HNT / Think Cool

This photo is a visual antidote to the hot, dirty, sodden air hovering over our quaint, post-industrial river valley.

I took it of Molly’s lovely bottom last fall, just before Thanksgiving, when we were out in our Mountain hideaway, on our way to Southern Colorado to make the first tracks of the new ski year.

You can thumb back to that eventful weekend in late November on this blog if you are interested in the first hand account.

Suffice it to say that Mistress was in the full throws of her subbie little crush on E, and Mick was exploiting her lust for all it was worth.

Yes, I know. Bad Slave.

We had about a three hour drive. Our skis were wedged into the back seat. Ur route took us over a 10,000 foot pass that was freshly coated with the first snow of the season.

The sun was high and brilliant in the ski. The temperatures were in the 40’s, but the warm southwestern sun created an illusion of warmth.

At the top of that pass there is a picnic area. I pulled over. I had told Mistress to expect a surprise.

As you can see, it involved Mistress wading through knee deep snow, jeans at her ankles, spanked, then fucked from behind.

Indeed, I believe we set a personal 24 hour record for fucking that day (was it really 7?) that I will never even attempt to eclipse.

As some steroid befuddled former St. Louis Cardinal slugger might say: “some records are just not meant to be broken”.

That snowy scene was the opposite of our day here in River City on Wednesday.

Mistress and Slave were on somewhat different schedules.

We performed our morning rituals. Blog writing. Mistress reads blog while I lave her clean shaven parts with devoted tongue, then, a nice roll in the moist sheets.

Mistress lolled in bed a bit then, emailing away.

As I emerged from the shower she reminded me that my cage was to be worn. So I smushed my balls through the tight ring, fit the steel covering over my cock, then offered her the lock to squeeze shut.

“Do you feel more secure with me locked away, Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave …. “

She follows the old Reagan mantra : “Trust, but verify.”

We were both home around 6:30 pm. The surly teens were avoiding us.

Bummer. Dinner alone. (Yippee!)

But first a bike ride. And mistress. in her mercy, removed my cage. The feeling of a steel cage negotiating a bike seat is not comforting, though it’s been done on occasion.

The air here last night was the polar opposite of the pristine, chilled wonder of that snow covered pass.

Thick. Grimy. Super-heated.

Storm clouds were gathering but it seemed like the heat sapped away their ability to discharge any rain.

We made it up a long hill, sucking all that filthy detritus into our lungs when it finally started to sprinkle and thunder. That was our excuse to cut the ride short and head back to the empty, air conditioned house.

I was going to shower off the grime, but first things first.

“Can I worship, Mistress?”

“Do you want me to shower first, Slave?”

She was very considerate, but I demurred.

“No, I like it when you are a little … gamey, Mistress.”

“Fine by me, then.”

She slid off those tight black riding shorts.

I sank to my knees.

I slowly deployed my tongue, like a wine geek swirling and sipping that first taste to collect the proper pretentious adjectives.

But there was no hint of melon or faint aroma of cloves here.

No, it was a salty, musky stew that needed to be lapped up in a frenzy of greed and desire, rather than allowed to breath.

So I did.

After Mistress was fully consumed, she considered allowing me to fuck her. But deferred that until after dinner. Oh well, at least it was not an Abstinence Day.

After dinner we found ourselves back in the bedroom, and Mistress was talking about a conversation she had with M that day.

“I told him about my upcoming lunch with J.”

J is a local captain of industry. Mistress would like to hit him up for business. But she suspects J would like to hit her up for something else.

And since I have seen the way J looks at and talks to Molly at various civic functions, she’s probably right. Who could blame him.

“I bet M got a little antsy, Mistress. For a guy who seems reluctant to advance this relationship beyond the cyber, he gets a little possessive, doesn’t he?”

“I told him that I might be better off as a kinky, high priced courtesan…”

“How did he react to that idea, Mistress?”

“He said that you and he might be willing to give you permission for that, if I filled you in on all the sordid details.”

By now we were both in bed, all naked and comfy. And Mistress did something that was a little beyond the norm. Rather than allowing me to give her that warm up orgasm she has been accustomed to, she attacked – devouring her cock.

The best I could do was lie back and enjoy it, though I was able to worm a hand between her legs to work on those lovely folds with a damp finger.

I wondered – as she sucked and fondled my cock and balls – if she was fantasizing about how it would be to assume that role “professionally”, to use her considerable erotic skills to seduce and then control J and other comparable plutocrats in our staid town to dance to her tune.

But soon my thoughts were dragged back to earth by the need she had stoked so efficiently. Mistress had already succumbed to one starter cum as a result of my digital efforts. I was begging to fuck her.

