Switch Day: Interlude

After Mistress was released from her restraints, and emerged from subspace, we went back to our post switch Sunday routines - grocery shopping, a bike ride, and then off to our neighborhood swim club.

I played bike mechanic, replacing the brake pads on Mistress's bike.I am a useful little Slave, aren't I.

When she came down for our ride she mentioned that M had called.

"I think he wanted to know if we did Switch Day, Slave....he likes to keep track."

I can understand that. A good cyber Master wants to make sure his Slave is well taken care of, particularly on switch day.

"Did you give him the details, Mistress?"

"I told him that we did some interesting switch stuff, Slave. And that he could read about it in the morning."

"You didn't tell him you got the spanking he ordered?"

"Uhhh....I guess not, Slave."

Later, at our swim club, Mistress mentioned that M had been texting her from the golf course, while matching birdies with his "Icelandic Nemesis." I figured I would give him a little tease. As Mistress was swimming her laps (she does work at keeping that ass and those legs shapely), I sent M my own text message.

"Your Slave got that good spanking."

and we traded a few choice ones:

"Good she needed one."

"Mistress responds well to the Hitachi when tied down."

"I'll bet she does."

When I read these and a few more to Mistress after she was done with her laps, she seemed a little .... flustered.

"Are you guys conspiring against me, Slave?"

Exactly.

Later that afternoon, we retreated home out of the smoggy, hot late summer air. The kids were out. I was planning a little switch redoux for Mistress, to make up for my default last Sunday.

But she was sleepy.

"Wake me before dinner, Slave."

And of course I never like to mess with Mistress's beauty rest.

But this is where I got an assist from my "wingman".

After Mistress had snoozed for about 20 minutes the chime on her I-phone went off. She stirred, picked it up. Then giggled.

"It's M. He says he hasn't heard from me in a while. wants to know if we're having sex."

It was just the little prod I needed.

Switch Day in Two Movements

Movement One.

It came out during our chat with ‘Nilla this week.

Mistress missed our switch day last Sunday.

I guess I have mistakenly assumed that switch day was something in the contract that gave me a day off.

Stupid Slave.

As ‘Nilla reminded me, being a Domme is hard work. Mistress looks forward to it as much, maybe more, than I do.

It’s a day for her to let go, give up command, lay back and enjoy. And maybe suffer a little too.

So I resolved to make it up to her this week.

And M had said that she deserved a good spanking. I promised to he his trusty surrogate.

And as it turns out, Mistress got her lost switch day back, with interest.

Yesterday morning, after I did my writing, and Mistress lolled in bed, I woke her around 8:30 or so.  We read the bad news in our morning paper, focusing on the nastiness in DC, where some Fox News refugees were doing their darn-dest to turn the Dream of 1963 into their own Nightmare.

But after Mistress read the blog (and a few others too), I  snapped on the little red cuffs, rolled Mistress on to her tummy, and fixed them overhead to the little eyebolt  screwed into the head of our bed.

After that, I used some strips of an old soft beach towel to tie her legs, spread wide, to the corners of or bed.

The little slut was going no where.

Mistress knew she was due for a spanking.

Her flippant attitude was saying “bring it on.”

But I was in no rush. I want her nice and juicy before she got what was coming to her.

So out came the Hitachi. I slid it under her, thumbed it on.

Uhhh…..oh goody….nice, Slave.”

She was humping it, as I stood up.

Of course I knew that it was just short of where she could get the purchase she needed for the type of climax she was already craving.

So I stood up, grabbed my camera and snapped off a few shots of her little kinky dance, as her ass danced and squirmed straining at her bonds, trying to capture the vibrating head against her clit, but failing so delightfully.

Her body seemed to be glowing with the dew of her frustration when I sat down next to her on the bed and abruptly pulled the Hitachi away, switching it off.

“That’s so unfair, Slave…..”

“But I know what you really want is that spanking….don’t you think M would be disappointed if you did not get one this morning?”

She growled at me in frustration, but conceded, “I suppose he would, Slave.”

That’s when I gave her the first of many, many slaps to that steamy ass. From the left side of the bed. From the right side of the bed. In flurries. Or one at a time.

