Home Cooking

Sin’s recent post referred to our little cross-polinating blog-o-sphere as “Mick and the Sub-Sisters”, which seemed like a slightly kinky version of an early 70’s lounge lizard band. Hopefully a little edgier than Tony Orlando and Dawn.

But since we all seem to be in this cyber-space together, girls, I have to share a recipe, improvised last night for an intimate little dinner for two that Mistress and I shared.

I took my incredibly cute grandson to River City’s 19^th Century street market Saturday morning, and bought some freshly fallen from the vine tomatoes. I picked up a few oddly shaped eggplants too. My daughter, a bit of a gardening fanatic, gave me a bag full of fresh basil. And we had some very thick Salmon filets thawing on the kitchen counter.

What I like to do is create something from whatever fresh ingredients are at hand. So three tomatoes, a hefty bunch of basil leaves and some olive oil went into the food processor. I cut ½ of an eggplant into little cubes. I browned the filets and eggplant chunks in some olive oil in a deep skillet for about 4 minutes. Then poured the tomato / basil concoction over the top. Turned the gas flame to low and let it simmer for about 10 minutes with the lid on.

The salmon and sauce were dished into pasta bowls. Some fresh baguette chunks were great for mopping up the sauce as we gobbled the moist and flavorful fish.

Yum. 

Healthy. Light. Delicious.

And it was a suitable tribute to Mistress who had been most wanton earlier in the day….. and isn’t that why most of you checked the page here…. Not for my goofy recipes?

(Of course, I know that some of you may have multi-faceted interests. Our Western Correspondent has a clever enchilada recipe he may want to share some day, if he gets off his bike, turns off the porn, or puts down the golf clubs long enough to do a little corresponding for you).

But then M was busy yesterday too.

Molly and Mick had some boisterous wake-up sex, after Mistress read the blog, with my tongue burrowing between her warm and muscular legs.  She even called from the car on her way to a hair care appointment, noting that – once again – she had failed to wipe the now drying come from her leg.  Hopefully the blue haired matrons at her Salon did not go into catatonia over that little shimmering smear.

After my trip to the market, the grandson and I had a play date. Mistress lolled on the couch, napping a bit, working a bit as I played with him and some   Legos. But I got him safely home just in time for me to watch my alma mater take on a bitter rival to the north. Game time was 3:30.

Mistress is very indulgent about my college football obsession. But, of course, she has no obligation to suffer through these contests with me.  No, she had other plans.

“M and I talked a bit, Slave. He’s going to have a date with me sometime during the game.”

She settled in next to me with her laptop, as the kick-off approached.

“But I have a homework assignment first. He wants me to go on this website and watch some “MILF” sex videos. I have to report back to him on what I saw.”

Clever, M. Very clever.  Mistress would get her pump primed, and be particularly desperate for his voice and the unsubtle touch of the Hitachi by the time he made that call.  I added a little fuel by referring Mistress to yesterday’s particularly hot post by the Discerning Dom on the subject of “Punishment”.

As I followed to ups and down of my team, Mistress was sitting on our old leather couch (the one in the photo) next to me, watching her smutty videos, commenting on the sometimes alarming and / or humorous content.

“These seem like home videos, Slave….then they post them for the world to see themselves fucking.  Crazy.”

I could hear both shock and awe in Mistress's voice. But she diligently kept on task, for far of punishment from M.  What an obedient little slut she can be for him!

As Mistress worked on her homework assignment, it was hard to keep my hands from sliding up the inside of her thigh, and rest against her black undies. I suspect my fingers were working her there a bit too. Not enough to make her come, just to put her on simmer, like those filets. Soon, I could not miss the sweet, musky aroma of Mistress’s arousal  filling  the room. It’s not an aroma you get at the Stadium, where we were last Saturday.

But soon a squirmy Mistress was kissing me goodbye, heading upstairs for her appointment with our Western Correspondent.

“Are the phone and Hitachi readily at hand, Slave?”

“Of course, Mistress, just where you like them.”

I made sure to finish that assignment during a commercial break.

“OK, Slave,,,,enjoy the game.” She quickly pecked me good bye and climbed the stairs, the greedy little Sub wannabe, at least to her Master, M.

About an hour later, as half time was ending, a seemingly content and smiling Mistress came down stairs and settled back on the couch next to me.

“How was M, Mistress?”

“Mmmmm…. Good, Slave.” She had a little dreamy far away look in her eyes.

Obviously, Mistress got  much better entertainment than she did with me at the game last weekend.

Later, after I suffered through a last minute loss by my team, Mistress consoled me in our bed.

The chat with her Dom, and the extra couple of Hitachi induced orgasms did not prevent her from riding my cock like a woman possessed. As we fucked, and between her orgasms, I debriefed her a bit on her “date”.

“Did you pass that quiz on the sex videos, Mistress?”

“I guess so Slave….he had me describe what I saw, what turned me on.”

“And did he describe a particular scenario as he let you play with the Hitachi, Mistress.”

“It’s sort of a blurr, Slave.  But I know it involved me on the kitchen counter, him lifting me up, then taking me from behind….”

“Hmmm….wonder if that would work on our counter?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out, Slave.”

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.