Road Trip in the Heartland

After some wanton wake-up sex, Molly and Mick packed up our mobile sex unit and headed in a northwesterly direction from River City for a weekend on the Lake Michigan shore, and a football game at my alma mater.

But after only 40 miles, we found ourselves in the mother of all traffic jams on the interstate. Some truck driver - probably surfing sex blogs in his lap top while high on meth - had “lost his load”. The haimat units had shut down the interstate on both directions. Nice.

Ever a resourceful Slave, I found a map at a gas station. ( I know, how 20th Century). And we proceeded to blaze a trail cross-country through some hitherto unexplored parts of the Hoosier state – through quaint burgs like Metamora, Santa Fe, Leisure, Peru, and Atlanta (not real creative in Indiana are they?)

Cell phone reception was spotty, as we worked our way through rolling hills and pastureland, but Mistress was able to keep in touch with our Western Correspondent, who did a good job of helping us pass the time.

So, as I was winding along the banks of the Great Miami River, M was riding his bike to work in the shadows of the Rockies, and Mistress was squirming in her seat, chatting him up in her best seductive voice.

Some of our blogger colleagues should have had burning ears. M reads your incendiary pieces too, and we took some time to consider several of you as I drove along, kibitzing on their conversation. (Of course, I could only hear Mistress’s part, like a kinky Bob Newhart monologue).

“I agree, that scene with Aisha and the play party was pretty hot. We don’t live too far from her ,,,, wouldn’t it be hot to meet her and her Dom and all their little playmates…”

Mistress went on to describe our own use of rope from time to time, and the need to invest in some custom rope that is not so scratchy.

“There’s nothing worse that scratchy rope on my delicate parts, M.”

“Maybe Aisha’s Dom will bring along some extra rope for you, Mistress. You’d look pretty hot in one of those rope dresses.”

Mistress shot me a look, swatted my thigh with her hand.

“Bad Slave.”

And of course we covered ‘Nilla.

“The thing with her wife. Interesting. Slave, M is wondering if she wants the wife to Domme her?”

I could only speculate.

“One never knows the twisted direction of ‘Nilla’s cravings.”

And we talked about what the stakes should be if Mick and ‘Nilla bet on the outcome of that season opening NFL game between our teams.

“How about this, Mistress: if our team loses, ‘Nilla gets to talk you through an orgasm with the Hitachi.”

“No way….can you believe that M? (She repeated my proposition). You wouldn’t allow that would you?”

Mistress listened, not happy with what she was hearing.

“You are both sickos…..”

Mistress was vetoing this idea, though M apparently was not taking her side.

And, yes, Sin. We considered you and your Master. Mistress observed that she was glad M was not into the nipple torture. (Though occasionally, on Switch day, she has been forced to endure some rather nasty clamps).


The signal faded, and Mistress napped as I navigated the back roads. When she woke, she noticed a text message from M.

“He wants me to masturbate, Slave.”

She was squirming already, the slut. His slut. And the aroma of her arousal was already beginning to permeate our steel and glass capsule.

“Does he want to give you instructions on the phone, Mistress?”

She texted that question to him. And also began preparing to fulfill his orders by wriggling out of the tight black panites under the mid-thigh tie-dye dress she was wearing. I could not resist dipping my fingers between her legs, discovering that she was already wet and ready.

My finger was at my lips, now.

“Yum, Mistress.”

“Glad you like that, Slave.”

The chime on her phone went off.

“He’s busy now, but wants me to report back when I am done.”

“Then you better hop to it, Mistress.”

Without hesitation, Mistress spread her legs onto the dash of the Collins-mobile, and spread those sodden lips with her splayed fingers. Soon her hand was spinning away, and her hips were undulating from side to side.

If the cornfields we were passing had elephant eyes, they would have had quite a view. And I was trying to watch her naughty little show while keeping one eye out for cows crossing the highway.

Mistress’s eyes were squeezed closed, her head back on the fully reclined seat. And then her thighs were squeezing tight against her hand and she was giving off that little moan of closure that signaled her climax.

Her eyes opened, she looked a little bashfully at me.

“Good job, Mistress.”