At one point I heard one of the surly teens stirring in the hallway, so I got up to turn up the music a few notches, just to mask the sound of the slapping as I landed blow after blow on her ass.

But something was wrong.

Mistress was not complaining. There were no moans, No begging for me to stop. She was taking it and taking it. She was a glutton for whatever pain I was inflicting.

I wondered if my hands were not hard enough, so I picked up the  long wooden shoe horn that makes me squirm and moan into a pillow when she uses it on me.

I landed a flurry of what should have been stinging slaps with that sucker. And Mistress took them like a walk on the beach.

Apparently she has a much higher threshold of pain on her delicious fleshy bottom than my scraggly one can endure.

I made a mental note that I needed to press the edge of the envelope on this one.

But by now Slave was getting a little hornier, and I was getting a little paranoid about what Surly Teen #2 might be thinking her parents were up to in there with the music so loud.

So without any begging for mercy from Mistress, I surrendered to her amazing ability to  take a spanking, took a quick photo of her reddened ass, and settled down next to her on the bed.

“You are quite the little pain slut, aren’t you, Mistress?”

I was rubbing her bottom, an errant finger dipping between her cheeks, testing the very wet and steamy waters.

“Mmmmm…. “  She wriggled in contentment, her channel sopping cunt swallowing  my finger like a venus fly trap devouring an unsuspecting spider.

I don’t think that was a denial.

I picked up the Hitachi, thumbed it on.

“Let’s see how you take this Mistress.”

I forced it between her legs, set at high.

Oh she liked it all right.

Her body was stretching every which way to find the right way to press that churning tool where she needed it to be. But with her legs spread and bound, she could not grip it the way her throbbing clit demanded.

But I was no longer playing the cruel Master. I did what I could to help her along, thrusting the tool up and under her, searching for that spot.

And the payoff was a devastating explosion of twisiting limbs, straining against the fabric and leather binding her tight, torqued to the max as she rose up, rolled left to right, sobbing against the rich blue sheets.

And of course the binding allowed me to keep the wand exactly where she didn’t want it to be even as she came down, hips bucking,,,,

“No, Slave…..no more.”

It’s what I had not heard as I spanked her.

So in my perverse pleasure of finally hearing those protests, I kept it up, forcing another one from her before finally withdrawing the tool.

She was shuddering,  moaning a bit, But she wasn’t done.

“Oh, God,,,, please fuck me now, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

The De-Briefing

Mick and Molly made it home early Friday evening from that leafy campus where beer bonging co-eds roam, surly teens in tow.

Mistress was still coming down from her multi-orgasmic morning therapy session with our Western Correspondent. She had this perpetual contented “wht me worry” smile on her face as we toured campus, and indulged in some frozen treats before the ride home. I suspect our female readers know what I am talking about.

But I was feeling a bit unsettled, because I had still only gotten a few of the highlights.

Frustrating.

The odd / wonderful thing about this strange triad that we are nursing along is this: the sharing part seems to pull Molly and mick more closely together, even as molly and M heighten their own intimacy with their calls, emails and texting.

It was still a gorgeous day when we returned home, and I was torn. Do I take up Mistress’s offer to resume this discussion immediately between the sheets, for further “debriefing”, or do we go for that bike ride we had planned while the sun was still up.

“Your choice, Slave.”

It was a particularly “hard” choce, since my cock had been at various stages of alert through the day. There is something about knowing that Mistress has gotten off with another man (or woman) that makes me want to reclaim her delicious engulfing folds as my own.

But I also knew that I needed some exercise after a day spent mostly on my ass. So I compromised.

“Let me worship you Mistress….then a bike ride …. Then sex.”

“Excellent choice, Slave.”

Mistress was already out of that preppy but sexy LaCoste dress, and she stretched laterally across the bed, giving me access to her from my knees. A pillow was tossed onto the floor to cushion my aging knees, and from that position I helped her wriggle out of those tight black panties. I could not keep my mouth away from her any longer.

My muffled “Mmmmm” of appreciation was audible to her, and that made her curious.

