Experiment (Or Don't Try this at Home KIds).

Mistress took M’s advice on Saturday morning. (Well I like to think of it as “Advice”). Before I went off on grandfatherly errands Saturday morning, I was told to wear my cage. Mistress seemed to take some satisfaction in snapping the little lock shut and palming the key.

As I walked about our local farmers’ market, then took my 3 year old grandson swimming at our friends’ pool, I knew that I was under Mistress’s close but benevolent control. And hopefully she felt secure in that knowledge.

At home in mid-afternoon, Mistress was in no hurray to unlock me. We sat out on our deck soaking in rays and reading. And then, out of no where, came a provocative little note from our favorite Erotic Arsonist, ‘Nilla. She was doing some research for a story and I was a potential source. Here is an excerpt:






“Mick, this is technical stuff for a story I’m writing … and I want it to be accurate.

Would you mind being my source of first hand info since 1). I don't have a penis, and 2). I think google may not be able to answer this.

Know as I write you about these painful things, my ass is multiple shades of red and purple, and I've likely had 2000 orgasms and am walking funny....that old "misery loves company” Schtick.

Okay. so.

What would happen if Molly fucked you in the ass *while* you were wearing your cock cage? Would it border on too cruel? Would it keep you from cumming? Would the pain be tolerable, excruciating, or completely unbearable.

What would you do if mistress ordered you to do something you are opposed to. I am trying to not give away where I'm going here, but...it's something I think you would be opposed to.
Would you comply?
Would you talk about it first?
Or would you simply submit because it works for you both?”


I read the email, then handed my little Blackberry to Mistress. She was very amused. And inspired.

“Well, well, Slave…..here we are. It’s Saturday afternoon … when I like to fuck your ass. And there you are, still in my cage… Maybe we can do a little research for ‘Nilla.”

Gulp.

“Oh dear.”

We read our books a bit longer. I tried to ignore the suddenly tighter confines under my shorts. Ultimately, as the sun snuck behind our house, Mistress “suggested” we go upstairs. And her Slave dutifully complied.

“Why don’t you get out my supplies, Slave.”

I found her harness, and the plastic dildo that goes with it.

Mistress suited up, adjusting her belt to allow for a snug fit.

“Do you think this will be painful, Slave?”

“Not if I use my mental faculties to keep things in control….”

In other words, I had to consider this an act of complete submission to Mistress’s desires. Her act of taking me with her strap-on would be for her pleasure alone. Otherwise I could have a very squashed cock.

As we lay next to each other, kissing, fondling, the focus was on Mistress’s stimulation. Obviously, she could not access my cock with her fingers or mouth. And I was lucky she did not try to caress my well exposed balls. Mistress was not trying to drive me insane, which I appreciated.

But despite my best mental efforts, those balls were swelling. And when they do? Oh, Lordy. That tight metal ring that surrounds them starts to feel like a vice. That’s when I use my brain to try to back off a bit. It’s a good time to consider when and if the Fed will start raising interest rates? Any thoughts?

“I think it’s time, Slave. Why don’t you get in position.”

I rolled onto my tummy, sliding a pillow under my hips. I was certainly conscious of the tight constriction around my balls and cock. But was it painful? Not so bad.

And as Mistress slid into be, my focus was on the intense feeling of possession as she filled and pumped in and out of me, and the patterns of her breathing as Mistress approached her own orgasm. Time moved very slowly. I was afraid of the potential pain. But …. surprise, surprise … it never came.

Contrast: without the cage on, my focus would have been more on the lovely friction of my rigid cock against that pillow. Self absorbed. And missing the best parts.

So instead, I rose up to meet Mistress, wiggling my ass a bit to keep the cage from grinding too hard against the bed. I was gratified when she had a crashingly good convulsion of pleasure as she pumped into me, moaning and shivering with delight in a way that is unique to this particular exercise.

“That was a good one, Slave….”

After she was sated, she extracted herself, tossed off the harness, and directed me to roll over. She wanted to inspect what she had wrought.

