Mistress "Works from Home" on a Friday Morning

Yesterday I left you hanging about whether Molly would adapt a literal interpretation of M’s Thursday evening’s instruction that she could have “no more orgasms tonight” in anticipation of their Friday morning “date”.

After I finished my morning homework, I came upstairs to find Mistress busy on her computer, lying in bed, stroking her needy little kitty. (No, that is not a clever euphemism. We do have two very well indulged cats).

“I was wondering if you were going to come up to fuck me, Slave.”

I handed her my laptop, so she could be amused by my morning’s efforts.

“Uhhh. What about your instructions, Mistress. Do you really want me to fuck you but not allow you to come.”

She gave me a little scowl.

“Are you two conspiring against me or something. Trying to make me even hornier?”

“Who, me?”

I gave her my little devious shrug, settled next to her to allow her to read the blog: my memo to M.

After giggling through that, she took her “medicine” and made no further efforts to subvert her cyber Master’s command.

(BTW, I really don’t think I am programmed to fuck that way, in any event. My body’s prime directive is now so well engineered to serve Mistress’s pleasure, that the thought of coming before she does can’t compute for me.)

Soon we were off on different paths: Mistress was officially "working from home" today. She was taking an early morning bike ride before her telephonic rendezvous with M.

I was all suited up, and off to a “dispute resolution” event with some recalcitrant clients and their adversaries.

But I made sure before I left that the Hitachi was readily available and that the little white probe was resting on her pillow with a container of lube, as M had required.

That morning, I was focused on managing a client who had trouble articulating her own interests in a complicated case. But as the designated moment for Mistress’s rendezvous approached, I could not help but consider that Mistress would soon be getting some of her own needs taken care of by our Western Correspondent.

“Have fun, Mistress”, I texted to her.

“I will sexy Slave”, she promptly responded.

And over the next 40 minutes or so, I was shifting a little uncomfortably in my seat, as my own pavlovian response kicked in whith the thoughts of Mistress spread across our bed, her Hitachi in play between those lovely thighs of her, responding to M’s smutty directions.

Argh.

About 40 minutes later, I got another text.

“Done, Slave. Now I need your cock.”

It was nice to know that she was still thinking of me after her little adventure.

I was headed back to the house by noon though, for a little family trip to a leafy campus to the north, one of the places on Sullen teen #1’s short list.

Mistress greeted me in our room, in a sexy/preppy black (f course) Izod dress that stopped somewhere at mid thigh. We kissed, but since time was tight, I only had a chance to briefly slide a finger up between her legs, touching what was by now a well satisfied mound through black panties.

“Feeling more….satisfied, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave….thanks for asking.”

She pulled away from my roving fingers, just as my cock was beginning to fill the gap between us.”

“Better get going, Slave.”

What a tease. And because the teens were in the backseat, it was hard for me to get much from her on our car ride except for a few veiled snippets.

“By the way, Our friend said you were right about those instructions. He said I was thinking like a lawyer, not a …..well you know.”

“That’s what I suspected…(I had to stifle the word Mistress in mid Mis….) . Imagine what would have happened if you had gotten those instructions wrong….”

But I had a feeling that Mistress was curious about the consequences.


“He said maybe he should begin imposing a 48 hour embargo….”

I raised my eyebrows.

“But I lobbied for 24 hours.”

“I’ll be curious to see how that comes out….”

“Yes, because it’s going to effect you, you know.”

“That’s what I figured….” (As our reader Aisha had too.)

After arriving on campus and enduring the long presentation about why our little darling would come in a indulged adolescent and emerge as a princess of industry if only she matriculated there, we were off on the 90 minute campus tour.

The first thing that greeted us was a group of bikini clad co-eds, already into their first Friday afternoon beers, sunbathing on the roof of an off-campus hovel, urging our daughters to join them in falls to come. I wondered if this was something a clever admissions co-ordinator had ginned up. If so, it was NOT working for this Dad.The thought of writing those big checks for tuition and fees, and providing extra expense money for a beer bong was not warming my heart.

But the tour did allow us to lag behind, giving me more time for Q and A:

“So, how many times, Mistress?”

“He asked me that too, Slave. I told him “at least 3” but in fact I lost track.”

“Nice, Mistress….”

“Does that make you jealous, Slave?”

I had to think about that. I had in mind thought of Mistress surrendering herself so completely to his voice and direction, and coming so hard, so quickly and so completely for him. I imagined her writhing, moaning, sobbing, begging for more.

And my cock was growing hard as the peppy male tour guide gave us his canned jokes about campus delicacies (the mashed potato bowl at the food court) and the failed Presidency of William Henry Harrison, who at least has a dorm named after him.

Down, boy, down.

“Well, I don’t know that jealous is the word, Mistress. I certainly don’t resent your moments with M. I think they’re good for you, and well, just taking about it is making me hard.”

“”Oh really?” Mistress eye’s lit up. I knew she was tempted to confirm that with her fingers But what would our fellow parents think?

“Doe it make you ….competitive, Slave?”

“Uhhh, yeah, that’s one word for it. A healthy competition. I want to give you some of those orgasms too, Mistress.”

“Well when we get home this evening, you certainly will, Slave.”