“Do I taste like I’ve had sex, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress”, I managed, as I savored her.

“Explain….”

Rats. Now I had to shift focus from appreciation to articulation.

“Well, it’s those musky flavors from the juices you generate when you are coming, but by now a little stale, a little less sweet, a little saltier, from being cooped up in these panties through a warm afternoon.”

“Go on….”

She seems to like to hear me talk about her various flavors, like the owner of a Baskin and Robbins franchise doing market research.

“It’s not the same has when you came home from having sex with the other M ….then I could taste someone else down here too. You had been used by him. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could smell and taste both of you.”

“Did you like that, Slave?”

“Well … as you know, it sure turned me on, Mistress.”

She laid back, curiosity satisfied for the time being.

And soon I was suctioning her well used clit between my lips and teeth, pulling it from side to side, urged on by the embrace of her strong thighs gripping my head.

Her moans as she came may not have been the same quality as those earlier in the day, when she used the Hitachi on herself at M’s direction, but I felt that my little weekend reclamation project was off to a good start.

And when I stood to retrieve my riding shorts, Mistress could not help notice that My physical reaction to the chance to worship her was ….. obvious.

“Oh my, Slave…..stay there a moment.”

I really did not need this, not if we wanted to ride.

She approached me, her hand cupping my balls, her fingers sliding the length of my protruding appendage, making little sounds of appreciation.

“I’ve been wanting this cock ever since M was done with me Slave.”

My will to ride was quickly crumbling. My knees – literally – grew weak as she played with me, leaning in for a kiss.

“Poor Slave…..don’t worry. We’ll take care of this after our ride….”

The thought of that moment, when Mistress had me in the palm of my hand, makes me twitch and grow here as I type at our kitchen counter.

Double argh.

But the ride was worth it, and we both felt recharged and ready when we got back, explaining to the teen still at home that we would be “resting” for a while.

It was as we were fucking, me on top, pumping into Mistress, hearing all those lovely sounds, that I finally got to hear more of the details of her morning.

“So what was he telling you, Mistress that made you so crazy?”

“Another one of his fantasies about us, Slave.”

“You know I like to hear those”.

I had her arms pinned above her head, my finger toyed with her clit, as my cock pressed into her…Now that I was fucking her, there was no rush to finish the job until I heard all the smutty details.

“He had me on a leash. We were going to an S and M party in his hometown.”

I imagined lots of black cowboy hats.

“He always adds lots of interesting details … like what I am wearing.”

“And how did he outfit you, Mistress?”

“Lots of black leather, but lots of skin showing too.”

“I bet you’d like that, Mistress….”

She’s moaning now, and I know having to recount the story has gotten M back in the picture. But so what if she’s thinking of his cock inside her rather than mine. It adds to the moment, doesn’t it? Makes her buck even harder as I continue to take her.

“There was a spanking bench ….and he tied me to it.”

“Were people watching, Mistress?”

“Yeah. He likes the idea of people watching him use that cock on me.”

“And that gets you going too, doesn’t it Mistress.”

“Uhhhhmmmmmm ….it does….Slave.”

Mistress is getting close ….again.”

“Did he give you the spanking that you deserved, Mistress.”

“Yes…..”

“You know you are getting it from me Sunday, don’t you, Mistress.”

“Yes, I know…..”

“And afterwards….how did he fuck you, Mistress.”

“From behind, still tied to that bench….”

Mistress eyes are squeezed tight, she’s there with him, and here, with me. She’s got the two of us bringing her back to the brink.

“And there’s someone else – someone’s Slave – I’m sucking his cock while M’s fucking me….”

And by now I’m wondering if Mistress imagines my work-a-day cock in the cameo role of filling her mouth as M takes my needy and greedy Mistress from behind.

But at about this point the thread of the narrative got hopelessly lost.

Because Mistress was coming with a long moan one more time as I pumped into her. And then I was begging for permission to come too. I must confess that by the time my mind had me begging, my cock was far too gone to have stopped if permission was withheld even for a moment.

Fortunately, Mistress was very indulgent.

And now I am wondering if I need to go back and get her to finish that story.

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.”