Going for Magenta

Early Sunday morning, while we were still sleeping, M sent us a cryptic message to our joint email account (biglove1963@gmail.com, in case you want to say a private hello).

“Since it’s switch day, tell the Slave about our discussion of magenta”.

I showed it to Mistress.

“Wht’s he talking about, Mistress?”

At first, she seemed confused. Then She showed me a photo M had sent via text yesterday. A golf ball with a bright pink circle drawn around the label, presumably to avoid ball confusion on the fairway.

They do stuff like this. Cute, aren’t they?

“We had a discussion about what color the marking was. I said it was pink. He said it was purple. We settled on magenta.”

“So what are you supposed to share about that, Mistress?”

It was already switch day, so I was feeling a little bossy.

”I can’t remember, Slave.”

But then it hit me.

I bet that’s the color he said he would make your bottom when he spanked you, wasn’t it Mistress?

“Come to think of it….I suppose that was it, Slave. In the fantasy, as we were getting each other off, he was spanking me.”

Well that was a proper inspiration.

Soon Mistress found herself well trussed to the bed. Her wrists cuffed and hooked to the bed head in our dainty apartment. Some rope I had tucked o our bag bound her ankles, spread nicely, to the bottom metal frame of the bed.

And since I had forgotten to pack a crop….well my wide leather belt would have to do.

But first a little warm up. She had left the Hitachi plugged in next to the bed.

Convenient.

It slid between her thighs, under her upraised ass so nicely. Thumbed on it triggered a little squeal of alarm from her.

“What are you doing Slave….it’s on hi!”

“Isn’t that the way you like it Mistress?”

“No….I use low. ,,,, it’s too much….”

“Awww….”

I worked her with it a bit, making her squirm, and struggle. I was going for sensory overload.

But then, just as suddenly, I turned it off, I was working on magenta, wasn’t I?

The belt made nice little slapping sounds against her bottom. She wiggled. Whined. Made little “Oooh” sounds with each blow. I even landed a few between her well spread legs.

“Some women on the blogs say they can actually come this way, Mistress….just by slaps against their swollen clits….”

“They’re crazy, Slave….”

But she was writhing for me nicely. And he bottom had taken on a nice rosy glow.

In the right light, it could pass for magenta.

It was time to move onto her next course.

I reached again for the handy dandy Hitachi. I slid it back between those rosy cheeks, underneath her, so that she had nice, full purchase against those full, damp and throbbing lips .

When she came, and it did not take long, her body rose up and wound herself tightly around the power tool, as she yanked against the bonds that secured her wrists and ankles.

“Oh, God, Slave…..amazing…..”

But I had no intent of stopping based on her expression of temporary satisfaction. Instead, I cranked it up, switching back to ‘Hi’, and she bucked and pulled away…..

Shit.

She pulled so hard she yanked the hitachi’s cord right out of the socket.

“What the….why’d you turn it off, Slave. “

“Don’t look at me, you were going so crazy you pulled the sucker out of the wall, Mistress…. Let’s hope the plug is still attached.”

Mistress panicked a bit. She could not forfeit her tool while on the road. The Horror!

“Is it OK, Slave?”

I plugged it back in.

“Yes, Mistress. Just try to contain yourself.”





That sudden power loss cooled things off for a moment….but just a moment.

I used her interruption to flip her over, untying then re-securing her ankles.

Then I picked up the Hitachi again, sliding into bed next to her. I lay siege to her mouth with my own, while finding her still deperate clit with the Hitachi.

Mistress wiggled, moaned, her hips pressing up and around, looking for just the right contact.

But I was spinning a bit with it too. And Mistress was growing frustrated.

“Up a little…..yes, now closer to you, ok….. a little closer….. move it up a little more…..”

Slave does not follow these types of directions well, in part because my cock was full and needy by now too. And in part because it’s fun to see Mistress get frustrated.

But suddenly, I must have found my mark, Mistress arched her back, squeezed those well exercised tightly against the churning business end of the Hitachi, twisted her hips …. And yanked the plug out of the wall one more time.

“Oh, shit….damn it.”

The sudden power loss seemed to bother Mistress more than the blows that re-created the color scheme on M’s golf ball.

But have no fear, Mistress finally got that Hitachi-induced orgasm. And a few more to spare as I fucked her afterwards as she remained tied to the bed for another hour or so.

And when she told M about her problems with the plug, he responded that “you’re just Hitachi amateurs. You should always be prepared with an extension cord.”

Then we were off on a long bike ride, to a little village about 10 miles away, where we enjoyed a hearty breakfast, worthy of all that exercise.

While we waited for our eggs and bacon, I texted M a smiling photo of his cute Slave, now all smiles. “She’s been well spanked”, I added.

“Good”, was his reply.

After our ride, we walked down to the Lake Michigan beach, already filling up with an amusing collection of touristas and second homers, mostly from Chicago-land. Where else can you find old women with huge thighs mumbling in Polish into their cell phones as they take in the late summer sun?

We had good books, some snacks and plenty of water to last the afternoon.

Mistress’s cell phone was back at the house, saving it’s charge.