A Memo to our Western Correspondent

MEMORANDUM


UCTMW ENTERPRISES
RIVER CITY, U.S.A.

From: Mick Collins, Managing Editor

To: M, Western Correspondent
CC: Molly Collins, Publisher / CEO

I wanted to share with you a few developments here at the home office which could be helpful for you in working with our publishing ventures in the 2nd half of 2010.

First, I know our Publisher shares my gratitude for your contributions over these last few months. From my analysis of the available metrics it seems readership does go up marginally when we re-print some of your incisive reporting from out West. Every now and then you get some fan mail which I try to direct to you.

It’s telling that other bloggers, particularly the prolific ‘Nilla seems to have incorporated references to your inimitable style of dom-ing in her own work.

And I have good reason to believe that our Publisher has enjoyed the opportunities she has had to mentor and be mentored by you these last few months. I

n fact, she seems to have left little time for other correspondents she had been grooming. I can recall moments when, she has shut herself away just to have some one on one time coaching with you, behind closed doors. It’s not the typical Publisher who will go out of her way to train and give feedback to a lowly freelance correspondent. She obviously believes you have great potential and even can teach her a thing or two.

Afterwards, when she tells me to come back up to her “office”, she seems pretty wrung out from her exertions, and that Hitachi device next to her “desk” seems to be burning a hole through the wood flooring.

However, I do think there are ways in which we can enhance our working relationship.

The other evening, we were having a conference call with one of our “competitors”, about a potential joint venture, tossing around ideas for potential collaborations, like branded “Mick and Molly” action figures, or a “Vanilla Mom” advice column for the D/s world. During our wide ranging talk, Mistress mentioned a conversation she had with you earlier that day.

“I think I have been pulling back a bit lately. But M says that what I really need is a good spanking.”

‘Nilla laughed in that playfully sexy voice of hers.

“Yes, sometimes that’s the only way to properly adjust a Sub’s attitude.”

I told the two of them that I would be happy to act as your surrogate spanker whenever you felt the need arose. I suppose I could get written up for insubordination, but if I spanked her at your direction, then writing me up would be insubordination on Molly’s part wouldn’t it?

I suppose if it got too confusing we could hire our own HR Consultant to sort it all out. (Maybe our readers could suggest someone?)

At that point Mistress rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, right. And you were the one to skip Switch Day last Sunday!”

At this point, ‘Nilla chimed in.

“Oh really. That’s not nice. It’s hard work to be a Dom all the time. Mistress needs that time off, Mick. I bet she counts on that Switch Day every week”

“Yeah… I know. I guess I was still in sub space Sunday morning after the ass fucking I got Saturday…. It was hard to clear that out of my brain and get up for torturing Mistress.”

By now Mistress was doing that little squirmy thing on the bed. Rolling around, smiling that coy “I need to be fucked” smile. All this talk about you, spanking, and her need to surrender her Domme role from time to time had gotten her natural juices flowing, it seemed.

And of course, where and when Mistress flows, I follow.

So we were soon ringing off with ‘Nilla for a little “post conference” de-briefing.

Hmmmm. Where was I ….

Yes, I was pointing out how much the Publisher appreciates your willingness to engage in those one-on-one mentoring sessions.

Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, and I was following some last minute directions about inserting that little white probe, Mistress reminded me that she was staying home in the morning, and had arranged for one of those little phone conferences with you.

“Where is the Hitachi Slave….I will need it handy in the morning.”

“Oh, sorry Mistress, I had to take it into the shop for repairs. It should be ready b y Monday.”

You should have seen her face. Sometimes, Mistress just can’t take a joke.

Bhy the way, it’s not a joke I would have made, but for the fact that Mistress had already unlocked my cage.

I guess the point of this memo is that we may want to consider closer collaboration as we work with a boss who sometimes can be, how to put it, ….. mercurial.

Mistress plays by her own rules in this dog-eat-dog cyber publishing world, sort of like a hot, female version of Lou Grant. I suppose that explains her success. But still, we need to watch each other’s back in our effort to keep her satisfied.

Example: last night, while we were “conferring” I mentioned the fact that Aisha’s Dom had forbid her any orgasms for 48 hours before their planned weekend get together.

“What if M starts doing that to you, Mistress….would you still let me come, or would you force me to follow the same rules?”

Our speculation seemed to increase our levels of passion as we continued our “meeting”.

But your ears must have been burning.

After we were done doing what Mick and Molly do, she picked up her I-phone and saw your email. She read portions to me. You reminded her of your date in the morning, told her to have the Hitachi and white probe close at hand, and said “no more orgasms for you tonight, Slave.”

“Phew….I guess you got that one just under the wire, Mistress.”

We talked a bit about our schedule this morning. Mistress said, “Don’t forget to come up by 7 if you want sex, Slave.”

Huh?

“You mean you’d let me come, even if you could not.”

“M said no orgasms tonight, Slave. He didn’t say anything about the morning.”

That seemed to me to be a rather narrow reading of your instructions.

“Hmmmm…..I suspect that is not what he intended.”

I picked up my own computer, and sent you an email suggesting that you needed to clarify. But if Mistress was a lawyer, I would hate to be on the other side of her strained contract interpretations.


In any event, we look forward to working with you in the months to come. And remember, when you think the publisher needs a good hard spanking, just give me the word.

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?