As we both peered at my caged cock it was pretty amusing. Swollen balls hanging below that tight steel ring. The cage itself was filled to the brim with cock flesh. Not a centimeter to spare in length or width in its tiny chamber.

If he had a voice it would be saying, “Hey, It’s getting crowded in here”.

I guess we should have taken a photo. But Mistress is not a sadist. She found the key, and helped me pry off my lid.

Yowser.

The little guy popped out like those little novelty toys with a “snake” in a can that my daughters used to play with.

Mistress laughed at it’s apparent enjoyment of new found freedom.

“Cute, Slave….now go put in your device. I want you to fuck me with that thing.”

She poked it with her fingers, just to see it bounce around. And I bounced out of bed to follow her directions.

Once my aneros was inserted where her faux cock had been only moments earlier, I came back to bed.

But Mistress was required to play with her little toy some more. There was some apparent reluctance for it to take on it’s normal “fuck mistress real good” dimensions. It was plenty thick, but not as long as normal, as if it had been molded by the cage. There must have been some pervy muscle memory telling it to stay within it’s accustomed confines or pay an ugly price.

But with a little more attention, my cock decided it was safe to get back in the water. And did so with the usual devastating effect. (A little bravado there, but heck, it had been a perilous journey.)

After Mistress gave me permission to come, the resulting pyrotechnics were…. shall we say, amazing. Apparently the combination of the ass fucking, and the forced sublimination of my desires to stay safely within that cage, made my ultimate release all the sweeter. I was tingling down there for the rest of the night.

So….’Nilla, summing up:

1) Not borderline cruel.
2) No way I could come with the cage on. Ain’t ever gonna happen. Nipped in the bid, so to speak. And of course that is the purpose of the cage, isn’t it?
3) At least on this occasion, the pain was quite bearable. Now …. Mistress could have made it much worse, by teasing and torturing my balls if she had chosen to do that. Or by making me stay in the cage longer before the ass fucking part. That would have made it much harder to use my brain to tamp things down.

That’s not to say that someone else might have a different experience. Us old guys probably have more self-control.

Now, as for your second question: Would I unfailingly follow Mistress’s command?

I guess I am looking at this too lawerly, but this sounds like a scenario from “Judgment at Nuremburg”. Here’s how I break it down:

• I would not do something that would hurt someone else, or Mistress.
• I probably would be too chicken to do something that I know would cause me unbearable pain, or the loss of a limb.
• I would not commit a felony. Misdemeanor, maybe.
• If it seemed like a bad idea to me, i.e., too risky to reputation or excruciatingly humiliating, I might try to get her to consider other options. This is the wheedling stage. (as in, “Slave, go ahead and send ‘Nilla that picture of your cock in a cage”.) We know how that can come out.
• Otherwise, I would salute and say, “Yes, Mistress.” (Other than on Switch Day).

Of course, I have a lot of confidence that Mistress would never put me in a situation where following her command would create some existential crisis. A little discomfort or humiliation, maybe. But isn’t that what a Slave deserves on occasion?

Hope this answers your questions. And thanks for helping me find a good topic for this morning’s homework assignment.

Petulant Sex

It’s Saturday morning, and I could just cut to the chase: Yes, we had sex three times yesterday: morning, après-work, and before bed time. Yes, Mistress had a few stray orgasms in between. And it seems that M got off too. ‘Nuff said?

But I suspect you want more of the sordid details.

That morning sex has faded into the background by now.

Mistress read the blog. I worshipped. And then I was more than happy to take my pleasure from her after my St. Pat’s Day Equinox celebration pulled me up short the evening before. 24 hours is a long time to go in the Collins Household.

As our Friday workday ended, I waited for Mistress to walk over to my building for our drive home. As she strode into my lobby, all hot and provocative in that black mid-thigh dress, she had her cell phone to her ear. That big, flirtatious smile (yes, that seems to happen even when her lover/master is so many miles away) was the “tell” that Mistress was on the phone with M.

Once they had signed off, Mistress shared a little detail of her day:

“M and I talked this morning for a while, Slave. And he was home alone so …. You know….”

