Smut-ergy

According to my little electronic dictionary, “synergy” is the interaction of two or more …. Agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects : Exp., the synergy between artist and record company.”

Well lately in our little blogger community, I have noticed what could be called “smutt-ergy”, when through our communications or comments we all seem to be creating a higher (or would it really be “lower”) and more creative variety of smut than we might otherwise have  generated if left to our own deviant devices.

So….SFP bemoans her disconnect from Mr. C at “Peacefully Submissive”, and “Sin” at “Finding My Submission” offers up her Dom on some sort of long distance Lend Lease basis. The result becomes an erotic take on the Little Red Riding Hood mythology, and we are all wondering what SFP has on under the red cape.

Or Aisha talks about her assignment to acquire a yard stick at the State Fair for use by her Dom, then suddenly on her vanilla facebook page there is an “innocent” reference to that free yardstick.

But here in the Collins household, our favorite was the deviant tale of crossed explicit text messages that ended up on ‘Nilla’s  blog Monday, after our conference call with her last week, in which Mistress described receiving pictures of my caged cock while she was entertaining clients at the tennis tournament.

Yesterday Molly and Mick were up early, still groggy after a late night trip to the airport to collect surly teen #2 from a late summer trip to visit a friend in the Big Apple.  As is all too routine, the place was delayed, the bag was lost, and we had stumbled into bed around 1:30 am.

Fortunately I had worked up my “homework” the night before, and it included a little line about maybe there should be a TV show with the “tool time” man, but using X-rated tools..  But there was no opportunity or energy for morning sex. I was headed for another town, about 90 miles to the south.

So there I was, around 2 pm, waiting for a meeting in a somber office with photos of our President and his Attorney General on the wall, when checking my blackberry, I see a new e mail from  Snow9’s blog (no longer a secret identity for our heroine ‘Nilla) entitled “The Tool Guy”. 

As I scrolled through the twisted tale of sodden sub exploited by the Dom in the leather tool belt, and (of course) nothing else, I tried to keep a straight face for my more disciplined colleagues.

Of course, there is also a certain friendly but competitive synergy between the Collins household and that of our Western Correspondent. We seem to egg each other on for erotic bragging rights.

I actually made it home yesterday evening before Mistress got back from her own busy work day. . When she joined me in our bedroom, the Times was laying on my chest and I was waking groggily from a short but satisfying nap.

She told me about her day, and her talks with M, who must have missed her over the weekend.

“He says that he and B had sex for two hours this morning, Slave.”

Nice. M’s work schedule was a tad more flexible than ours on Monday.

“And that B must have had 20 orgasms….”

“Hmmmm…..are you feeling a little neglected, Mistress?”

She claimed not to be jealous, or particularly horny, but I could sense a little tension.

“I suppose we can’t lead the field everyday, Mistress.  Not even Lance Armstrong did that on the Tour in his day.”

Mistress had in her hand a bag of chocolate covered cherries that Surly teen #1 had brought back from her vacation for her loving mom.

Have I mentioned that Mistress has a thing for all things chocolate?

With one hand she was casually stripping off her work costume, down to black bra and undies, while, with the other hand she was helping herself to those little delicious treats. She even shared some with me.

She settled down next to me on the bed, and as she munched and chatted I shifted to a position between her legs, and helped free her cunt from those tight, confining panties.

Without getting her explicit consent, I found myself in a face first confrontation with those succulent smoothly shaved folds, my tongue gently reaching out for that first delicious taste. So much better than the mountain dew that had kept me awake on my drive to and from that day.

“Mistress Dew”, I suppose you could call it.

So as Mistress multitasked, savoring her chocolates, I savored her dew, taking her to a fine bucking orgasm.

Afterwards, Mistress used her I – phone to take a snapshot of the chocolate covered cherry bag.  Then she was keying words into her little device.

“What are you doing, Mistress.”

“Telling M that while he may have fucked B for two hours this morning, I got my cunt licked while eating chocolate covered cherries….”

Ahh. More Smut-ergy.

Mistress's Special Request

Saturday night, after that I came down from that lovely ass fucking Mistress gave me, we went to the movies.

We opted for “The Kids are Alright”, a domestic comedy / drama with Julianne Moore and Annette Bening as a lesbian couple with two precocious teens and Mark Ruffalo as their hip, younger, hipster sperm donor.

It comes as no surprise when Ruffalo and Moore end up in bed together, and Mistress and her Slave were, shall we say, “stirred….”

Particularly Mistress.

“I think you liked it when he took her from behind like that, Mistress”.

We were driving home. It was late. And following our afternoon’s activities, neither one of us had plans for more erotic activities.

