Ripples

Our conversation with the ‘Nilla seemed to send out all sorts of erotic ripples yesterday.

Example: playing the agent provocateur, she complements Mistress’s delightful ass, which has been on display at this location more than a few times. (I guess that has been one of my cheap ploys for drawing eyes to this page. Shame. Shame, Slave).

But she wonders why can’t she see Mick in his cage.

I am heading back from a meeting.  And call Mistress.

“Oh, by the way Slave, Mistress made a cute comment on our blog, and she wants to see that picture of you in your cage.”

Gulp.

Unlike Mistress’s smooth lush ass, Mick’s crotch  in the cage looks rather disheveled: hair poorly maintained, skin mottled, pale aging flesh that has not seen the sun. (well there was that day on the river beach out west, but only for an hour or two).  Yuck.

“….and you said?”

“I said Yes, Slave.”

Later, back in my office, I texted Mistress for clarification.

“Are you telling me that you want me to send it, or that I have permission to send it?”

Her answer was very….directive.

“Send it, Slave.”

Ok……I sucked it up, and got a little “Slave humiliates himself to please Mistress” twitch.  I sent the loathsome picture  via email to ‘Nilla. She seemed to be amused, making a clever remark about my status as a “knight in shining armor.”

Funny, ‘Nilla.  Very funny.

But by now the chorus of comments for a more public display has been heard. Mistress and I will need to discuss that, folks, so be patient.

Then there was M.

He as very intrigued by ‘Nilla’s endorsement of the ass fucking that he has in mind for Mistress.

We were driving out to the tennis tournament late yesterday afternoon, and Mistress was sharing the highlights of her day.

“M was very engaging today, Slave….he wanted to hear all about our talk with ‘Nilla.”

(M is a very big ‘Nilla fan.)

“And what did you tell him…”

“About how wild she was about that ass fucking thing….”

Sure enough, as we sat at courtside with the privilege of watching some guy the crowd called Rafa rally from a set behind, Mistress was getting a series of texts from her cyber Dom.

And one she shared included a very generous offer.

“M says that, if you and I want, you can have permission to fuck me in the ass on Sunday, Slave.”

Wow. This was something that Mistress had promised M. An experience she has yet to “enjoy.” He was to be the first with the special “All Orifice Access Pass.”

Very generous.  

And yet.

“What do you think, Slave?”

“I’m not sure it’s right, Mistress. That is M’s holy grail.  His White Whale. Something you’ve said you are saving for him. I don’t think it would be right for me to usurp. But, of course, it’s up to you, Mistress.”

“Of course it is Slave.”

Later that night, home at last and getting ready for bed, Mistress instructed me to insert my little white probe.

“I know we are a little tired, Slave. But a nice hard cock is what I have in mind.”

It was well lubed and inside me as I slid in next to her. She had my laptop opened, and as I laved her tender parts with my tongue she caught up on some of our commenters, Aisha and Sin. And she commented to me on ‘Nilla’s cute cut-out top for HNT.”

Meanwhile I was getting a taste of Mistress’s parts, after being marinated in their sealed undies for so many hours of a busy and warm day.

Or had they been sealed?

“Hmmm, Mistress. It tastes like there’s been some action down here.  Not exactly like you’ve been fucked, but certainly like you’ve been pretty aroused today.”

Maybe Slave’s taste buds are over sensitized, but mingled with the salty brine of our afternoon in those sunny seats at court side was the more pungent flavor of Mistress’s natural, lubricating   juices.

It made for a very intoxicating brew.

“Well, M was sending me some salacious messages today, and you know what that does to me, Slave.”

After she put the computer down, She rocked and rolled against my mouth for a lovely explosion.  My cock was standing at attention as I removed the laptop from our bed. She seemed impressed.

“Oh my Slave.  That is impressive.”

Then she allowed me to fuck her.

“So what were those things he was telling you Mistress?”, I asked as I ground my hips against her and she made those cute and sexes noises for me.

A little smutty talk about her fantasies with M seems to fuel both of our fires at moments like these.

“Ahhh….he had a story about taking me golfing, Slave.”

“You golfed with him?”

“Well, not exactly. I carried his clubs. And I also carried his  balls …. In my cunt….”

Hmmm.  “Well I suppose you could fit one or them, but I’d worry about getting them out.”

“It seemed a little impractical, but then it was a fantasy after all.”

“Did that turn you on Mistress?”

“Well, I recall it did Slave. And then he mad me suck him off in the trees.”

I suppose that would be the golf equivalent of the 7^th inning stretch. But who would sing “Take me out to the Ball Game”?

In my mind I wondered if Mistress had survived the day without getting herself off, but that is a matter of Dom/sub privilege.

As for me, I was fortunate to be granted permission to come when the time was right. That’s really the most important question for me to get answered.

HNT / Day in the Cage

It was a long day in the cage yesterday.

We were up early to take Surly teen #2 to the airport for a visit with a friend in NYC.

