Give an Assist to the Extension Cord

Switch day snuck up on us this week.

Out here in the high desert, time moves at a different pace. The dramatic changes in the endless sky take your attention away from watches and calanders.

I usually am the one who sticks to eastern time, giving me a chance to work the blog early and check out the dramatic sunrise.

It wasn’t until Mistress called for me, the teens still sleeping, that I remembered that It was my weekly chance to turn the table on her.

And having received no specific instructions from M, I was on my own to improvise.

Fortunately, while I had forgotten Mistress’s harness, I had remembered a few other things to make her morning “special”.

After we drank some coffee and perused the papers by internet, and after Mistress read through my own “home work”, I reminded her that it was time to submit.

“But no spanking today, Mistress….don’t want your cries of anguish to wake the kids….”

“I’ll count myself lucky” she said, rolling onto her tummy, and stretching with that little wriggle of her ass that she must know drives me crazy.

She still had on the green top from the night before, the undies having been tossed somewhere now unknown during our activities of the night before.

I reached into my little goodie bag, retrieved the red cuffs and locked them to her wrists. After linking them with a handy carabiner, I tied them with some rope to an eye hook screwed into the bed for just such a naughty purpose.

Then I began the long slow tease, which she might have thought worse than a good spanking.

Lying next to her I fondled her ass, until she was responding with that wriggle again, but done to my tune.

As I leaned over her I reached for a handy nipple.

“Do you notice how some of our blogger compadras are so into nipple twisting, and breast mauling, Mistress?”, I said as I gave one a tight twisting embrace.

“Ouch…. Yes….maybe they have bigger nipples than mine, Slave….M always talks about B’s big nipples….

I kept twisting, and squeezing. Mistress was moaning and squirming a bit.

“Maybe we should have some on-line show and tell to compare? “

“That would be amusing, wouldn’t it Slave.”

After some more attention to her nipples, I gave her a little break, as I prepared the Hitachi. She had to squirm and contemplate her “fate” a bit, as I hunted for an extension cord.

(Yes, I know. I did not follow the boy scout motto. My lack of preparedness was shameful and deserves it’s own punishment).

But I was not going to let her off with a quick and dirty orgasm with the assistance of technology.

Instead I rolled her over.

Sliding on top, I teased her runny little cunt with the tip of my sufficiently hard cock.

“Maybe I’ll just skip your turn and go right to the good part, Mistress. At least for me.”

Mistress isn’t used to getting fucked without at least one warm up orgasm. But what are “switch days” for but to deviate from the usual agenda?

I slid into her.

“Hmmm….nice Slave….but what about the Hitachi. You went to all that effort to get the cord….”

She was negotiating. But she really didn’t have much bargaining power at the moment.

“If you’re a good little Slave, you might get your reward….”

I did it slow and steady, building us both up to the edge. But the Slave in me just couldn’t carry out my initial plan.

Instead, I slid out of her just as slowly as I had entered, then straddling her, I offered her my cock,, richly marinated in her juices.

“Take a taste of what I am addicted to, Mistress.”

Naturally, she complied, taking me into her mouth and licking it clean.

“Very tasty, Slave”, she muttered around a full mouth.

How could I not reward her for such good behavior?

I rolled her over onto her bottom, and switched on the tool laid next to the bed, attached to a long orange extension cord.

Unsightly yes, but very, very effective. .

Watching her hump against the churning white bulb is always amusing, and it seems to take her longer to build herself to her reward this way than the full frontal approach.

And I was in no hurray.

Soon Mistress’s powerful thighs were clenching for dear life. Her ass was rising that falling onto the device. Her arms were straining against her restraints. She was close…very close.

“I want you to ask permission, Mistress….”

And she was ready to ask.

“May I come, Slave?”

“That doesn’t sound desperate enough….”

She moaned, rising up on her forearms, her torso grinding hard against the bed and the devious tool buried between her thighs. Give her credit: she was trying to hold off the inevitable, but time was not on her side.

“Oh God, I need to come, Slave.”

Now I am hearing it: her desperation was so very sweet.

“I want you to think how you would beg M to let you come. Imagine him doing this, what would his little slut tell him?”

“Please, please may I come Master.”

It was spoken with such deep, earthy need that I could not say “no”.

“Yes, Slave, come for me now.”

And she did, arching her back, up on her elbows, thighs clinging to the tool for dear life, sobbing out into a pillow, still mindful that there were teens about outside our room.