“You got to talk him through getting off, Mistress?”

“Yeah….”

“How does that work …. You’re in your office ….”

“Right….”

But Mistress’s office has glass windows facing out, so no personal hanky panky there.

“Didn’t you want to touch yourself, Mistress?”

“I suppose so….”

“And could you at least squeeze those thighs … cross the legs?”

“I guess I did, Slave.”

“It turns you on when he comes, doesn’t it Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave.”

I imagined B’s moans of ecstasy as he deploys that high priced lube to full advantage, listening to Mistress’s admonitions, and expressions of…..whatever.

“So what do you tell him to drive him crazy at those moments, Mistress …. You must have some magic words that help him achieve his goal.”

“Hmmmm…..that’s kind of private, Slave.”

I understood. And did not feel right to pry further. They are entitled to that little private zone to allow their relationship to flourish.

On the rest of the ride we got distracted by re-hashing some unpleasant developments during the day. They aren’t worth elaborating on, but they had the unfortunate effect of unearthing some bad karma, and the latent insecurity that pops up from time to time for Mistress.

Of course, me being her Slave, signing the Contract, yadda, yadda, all is supposed to make her feel more secure in our relationship. I have turned over the short leash to her for a purpose. But sometimes, even that’s not enough.

So when we got home, things were a little …..tense.

Mistress even had to remind me that I should offer to worship her before our long bike ride.

Bad Slave.

But soon I was on my knees and gave Mistress the orgasm she probably had been waiting for ever since she had to “suffer” through M’s mighty blast that morning without her own relief.

After our bike ride, the plan was to have sex, then a little picnic while watching some mind numbing movie on netflix.

I opted for a shower, and when I got out, all clean and nakey, Mistress was lying on bed, laptop open, still fully dressed in those damp riding shorts and shirt.

Hmmmm. Still pissed at me?

Now there were two ways this could go. I could get my back up, and we could descend into a grumpy evening.

Or I could suck it up and show my devotion.

Thankfully, I opted for the later (or, as I am sure you guessed, the box score above would read quite differently).

My approach was not subtle.

Mistress lay there, stoic, doing her best to ignore me. I lay next to her, naked. My hand slipped under the waistband of her tight, sweaty riding shorts. My fingers did what they are trained to do.

It took a while to break Mistress’s mental reservations, but soon, inevitably Mistress was squirming, shaking, coming for me.

“Would you like to take your cloths off now, Mistress?”

She muttered consent, and slid out of her shorts, top and sports bra. Then she lay back on the bed.

Ahhh. I saw where this was going. Mistress was not going to lower herself to any cock touching on this occasion. If Slave wanted to fuck her, he would have to get “up” on his own. And there is the “no touching” rule to consider.

So I cuddled, slid my hands between her now naked legs, and conjured the images that made my cock hard on its own. Mind over Petulance.

Then, after my fingers got her off again, I fucked her. Hard. Long. With great satisfaction.

This seemed to melt the ice a bit, and we dressed and had that picnic.

The movie we selected was “40 Days and 40 Nights” which sought to cast some self-absorbed Gen-Y-er as a sort of contemporary Jesus, simply because he chose to give up sex in San Francisco for Lent. The Horror. But we were just getting to the “good” part, (the temptations ), when Mistress’s phone buzzed.

“It’s M, Slave. He wants to know if we can talk. But I kind of feel bad interrupting our evening….”

My thought was this: I had helped put Mistress in a funk. It would only be right for me to step aside for a while and let M help her get out of it. Plus I knew that Mistress was probably in the mood to vent a bit, and M could provide some helpful therapy, with or without the Hitachi.

“It’s OK, Mistress. He does have that All Access Pass this weekend, what with B out of town. Go for it.”

Mistress clearly thought I had made the right decision (not that it was my decision to make), quickly excusing herself to our Bed Chambers.

I caught up on Stephen Colbert, read the paper, and was starting to drift off, when Mistress came down, that glazed but satisfied look in her eye.