Mistress allowed me to use my fingers to get her off to a juicy one in the shower.

“I’d play with you too a bit, Slave. But I know that might make it  harder for you to get the cage on.”

Very considerate of her, don’t you think?

So there I was, still dripping, as I  shmushed my balls and cock through the hard   steel ring, then forcing the cage part over my cock.  Mistress always seems to take a certain delight in closing the tiny lock shut, knowing I am secured away until she sees fit to unlock me.

After the teen was on her way, Mistress was heading back to that tennis tournament to entertain some clients. Meanwhile I was buried in some work at my office. As the players took the court, and worked their serves up to 140 mph, Mistress would text me a photo from her courtside seat.

One came of a guy who’s fans call him “Rafa”.

“Hot?”, I texted back?

“Yes!” came her reply.

But two can play this game.

I shut my office door, lowered my pants, and positioned my tiny cell phone just so.

Snap.

“Hotter?”, I responded.

When the picture of my caged cock surrounded by my public fur popped up on her I-phone at courtside, I understand Mistress  was a little surprised.

Later she confided that our Western Correspondent, M, was also texting her during that match – with some trash talk about how someday her lovely ass would succumb to his mighty cock.

So Mistress was being tagged team to distraction, even as she was distracting the both if us with shots of those hunksters throwing themselves around the court in front of her.

Served her right.

Mistress and I both headed home at about the same time.

The kids were now both out-of-state, which is always a cause célèbre. Our plan was a bike ride to the pool, where Mistress would slim her 30 minutes of laps as I perused the Times. Then back home for dinner .

But first worship was in order. The removal of my cage would not occur until Mistress had been satisfied.  She slid off those black undies, and I slid to my knees.

Before getting down to business, I inhaled the musky aroma of her clean shaven parts. Intoxicating.

“Hope I am not too stinky down there, Slave. I was sitting out in the sun all day.”

And of course there was likely the intermittent flow of juices, particularly with M’s salacious text banter.

“Not at all Mistress. You are marinated just the way I like it.”

And I showed my gratitude by helping her with tongue and lips to a nice writhing explosion that earned my release from that little confining prison.

Ahhhhh.

Later last night, after exercise, dinner, and some mindless TV, highlighted by Mistress parading about the house in some skimpy pinkish and black nightwear, we had a conference call.

After some months of reading her naughty blog, and some friendly emailing repartee, we had made an appointment to talk to one of our  blogger colleagues.  A first for us. (She can comment if she wants you to know who we are referring to.)

Hving this secret part of our life certainly has its charms. But sometimes keeping this far more exciting part of our life a secret is hard. It’s nice to have a few folks who we can talk with who are in on the secret.

So as Mistress and I lay across the bed, in various states of undress, the speaker phone between us, it was nice to trade tips, observations and backstories with someone who knows more about us from our blog than about 99.8% of the folks in our “real” life.

And we got some good, practical advice.

“You can never Dom too much.”

Point well taken.

And Molly heard a very nice endorsement, from one with some recent experience,  for getting that ass fucking  M has promised.

After that talk, it definitely remains one of her prime ASS-pirations.

And, for those out there who worry about “poor” Mick, after the conference call ended,  there was plenty of time for some non-ass fucking at the Collins household.

Love All

Over the last few days, Mistress has been spending some time entertaining clients at a tennis tournament going on this fortnight up the road from River City. And sometimes Mick gets to come along for the ride.

Last week it was the tennis babes who were in town.

Now the guys are here.

Mistress has snapped a few shots of guys who register on her “hunk” meter, and emailed them to me or to M for our amusement. A Spaniard named Lopez seemed to particularly catch her eye.

And last night, her Slave got to come a long to be charming and hold Mistress’s beverages.

Yes, I can do charming, like any good domesticated Slave may be required to do from time to time.

Mistress was particularly moved by the exotic accent of the Egyptian referee, who was a swarthy fellow, and rumbled in a peculiar Egyp-lish sound about whether a call had been challenged or there had been a “Leeaat”.

I promised to try to replicate later that evening in bed.

But during the doubles matches, things can get a little dull. We clicked onto our email account and say Weave’s charming comment about his admiration for Mistress’s ability to “Multitask”. That got me teasing Mistress, as we whispered at courtside, about our episode Sunday afternoon during which she demonstrated an uncanny ability to eat caramel corn and come at the same time. It was a fascinating engagement of two orifices, slightly different than the one ‘Nilla envisioned in her recent episode of “The Mountain.”

“Mistress, have you ever done that before…..eat and come at the same time?”

“Not that I recall, Slave.”

Hmmm. She was sounding like a well coached witness with something to hide.

I decided to ask M if this was something he had witnessed at home.

“I’m e mailing M to ask him if B can do that trick.”

She laughed but did not object. Later we got his response.