When the shaking stopped, I gently rolled her over, ready to take my pleasure from her, but giving her plenty of time to come back to earth.

“That was…very intense…Slave.”

I licked some of the tears off her blotchy face.

“Yes, Mistress. I could tell. Always happy when I can get you there….”

As I slid into her again, we proceeded at a gentler pace.

But soon it was my turn to ask permission.

Even on Switch Day, I am too well trained to do it any other way.

"Keep it Hard for me Slave."

 "Hmmm. What have we here."

Mistress raised her eyebrows. Poked with a curious finger through my boringly white briefs.

She had just discovered that my cock was firmer than one might expect after a long day of bike rides, entertaining the kids, and then  pizza  at a local joint, known for its east coast cuisine and big western views.

I thought I was tired. And full. It was not long ago that I was thinking about how to say “can this wait until morning”. 

I know: Bad slave.

But somehow our conversation had gotten those blood vessels doing what they do when the imagination is provoked.

It started with Mistress sharing tid bits of a story that M had sent her. A fantasy in which  she flew to Las Vegas to meet him. Was told to strip and wait in his room, watching porn. She was to toy with her parts, but no, absolutely no, coming.

At some point M would pay a fetching bellman to come to her room, and tie her to the bed. Tightly spreadeagled. Then Mistress would have to suffer quietly in her bonds, all desperate and frustrated, until M made his grand entrance.

No doubt some serious fucking would ensue. 

My reaction?

“Hmmm. That’s a good one Mistress….why don’t you ask M for permission to post it tomorrow….nice to know I have material to work with, and it’s been a while since our Western Correspondent earned his generous retainer and expense check.”

(Right).

Mistress got M’s consent (he must have been on-line), but then had a little trouble forwarding his tale.

“It’s kind of embarrassing , Slave….Below his email to me is some thing I sent him…..a little fantasy, but I feel funny about you seeing it…”

“Hmmm….You know I don’t mind Mistress. It’s hard for me to think that you’ve said things to him that I have not already imagined….After all….you do have the right, and my permission to fuck M and anyone else who catches your eye…..”

“still….you’re my husband and, I am kind of embarassed….You’ve talked about giving us a privacy zone …it just feels weird”

We talked a bit about the subject.

I do think, and have told Mistress,  that any relationship needs a zone of privacy to prosper and grow.  A place for those mushy words, exchanged fantasies, honest confessions of ….whatever.  And while Mistress had shared the power point highlights of her developing relationship with M, I have never insisted on all the details. (Not that I have a right to them, mind you).

What I do know about their interactions is more than hot enough to add a good deal of spice to our own sexual endeavors, as you devoted readers know. And there have been those moments when Slave has been invited to participate in their action.

So if Mistress wants to share her dark and sexy fantasies with M, and feels she should keep them a private matter, that is between the two of them. (though I am sure some of our readers would enjoy reading   a sanitized version of them now and again).

And the fact that all that talk about the parameters of the Mistress/M privacy zone led to my stiffening cock seemed to be an endorsement of our approach.

So where were we?

“Keep it hard for me as I get ready for bed, Slave.”

So there I was, book in one hand, my other hand filled with my stiffening cock, as Mistress did her nighttime rituals and donned  a sexy  combo of soft green top and panties  I had given her some Chrsitmas past..

Every now and then she glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was following orders.

“It should be harder, Slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Then she was asking me for the location of the riding crop.

Yikes. Suddenly my cock was even harder. What a pavlovian doofus I’ve become.

When she was finally ready for me, crop in hand, she inspected my work.

“Nice, Slave. Very nice.” 

The tip of the crop caressed the length of me, inducing a twitch of longing.  But first things first.

“Roll over, Slave….”

I followed her direction, willingly presenting my ass to her, like a lamb walking to slaughter.

“”This is for forgetting to pack my harness, Slave.”

Mistress was annoyed that she would not be able to fuck me in the ass on this trip, because I failed to pack her equipment.

Definitely punishment worthy behavior.

Thwack, Thwack.

Man, that stung.  In quick succession, my ass got 8 or 9 sharp blows.

I  was squirming and bouncing off the bed. But I stifled my verbal feed back, to shelter the teens who were on the other side of our closed door, playing Monopoly.

“And these are for that thing that I don’t even want to talk about.”

Yes, Mick’s big screw up of two years ago. It’s better for her to punish me for it than keep it bottled up.

Three more sharp blows landed on my ass.