But by now it was hard for me to resist joining in the fun. I kept my left hand on the wheel, and my right hand slithered up between Mistress’s still spread legs. She was as juicy as you would expect, the inner thighs slick and damp.

And my fingers went to work on her, squeezing and kneading and spinning away, building her up and bringing hew over the edge of another shuddering explosion. This time it was my hand that was squeezed between her legs as she moaned for me.

“Why don’t you report back now, Mistress.”

“ I will, but first, a pussy pic for him, Slave.”

She hovered her I-phone camera over naked, shaved cunt. Snapping 2 or 3 shots before finding one that was sufficiently enticing. Then she typed away on her little device, before sending it off to M.

We laughed at the thought of M in a client conference, hearing the little “bing” of an incoming message, and getting an eyeful of Mistress’s glistening cunt.

Bottom line: when traveling the back roads of Indiana, you have to be uber-resourceful to pass the time. Thanks to M for helping out.

The Merciful Mistress

It’s looking pretty wet for our east coast readers this morning.

But it’s hard to imagine anything much damper than that needy cavity between Mistress’s legs yesterday morning when I left for work, and she was counting down the minutes until her 26 hour orgasm fast ended with that much anticipated conference with our Western Correspondent.

And I have to complement her on how kind and indulgent she was to me yesterday morning.

Mistress had tossed and turned a bit through the night. She went to sleep a tad earlier than normal. Was it simply to hasten the completion of her sentence of an orgasm free day?

In any event, Mistress was abnormally restless. I was tempted to put her out of her agony with a surprise attack, but she had taken this so far, it would have been wrong, so terribly wrong, to prevent her from suffering through the full consequence of her Master’s command.

But I could think of new reason not to tend, even stoke her fire a bit before heading off to work.

When I came upstairs to let Mistress review yesterday’s memo to M, she was resting in bed, her favorite kitty lying across her chest.

And as she read and giggled at my work product, it was only natural for me to gently stroke the petals of her naughty and delicious parts with my eager tongue. Her little responsive undulations were rewarding, but I could tell the fire was beginning to spread to a potentially dangerous degree. She had come so far, why spoil things now? So I eased back, using only the slightest little pressure on her swollen clit.

As she put the laptop aside, I was expecting we would turn to the papers, and then I would shower, before putting on my cage for the day.

But she had other ideas, greedily reaching for my cock.

“Maybe I should let you come in my mouth, Slave.”

I simply lay back, and enjoyed her attention, though I knew not where this was heading. Was it a tease, payback for all the taunting I had ladled on over the last day?

Or was Slave actually going to be allowed to come.

And here is a secret I’ve not shared on this page: Slave has never come in Mistress’s mouth. For whatever reason, I don’t seem to be programmed that way. Who knows the explanation? Is it because I seem focused on assuring her orgasm first? Is there something about my discomfort with “wasting” my seed that way? Is it some strange, deep psychological inhibition that I have yet to overcome?

Or, by now, is it simply an old dog / new trick issue?

Regardless, Mistress (obviously) knows and seems intrigued by this phenomenon. (She’s even mentioned that M does not seem to have any problem with this issue, something I suspect that both of them would happily explore once given the
opportunity).

Anyone who wants to suggest a solution or explanation to this curious phenomenon for this otherwise concupiscent couple, feel free to comment.

But it had been a day without coming for me too, and Mistress ministrations with her tongue and lips soon had her Slave on fire.

“Slave, I’m going to turn the other cheek here, despite all your teasing, and let you come this morning.”

By now she had shifted to stroking my cock with her fingers, while her other hand was toying with my balls.



Yow. I was close, my hips thrusting up to meet her.

“You’re very kind, Mistress.”

“I am, aren’t I Slave.”

But as she stroked, and we kissed, my leg found it’s way between Mistress thighs.

Soon, in our passion, Mistress was humping against my thigh, her breathe coming in the sorts of little gasps that are a little early warning signal when she is getting close too.

I was monitoring all this, while also trying to focus on my own urgent need. Muy urgent.

But at the last minute, Mistress pulled away, slidng her juicy and fragrant parts back to avoid that physical contact.

