To Switch or Not to Switch?

Our colleagues in smutty blogging, SFP and Sin have been reflecting on whether a true Sub-stress can ever really Switch into a big bad Domme in their recent posts. But for this ancient Irish type, self-reflection and analysis is not a strong point.

All I can say is that in the Collins household there has been an evolution that can be traced back to our early, illicit love nest days, when wide ties and Mike Dukakis were top of mind, and Molly often found herself bound, teased and well fucked on that futon bed we picked up at Pier One. So what led us to these days when the Slave happily abides by the Contract, and Mistress gets it on virtually with her remote Master?

It’s complicated.

Let’s just say that, after some difficult years, Mistress feels more comfortable with her Slave on a very short leash. And it works quite nicely for me.

Then again, Mistress still has that sub side that M tends too quite nicely. It’s an itch that needs to be scratched on a regular basis. (Or at least wants to be).

And several weekends ago, when her quite impressive ass fucking had me in a sub trance that led me to pass up my switch privileges on a Sunday morning, Mistress got mighty pissy.

It became quite clear that she likes what I do to her on the day she turns the keys over to me. Maybe I am merely M’s handy dandy surrogate in her erotic imagination. But whatever it is, it works in a rather explosive way.

So cast Mistress Molly’s vote for the merits of switching.

And the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. And we made some nice pudding here in the Collins household SUnday morning. Which I expect is what many of you want to hear about in any event, rather than my semi-self-revelatory musings…..

I planted some seeds of doubt Saturday evening, as we cuddled in bed, Mistress still in a bit of a daze from her afternoon orgasm-fest with M, then with me.

“Maybe tomorrow’s switch day will be orgasm free for you, Mistress.”

“Huh? That’s not the way it works, Slave.”

“Oh really? …..you make me have abstinence days from time to time …. And M embargoed you a week or so ago. Why couldn’t I do that on my switch day….make you please me while you fast?”

“You wouldn’t …..”

But that look in her eye showed a little uncertainty.

Sunday morning, Mistress slept in a bit as I wrote the blog, caught up with the sub-sisters, and wallowed in world news. (When do you think Reverend Jones will get his own show on FOX?)

But around 8:30 I decided it was time to get Mistress moving.

She was still snoozing when I barged back into our bedroom, newspapers and laptop in hand. She seem a bit peeved to be woken, but time was wasting. We spent some time reading the paper before I began locking the red leather cuffs on Mistress’s wrists. And then it was time for her to read the blog as I used my tongue to moisten up those wanton, well groomed folds.

When she set the laptop aside, after suggesting I had been a little too hard on our Western Correspondent, I went to work.

By the time I was done, Mistress was nicely spread eagled out on her tummy, legs and arms spread wide and tightly secured. And her bottom was already wriggling in frustration.

She seemed surprised when I slid on top of her, my firm and hungry “every day cock” pressing into her. Not that she wasn’t already amply wet and receptive.

“What are you doing, Slave?”

“It seems I’m fucking you Mistress. From behind. Remember, we talked about you not being allowed to come today.”

She shook her head. And her ass. My sense was that she would have liked to dislodge my impertinent cock. But it was firmly planted.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“We’ll see, Mistress.”

I took her that way for a while. And she seemed rather close to the edge as my hips moved in and out, side to side, frictioning her tender and wanton parts against the bed.

“Remember, Mistress, no coming…..”

I liked her little mew of frustration. She was coming around to the realization that I just might be serious.

But I did not press my luck much longer. Instead I rose up, and fed her my cock, letting her taste her delicious condiments smeared on my fleshy shish-ka-bob.

“Aren’t your juices tasty, Mistress?”

But her mouth seemed a little too full to give me a review.

Her next course came from the tip of our riding crop. I flexed it with my finger, letting it snap down on her bottom with a nice crisp slap.

“Ouch….. that hurts, Slave.”

She squirmed, but of course her bindings gave her little range of movement to avoid the caress of the crop, or the slaps of my open palm, that turned her bottom a nice cherry red after about 10 minutes or so.

That’s when I pulled out the Hitachi.

I slid it between her legs, just under her hips, and turned it on low.

It was amusing to watch her gyrations, striving to pull the throbbing bulb closer to the place where she wanted it, as I continued with my intermittent spanking and cropping.

But even a cruel Slave exercising his switch privileges has to feel a little mercy when he sees how desperate his Mistress is becoming.

I settled down next to her, took the Hitachi in hand, and guided it more firmly between those lovely thighs.

And her hips rose, writhed and tried to suck the churning device in and under to get maximum effect.

Soon I had Mistress begging….

“Please, can’t I come Slave? Please?”

I was moved.

“Yes, Mistress… if you can, go for it….”

But saying it doesn’t necessarily make it happen.

Bound spread eagled as she was, it was an impressive feat of dexterity for Mistress’s thighs and arms and hips to strain, flex and contort as she sought just the right angle where power tool and clit could converge in catalytic harmony.

“You’re driving me crazy, Slave.. You keep moving it. “

By now, Mistress’s body was covered with a sheen of perspiration that mingled with the sweetly pungent aroma of her lubricants. MMMMM.

“Just tell me where to put it Mistress….”

By now I was actually trying to help, her plight was …. almost …..heart rending.

But she was increasingly frantic, and frustrated. Pulling at her bonds, twisting her hips, but unable to close her thighs in the ultimate orgasmic hug of the diabolical Hitachi.

“Why don’t you just untie me and turn me over, Slave.”

I laughed.

“Well, you know that’s not going to happen…..I can always just turn it off and let you rest a while.”

“Oh, God, No…..”

Declining my offer of a little rest period, Mistress was back on task with renewed determination…. I could hear the wooden bed frame creaking from her exertions. She is a mighty one.

But finally, after more of that lovely and inspiring twisting and turning, Mistress found her promised land, moaning and locking her thighs as tightly as possible, then shuddering as wave after wave shook her.

I kept the Hitachi pressed against her, forcing another strong quake from her, until she was begging for me to stop.

“Turn it off Slave, please. I’m too sensitive now.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

By now Mistress was shaking with sobs, letting the aftershocks subside.



I cozied her, then slid on top, letting my cock gently ride into her from behind, moving slowly and steadily, as I licked the tears from her cheeks.

Yeah, I think Mistress would cast a vote for the occasional switch.

And either way, this Slave is happy to play along.

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.