"Too funny! No she doesn't believe in eating in bed. unlike u two lunatics we don't have picnics in bed... wish we did but oh well... very impressive multi tasking though Molly! u should have been an executive.... keeping all those balls in the air would be a breeze compared to your level of concentration drive and purpose. too funny."

Yes, it was impressive.

But soon the tag team from Carmel, Indiana succumbed to an odd combination from Pakistan and India (we were concerned that there might be a nuclear confrontation of they lost), and Mistress and her Slave were heading home.

We surprised Surly teen #2 when we arrived home a tad earlier than she had planned. Ur basement was filled with some of her surly compadres, though if they were up to no good, it was hard for us to tell.

Upstairs, Mistress reminded me of the next morning’s agenda:

“I want you in your cage in the morning, Slave.”


“Of course, Mistress.”

I would not be repeating the mistake I made Monday. (Still awaiting that punishment.)

“But now, go put in your device….I want a hard cock to go with the Egyptian accent.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Catching Up

When I write it seems always to be on a deadline.

I get up, make coffee, peruse blogs by colleagues like ‘Nilla, Aisha, Sin. This am, Remittance Girl has a long and compelling story. Watch the clock. Knowing that at a set time, my duty is to go up to Mistress, assure she is awake, give her my morning work product to review, and, of course, caress her lush parts with my tongue as she scrolls through it.

Sometimes the deadline works well. Other times my opportunity to finish my thoughts or sufficiently edit my outpouring expires.

Yesterday I got through our morning activities but was unable to add some of the afternoon and evenings details to keep you up to date with the crazy Collins.

Like how, on Sunday afternoon, after we spent some time broasting ourselves at the local, no PDA’s allowed swim club, we came home to an empty home and dug into a large bag of caramel corn I had acquired for Mistress on an outing with my cute as can be grandson.

Mistress has a weakness for caramel corn. I have a (well documented) weakness for Mistress.

So as she munched her way to the bottom of that bag, splayed naked across our bed, I munched away on her. I was wondering if my tongue and mouth could be as compelling as the caramel corn. Could I squeeze an orgasm from her even while she was crunching away at it? Or was Mistress unable to chew corn and come at the same time? (sort of a kinky version of the Gerry Ford conundrum, of you remember him).

The answer: I knew Gerry Ford, and Mistress, you’re know Gerry Ford.

Mistress can multitask with the best of them. Or at least her cunt can.

And afterwards, when the caramel corn was just a fond memory, she commanded me to insert my little device, and service her properly with my firm and steady cock.

I did not try to fuck her and eat at the same time, mind you.

Sunday evening I had plans to take surly teen #2 to a preseason football game. And Mistress had her own plans.

Knowing she would be home alone, she had made a date with our Western Correspondent.

She was looking forward to it since they had not had that opportunity in a while. Mistress did not want to admit it, but I suspect she was feeling a bit desperate for M’s attention, his explicit directions on how to deploy the Power tool on her needy parts.

But I can be a trouble maker.

“Maybe I should hide the Hitachi, Mistress.”

She looked at me in horror. Apparently our morning session, and then the afternoon, catered session, had only stoked the fire.

“That would be very bad slave….”

“Might earn me a punishment?”

I guess I literally am a glutton for it.


She grabbed her new I-phone, and tapped away.

“I’m telling M you are threatening to hide it, Slave.”

Moments later, she got her response.

She glanced at it and smiled.

“He says that’s very bad Slave behavior.”

But of course, I am not so cruel.

Later, at the game, as I daughter and I watched the NFL debut of a certain human battering ram with a collection of Heisman trophies, I knew that Mistress was back at home, battering her cunt one more time at M’s direction. Sort of taking it for the Gipper.

Yesterday morning I performed the duties described above. Then headed off to work.

Though I am in trouble. I forgot to ask Mistress if I should wear my cage, since it was not a day when we drove together.

She reminded me later of my error, in a brief phone call.

“You screwed up, Slave.”

I confessed to my error, and await my punishment.

When I got home, a little later than Mistress, she described her own afternoon.

“I had a little mini-date with M a little while ago, Slave.”

“Oh….”

“I mentioned I was home alone and he called me.”

I could tell Mistress was happy about this. She likes our mutual attention.

And of course this got Slave going too.

“ How ‘bout I worship you and you tell me about it Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave.”

Our planned bike ride could wait.

Mistress stretched across the bed. I placed a pillow on the floor for my knobby old guy knees. And as she spread her legs, I hopped to my duty.

She described how he told her to apply the tool to her horny little cunt, and spun a tale of her bent over his desk, absorbing his spanks, and then that larger than life cock of his.

And I did my best to help her relive her role.

‘After that he had to go, Slave. He said he was going to his office bathroom to take care of himself.”

I am not sure what part of this Mistress likes better. Coming so hard at his command, or imagining M working his cock to a lather with dreams of Mistress in his head.

But I do know that Mistress seems happy with M as part of her life.

And that’s good enough for me.


Opps. Time is up.