As Sam sung, “It’s just the same old story….”

Now she was riding my cock. The lights were unusually bright, and I could see her eyes, seemingly far away. If she was imagining that someone else was filling her, who cared.

It was just nice to be along for her ride.

MIstress Going Green?

Mistress had an early morning meeting yesterday. And it came with a bit of angst.

She knew there was a chance she might encounter someone we were both anxious to avoid: the person that Mick stupidly became involved with during our years of commuter marriage. It was the big mistake that ultimately required Mick to submit completely to Molly’s control and dominance, and sign our contract.

And that – as it turns out – was a very rewarding thing.

But still, that grievous error in judgment remains a painful part of our history for Mistress. And, since River City is a small town, there have been these inevitable run-ins. (check out one of our earliest blogs, titled “Election Night”).

I was proud that Mistress was not inclined to back down from this potential confrontation. My guess is that that other person would be intimidated if Molly showed up and stared her down. But when I left her off at the door yesterday morning, both of us were a bit on edge.

Not long after I settled behind my desk, I texted Molly: “sorry we did not get to fuck this am, Mistress.”

Soon I got her response: “Me too, Slave.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, surmising from that response that the “evil one” as she has become known, had chosen not to attend the early gathering.

And I was happy when Mistress elected to stop by my office afterwards. She was due some worship, and I was happy to sink to my knees and provide it. It was particularly gratifying that for the rest of the day I could detect the scent of her luscious juices on my hands and mouth and hovering in my corner office.

Yum.

Of course, that did nothing but stoke my own desires for Mistress.

At home at the end of the day we went for a bike ride in the muggy river valley air. It has been a hot summer here in the heartland. Maybe AL Gore was right after all.

Afterwards, I prepared some grilled chicken, corn on the cob acquired at a road side farm on Monday’s college visit, to go with some fresh ‘maters plucked from an adjoining field. The flavorful type that make putting up with this sultry climate worth it.

After we watched the latest episode of Hung , and I helped edit Mistress’s Vanilla blog, it was time for Mistress and Slave to do what they do best.

Better yet, the surly teens were both out.

“I think I should use the power tool on you tonight, Mistress.”

“Hmmm…. I won’t object to that ….but why don’t you insert your device, first.”

Of course, Slave has no standing to make any objections.

So we settled into bed, my cock already firming up from the influence (mental and physical) of being required to slide that white projectile into my ass.

“M laughed at the part where you wouldn’t let me use the Hitachi on myself, Slave (referring to our Sunday adventure) ….he says B took away his right to use it on her months ago.”

“Well it was switch day, Mistress… Any other day you are at the controls whenever you want.”

“Of course, I am, Slave.”

My warm up act involved some kissing, cooing, nipple sucking, with fingers sliding along Mistress naked and aromatic folds.

It got her all squirmy, just as I had become.

Then I reached for the Hitachi.

“You don’t have to use that Slave…we’re doing fine without it.”

“Of course we are….but you seemed to like the idea a few minutes ago…”

Hearing no further objection, the switch went on. The tool was properly engaged between Mistress’s spread legs.

Then – literally within 10 seconds – KABOOM.

Mistress was shaking, moaning, coming.

“Whoa….what was that about?”

She laughed. I laughed. Instant orgasm.

“Are you trying to save energy Mistress ….going green on me?”

“I can see a blog coming on, Slave.”

“You have my number, Mistress.”

But it seemed silly to put away the power tool after only a few seconds of use. Electric rates are lower at night, after all.

I quickly reengaged it, sliding it once more against her dripping parts, while latching my mouth onto her sprightly right nipple. Within seconds, her snappy patter was replaced by the ragged breathing, and quaking thighs that led to another quick but seemingly potent cum for her.

What an efficient Mistress / machine combo. Maybe she should be the next Secretary of Energy.

At that point she pushed the Wand away.

“Oh God, enough Slave….now I want to taste my cock.”

I was happy to comply, shutting the machine off, and rolling back to give Mistress free access to what was hers alone.

AS my ass gripped the probe, driving it deeper into me, Mistress deployed her devious attention on my cock and balls with mouth and fingers. Soon I was the one on the brink, fidgeting, begging, cajoling for the right to fuck her.

“Maybe I should make you come in my mouth, Slave…”

“But wouldn’t you miss having me inside you, Mistress.”

“I suppose I would. …. Beg some more then. Convince me that you really need to fuck me.”

I did. And after a few more minutes of her “cruel torment”, she relented.

“OK, Slave. I believe you.”

