Reading Mistress's Cues

One morning this week, Mistress gave me a not so subtle hint about how she wanted me to fuck her.

After she read the blog, my face buried between her legs as she cooed about parts she liked and laughed at a one liner, she instructed me to go insert my “device”- the little while aneros that makes me particularly hard and needy.

“Yes, Mistress.”

As I came back into our bedroom, I saw that Mistress had rolled over onto her tummy. It was her sign to me that she wanted to be taken from behind, something we do on occasion, though it can sometimes make Mistress’s back a little tender. All things moderation, right?

Her arms were folded under her head, long hair flowing back over her shoulders. Her bottom was wriggling just a bit, still catching some of the left over ripples from the orgasm my tongue had slavishly provided her moments ago.

So, being a Slave well tuned to Mistress’s desires, I followed her cue and settled onto her back, first allowing my legs to straddle her smooth, athletic thigh. That gave my cock the additional pleasure of humping against her, making it all the more firm and ready.

“Can I fuck you now, Mistress….”

“Of course, Slave…”

Mistress spread her legs a bit wider, and I shifted my weight, allowing my cock to slide between those lovely globes, pressing between them, wiggling a bit, guiding with fingers until I found my mark. (Not her tight ass, of course. She is saving that one for M).

Mistress gasped a bit as I slid slowly into her, inch by inch.

My arms took a good bit of my eight, but my face was buried against her strong shoulders, inhaling the rich aroma of her thick hair, and the salty taste of her neck.

And as I pressed further into her, using a rocking motion with my hips to help her grind her cunt against the bed, Mistress’s breathing accelerated, then became more ragged.

What makes taking her this way so different is that I can’t read the cues in her face, or hear her breathing directly in my ear. In a way it’s like driving in the dark, no headlights or moon to light your path.

So, I can only tell when Mistress comes - and when it’s permissible to focus on my own crude objectives - from the raspy sounds she makes into the pillow, and the frantic motions of her hips as she grinds it out against the bed as I drive into her.

It was only then that Mistress – well satisfied –rolled over and allowed me to take my pleasure in a more conventional position.
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Yesterday evening, we let the teens go to dinner on their own, and used that as an excuse to go to our favorite local restaurant, a cross between fine dining and hippie haven, featuring locally grown organic food with Southwest spicing. It’s a place where you might see refugees from a local commune one night, and an A-list movie star with her extended family another night.

The restaurant is in an old, long abandoned Morada (a tiny, adobe Catholic Church), with its rough plastered walls and viga ceiling. The candle lit tables and simple decorations are muy romantico.

Mistress wore a black top, a colorful skirt, and some of her vivid silver and turquoise jewelry. You may be tired of hearing this, but, once again, she was the most strikingly beautiful woman in the room.

We had been talking about some of the comments we had received about yesterday’s blog, on the subject of jealousy and insecurity, and mourning the demise of the intriguing relationship between our compadras in blogging, ‘Nilla and Sin and “D2”.

Mistress had spoken with M earlier in the day on the subject of our blog, too.

“He asked me about that guy in the Bar, Slave…. Of course he has no problem with what you and I are up to, but he gets a little antsy when you mention any other guys…past or present.”

I smiled.

“The thought of a little competition is good for him, Mistress, just like his role in your life has been good for you and me.”

“I am glad you feel that way, Slave.”

That got me thinking….

“How would you feel if both of us were here tonight, wining and dining you, Mistress? You between us, both of our hands roving up your thighs under the table, or leaning over to kiss you, or taking your hand as we sipped our wine.”

“What woman would complain about that, Slave?”

(For those of you paying attention, don’t panic if you hear naught from Mick and Molly this weekend. We are taking the teens camping and leaving our laptops behind. Absent a confrontation with an angry and lethal bear, you will hear from us again come Monday morning. Hope all of you have delightful weekends.)

HNT / Does Slave Get Jealous or Insecure?

Earlier this week, in some back and forth at her blog site, “Finding My Submission”, Sin asked if I ever got jealous or insecure, now that Mistress has (and has exercised) the right to take other lovers.http://findingmysubmission.blogspot.com/

“It’s complicated”, is one way I can put it.

But the answer is, no, I don’t get either jealous or insecure.

At my age, approaching 60, I am pretty secure in who I am, what I have done with my life, and my relationship with Molly. If anything, maybe I am too secure.

I also have a great deal of faith in Molly. She and I have been together for more than 20 years. We have raised two girls now on the brink of adulthood (though you wouldn’t know it a good bit of the time). We have faced down challenges along the way. Maybe I’m crazy, but I don’t think a dalliance here or there by my beloved will threaten the life we have built together, so long as we are open and honest about it.

