Public / Private

Earlier this week, the delightfully deviant ‘Nilla had one of her compelling stories on the theme of what lurks beneath the surface of seemingly normal folks at a busy restaurant. Her story seemed like the long opening scene in a Robert Altman movie, if he had made them X-rated and with a D/s tilt.

Well, Molly and Mick had one of those mornings yesterday, hopefully worth sharing, but with the names and titles veiled for the sake of preserving  anonymity.

I was hosting a political fundraising breakfast at my office for a local Congressman. The special guest was a Leader of his party, an older gent in his late 60’s with a national reputation, and the ability to turn a phrase and slap a back that has been lost to the pols of subsequent generations.

The large conference room was overflowing – it was a good turnout, showing the closeness of the race and the urgency of victory to those of us writing checks.

AS the room filled, Mistress arrived, decked out in a navy power suit, tasteful jewelry, bare legs and heals. And of course heads turned.  Naturally, Mistress was the most fetching woman in the room. But then most of us there were males - professionals, businessmen, bankers, lobbyists – decked out in our business regalia.

Mistress is well known to many of these fellows, some of whom have seen her in and at River City civic life for decades.

But familiarity hardly breeds indifference in this case. Mistress’s long legs, dark flowing hair, confident demeanor were getting her plenty of attention as she worked the opposite side of the room where I was standing.

It’s moments like those that make me particularly proud to have Mistress by my side, knowing that more than a few men lingering with her, holding her hand a bit longer than necessary, letting their eyes drift away from her face to appreciate the swell of her breasts, were probably wondering, “what does old Mick have going for him that lands a babe like her.”

Of course, it’s a question I have long asked. Another mystery.

By now the room was full, and as the host it was my job to quite the crowd and introduce the Congressman who would introduce our special guest.

I handled that honor with the sort of confidence and bravado that comes from more than a few years of public speaking, then stood back to let the politicians do their bloviating.

The Leader deployed a well worn but effective rhetorical trick of turning to me, patting me on the back from time to time as he made his points, and referring to me by name as a sort of straw everyman. He was doing a good job of puffing me up even more than I might otherwise be.

Mistress was across the room from me, smiling, nodding her approval.

But of course, she knew something about me that the rest of the crowd did not.

Beneath my blue suit I had on the stainless steel cage, it’s ring tightly gripping my balls above the base of my cock. Since we were driving separately, she directed me to wear it before I suited up, for the second day in a row.

Was it me, or were Mistress’s eyes focused below my belt buckle for a moment. Her glance reminded me that I was her Slave, despite all the bravado I was showing to my colleagues and the two Congressman, despite all the blandishments of the Leader.

And of course, that little glance put me in my place, and sent a little lightning bolt through my cock, making it twitch against the tight confinement of its cage.

Afterwards, we posed for pictures on our “deck” ( nice view, more than 20 stories above River City) with the two Congressmen, and it was hard not to notice that the Leader was enchanted with Mistress, making sure he knew her name. I think he was a little disappointed, or maybe impressed, to learn she was taken.

Yes, he seemed to be that sort of Pol. Mistress has had a few encounters with those types over the years.

When the crowd finally left, Mitress and I adjouned to my office, where she had left her purse.

“Would you like worship, Mistress?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Slave.”

I pushed her “throne” against the door, she slid off her undies, hiked up her dress, and I knelt for her, inhaling the alluring aroma of her clean shaven folds.

“It’s fun to see you all important in a situation like that, Slave.”

“I’m glad you were amused, Mistress.”

“But what makes it more fun is knowing that such an important guy is really just my Slave.”

Yikes.  Another jolt to the caged cock.

It would be a long day.

HNT / Mystery

Summer really is over.


 Sure. it's still in the 90's here in River City, but after Labor Day the folks at work, and our clients, actually expect us to be engaged, in action, at our office, answering phone calls and emails, blah, blah, blah.

So Molly and Mick are in a bit of a state of shock. Early morning conference calls, breakfast meetings, this morning a political fundraiser starting at 8 am. It all cuts into our "Have frequent, exotic sex and blog about it time."

So pardon this morning's brief entry.


 But I figure those of you who follow our adventures  still deserve your morning fix (as well as a glimpse of Mistress's alluring bottom, so much more shapely than my own).

Since We drove separately yesterday, I was locked away in my stainless steel cage, to provide Mistress with a better sense of security. And, yes, Sin. it is a little painful. I am disciplined enough to control involuntary attempts at an erection while caged, but sometimes, that damn ring binds and pinches, and if I haven't had an orgasm in a while, it seems my balls get full making the ring even tighter.  Ouch. I am conscious of it all day long. And sometimes, when it fades into the background, I might get a text from Mistress to the effect of "how is the cage slave?" or "glad my cock is locked away, Slave."

Those seem to give me a little jolt down there which makes it pinchy all over again. So, after I worshiped Mistress last evening when we arrived home, I was very grateful that she unlocked me.

After a bike ride, we made a little grazing dinner and sat down to watch a netflix movie. It was a strangely amusing indie flick with Helen Hunt playing a scrawny 39 year old school teacher desperate to make  a baby.

As we sat in the dark in our living room, Mistress was next to me, her legs spread, no undies, her dress hiked up around her waist. I must have been casually using my fingers to stroke her cunt. It was a sort of unconscious thing. I was not working with the purpose of making her come, just keeping her warmed up for what I hoped would be more purposeful activity once the movie was over.

Then on came a scene where Helen Hunt and Mathew Broderick, the childish husband who had left her early in the movie, have a fumbling, almost slapstick sex scene in the back of an old dumpy Toyota.