“He is pretty hot Slave….”

Back at home we settled in, scanning our emails, and catching up with our blogger friends, and then welcomed our surly teen #1, back from her trip North with her boyfriend’s family.

As we settled into bed, I got a whiff of what seemed like Mistress’s arousal.

Hmmm.

I took that as a cue.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress?”



In all honesty, I was expecting an “I’m good Slave.”

But she surprised me….

“Well I could use a bit of the Hitachi, Slave…..”

I guess I should not have been surprised.

Did the scenes between Ruffalo and Moore get Mistress a tad more jazzed than I expected? Or was it just Power tool withdrawal catching up with her? It had been five whole days since one of those Hitachi assisted dates with M.

I reached over to grab my WMO (weapon of massive orgasm) at the side of the bed.

Mistress was wearing a silky black nightie with white lace cupping her soft and full breasts. As I turned to her, tool in hand, her legs were already spread.

She moaned with a certain gratitude as I pressed the business end of the device against he cleanly shaven mound.

My, she was in need.

And I enjoyed coming to the rescue with the proper equipment.

New TV series idea: Tim, the “Tool Time” guy, but with X- rated equipment.

I worked her with it, as her hips squirmed side to side, her head thrown back.

I reveled in the urgency of the sounds she was making as she worked herself against the churning device, as I nibbled on the nipple that had popped free from that little nightie.

And when she finally came, her hips rising off the bed, sobbing with pleasure, I loved the way her thighs scissored and clutched that little machine for dear life.

Afterwards, I held her tight, as she shuddered a bit with the aftershocks, choosing to take my reward in the morning.

A Slave takes pride in a job well done.

"Mistress is Busy Now."

It was the de facto last day of summer Saturday at the Collins’ household. The last day Molly and Mick would have the house to themselves before the return of the surly teens from some late summer adventures. They start the school year grind on Tuesday.

And we did our best to exploit the fleeting  moment.

First, I had a delicious early morning opportunity to break my abstinence with mistress,  .after completing my homework assignment. After pleasuring her with my mouth, she returned the favor, driving me to distraction with her lips sliding the length of my shaft, as her fingers lightly caressed my balls,  until I was fidgeting with desperation, and begging for the chance to demonstrate how nicely my cock would fill her ravenous cunt.

Fortunately, she was curious about my proposal. It may not have been M’s “special occasion cock” that she yearns for at times, but it seems servicable for every day use.

Then we were up and at it.

We did our grocery shopping.

We rode bikes.

We emptied boxes of detritus left in the basement for far too long. (I forgot all about my treasured  Gore / Lieberman shirt in Hebrew symbols. Now there is a collector’s item).

We made two trips to Goodwill.

We had one of out “picnics” – smoked salmon, goat cheese, fresh local tomatoes and  artisan bread – and watched the new episode of Weeds. (Mary Louise Parker would make a great surrogate Domme, wouldn’t she?)

We napped.

But then it was time for Slave to face the music.

“Go get my supplies, Slave….”

“What ever are you referring to, Mistress?”

“Don’t make me ask twice….”

Of course I knew.

My cock twitched at the thought of what was in store.

It had been a few weeks, after all. And with all that blog and phone talk (with ‘Nilla) about “ass fucking”, Mistress was more than willing to demonstrate who’s ass gets fucked in this household.

(Not that she would not make hers available for M.)

And I must confess I was looking forward to it as well. It was past time for an attitude adjustment – a reminder of my place in our bed chambers -  that only being taken that way can provide.

But just as Mistress was all “kitted up” and ready to take her prize,  the little text message chime on her I-phone binged. And binged again.

It was M, sending cheerful messages with photos of his golf partners attached. He was checking in. But his timing was a tad inopportune.

 “I think he likes to know what I’m up to, Slave.”

That could be arranged.  I decided to play the troublemaker.

I picked up my little cell phone, and aimed it at Mistress as she lay on the bed, waiting for me.

“What are you up to Slave?”

I snapped.

“We might as well show him what you are up to.”

She giggled, as I texted him the photo above, with a report , “Mistress is busy now.”

And soon she was.

I slid down next to her on the bed, kissing, nipping at her full and firm nipples, as her hand worked my cock until I was moaning with need.  It would have been easy for me to come that way….but it would have spoiled the fun.

As my desperation began to peak, she shifted away from me.

“It’s time, Slave. Get in position.”

I rolled onto my stomach, pillow positioned under my hips. She shifted me a bit, to provide the right angle for her assault.

Then her “cock” was sliding into me.

“Do I have that right, Slave.”

“Oh yes, Mistress”, came out somewhere between my moans.

And I was responding the way she likes.