Nor do I get jealous. I am still the one that Molly comes home to (when she was seeing her starter Dom), and who she ends up sleeping with at night. As compared to most “old married couples” we know, we spend far more time together, whether we are having sex or just enjoying one another’s company.

If Mistress chooses to spend some of her time submitting to the charming voice of M, or flirting with a man she encounters at work, who am I to complain.

For me, our contract, and my willingness  to “allow”, or even facilitate, her current cyber tryst ,or any other sexual adventures she might venture into, is about making Molly happy. I seem to have been wired that way.

So when I see Mistress all cheerful, perky and flirtatious as she chats with M over the phone, or notice how turned on she is after one of their little sessions with the power tool, well, I feel in my own way I have “shot and scored” too.

And I always seem to get paid back in full when Mistress turns her attention back to me and my cock.

Now I recognize that not everyone is wired this way.

M seems much more possessive and jealous when it comes to his own wife. And of course Mistress would never tolerate my involvement with another woman, as is her right, contract or no.

But there is an additional  response I notice when Mistress is engaged in her extracurricular activities.

 I do get a little competitive when I know Mistress is in the thrall of another man, or fancies one that catches her eye. I get that edge that says, “let her have her fling. Let her flirt away, but make sure you step up your own game a notch.”

And, just beneath the surface of that macho competitive thing is a strange excitement I get at the thought of her using or being used by another lover. A psychologist I spoke with once on the subject suggested that seeing another man attracted to your wife is a validation that you’ve chosen a winner. I get that.

But there must be something deeper to it . Why does my cock gets hard as Mistress describes how she would willingly fall to her knees and suck M’s cock, if only he’d allow it? Or says she is saving her virgin bottom only for him?

If anyone can give me a persuasive psychological profile explaining this whole, hot cuckold thing, please send me a link.

But I know our readers don’t come her for psycho-babble, so why don’t I share some examples:

Monday night, after feeding the teens, Mistress and Slave headed to a local roadhouse to hear a favorite  troubadour.  The place was packed with its usual combination of locals and tourists, many of them two stepping on the dance floor.

Molly was in a sexy, but understated short black dress, accented by some of her vivid southwestern jewelry. As we sat and watched the commotion on the dance floor, sipping a tequila and  a Jamieson, I noticed that, as usual, Mistress was the hottest babe in the room.

And of course, a few of the cowboys, real or faux, were noticing that too.

At one point, Mistress excused herself from the table, presumably to “freshen up”.  But as I scanned the room shortly after she left, I noticed her standing at the bar, engaging in conversation with the Manager, a handsome, athletic charmer, about her age, who has chatted her up on more than one occasion. His name is Mike (what’s with all these M guys).

Molly had talked – favorably – about Mike before. He is one of those guys who catches her eye.

Their body language was telling. Leaning into one another. His arm resting on her shoulder. Mistress touching his forearm as they chatted. Or maybe her hand running  seductively though her own hair.

Since Mistress acquired her contractual right to take other lovers, she seems to exude a certain chemical / physical aura that ignites these types of encounters.

I did not want it to seem I was staring, so I went back to watching the spinning dancers a bit. But when I turned back to find Molly, she and Mike were gone.

That’s where my imagination took off.

I had them in  some dark office in back, or maybe out in the parking lot, Mistress crouching to take his cock in her mouth, or maybe leaning across the hood of a car in the shadows out back, legs spread for him, showing off her clean shaven, dripping  folds.

And of course, my cock was twitching in my jeans.

When Mistress came back a few minutes later, I shared my little fantasy with her. She just laughed. “Hmmm, not a bad idea Slave. Maybe someday.”

Or yesterday afternoon.

Work had caught up with us here at our undisclosed location. So we were sitting out on our patio, typing and conference calling away on some projects, as the teens made tie dye T-Shirts. (“Crafts Day” at Camp Collins!)

But through the morning, after our bike ride, I noticed Mistress shifting her attention from time to time to her I-phone.

When I raised an eyebrow, she laughed.

“He must be horny. He’s sending me little salacious messages, Slave.”

“Like what, Mistress?”

“Oh, the usual, I am spread across his desk. He’s spanking me, then he’s taking me from behind.”

But I could detect that Mistress was getting a little agitated in reaction to his messaging. She liked the attention. M was not the only horny one.

So I decided to act as a co-conspirator

“What if I get take the kids on a little outing, Mistress? Would that allow you to have a “date” with your friend”..

Her eyes lit up.

She tapped away.

“He says yes, but the sooner the better.”

Even Cyber Dom’s have to work sometimes.

So I hustled the kids out the door for a tour of some local Indian ruins, chased by an ice cream cone. I suspect that they did not know the urgency of leaving quickly. But they co-operated.

