HNT / Volvo Diesel vs. Lamborghini.

“Get it hard for me Slave.”

It was later on Tuesday evening. Mistress had enjoyed her little wanton display on the drive home at M’s direction. I had thrown in a little worship to round out the experience, before setting off on our evening bike ride.

Now we were lying in bed, having fed the kids and bid them good night. Mistress had been tending to some work emails, and I had paged through the Times quavering in fear over the latest hideous economic and political tidings.

I was naked, as she likes. Mistress had that silky black and white nighty on that barely covered her soft and well shaved parts. An errant nipple peeked at me.

But the time had (finally) come for her Slave to enjoy the bounty of Mistress’s sexual attention.

“Really, Mistress.  You want me to touch myself….here?”

I demonstrated, sliding my fingers along the length of my flaccid cock.  I guess I probably shook it at her, just a bit. I was being a cheeky Slave.

“Yes, Slave. Why should I have to do all the work?”

She had a point. But then it’s interesting how Mistress gets a little domm-ier after one of her slutty little episodes with our Western Correspondent. The yin and yang of her sexual persona becomes more pronounced.

She laid across the bottom of the bed, smiling a wicked grin at me as I went to work.

“You can do better than that Slave…”

She giggled as I  slid my hand up and over the length of my cock, trying to deliver the goods she desired in to merchantable standards. I would not want to breach any warranties.

And, truth be told, it took a minute or so to get things going. At my age, I am hardly the Lamborghini, with  0 to 60 speed measured in less than 7 seconds.

No, I am more like the Volvo Diesel station wagon that I owned back in the 80’s (John Anderson (R – Ill.) told me it was actually the first Volvo he ever rode in, despite all the clichés about who the Vovo driving suburban Moms who supposedly supported him). That old tank-y Volvo was not much for snappy acceleration, but it could run forever and ever, on a single tank of gas.

Or as the song goes it was , “built for comfort, not for speed.”

As I used my fingers, watching Mistress stretch her legs languorously across our bed, Mistress added a bit to the experience, by gently rubbing those well manicured nails across my balls.

Uhhhh Yeah. That did it. Between my fingers and hers, the cork was soon ready to pop.

“Oh my, Slave. Very impressive.”

I was ready to move to the next and more interesting stage, abandoning my fully extended cock and reaching for her legs.

“Who told you to stop, Slave?”

“Uhhh, Ok mistress. “

I obediently went back to work, and she continued to lightly stroke my very sensitive balls. And I was soon squirming, very close to the edge.

She seemed delighted with my predicament. It was a form of torture that was far more devious than a dozen strokes with the crop or that long wooden shoe horn she liberated from the 4 Seasons in the Windy City.

“Wouldn’t you like me to fuck you now, Mistress?”

“What’s the rush, Slave?”

Argh.

“I am getting desperate, Mistress.”

My ass was lifting off the bed a bit in my “discomfort”.

“Why not try begging, Slave?”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to beg to come, or beg to fuck her.

But since I take so much pleasure in filling her to the rim, I opted for the latter.

“Can I please fuck you Mistress?”

“You don’t sound desperate enough, Slave.”

All the while her fingers were toying with me, the tips of her nails sliding along the little seam of my sack. And I was obediently sliding my fingers along my shaft, with the slightest pressure. Not trying to provoke an explosion, but driving myself to distraction despite my mental reservations.

All the while I was begging in a variety of variations for the right to fuck her. And finally, she took pity.

“Alright, Slave….. I do like that desperation in your voice. And you’ve done such a good job making it hard for me, I think I’m going to ride it for a while.”

She slid up onto me, straddling my hips, using her hand to guide me into her.

Ahhh. At last.

And then she began that sensual ride. My hands were roving her body, finally landing on her hips, pressing her down hard onto me. Her head was thrown back  while mine was reaching up to snag a ripe, firm nipple between my lips for a long teasing suck.

Soon she was churning away on me, loping into the final turn of her ride, before, finally groaning in release, with her knees digging into my flank like a randy jockey making the final turn at Churchill Downs..

She wasn’t done though, and took me for another spin after she caught her breath. She was doing the work, but the old Volvo was staying the course.

When she finally collapsed and rolled off me after a second trip over the edge, Mistress muttered something about me getting on top of her now. Not that she could have stopped me.