Painful, but it was glad to get that out of our systems..

Then she prodded me at my side.

“Rollover now, Slave. I want to see my cock.”

There it was for her, harder than ever.

She tossed the crop aside, and sat next to me on the bed, her hands softly caressing my balls and shaft.

And though my ass was still stinging,  the attention she was giving me made that sting fade quickly to deep background.

And soon I was squirming for a different reason.

“Would you like me to fuck you now, Mistress?”

But I suspect it sounded more like a plea than a question.

“You’re so impatient, Slave.”

The torment continued, with her soft lips added to the mix.

She does like to tease. But within a minute or two she must have grown tired of my pitiful desperation.

She slid off those sheer green panties, all the while eyeing my cock.

“I’m going to ride it now, Slave.”

And she did.

Down By the River

Unlike Molly and Mick’s last trip to our mountain hideaway, we have the surly teens (and one un-surly boyfriend) in tow this week. So all the naked sunbathing, outdoor bondage and loud and ostentatious kinkiness had to stifled and shut away in our bedroom.

Well, almost all.

The Discerning Dom has a thoughtful post today on how to maintain a D/s relationship while balancing the demands of kids, work and life that’s worth reading for those of you that share that challenge.http://discerningdom.blogspot.com/2010/07/question-no-3.html?zx=1296b472d8d4c2ca

Of course, it’s helpful to have teens that like to sleep in.

Yesterday, Mistress had a nice chat with her “friend” M out on our patio, as I ran the weed whacker over some overgrown alfalfa that had crowded the house during what has been a wet July here in the high desert. She was perched on a little adobe wall out back, as the kids snoozed on, or at least pretended to snooze, in order to avoid being drafted into yard maintenance duties.

And those sense dulling ear buds surly teen 2 never seems to shed provide cover when the words “Mistress” and “slave” inadvertently pop out during an otherwise vanilla conversation.

But yesterday, in an expedition into a local gorge to wallow in some natural hot springs, Mistress and Slave pressed the edge of the envelope a bit.

It’s about a ½ mile hike down a narrow trail, studded with boulders and gnarled sage brush . Our girls were leading the way. Though they hesitated a bit when they noted Mr. Nakey Guy, lounging on the small sandy beach we had planned to stake out for lunch and lounging.

“Don’t worry, girls,” I soothed. “you can park where you don’t need to see this dude.”

Sure enough, we found a nice, if rockier, spot for the teens to park. It was right next to one of the pools made from rocks hand arranged over the centuries to capture the hot bubbling water tricking from the steep hillside before it flows into the river.

Soon the teens were lounging in the warm pool, then cavorting in the fast flowing river, now shallow after the spring run-off.

Mistress and I spread our towels on the beach, about 20 feet to Nakey Guy. (You can catch a glimpse in the photo).

“Gee, I wonder if that’s M, Slave”, she giggled, discretely eyeing him, his large relaxed cock catching some rays, “he does have a beard like M’s.”.

“In your dreams, Mistress.”

Then I noted a critical distinction.

“Oops. Can’t be M. He doesn’t have his pubes trimmed off.”

(M is a waxing afficianado).

“Ahhh…. I guess you are right , Slave.”

We lay reading for a while and joined the kids for some lunch. Then they congregated in a more tepid pool, leaving empty and inviting the hottest pool, concealed from the teens by a crumbling rock wall, built 100 years ago by a mad “developer”.

The would be developer, Arthur Mamby, had dreamed early in the 20th Century of a resort that would draw tourists seeking its curing waters from far and wide, hauled down the trail by stage coach, or by some primitive elevator from the rim of the gorge, 400 feet above.

Of course it was a pipe dream, leaving the springs as a little known, off the tourist map attraction for the locals, and occasional flatlanders like us.

“Let’s hop in the pool, Mistress, while we can get it to ourselves.”

We picked our ways through the rocks and slid into the clear, shallow and impressively hot waters. We could hear the kids chattering, but, miracle of miracles, they were out of sight.

As the water soothed us, and we realized that a brief moment of privacy was at hand, thoughts quickly turned to mischief.

“If you want to arrange a date with M this week, Mistress, I will happily try to distract the kids with a little expedition, Mistress.”

I had even packed the power tool for her.

“Of course you will, Slave….we will see what develops this week.”

She rolled over toward me, offering her lips to kiss. And soon, my fingers, always eager to please, were sliding into the waist band of her bikini.

“Mmmmmm….Slave. What are you doing?”