“Why don’t we got to Bed, Slave.”

I guess we would save Jesus’s temptations by all those modern day Mary Magdellon’s in search of a straight guy in SF for later.

As we got ready for bed, I asked Mistress how things had gone.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Two, Slave….just two.”

“Not bad….Mistress.”

“But we did spend some time talking about you. M says I need to exercise a firmer hand when you get testy with me. He says you will respond better if I keep that leash very short.”

I was non-committal. Maybe I was a little petulant myself. It had been a long day.

“That’s always your option, Mistress.”

“He also says I need to use that cage more….so tomorrow, when you go out, you are wearing the cage….”

“Of course, Mistress.”



We slipped into bed. I assumed I had had my quota for the day, and quite frankly, was pretty sleepy. So as Mistress read a bit, I slid up against her (naked of course), closing my eyes.

But something was eating at both of us.

I tried to nod off. So did Mistress, shutting out the light.

But somehow, a few minutes later, she was rolling over on top of me, her pelvis doing that little un-subtle grind against my thigh.

And despite my fatigue, I could feel a response. The tell-tale twitch that starts at the base of my balls. I knew where this was headed, but was unsure exactly how we would get there.

“Are you trying to have sex with me Mistress?”

“It seems that way….. but I am thinking you need to be spanked first.”

Twitch.


Damn.

I said nothing.

“Do you want me to spank you, Slave?”

“Up to you Mistress….”

That seemed to close the deal.

“Well you deserve a spanking, just for that passive aggressive answer, Slave.”

And so Mistress was up, in search of the riding crop, then laying into me. Reminding me that I needed to govern my uppitiness and be sensitive to her latent insecurity. I got some rather painful blows during that lecture. She had me squirming and whining into my pillow.

Ouch.

But then it was over.

“Roll over, Slave.”

I did, exposing a rock hard cock in the process.

“Hmmm…..what have we here.”

She poked it with the tip of the crop, having a bit of fun at my expense. And then it was her hands and soft hot mouth on it, making me beg.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride it Mistress.”

“At some point, Slave….”

More begging ensured, until her own desires seemed to take over.

Soon Mistress was mounting me. I squeezed those full, firm nipples as she ground against me, sliding up and down with surprising vigor after a long day and all those orgasms. Soon that slow deep moan built up inside her and carried her over the edge. Then she rolled off to let me finish the job on top. She generously gave her consent when I begged, “Mistress may I come.”

Afterwards, I asked the obvious question:

“So what started that Mistress?”

“I guess after those sessions with M, I always need my cock.”

I was glad to fill that need.

Mistress Gets Tag Teamed

With Mistress on orgasm quarantine since Wednesday evening, I had to quickly re-engineer my prime directive.

After her impromptu date with M that night, Mistress was a bit dazed. Sounds like she had several earth moving comes at his command. And when she came down stairs to retrieve me, it really did seem that her knees were a tab wobbly.

And yet, generous to a fault, she insisted that I should fuck her before she collapsed in a heap.

“Go put in your device, Slave” (the little white aneros she sometimes has me where to assure a particularly rigid cock).

“Of course, Mistress …. But are you sure you want me to impose when you aren’t allowed to come….”

“Of course I do…. You were very patient down there, waiting for me while I talked to M.”

And I was certainly glad Mistress did not decide that when she is on orgasm restriction her Slave should be too.

When I came to bed, my cock was already filling out nicely …. The thought of Mistress toeing her Master’s line apparently had a certain cunning effect.

And she added to my heft with those tender fingers, working my cock and balls until I was begging for the privilege to fuck her.

Finally, she relented.

“But be careful, Slave…. We don’t want to violate M’s rules do we?”

Uh…. I guess we didn’t. So I re-jiggered my mental conditioning as best I could. Normally I am wired to assure Mistress a climax or two long before I begin to focus on drive my cock over the cliff.

But now I was focusing on a pleasurable send off for myself, without prolonging Mistress’s frustration was my cock pounded into her and my lips toyed with her tender nipples.