And Slave made sure the Hitachi was out and available, tucked under a pillow on our bed.

Mistress gave me a grateful kiss goodbye.

And as I was lapping my “Holstein Sunset”  ice cream cone – organic of course – while thinking of Mistress writhing on our bed, power tool in hand, M ‘s seductive voice in her ear – well, you can imagine my physical response.

And when I got the text from Mistress – “Mission accomplished, Slave” – I knew all was clear for me to return the kids to their craft project, and collect my own reward.

Sin, does that answer your question?

Lightning

It was another busy day here at our undisclosed location.

Molly and Mick went biking. (The illustration shows her well formed ass and athletic thighs, for those of you who appreciate such things.)

The teens went rafting on the River, still moving swiftly with the extra volume added by a week of afternoon thunderstorms.

Molly and Mick kept their tivas dry, and had a quiet lunch together in a charming, crumbling little adobe town. Then we visited a local winery, set in beautiful foothills, surprisingly lush from the flow of a beneficent aceqia. Soon it was time to collect our sodden but happy brood.

After dinner, we settled into bed to watch “Easy Rider”, a cultural artifact I had not seen since my college days in the very late 60’s. And of course, Mistress was barely out of kindergarten when it was first run. Legend has it that a good chunk of this ode to “freedom” was filmed in this neck of the woods. We wanted to look for that local ambience.

And sure enough, there deep in the background, in an open cocaine peddling sequence supposedly set in Mexico, was the distinctive face of the mountain parked in our back yard.

Later, buzzed to the max, Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda cavort in the Mamby Hot Springs with two hippie chickas they encounter at a real local commune called “New Buffalo”. They were splashing naked in the same springs, with it’s crumbling rock walls, where I was able to cleverly got Mistress off this past Friday.

Karma?

The film with its long musical interludes and psychedelic flash backs and forwards harkened back to the day when the toughest challenges seemed to be how to “get our shit together”, and deciding whether a guy with long hair looked more like a girl than a gorilla.


Mistress was stretched naked in our bed as we watched on my little computer screen. Outside a dramatic thunderstorm was gathering over the mountains, flashing and growling like a warm up for a long lost offensive on the Western Front.

When the movie ended, (badly for our heroes, I might add), I persuaded Mistress to bring that lush body outside to watch the real excitement.

Under our portal, wind whipped at us, moist and cool. Water was already dripping off the roof. It was pitch black, but for the flashes of that cosmic artillery that backlit the distant mountains at increasingly frequent intervals . I sill had on shorts and a T-shirt, and I pulled Mistress against me to warm her dampening skin.

A few moments ago we had been watching Hopper and Fonda tripping and stripping in a moldering New Orleans cemetery, fondling Karen Black and another woman they had procured in a New Orleans brothel.

We were under our own erotic influence though, no chemical enhancements required.

My fingers slid between Mistress’s legs, gliding with a devious purpose through slick folds, my teeth nibbling at her neck.

But Mistress was not content to just throw her head back and enjoy. She was fumbling with my belt, unfastening my shorts. Grappling and groping.

“What are you doing, Mistress?”

“Looking for my cock, Slave.”

It wasn’t too hard to find.

But Slave beat Mistress to the punch. And soon she was gasping, jerking her hips against my probing fingers, collapsing against me.

“Why don’t we go inside now Mistress?”

I guided her back across our dark porch, into the door that led to our chambers.

By now Mistress was regaining her composure, so recently compromised, and was reasserting her command.

“Go put in your device, Slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

When I came back to her, my cock was showing its pavlovian response to the device filling me from behind.


She reached out to fondle it, as I stood beside the bed, waiting for my invitation to join her.

“Slave, I think I have been too easy on you lately.”

“How do you mean, Mistress?”

“You’ve been a bit uppity lately. Not as attentive as I need you to be.”

All along, her fingers were lingering on my increasingly rigid cock. She certainly knows how to create the proper atmosphere for turning the screws a bit tighter on her Slave, doesn’t she?

“I am always happiest when you assert your authority, Mistress.”

She pulled my cock a bit, indicating I should slide into bed with her, and of course I was happy to do just that.

As I suckled a ripe nipple, Mistress went on with her thoughts about a tighter regime.

“Maybe I should not give you permission to come tonight, Slave.”

“Well that’s your right….we haven’t done abstinence day in a while.”

“When we get back, I think it’s time to start abstinence day again, Slave. I like how desperate it makes you.”

And it certainly does.

But that left tonight’s activities clouded in ambiguity.

As we talked I had used my fingers to give Mistress another lovely cum, and it was the time when I might normally ask permission to fuck her. Her hands and mouth on my cock had certainly put that option front and center in my simple, slavish brain.