“Taking liberties, Mistress. Do you mind?”

She didn’t give me a verbal response. But she did begin writhing against my fingers, before quickly succumbing to my ministrations with a shudder and a discrete moan.

It was nice to slip a quick one by our snoopy and judgmental teens.

Not long after than, Mistress stood in the pool, the heat having gotten a little too intense for her countenance.

I was still lolling in the water, and the juncture of her , only inches away, was too tempting. I nuzzled. She co-operated by sliding the fabric of her bottoms aside to give me a view and then a quick taste of her clean shaven folds.

“Yum….” .

Freshly exuded Mistress juices mingled with some iron and other minerals plumbed from the depts. of the mysterious mountains. If only Arthur Mamby had thought of that marketing angle.

Change of Venue

Mistress and her Slave made love twice yesterday, but there was a long trip in between.

The morning began in River City. I did my little blog for her (and you), illustrated by Mistress’s “sweet” ass, as characterized by a comment from Weave. And I devoured her slick juicy parts as she read and chuckled at my observations.

“These references to E and then J, Slave. Are you trying to taunt M?”

“Who me, Mistress?”

Once the computer was set aside I was allowed to use my rigid cock to our mutual delight.

Then is was “wakey wakey” for the surly teens and the boyfriend. We were headed to the airport for our family vacation out here at our Mountain hideaway.

Along the way, first on one of those little mini-planes to Dallas , and then on a real plane to our destination, Slave was busy tending to some work projects. So was Mistress , at least part of the time.

But Mistress was also texting with M. Keeping up their cute and sexy cyber chatter.

As we were waiting for our rental car, Mistress gave me a taste of their repartee:

“I told him you ignored me too much on the plane, Slave.”

“Well….I guess I did. But in my defense, the kids were in the next aisle.”

“Not on that first flight, Slave.   He says he should have sent me to the bathroom to take care of myself.”

“Oops.  He’s right….I deserve a punishment, don’t I.”

“”Definitely”.

It was several hours later when we arrived at our cabin, all stocked up on groceries. We settled in. I instructed the boyfriend on how to use the BB gun to shoot at those pesky prairie dogs.

Then Mistress and Slave were off for a sunset bike ride.

The air was fresh and cool.  Clouds were high in the sky. Lightning flashed far across the high desert landscape. The smell of fresh sage still damp from some afternoon rain teased our senses.

.What a change from the sodden, grimy atmosphere the prior night in River City.

By 9 pm Mountain time, we were ready for bed.

“Are you too tired to fuck me, Slave?”

“Of course not Mistress. But Don’t I deserve a punishment first?”

What a pathetic, needy Slave.

“You do, but I’m too tired for that sort of thing.”

We proceeded slowly, Mistress responding like the slutty little minx she can be to the attentions of my fingers between her legs. She came with a shudder and moan, head buried against my shoulder.

“Why don’t you fuck me now Slave” she sighed rolling onto her back. You could tell she was still a little tired and stiff from the long trip west.

“Of course, Mistress.”

I fucked her. And fucked her some more. And some more.

Was it the altitude? The fatigue? The fact that we had plenty of sex these last few days?

Whatever….I seemed so close so many times, but could not make it over the edge.

Mistress had no apparent complaints. She seemed to have a cornucopia of cums as I dragged the session on and on. I used my cock and my fingers to make sure of that. Would not want my Mistress to get bored.

But in the meantime, I had become the fucking machine who could not close the deal.

At one point she laughed.

“Frustrated, Slave?”

“Uhhh…yeah.”

“Good, I like it when you are frustrated.”

Maybe this was her punishment. To Drive me crazy with frustration. T was working.

But of course, I was not prepared to throw in the towel. What sort of Slave would say, “Maybe we should finish this project in the morning, Mistress.”?

At one point Mistress gave me (and  her well fucked cunt) a respite.

“I think I want to suck my cock now, Slave.”

And she did. Her mouth and fingers simply confirmed the point. I was very, very hard for her. But….

Her mouth and fingers were driving me crazy. I was overly sensitized by now. Her attentions, however well intended, were almost painful. I really could not take it anymore.

But the “rest” had done me good.

“May I fuck you some more now, Mistress?”

“If that’s your wish, Slave.”

And within a few minutes, after driving myself into her, con mucho gusto, and generating some more of those lovely  moans from her, I was finally there.

“May I come now, Mistress.”

“Of course, Slave. I thought you would never ask.”