Slave's Rude Interruption

“I have some dried come on my thigh, Slave.”

We were riding past verdant vineyards and cornfields, heading for a rendezvous with the type of high cholesterol breakfast only justified by a brisk early morning bike ride.

“I’m not surprised, Mistress.”

I remembered seeing that glistening smear there, midway down her right thigh,  after our equally brisk wake-up sex.

I guess a good slave would have cleaned up the mess he’d left behind.

AS we pumped through the humid morning air, a nice breeze from the lake at our backs, we had time to review the amusing events of the night before.

“It was a little embarrassing, Slave.”

“Well, I am sorry that I …interrupted.  But it’s not like I didn’t know what was likely going on inside….”

“It’s just a little strange to be , you know….”

“Caught in the act, Mistress?”

“I suppose…..”

I reviewed for her what led me to open the door of our little rustic apartment before being called to her side.

After our afternoon at the beach, we had a nice little picnic dinner outside on the lawn of this old Victorian guest house where we were spending the football weekend.

Mistress had her “date” with M arranged for around 7 pm. She had generously offered to fuck me first, but I demurred.”

“First, Mistress, you always seem to want my cock after one of those phone sessions with your Dom. Second, maybe it’s a little false bravado, but I don’t care to be the opening act….I like being the headliner….the Closer….”

Mistress laughed, and we riffed off this concept a bit as we finished our smoked salmon, cheese, salami, fresh tomatoes, etc.   And some French rose too. Yum.

By the time we finished we were both full, but also a little feisty. And Mistress was watching the clock. The time for her “date’ was approaching and her slutty anticipation was building…

I decided to take advantage, and stretch our legs a bit too.

“How about a short walk on the beach, Mistress?”

“Hmmm….good idea, but do we have time?”

I told you she was anxious. But there was time, and to be safe, she texted M to make sure 7:15 would work.

Down on the beach, the sun was low, casting magnificent, golden light onto the dunes and the last stragglers enjoying the cool water with the summer’s last hurrah.

But I found a short deserted length of the strand to hold Mistress tight, attack her mouth with mine, and slide my fingers up and under her tie-dye dress.

“MMMMm….”

I would brook no protest, and as my tongue gagged her, my fingers did their dirty work, until Mistress was shuddering in my arms with those needy little gasps of pleasure. I wanted to leave her all wet and sticky before her encounter with M and the Hitachi.

As she settled down into my arms, I could tell Mistress’s mind was already focused on getting back….not being late for him. So we turned around and walked back through a tree lined break in the bluffs to our little apartment.

“Make sure the Hitachi is out, Slave….”

Check.

“Can I use your phone….my charge is too low.”

“No problem, Mistress.”

I handed it to her, with one  more embrace.

“Where will you be?”

I may have a drink with those folks outside on the lawn. Or out here on the deck with my lap-top.”

“Ok…”

Distractedly, she kissed me adieu. She was well primed for him, and I was gratified that I had helped with the priming.

Our “neighbors” were more than entertaining. Three African American couples from the Windy City, an hour drive across the lake. They come here every Labor Day weekend. Among them, two women still serving as Chicago cops. A guy who is a retired Cop. A registered nurse. We talked gangs, pensions, hard times,  the Mayors Daley. And we sipped some fine single malt scotch. They took me in, offered to share their  BBQ, and didn’t even ask where my fetching bride might ever be.

Time flew, and as they began packing away their things, I realized I had not heard from Mistress in about 70 minutes or so.

I said good night, they told me to look them up the next time I was in their town, and I went back to our little deck, where I had left my laptop to begin the next morning’s blog as Mistress finished off her little smutty chat with M.

And I would have been more than content to stay out there, enjoying the warm late summer evening but for two things:

First, it began to sprinkle. Little dots of water began popping up on my screen. Oops. I tried to wiggle under to eaves to keep the laptop dry as I let my consciousness stream across the page. (I found that my scotch induced prose needed some serious editing in the am. I guess I’m no Scott Fitzgerald.)  But that was a losing battle as the rain began to intensify.

Then some other neighbors – more Chicagoans, but of the white redneck category – began getting under my skin. I hate to hear a grown man curse and threaten a 10 year old. And after a few abusive snarls, and what sounded like some gratuitous spanks that had the poor boy wailing, I knew I was either going to give this “dad” an unsolicited lesson in parenting I would probably regret, or I would have to risk interrupting Mistress.

I opted for the latter.

Our “suite” had two small rooms and a bath. No door to close between them. So as I gently turned the key,  and tried to discretely slide inside the door to cower in the “living room” until Mistress was done, I could not help but get a glimpse of Mistress splayed across our bed.

Her lovely tie-dye dress was hiked up around her hips, her legs were scissoring langorously, her head was thrown back, and both hands were gripping the Hitachi pressing it hard against that needy little clit.

Oops. Very bad timing.

I had hoped I would only be barging in on one of their interludes.

Not surprisingly, the commotion at the door caught Mistress’s eye.

“Oh dear, M…we have a problem here….Slave is back…”

I fled to the couch in the other room.

“Don’t mind me Mistress….it’s raining out….just go on”.

The phone was still in her hand.

Mistress was trying to appease us both.

“Are you Ok, Slave… sorry you had to see that…”

“No problem, Mistress…you should feel free to contnue.”

And then to M:

“”I’m sorry M….it was raining out. He’s OK….no problems here.”

Of course, M is wired differently than this Slave. He was thinking how he might react to discovering B under similar compromising circumstances.

“Let’s just go back to where we were….”

Mistress waved to me, went back in the bedroom.

I could hear the Hitachi switch back on. Mistress’s sexy cooing to M…”

“Go on  …. Yes….Yes….. What are you doing…..”

And I could sense her tempo increasing, until there was that tempered moan of pleasure from her, the sounds of her legs thrashing about on the bed….she was coming again for him.

SO while I had disrupted things, at least she had been able to finish the job.

And afterwards, Mistress was still crazy for her “work-a-day” cock, riding it with abandon, forcing even more orgasms from her self.

We both slept hard and long.

Now, on our bike ride, Mistress shared a little more of their evening before I so rudel interrupted.”

“Sorry I took so long, Slave.”

“It wasn’t a problem for me….I just felt bad coming in before you were completely satisfied.”

“Well he was teasing me…..it took forever for him to let me use the Hitachi….he was terrible. Beastly.”

“But you loved it….”

“I suppose I did.”

“And did he finally let you use it, after lots of begging and groveling for him?”

“Finally….”

“And I bet I could have heard you outside the door, when you finally had that first orgasm with him?”

“I suspect you could have Slave.”

And speaking of uncomfortable: a hard cock when you are in the 10^th mile of a bike ride.

Argh.

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.