But I had mine. I even snapped some photos of Mistress to share with M, much to her annoyance. “Cleavage Cam” and “butt cam” were the labels I used. And M, who was on the golf course by now, in another rematch with his “Icelandic Nemesis”, sent appreciative replies.

But at around 2 pm, Mistress asked me to send him a message.

“Tell him I left my phone behind, but that I will be back and available at 5 his time if he wants to have another date, Slave.”

I dutifully sent her message, adding “It’s amusing that Mistress is already worried about how she’s getting her next orgasm.”

Mistress laughed when I read her my message. And at M’s succinct reply:

“Greedy”.

“Remember when we used to go to Europe in the summers. And you’d make fun because I would plan our days around where we could find great lunches or dinners?”

“Yes, Slave….”

“You’d say I would be finishing one meal and already planning the next?”

She was getting my point, giggling, swatting me with her hand.

“Now you’re the same with orgasms, Mistress….you really do need the two of us to keep you satisfied.”

“I guess that’s true, Slave.”

M’s right. Mistress is a greedy girl.

Game Day

Mistress indulged her Slave today…letting me drag her to a college football game at my alma mater.  

(Of course, we did get in a long bike ride before breakfast. Don't you admire Mistress's bottom in her padded riding shorts?) 

She’s not much of a football fan, which is fine by me. Mistress has more complex, and certainly more feminine tastes. And football is a bit of a snore for her. Crammed into the bench seating she was reading the new Jonathon Franzen book by the 3^rd quarter. That’s a feet of concentration that marveled the rabid fans surrounding us.

But it’s her company that I find so enjoyable, even of she can’t appreciate the nuances of a quarterback sack.

And of course, she entertains me in  more intriguing and erotic ways than a bunch of pumped up jocks ever could.

As we drove the 40 minute  ride to the leafy campus, Mistress napped a bit, but woke when the chime to her I-phone went off.

It was M, two hours behind us, but curious about how his little Slave was doing.

It’s nice that he’s so attentive. I know Molly appreciates it.

“We talked about you at breakfast, M - Me and the Slave. We figure that while we may have sex more often than you do, you and B have those long marathons. You do all that exotic stuff that puts us to shame.”

The one thing that’s remarkable about their relationship is how much detail they share. They are one another’s sex counselors, as well as cyber lovers.

As we strolled around the crowded campus, Mistress took some photos of famous landmarks, and shared them with M.

“One of the fun things about this texting is having this ongoing dialog with someone in a completely different place, so far away”, she admitted to me.

Yes, it is cool. And Slave feels like he’s a welcome part of it.

And later, at the game, as the team took the field for the 2^nd half, Mistress was looking at the screen of her I-phone.

“Slave, he’s sending me cock pictures….”

She giggled that little girlish laugh that comes when she is in M’s spell.

“Does that turn you on Mistress?”

“Uh….well …. I suppose  it does. Which is a little disturbing when you think about it.”

“I wouldn’t think too hard about it Mistress.”

But of course just as Mistress indulged me today, she is free to indulge her own pleasures.

And that’s what she’s up to now.

I am out on the porch of our little apartment here on the Lake Michigan shore, the sound of crashing waves, and the neighboring kids toasting marshmallows in the background.

(“Mommy, why is that man outside on his computer?”)

Mistress is inside, her Hitachi in hand, talking to M.

He’s free tonight, B off visiting her parents. And it only made sense for them to have one of their dates with such a good opportunity at hand.

Before their “chat”, Mistress and I had a little post game picnic – cheese, wine, bread, some fresh local peaches and tomatoes, sitting on the bed of our cozy room here.

But when her Master texted that he would soon be available,  her planning began.

“Slave, make sure you have my supplies available.”

So I pulled the Hitachi out of my bag, and plugged it in for her. I made sure it stretched to where she would be comfy.

“You deserve this you know.”

“Of course I do…. But you deserve it too, Mistress.”

She does. It makes her very happy. And I always seem to get a very nice reward.

“Tell me why you deserve it Slave.”

“Plenty of reasons, Mistress…. It would be too tiresome for me to recite the list. But today, I did drag you to a football game.”

She laughed.

“You are a good Slave….aren’t you?”

“I try my best.”

As we finished out picnic, sitting on the double bed, I couldn’t help slide my hand between Mistress’s legs. She  had on some tight, silky black undies, and a matching, lacy  black top. All very fetching.

She was dressed for a date, even if M couldn’t see her.

And I caressed her a moment  there, my fingers coming away with the musky scent of her arousal.

I pressed that damp finger to my nose, and then to hers.

“I think you  get turned on simply by his text messages, Mistress.”

“You may be onto something, Slave.”

Now keep in mind that Mistress offered to have sex with me when we got back from our day on campus. 

It was my idea to delay until after their session together.

“Actually why don’t we wait until afterwards, Mistress….I know you like my “everyday cock” after all that smutty talk with your “friend”, Mistress.”

Someone, explain to me why it seems hotter for me to take her when she is all wet and molten after an orgasm, or two or three with M.

The thought of her inside even now - writhing on the bed, listening to his dark fantasies of domination, begging for release – all of it has a certain effect on me as well.

I think I will close up the laptop for now. They should be done soon, and Mistress will be calling for her cock.

(BTW – the good guys won today. Otherwise I might not be in such a good mood).

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.