MIA MIstress

Mistress had a road trip yesterday with one of her workplace “underlings” to visit a client up-stream from River City. She warned me that she would be out of touch. She’d be driving, and her colleague and clients would be present, so we would not be talking and she would not be answering her text messages or emails during the trip.

She warned our Western Correspondent of her impending disappearance from his radar screen too.

“I told him I was going on a road trip with one of my young studs, Slave.”

“Oh…I’m sure that will get him interested, Mistress.”

She is quite a tease. And of course Mistress has the right, under my contract with her, to take on any studs she pleases. I’m not so sure what her deal with M is on that front.

I hunkered down at work, but I must say that by 10 am or so I was feeling a tad dispossessed. Lonely. I even sent Mistress a text or two, reminding her that I missed her, and of my devotion to her. But, as I expected, no response came .

I was tempted to send her a shot of my cock, taken from my cell phone camera, but figured it might pop up at an inopportune moment. I did not want to disrupt her business meeting with poorly photo shopped porn.

Fortunately, I had some cyber company.

Sometime around lunch time I noticed something in our BigLove1963@gmail.com email box.

The ever troublemaking ‘Nilla had sent me a teaser passage from an upcoming story, a continuation of her multi-part story about the adventures of a certain thinly veiled Triad, featuring a moldering male Slave, his foxy Mistress with a sub streak that needs to be catered too, and a certain Mountain zone Dom who, from afar, saw that need and decided to fill it.

That one paragraph from ‘Nilla sent a little lightning bolt of desire that started somewhere deep inside, rattled my balls and traveled the length of my cock.

Twitch.

Stretch.

The little guy had taken on a life of his own, as he sometimes is wont to do.

The devious ‘Nilla may have thought my cock was caged again, but after two days in a row, Mistress had been merciful.

Now this little electronic hand grenade arrived as I was sitting at my desk. I could have closed the door to further explore the moment. But of course, that would violate the “no touching without permission” clause of my contract. And Mistress was unavailable to me, even if I had the nerve to ask for permission.

So instead I sent an email response (as well as a text message) to ‘Nilla pointing out the incendiary nature of her little stunt, while complementing her on her skillful and provocative prose.

‘Nilla was amused, responding with some “giggles” of her own.

Now it turns out that M must have been a little bereft without Mistress to talk or text with, too.

He sent me a few wordier than normal emails, kibitzing about the weekend football activity, wanting to know if ‘Nilla and I had firmed up the stakes of our prospective bet when our too teams meet on Sunday.

“No.. never did. Mistress did not take to the idea of being the stakes.”

“I can see why she might say that….”

“But it was hot yanking her chain on the subject, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, very hot.”

AS you can see, M and Slave are not at their highest level of expression without Mistress around to stir things up But my point was that M also seemed a little out of sorts yesterday without Mistress available to him.

At around 4 pm, Mistress finally reappeared on our radar screens.

“Hi Slave….finally back in the office. “

We chatted on the phone a bit, confirmed our plans to meet after work for a drink and then dinner with some friends.

And later, Mistress told me that she had a chance to talk to our Western Correspondent too.

“I finally got him Slave. I think he missed hearing from me.”

She said this in my office, as she was assuming her throne. It had been a long day without her, and I missed the voice, the ‘tude, and of course the taste of her delightful little clit, swelling as it is squeezed between my lips.

I was on my knees now, taking her in with tongue and lips, pausing in my ministrations from time to time to question her on her day with the “stud” out on the road.

And when she came for me, hips rising up off the chair, head banging gently against the closed door behind her, I suddenly felt more complete, like order had been restored.

“Missed you Mistress….”

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.