to the sweet spot that sends her over the edge.

Well, I guess we’d need a video to capture that one. Hmmmm.