“Almost got you there, Mistress.”

“You did….”

I was impressed with her discipline. She really had taken M’s orders to heart.

By now her hand was getting a little tired.

“Why don’t you play with yourself while I watch Slave. You can come, but you need to ask for permission.”

So I took over, pumping away, as Mistress used her fingertips to lightly tease my balls.

But by now the friction was getting a little painful….I was in that no man’s land, tooo tender to come….to frustrated to stop.

I suppose I needed some of that overpriced lubricant that M seems to favor.

Of course, Mistress was amused.

“Are we getting frustrated Slave?”

She was laughing at my desperation. And I suppose I deserved it, what wth all my teasing.

Plus it was getting close to the time for me to hit the shower and her to take her pre-date bike ride. My window of opportunity was closing.

“Tell you what…. I will let you fuck me, but don’t try to make me come, Slave.”

Now there was an intriguing command. But I was more than up to the challenge of threading that needle.

“I will do my best, Mistress.”

I thought I had died and gone to heaven as I slid my rigid but tender cock into that sopping but tight little cavern at the juncture of Mistress’s firm thighs.

But as I proceeded to exploit my unexpected privilege, I was reverse engineering all of the strategies I usually deploy to help her keep that “no coming” pledge.

No pushing all the way in.

No side to side pressure against her by now fully engorged clit.

Slow and gentle, not hard and fast.

My weight on my elbows, so as not to physically engulf her.

I was trying to be the poster boy for a bad fuck.

I could tell Mistress was doing her part too, taking shallow little breathes, taking me in, but not pushing back. She was a model of self control, walking that narrow tight rope over the valley of cum. Without a net.

And somehow all of this was an incredible turn on.

Within moments I was begging her for permission to come.

And, she was allowing it.

And I was exploding into her with dizzying wave after wave.

Man, I needed that.










But I did not linger. I had taxed Mistress’s discipline as long and hard as seemed fair to her.

Soon I was showered and suited up for work, my cock cage firmly locked on. I certainly was grateful that I had not been sent to work caged but frustrated.

Mistress was still nakers, getting out her riding cloths.

AS I embraced her before heading for the door, I could not help dipping my fingers between her legs for one last teasing caress.

“God, are you wet Mistress….”

“And what did you expect, Slave?”

Fortunately, within 90 minutes Mistress would have a phone with M on the line in one hand, and her Hitachi in the other.

I knew her discipline and mercy would be rewarded.

HNT/ MIstress's Long, Frustrating Day

UCTMW Enterprises, LLC

MEMORANDUM

From: Mick Collins, Managing Editor

To: M, Western Correspondent

Subject: Orgasm Embargo for Publisher / CEO Molly Collins

I wanted to give you a brief update before you have that conference this morning with our Publisher.

A warning: she is rather tightly wound.

She seems to have taken your direction that she refrain from orgasms for the last 24 hours or so to heart, at least as far as I can tell.

Though it has not been without a good helping of whining. And squirming.

AS you prescribed, the last orgasm  (at least to my knowledge) here at the world headquarters of  UCTMW Enterprises  was yesterday morning,  at approximately 7: 15 am, eastern time, after I gave her a chance to read our morning edition.

She  approved our new format, and settled in for a quick review, pointing out a few typos and other errors that needed to be corrected.

As I spread her lips with my tongue and probed a bit for my first morning taste of her addictive nectar, my comment was probably a little insolent:

“Hmmmm….already wet, Mistress. Did you start before me?”

Of course, she denied it, and I did not check to see if the Hitachi was still toasty. But I had my suspicions that she had slid a extra one under the transom before the door was shut. The prospect of a 24 hour draught had made her a woman possessed the night before. It would not have surprised me that she was storing up some stimulation, like a mama grizzly gorging on some late season salmon (or backpackers) before winter hits the Yukon.

After her editorial comments were concluded, she put down the laptop and let me finish my morning devotions. I was then privileged with permission to fuck her to my hearts content, and it seemed she had at least one more orgasm before she gave me permission to come.

That was it.

On the ride to work, I asked for her thoughs about the prospect of holding out until your engagement the following morning.