She rolled back, her fingers still gripping me, guiding me into her.

Ahhh.

After that, I did my best to persuade Mistress that she had made the right decision.

Don Draper Goes Kinky

Mistress and her slave love MadMen.

For me it’s a strange flashback to my childhood. My parents were every bit as reckless and self-absorbed as Don and Betty.

The smoking.

The drinking. (particularly while smoking)

The womanizing.

The unhealthy cooking. (Tater tots with fish sticks, tonight kids).

The vapid TV. (Sky King and Penny).

The negligent, bad parenting. ("Go watch TV and leave me alone").

It’s amazing that I am still walking the earth to describe it to you.

And Mistress, who is a bit too young to remember that era, is fascinated by Draper’s craft, and the glamour of the era.

She’s still waiting for a Marilyn cameo (oops. Too late. I think she died two seasons ago).

Yesterday we finally caught the first episode of the new season. And had a preview listening to a long interview by the series creator on “Fresh Air” during a long drive for a college visit with Surly teen #1.

Don’s divorced now, living a single life in the Village, with occasional sleep over’s with his two young kids.

Another flashback to my father’s sad bachelor pad after he and my mother divorced sometime in the late 60’s.

The writer talked about Don’s foray into D/s and sure enough when we watched the episode, there was Don paying a shapely pro to pay a call in lieu of Thanksgiving. As she rode his cock, he told her to remove her bra.

But she was not taking orders.

“Who put you in charge?” she asked. “I know what you want”.

Then she proceeded to slap him silly as she continued to ride him.

Terri asked the writer why Don would indulge in this sort of sex play.

The writer had some theories: dating was too much work. Maybe it was easier for Don to pay than actually engage in the shallow 60’s mating ritual following his marital meltdown. And as for the D/s stuff:

“Maybe Don feels a need to be punished for all his lies and fuckups.” (well I guess he did not use that word. I’m paraphrasing.)

Bingo.

I suppose my own eagerness to submit to Mistress has a bit to do with that desire to grovel and suffer for my own mistakes and screw ups.

Then again adding a little theatre to our sex, after more than 20 years together, throws in some spice that seems to make the cock all that harder and the juices flow all the more quickly.

No point in trying to over think it when it feels so good.

And fear not, readers. After we watched Madmen, and although we had a long day of work and road trip-ing, Mistress and Slave did not roll over and turn out the lights the way Betty and her new husband did in episode one.

As we were settling into bed, Mistress made her instructions clear.

“Why don’t you go put in your device. Slave”.

“Of course, Mistress.”

I think Mistress was a little frustrated that she had not been able to speak to M these last two days. She was in the company of kids a good bit of the time, and he was buried in family and work himself.

So she seemed a bit antsy. My theory is that She has become addicted to the wicked balance of managing a Slave while M manages her. When M and she lose contact for more than a day, the balance gets lost.

But to me – it seems to make Mistress just a tab hornier for my old reliable cock.

It may not be as big or as hard as that fantasy cock with which she is obsessed.

But it seems to do the trick.

And by the time I made sure Mistress had her starter orgasm of the session, mine was ready to go.

But Mistress was not in so much of a hurray.

She fondled. She nipped. She teased. She drove me crazy.

“Ahhh….Mistress, wouldn’t you like me to fuck you now?”

I was squirming. Close to the edge. Trying to get my mind off of the tender but tormenting touch of my Mistress.

“What’s the rush, Slave?”

She laughed at my plight.

“You were pretty desperate for me this morning, Slave …. Why was that?”

Her fingers were tracing a devastating path along y length, circling the head. Arghh. Not a good time for a Q and A.

“Uhh….it had been nearly 24 hours, Mistress. You know how I get.”

“Well it’s been about 14 hours now, Slave…..should we just wait until morning to make sure you are desperate again?”

“Well I don’t know how much more desperate I can get.”

I think I was fortunate that Mistress wanted the hard cock almost as much as I wanted to fuck her. So at that point she relented, rolling over, legs spread, ready to be taken.

But I made sure to ask permission first.

Red Bottom and Frustration for Mistress

Molly and Mick got home late last night, surly teens huddled in the back seat, all of their electronica plugged in and amusing them, while we drove the bleak moonlit highway from that great city on the Lake to our more humble environs on the River.

And since I forgot to change my watch .... well Slave is pressed for time this morning, so I reserve the right to revise and extend these remarks, like some bloviating Senator or Congressman with an eye toward his "legacy" ( or avoiding electoral demise).

First, one of our comments yesterday, from the mysterious Sin, asked about the rules for our Switch days.