But it turned out the circuitry was amenable to some rewiring, and more quickly than I thought was possible, I exploded into her, moaning my delight, and relief.

“Oh my, Slave, that sounded like a good one.”

Mistress was even kind enough to let me take her that way again on Thursday morning. Patiently laying there, seemingly quite turned on as I fucked her, and yet willing her self to avoid violating her Master’s command.

Quite impressive.

We were off in different directions yesterday. And I was wondering how Mistress was handling her restrictions.

So there were some occasional texts from me, like “getting horny, Mistress?” Which earned a curt response, “no taunting, Slave.”

When we talked after lunch, Mistress told me that M was also stoking her fire.

“He says he deciding whether I get to come tonight or not.”

“I can’t imagine he’d leave you twisting in the wind for more than a day, Mistress.”

“I don’t know, Slave. I think he likes me squirmy and begging.”

“Who wouldn’t, Mistress. And isn’t that the way you like me?”

“Exactly”

At the end of the work day I was joining a group of my fellow Hibernians for an annual tradition: a picnic to celebrate the St. Patrick’s Day solstice, so to speak. Six months since the last celebration, and six months to the next.

There would be plenty of Guinness and Jamieson, and steaks to end the night.

Mistress was spending the dinner hour with the surly teens, taking them for Sushi (and a little Saki for her).

But mid way through the picnic, I got through to Mistress on her cell phone.

“Any word on M’s plans for you Mistress?”

“He’s being nice, Slave. He says I am allowed to come tonight while riding your cock.”

Ummm. Sounds good. And that cock gave off a little twitch, as if it knew it would be called to duty.

When I got home, a bit tipsy, but serviceable, Mistress was getting back from dinner with the teens. And she seemed particularly anxious to get down to business before M changed his order of the day.

“Is M calling you tonight, Mistress?”

I knew his wife B was still out of town, leaving M a little out of sorts. And he still had that “All Access Pass” to my wife.

“Maybe later, Slave….but lets do it before he calls, OK.”

“I am your servant, as always, Mistress.”

She told me to insert my little “device” again, and she was naked and ready for me. This was a woman in no need of foreplay.

But I confess, this aging Slave, after a drink or three, needed some priming to provide that cock Mistress was told to ride.

Mistress generously used fingers and mouth to get me to the proper, serviceable dimensions.

And she did it all while answering M’s persistent text messages…..he was curious about whether and when and how she would get that first curfew ending come that he had authorized.

That sort of multi-tasking has a cute Ginger Rogers / Fred Astair analogy in it, but I will leave that for another blog and try to get to the point. But soon Mistress’s patience ran out.

“I’m telling him I need to focus now, Slave….”

She put her I-phone down, pushed me onto my back and slid with fierce urgency onto the hard cock she had engineered for her own pleasure.

Soon Mistress was moaning, taking the time as she slid up and down on my shaft to build herself to a nice hearty climax.

Then she collapsed onto me.

“Was it worth the wait, Mistress.”

“Oh….yes, Slave….definitely.”

She rolled over, allowing me to take her, and I did for a while. But the St. Patrick’s celebration was beginning to take it’s toll. As it turned out, it was the Slave who would be fucking without coming on this particular evening.

“How about I finish this task up in the morning, Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave…..”

I think she was amused at my plight.

So to that extent the tables were turned from the night before. It was Mistress who got the pleasuring on this occasion, and the Slave who was to be deferred.

And not long after, as we lay in bed, reading books, Mistress’s text went off again.

“M wants to know if he can call now Slave….”

“Why of course, Mistress ….”

And as I watched a lopsided College football game downstairs, while reading the morning’s Times, I knew that upstairs, Mistress was in the good (virtual) hands of my tag team partner.

It does take a Village. Or, in this case, at least a couple of deviant Male villagers.

HNT / Beware the Masturbation Police

Mick apologizes to our readers for the late posting yesterday morning.

Yes, Sin. Fiction is harder to massage into life than the normal stream of consciousness blogulating that I prepare for Mistress, and the rest of you, each morning.