“I’ll be OK if you stop reminding me Slave.”

Who me?

But I couldn’t help but slide a finger up under the hem of that short, swirly black dress she was wearing, to rest a finger at the apex of her thigh, testing the waters so to speak. She squirmed away. But I swear I could smell the aroma of her arousal, but it could have just been my smutty imaginings.

Mistress had a very busy day, with breakfast and lunch meetings, a conference call, then a meeting at her firm. It kept her well distracted, which was probably a good thing under the circumstnces.

But I texted a few times to check in with her, with messages like the following:.

“Wish you could come over for worship, Mistress.”

Or

“Aren’t you tempted to go to the rest room and just touch that needy cunt?”

I don’t feel too bad about this form of torture, since I have been required to follow my “no touch without permission rule for many months now.

But Mistress is not so well disciplined. At least not yet, anyway.

I backed off when I got this text back:

“There will be consequences for this Slave.”

Oops. (Of course, my perverse nature wanted to say “bring it on.”)

Later we met at a political event, and as a locally grown Cabinet Secretary pumped up our local Congressman, I whispered in Mistress’s ear, in my best perky Palin imitation:

“How’s that no orgasm thing goin’ for ya?”

She shot daggers at me. And as I drove home, it was clear that my hand was not welcome any farther up than mid thigh.

She shared that you also had been taunting her, even suggesting that she touch, but not climax.

“You guys are tag teaming me.  That’s mean”

And she reminded me that today I will be wearing my cage to work, even as she lolls here in bed, waiting for you call.

Payback is a bitch, I suppose.

At home, once we were in bed,  Mistress was very gracious though.

“I’m happy to give you a blow job, Slave…..if you came in my mouth I wouldn’t violate M’s directive.”

But I declined. I felt it was only fair for me to share her frustration, since in  a strange way I had helped put her in this “sad” boat. And to tell you the truth, I am not wire to come before Mistress. I suppose she has programmed me very well. I feared it would make my evening even more frustrating.

As it turned out, Mistress was fast asleep by about 10 pm. And at some point in the night, we both woke when she went to visit  the loo.

“I can’t believe we are both awake. Both horny, but we aren’t having sex., Slave. Are we crazy?’

I suppose that question answers itself.

But then Mistress’s willingness to defer her pleasure in anticipation of what is sure to be a memorable hour with you and her Hitachi this morning shows the extent of her devotion and desire to submit to you, M.

Congratulations on a job well done. And enjoy your morning meeting. Be sure to take notes.

Now, if only we could get a few column inches out of you.

Mick

“

24 Hour Embargo

First, I hope none of you are offended by the new “look” here at UCTMW. I got playing with the tools available in google-world and thought I would go for something a tad more readable. The key was  to find colors that complemented all those lovely photos of my Mistress’s hot body.

But the new background does have a strange way of giving the impression this is the home of Marge and Homer, not Molly and Mick. Let us know if it’s a turn-off.

 I suppose that for some of you lurkers our there, the dark look of our previous format may have triggered some sort of Pavlovian response after months of conditioning. If so, be patient, that instant response below the belt buckle, is sure to return after you get re-programmed by the new look.

I already received a thumbs up from our Western Correspondent, though I doubt he’s done his market research yet. He tends to shoot from the cock. (No disrespect intended, oh Master of my Mistress).

I also apologize for breaking our switch day into three blog parts. It seemed like I had lots of material to work with, and I am always mindful of my deadline: If I don’t get my daily entry posted by 7:45 am Eastern time, Slave’s window of opportunity to service my Mistress closes. And if that happens too often, my material could run dry.

So let me bring you up to date on our busy week here in River City…..

Monday on the ride home, Mistress was feeling rather playful. It sounds as if M had done a good job of getting her juices flowing with some snappy conversation and lusty text messaging focused on the prospects of an ultimate rendezvous. It may be that his fears of spontaneous human combustion are subsiding? Or has he arranged to have a local volunteer fire department on call?

And while there are no immediate plans for such an encounter, the opening window seemed to be priming Mistress to an unusual degree. She even snapped the photo above to send to M by text message on our ride home.

Once we got home, Mistress was more than happy to accept my offer of worship.