“That’s right, Slave, I like to hear those little whimpering sounds. “

She pumped harder, and soon it was her making the naughty sounds.

She came once, pressing hard, moving her hips side to side too, grinding one out against my cheeks.

And she kept moving afterwards, building herself to another gasping, writhing cum, moaning into my ear, before pulling out and shedding her harness.

“That’s enough for now, Slave….why don’t you insert your probe and get back here and fuck me.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

 I graciously followed her orders. Soon my   cock was pounding into her, so close.  So very close.

It was just about then that the text chime on my phone went off. No doubt a snarky comment from her Master.

“Let’s check that after we’re done here, Slave.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

I hope her inattention to M won’t earn her a punishment.

Not.

Accidental Abstinence Day

Somehow Friday turned into an Abstinence Day for this Slave.

I am not exactly sure how it happened.

But sitting here this morning, coffee brewed, I am wishing I had read stories in the “mainstream media” about “terror mosques” and the silly things 20% of Maericans believe, rather than ‘Nilla’s blog about her adventures with her Sir last Sunday, or Aisha’s blog anticipating her encounter with a special someone wielding a yard stick collected from the State Fair.

After our late night Thursday watching the tennis studs, Mistress had let it be known that Friday morning before work would be set aside for a bracing bike ride. She is an exercise fiend, as those shots of her lush body show.

So after reading ‘Nilla’s further adventures of some barely fictional characters performing unnatural acts in a Mountain Stream, it was time for some tough love for Slave.

I did my best to file away the image of a certain Domme being forced to fuck an inanimate phallus to please her Master, and slid into my riding shorts and shoes. The air was still cool as I joined Mistress for that first 7 am loop up a killer hill.

When she returned (she is a two loop girl, and I am a two lump guy), there was just time for a shower before heading to work. And though I made sure that Mistress had a special treat in the shower - sliding my fingers through her wet and soaped up folds until she was shuddering through a comfy little climax – I knew that I should not expect any sauce for this gander.

Later, at mid-day, Mistress surprised me with a visit to the office.

I had been to a rather tedious meeting, and was grinding away on an even more tedious project, with a mess of papers spread across my desk, when she floated in as an unanticipated vision, all glamorously summer casual in a loose fitting navy cotton dress, floating a tad above her knees, legs naked and well tanned.

But beneath that Friday in August professional polish, I had a feeling there was a little itch that needed to be scratched.

At this point, words are not required.

She “casually” shut the door behind her.

I slid her “throne” against the door, laid that little maroon blanket underneath to keep the upholstery presentable for more official visitors.

She sat back, knees spread, black panties draped around an ankle, the hem of her dress barely covering her cleanly groomed “naughty bits”.

Delicious.

I could not resist recording the image to share with you.

And by now Slave’s earlier “denial”, was taking it’s toll. On my knees, sucking Mistress’s pink and needy clit between by teeth, inhaling her scintillating musk, my cock began to twitch and grow.

Mistress wrapped one of her firm thighs around my neck, pulling my mouth even closer to her, and came with a sudden jerk, her head knocking a bit against the door to my office. Fortunately, no one in the hallway outside tried to open that door to figure out what the two lovebirds were up to now.

But quickly, after pulling the disheveled parts together, she was out the door.

“Better get back to work, Slave.”

I collected a kiss, austere enough not to smear the lipstick she had quickly reapplied. She left behind something firm and needy.

“Later”, I told myself, and dug back into that unruly collection of paper on my desk.

Later, yesterday evening, we joined some friends for dinner and one of those “preseason” football games in which the first teamers make cameo appearances, and the scrubs finish things off. Fortunately, our friends were more entertaining than the roster fodder on the field. And the first string cheerleaders provided an opportunity to speculate about the source of their frighteningly uniform perma-tans.

But by the time we got home, after 11:30 pm, it was clear that Slave’s window of opportunity had passed.

“I guess you actually gave me an Abstinence Day that I didn’t see icoming, Mistress.”

“It’s good for you, Slave. Just think how horny you will be tomorrow, when I fuck you in the ass.”

Twitch.

Of course, it could be worse. Much worse.


Changing subjects: yesterday Sin asked the question about whether this writer, when contemplating the concept of being required to “share” that shot of me in my cage in the blogosphere generates any “heat” for me.

The short answer: “Yes”. Not because I like the idea of strange dudes / dudettes from Saudi Arabia or Brazil or Amarillo checking me out. (Yes, we know you are out there, thanks to StatCounter). But because of the inherent hotness of Mistress forcing me to do something outside of my comfort zone to prove my devotion to her.

Now that is hot. So how we handle the distribution of my “caged” photo is up to her.