“Ummm….So what about tonight, Mistress. Do I have permission? Or not?”

“Well why don’t you fuck me for a while and when you get to that point, you can ask permission. That’s when I will decide your fate…”

Did I verbally moan? Not sure. But Mistress was laughing a bit at my plight.

I proceeded as she suggested. And, not wanting to give myself too much credit, I believed I fucked her hard and well.

She certainly came again in rather dramatic style (at least setting aside the power tool enhanced variety), If she had been thinking of Vanilla Mom’s recent story about a fictional M taking a fictional Molly’s virgin ass to help her get there, all the better.

(You can find that here. Very hot., ‘Nilla)http://vanillamom.wordpress.com/2010/08/02/the-mountain-pt-6/

I came to that inevitable point. I really could not have gone on much longer without exploding inside, Mistress.

“Mistress, may I come.”

So close. So very close.

“I’m not sure Slave….”


Argh…. Do I pull out or ask again? Time was short. Very short.

“Oh God, Mistress. Please may I come?”

She seemed to like the pitiful desperation she was hearing from me.

“Alright Slave. You may.”

Ahhhhh.

Quite frankly, I don’t know what would have happened if she had said no.

But I suspect it would have led to a very harsh punishment.



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Rising to the (Perceived) Challenge

Sunday was busy here, once Mistress was released from her bonds, the Hitachi was stowed and the bright orange extension cord was spooled and parked in the corner of the bedroom for future contingencies.

First, we went on a long bike ride, down into what we call “the hole” a strange geological accident a mile or two down the road from our cabin.

. “The hole” is bordered by mountains on one side, and a mesa on the other. It seems to be  an ancient lake bed with one rocky end long since blown out, allowing the lake to drain. Now it accommodates green pastures at the banks of an arroyo still flowing strong with the lingering snow melt. 

(The photo shows Mistress looking down toward the end of the Hole, after having finished the climb out, way ahead of me, I might add.)

It’s a long (mostly) downhill roller coaster ride to the bottom, leading to  a long, challenging hill climb back out. The altitude, at  7500 feet, adds to the challenge.

I consider that climb out of the hole a pass/fail test to determine that Mick does not need an angioplasty anytime soon.  So far I have passed.

But if you go that way, it’s with one hell of a view.

After that adventure, we took the kids on a five mile hike up to a nearby alpine lake. The payoff is the 300 degree view of snow dabbled peaks at about 11, 500 feet.

While they groused a bit on the way up, all of our legs seemed to get  some new life on the way down, anticipating  a rendezvous with some strudel and fries at a scenic Inn at the foot of the trail.

By the time we got home it was Mistress and Slave’s nap  time. This time it seemed a good idea to do the nap first, BEFORE the good part.  I was plum tuckered out.

And although I offered Mistress my tongue and fingers, I made it fairly clear that I had doubts about whether her cock was prepared to enter the fray any time soon.

She seemed tired too, and demurred on my offers.

Both of us had stripped off the hiking attire and were naked in bed, cuddled together, considering whether to read a bit first, or just close our eyes.  Then the text message on Mistress’s phone jarred us.

It was M, our Western Correspondent, checking in. Mistress hopped out of bed. Read, and tapped a response.

“I told him it was nap time, Slave.”

Back into bed. Settling a bit more comfortably into one another. 

“Chime”.

Mistress hops out to read next message.

“He says “LOL….”. I guess he knows what happens at “nap time” around here.”

She tapped some more.

“I told him Slave is blowing me off, at least for now.”

Well, I must say that got a rise out of me. No Slave likes to think they have let their Mistress down.

When she got back in bed this time, I found myself nibbling on her nipples: A practice probably not conducive to shut eye.

The text chime went off again.

“Slave, I’m telling him I am signing off for now.”

When Mistress slid under the sheets, her hands slid between my legs.  She must have been amused by what she discovered.

“Hmmm….I think all that texting with M got you going, Slave.”

“I suppose I considered all that talk about me ‘blowing you off’ a bit of a challenge to your Slave’s manhood, Mistress…”

Mistress tried to walk that back a bit, and her comment to M probably was more a part of their own little sexy repartee than a slap at my serviceability. But, whatever,  it did have its effect.

Somehow my cock had bounced back from the ride, the hike and the big stein of wheat beer at the trail  head. I  was ready and able to perform with just a tad more coaxing.

‘Slave, just so it’s clear: you’ve had your switch day and it’s over now. Go put in your device, and get back here.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Well, that helped. By the time I had lubed up the aneros and slid it where it belongs, Mistress was commenting on how thick and useful my tool had become.

And she made sure to put it to good use.

After that, it really was naptime.

“