“But let’s share the moment with M too, Slave.”

I had no standing to object, as she took another shot with her I-Phone camera, of my sadly balding head, between her spread legs, as I was deploying  my well developed skills.

And when I was done, she handed me the camera to take a close up of that swollen red clit, poking out from between her lush, clean shaven lips. I’ll bet M did a double take when that juicy shot popped up on his cell phone.

But my own reward was deferred until later, after a bike ride in our smog infused, late summer air.

Yesterday, Mistress had some news to share with me.

“M and I have arranged for a date on Thursday morning. And this time his instructions are very clear ….. I can’t come for 24 hours before hand.”

I got the news as Mistress stopped by my office for some pre-lunch engagement worship. I considered this development as I knelt before her, helping her slide those tight black panties down her legs.

“Well that clears up any confusion Mistress. I take it he’s reviewed Sin’s blog on the subject of clarity in these matters.”

Last night, as we began to make love, I brought up the subject of her impending orgasm embargo again.

“How does it feel to have your orgasms managed, Mistress?”

“Well I must say it’s against my nature – I’m not used to being told what to do, but…..”

“But what, Mistress?”

“It’s pretty hot Slave….pretty hot….”

I went back over the rules with her….

“So I suppose Wednesday morning is our last chance then?”

“Yes Slave. That’s his order.”

“I’m betting by tomorrow evening you are going to feel a little antsy, Mistress.”

“I suppose….”

“And you won’t mind me teasing you a little, will you?”

The thought of it was starting to drive her a little crazy, That, and my finger strumming her clit.

“Oh, God….”

By now Mistress was retaliating: cupping my balls with her fingers as I fucked her from above. I was closer than my game plan called for at the moment. Considering whether it would be un-cool to ask for permission.

And just then, Mistress decided to turn the tables.

“Slave, I may want to get on top in a bit, so no coming. Just keep on fucking me…..”

She continued to taunt my balls with those well manicured nails.

And, of course, being told to keep fucking, but not come, had me tied in a perverse little knot.

I wanted to come. I wanted to beg. But I knew that Mistress on top would make for a very interesting ride.

But she was in no hurry.

Fuck.

So close.

But following orders, I was trying to think about the Glenn Beck curse on the Cardinals, anything to take the edge off my needy cock.

Finally she had mercy.

“Roll over, Slave.”

Ahhh.

“Of course, Mistress.”

She settled in for quite a few furlongs as she slowly rode me, remarking about how hard my cock was….. That's something a Slave always likes to hear, even though the odds were she might have been imagining riding a certain “special occasion cock” instead.

Whatever turns you on is fair game in my book.

The pressure for a quick release now off me, it was my turn to throw a little rhetorical fuel on the fire.

“Imagine how horny you will be Thursday morning, Mistress. After more than 24 hours without an orgasm.”

“I know Slave….I will be desperate.”

“I will have to test you before I leave. Run my fingers through your cunt in the shower, but not nearly hard enough to risk violating your obligations.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?”

Mistress was riding me harder now, but still pacing herself. She was building her parts to critical mass inexorably, preparing to go nuclear.

“And I wonder if he will make you beg for permission, Mistress….”

“That's what he did last week Slave….he made me beg.”

Hmmm. Something I had not gotten from her in that Friday night de-briefing.

“Oh really, Mistress….how did that feel.”

“It drove me crazy, Slave….I was so desperate….and it was so frustrating to have to wait.”

“Did you feel like his needy little slut, Mistress?”

It was about that time when the snappy patter gave way to Mistress focusing on that explosion she had been building to. All of her muscles tensing, a slow deep moan building in her lungs and roaring out of her mouth as she collapsed onto me.

By the time she rolled off, her cheeks were wet with her tears, her sobs were subsiding, and her body was limp and exhausted. And I was allowed to complete our rather dramatic session from above.

When she graciously gave me permission to come, my explosion came in a series of waves that had my own body tingling for the next 20 minutes or so.

Yikes.

It was smut-ergy of the highest order.

And since my deadline is now upon us, I’d better get upstairs before Mistress’s 24 hour embargo kicks in.