But here’s a confession.

I am getting a head start Wednesday evening on the Thursday morning edition, as M and Mistress chat away upstairs, in a special spur of the moment date. Hmmm. I wonder what they are up there talking about?

And in my own way, I probably helped facilitate this spontaneous encounter.

This afternoon, on our drive home, Mistress told me that M seemed particularly in need of her company today. Which wasn’t easy for her to accommodate, because Mistress was tied up (I know what you’re thinking, but don’t take that literally, pervs!) in a long presentation to some clients.

Seems that M’s wife B has left town for a few days, leaving M feeling somewhat disconsolate.

I actually tried my best to entertain M while Molly was busy, with an email entitled “Masturbation Police”, attaching this bizarre MTV video clip featuring Tea Party darling and Delaware GOP Senate candidate Christine O’Donnell.  Apparently she has some odd and very judgmental views about Masturbation. http://tpmdc.talkingpointsmemo.com/2010/09/christine-odonnells-1996-anti-masturbation-campaign-on-mtvs-sex-in-the-90s.php

I told M that He and Mistress should be concerned if this lady and her fellow travelers ever take power. Of course, I have nothing to worry about if the Masturbation Police come calling, since the “no touching” rule in our contract has become second nature to me now.

Just remember, when Masturbation is outlawed, only outlaws will Masturbate. But then I suppose that could make it even more fun, right?

But one thing M had access to first today was the full version of yesterday’s blog “Mistress and the Cowboy”.

I had spent a little too much time on exposition Wednesday morning. My deadline without a finished product that was post worthy. But I let Mistress scroll through the introductory passages, as I deployed my well practiced tongue on her delicious, moist folds.

When she put the laptop aside, Mistress was curious about where things were heading.

“I do like Cowboys Slave…..but you didn’t really need to make him a reformed architect.”

“Good point Mistress….not sure why he’s an architect … maybe in Part III he makes a really intricate device to force orgasms from you.”

Mistress laughed, spread he legs, and pulled me to her. Apparently my preliminary efforts were to be rewarded.

At work, as I waited an interminable time for my cranky assistant to finish some typing that should have been done the afternoon before, I polished my draft and tacked on the cliffhanger ending.  Then I posted my belated blog-o-the–day.

It was good to get the feedback from all of your clever comments, and to think of the torment I might be creating for any of you on orgasm quarantine.

So  sorry.  So very sorry. Hah.

So Mistress got initial reports of the final version of the story by way of M, when they finally had a chance to talk yesterday afternoon.

“I think he was a little disappointed he was not in the story, Slave.”

“Hmmm …. Maybe it’s good for him, Mistress. But I’ll try to work in a cameo appearance before this story winds to its smutty conclusion.”

Once home, Mistress reminded me that she still had something to read. And that I had something to worship. It’s not good to have to be reminded.

So as she read through the final version of “Mistress and the Cowboy”, I was on my knees, sucking on that rosy, swollen bud poking out from between those damp and tasty folds.

After Mistress was satisfied, and told me I should continue the tale, we went for a bike ride and fed the sullen teens.

But it occurred to me that I should be more considerate of our lonely Western Correspondent.

 I sent him an email, copying Mistress, entitled “All Access Pass”.

“ I understand you have been left alone for the next few days. I have told Molly that I am telling you that you should feel free to exercise your privileges with her, whenever and however. Not that she needs my permission.”

And sure enough, Mistress and M are even now exercising those privileges.

I am hopeful that I will reap the benefits when they are done.

ADDENDUM:

Sure enough, not long after I finished this entry, Mistress came down stairs to fetch me to bed. She had that glossy eyed, well fucked look that comes with multiple Hitachi induced orgasms. And as she embraced me, letting her hands drift down to my already growing cock, she offered the promise of an immediate reward for my patience. But she had one note of caution:

“And how was it Mistress …..

Very good, Slave…..but here’s the problem …. He put me on orgasm denial, at least until tomorrow night.  So when you fuck me, don’t let me come.”

I will let you know how that went tomorrow.