Hunt is on her back, across the seat, Broderick is sort of humping her, and comes prematurely, making a mess of his chinos, at least so it seemed.

And suddenly, Mistress was coming too, against my slowly moving fingers, moaning, jerking her hips, squeezing my hand tightly with her thighs.

Huh?

"Did you just come, Mistress?"

"Uhhh....yeah, Slave. What did you think that was?"

So the mystery was this: what was it about that odd hardly sexy sex scene that tipped Mistress over the edge. Helen? Mathew? Or some flashback to some high school back of the car sex?

Any thoughts, dear readers?  Mistress has clammed up on the subject.

Tables Turned

One of the amusing things about the little Triad involving the Executive Editor (Mick), the Publisher/ CEO (Molly) and our Western Correspondent (M) here at UCTMW Enterprises, LLC is the potential for two of our triumvirate ganging up on the third, often when it’s least expected.

Take Labor Day. Mistress had a long busy weekend, and was hoping for a day off.

“All that biking. All those orgasms, Slave. My parts hurt….they need a good 24 hour break.”

Of course it was not my idea that she call M on our long tedious ride home through Indiana.

And M had different ideas.

She shared her “parts hurt” story with him.

He was unimpressed.

First I heard the whining.

“No, M….I just can’t …. I’m sore. I need a day of rest.”

Then I was enlisted to provide support.

“Slave, he wants me to have another orgasm. He says without sex it’s going to be a really boring ride….”

“Who’s the boss, Mistress?”

“Slave’s backing you on this M… I can’t believe it….”

Right.

“He says he wants me to take off my underwear. Now.”

And of course, despite her complaints, she was following his orders, just like the good little slut she aspires to be for him.

My right hand was enlisted to help her wriggle free from her tight black knickers.

And soon she was spinning away with her left hand, teasing open the lips that were so tender only moments ago, filling the Collins-mobile with the musky aroma of her arousal once again.

He orgasm came quickly as she listened intently to the little smutty fantasy M was spinning for her. She made sure both of us could her little moans of release. And I had the extra benefit of seeing her hips and thighs thrash as she gripped her hand tightly.

“You two….I can’t believe you made me do that….”

And I took over there, sliding my right hand between her legs as she continued to talk to M about his plans for the balance of the day.

“Just so you know, M, you’ve got Mick started now…..he’s working on me with a hand between my legs.”

I could hear his laugh. And soon her could hear Mistress coming again.

And he was right, it did make our drive home much less boring.

But the table can turn when it comes to ganging up, as this particularly humiliating photo demonstrates.

Mistress woke up Tuesday morning from an ugly dream.

In the shower she explained the details: it involved the woman that came between us, briefly, while we were doing our commute. That incident led to my surrendering control to Mistress, and out contract. But she is still here in River City, much to Mistress’s annoyance. And her presence still haunts Mistress….

I know there is not much I can do about it, other than be loyal and serve Mistress well. But it can still be painful for her.

On the way home, after a stressful day at work for both of us, Mistress’s dream came up again. It was still bothering her. I suggested that she should consider a proper punishment for me to help her externalize and release her anxiety.

“Hmmm. You have a point Slave…Maybe I need a consult.”

She picked up her I-phone, and tapped away. I knew Mistress had talked with M about her bad dream, so he was filled in.

“I’m asking M if you should get a spanking tonight….”

Oops. I guess I should have kept my ideas to myself.

Sure enough, by the time we got home, Mistress had her response.

“Absoulutely, give him that spanking.”

Mistress even laid the riding crop across the bed, took a photo and texted it to M.

And after dinner, and my assistance to Surly Teen #2 with her American History homework (The Quakers got a bad rap), Mistress told me to strip and insert my little white probe.

Naturally, I followed her orders.

She had on a brief cream colored nightwear outfit that made her look particularly alluring. But the “allure” would have to take a momentary backseat to stern, avenging Mistress.

On your stomach, Slave, on the middle of the bed.

She already had the crop in hand.

“Tell me why you deserve this punishment, Slave?

“because of that disturbing dream, Mistress. I take responsibility.”

“Exactly….you’re getting 10 for that….”

And I got them alright, 10 stinging slaps at my bottom. I whined a bit after the 4th, muffling my pitiful little groans into a pillow.

And when the blows hit my bottom, my ass clenched involuntarily around that little devious probe, sending a jolt to my cock. Clever, Mistress. Very clever.

After those 10 strokes, Mistress was not quite done.

“You deserve a few more Slave…. Why do you think that is?”

My butt was throbbing a bit, and I was at a loss for what might be adding to my punishment.

“Not sure Mistress …. Failure to turn off the bathroom light”.

She hates it when I do that.

“No….you were not attentive enough today when we were at work…. I expect to hear from you more….particularly after that bad dream.”

“Yes Mistress….”

She landed another 10 or so solid blows.

But the worse was next.

Stay there, Slave. I’m going to take a picture you are required to post. Our readers shouldn’t just have to look at my pink bottom.”

Argh. Now that is painful.

“But you’re bottom is so much more attractive than mine….”

(And I suspect drives out hit count up ever time it’s smooth and sensuous curves appear on these pages).

“There will be no wiggling out of this….I expect to see it on the blog tomorrow morning, Slave.”

She clicked. And I suspect M got a copy too, just to prove that she had taken him up on his suggestion (command?).

Afterwards, Mistress had seemingly exorcised the demons of that dream. She was very affectionate and attentive once she told me to roll over, driving me to distraction with her mouth, and then allowing me to fuck her. And the pre-coital punishment seemed to make my ultimate explosion – with her permission of course – all the more intense.

But now I have to post that damn picture.


Double Argh.

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.