And I was happy to finish up that way, making sure I asked permission before exploding at long last into her.

The old Diesel had taken its time but got the job done one more time.

The Evening Commute

“I think M is a little annoyed with me today, Slave.”

We were sharing a quick lunch at a local “chili parlor” (Yeah, they really call them that here in River City).

Mistress was on a tight schedule and did not have time to come up for any mid-day worship. Sad. But duty calls. At least there was time for what passes for Chili in these parts.

“Oh really, mistress. What’s the problem?”

“Well I got out of the meeting, and there were three text messages from him. Only one from you, I might add.”

Oops. Guess I was a slacker. But then I had been busy too,

“And I think he’s probably annoyed that I had not gotten back to him.”


“Well I’m sure that he’ll accept your explanation when you finally do get through to him this afternoon.”

Sure enough, around 5:30, as I was waiting in my lobby as Mistress walked the few blocks over to where we park our car, I saw Mistress striding across the street, drawing glances in her swishy black dress, with black heels adorning those long, tanned legs, her I-phone pressed to her ear.

As she approached me I heard her say good bye to M.

“Is he feeling better now, Mistress?”

She smiled. “

I think so, Slave.”

In the car, we worked our way through downtown, merged onto the expressway, which had it’s typical late day congestion. So it went for about 10 minutes lurching forward, then slowing as the lanes clogged.

Mistress had been working her phone as I navigated.

“Uhhh….now he wants to know if I would like to get off on the ride home, Slave.”

I laughed.

‘Well it appears he’s fine with you Mistress …. Of course, it’s up to you.”

We were probably about 10 minutes from home by now. Mistress made the calculations. There was not much time. But she could not resist.

She texted back.. Soon her phone was ringing.

Mistress lowered the back of her seat as far as it would go, her dress already hiked up around her waist, as she described to M how she was wriggling out of her black undies.

“Oh, Shit, there’s a truck over there. Slave can you please try to avoid stopping next to those trucks.”

“I will do my best, Mistress.”

I could not tell if the guy in the panel truck had gotten an eyeful, but I slid over to the far right lane when the traffic parted, to make sure there was no one peering into the passenger side. It was a unique form of “defensive driving” they do not cover in driver’s ed.

“Ok, M. I’ m ready.”

Yes, she was. Her left hand already had begun sliding through her apparently moist lips. The smell of her arousal was filling our little steel and glass compartment.

And I was challenged to keep my eyes on the road, as my cock began to twitch in response to what I was seeing and hearing.

Mistress was quickly submerged into her little wanton zone….her hand moving at a quickened pace, her hips squirming, as she pressed the phone against her ear with her right hand. Her eyes were pressed shut, head thrown back, as she focused on M’s words.

And the sounds. Argh.

“Yes……….yes………yes………..”

She was affirming whatever kinky fantasy M was weaving for her ….later she told me it involved M taking her at the Hedonism resort where he’s been, she bent over a table, others watching and marveling as M’s fantastic cock filled her Oh so completely. And Mistress was loving it.

And when she was not confirming her desire to be taken that way, there were these lovely little whimpering sounds emerging from her. Thinking of them even now makes my cock swell and shift as if it has a will of there own.

(reminder to myself: no touching allowed, Mick)

It is intriguing that the sounds she makes for him are so different than the sounds she makes for me: I guess those are her “sub” sounds, and “My” sounds, every bit as erotic, are coming from a different space.

By now I was trying to make a mental record of all these sights and sounds. I focused on the view of her feet, resting on the dash, turned apart to accommodate the wide spread of her knees, like in the picture above.

But soon the fantasy M was whispering to her, and her spinning fingers, had built Mistress to a delightful sensory overload, As she came with a frenzy, her hips bucked up off the seat, back arching, her knees came together, trapping her sticky fingers until she had exhausted herself.

“Uhhh…. Oh God, you got me M.”

By now the traffic had loosened up a bit, and we were exiting into our leafy community. Mistress and M chatted a bit more, and let me join in with some comments too.

“Mick says the car smells of cunt now , M.”

I could here his deep laugh.

Then he was ringing off, and we were pulling into our drive.

As we opened the door in our garage, that aroma wafted out with us. And I was counting the moments until I would be able to take Mistress too.

“ Still have some appetite left for worship, Mistress?”

“Of, course, My Slave.”

Mistress balances her men well, don’t you think?

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.