They are laid out in the contract. Slave gets two hours each Sunday to "turn the tables" on Mistress and subject her to all the "horrors" (punishment, bondage, yada, yada) that she can inflict on me the rest of the week.

Naturally, there are limits, I can't transfer rights to another person. Nor can I use my switch privileges to take pleasure from another. Not that I would want to stray.

Other than that, it's what an old cranky Judge I once had to deal with too often used to refer to as the "goosey, gander" rule. What's good for me all week long, must be good for Mistress for two short hours on a Sunday, right?

Of course, this also imposes a certain "honor among Dom/Domme's" since, if I go too far I know there will be some payback due. And she knows the same.

Then again, sometimes I do stretch the limits a bit with the twisted logic that maybe it will press some Mistressy buttons that will earn me the sort of (mis)treatment I so sorely deserve.

Manipulative?

Bad Slave. Very bad.

So those are the rules, but Sin, feel free to peruse the contract for any other sordid details. I believe it showed up again in early July.

AS for yesterday's Switch session, there was a cunning twist.

M, Mistress's remote Dom, had given me orders to make sure Mistress got a good hard spanking. As he put it, she had been "lippy" to him Friday night.

As M no doubt is discovering, Mistress can be a willful little slut if given too much rope, and she can taunt and tease with the best of them.

And so, after Mistress woke from her beauty sleep, I carried out my instructions.

I had brought the cute red cuffs and their brass padlocks, and as she perused my blog and several others, I locked them on each of her slender wrists.

She was stalling for time.

"You know you really don't have to spank me, Slave. You don't report to him, but to me."

"I do feel a certain compulsion though Mistress. Don't you look forward to reporting to him that you submitted to the punishment he prescribed."

"Well, I guess so, Slave."

"And just think how disappointed he would be in you if you conned me out of this little exercise"

"I suppose he would be, Slave."



When she finally put the computer aside, I linked them together with silver carabiner I packed for that purpose, so that her wrists were implacably bound together in front. Then rolled her over, running my fingers over her lush, firm and already squirming bottom.

"Hmmm, you already smell of sex, Mistress. I love the smell of wet cunt in the morning."

My fingers probed, tested, and confirmed that I was not imagining things.

And Misstress's ass wiggled all the more.

"I hope you are referring to mine, Slave."

"Only yours, Mistress. Only yours."

That's when I landed the first of many firm cracks to her insolent ass with my right hand.

Oh, yes. there were many protests of pain, agony even.

And I took a break or two to sooth her with my right hand as my left wormed its way under her to massage her little needy clit.

BUt tghen the spanking resumed.

I did not finish until my arm had gotten a little bit tired, and her bottom was red. Very red.

"That hurt, Slave."

There was a tone of indignation in her voice.

"make sure you let your friend out West know, Mistress."

But there is always a reward on switch day. ANd Mistress's always comes first.

(Hmmm.... planning ahead. maybe that get's switched too.)

The hitachi was still next to the bed, plugged in and ready, leftover from Mistress's Friday evening date with M. No doubt scandalizing the chamber maid.

I slid it under her still smarting ass, between her legs.

Mistress moaned with glee. Then began working herself to the denoument.

She thought.

But something funny happened on the way to Mistress's typically efficient power tool induced explosion.

She tried and she tried.

She clenched and squirmed.

But all she got was frustration.

"This is driving me crazy Slave"

What's wrong, Mistress?"

(can you hear the sarcasm in Slave's voice?)

"I'm not sure Slave...maybe it's the angle.....let me do it....."

The little slut wanted me to turn the controls over to her....on Switch day no less.The temerity was shocking. just shocking.

"But that would be wrong Mistress....it's my way or no way this morning.The worst thing that happens is you wait until tomorrow for that orgasm."

A howl of protest emitted from her frustrated maw.

Wish I had packed a gag.

But she accepted her medicine. And recommitted her cunt to coming exactly the way I had planned. I wormed the little device a bit further beneath her hips. Then the switch went on....Mistress came, and came, and came some more her hips literally bouncing off the bed as her thighs clung with dear life to that relentless device.

When she finally stopped shaking, her face blotchy and red, and the machine was set aside, she demanded that I fuck her. And I had no objection to her making demands of that time, even on our switch day.

Post script:

After we came down in a sweaty, sated heap we packed up our things and headed out for a long 21 mile bike ride with friends along the lake front. it was a glorious day in the windy city. And, yes, the wind was blowing for that long ride back to the Gold Coast when we finally turned around.

Mistress had left her I-phone at our friends' apartment, and when she got back there was a text from M:

"How is that bottom, Slave?"

Now you know, M.