Some of you have been lobbying for some abstinence for poor, confused Mistress / Slave Molly.
Well yesterday, inadvertently I suppose. both Slave and Mistress abstained. It’s been a very long time, now that I think of it. A whole day off for both of us.
Our excuse: a very early rise for that 50 mile bike ride. Plus, Mistress’s parts had been excessively used and abused the night before, during and after our long “epic” episode of directed sex ,with M tied in by cell line from across Lake Michigan, acting as the ringmaster.
Come morning, neither one of us could pin down exactly how long we were engaged in those wanton rituals. And when we review the three photos I took at some point – Mistress rubbing her (still!) needy cunt after I left the bed oh so briefly for a piss and hydration – we were so “shocked, shocked” that they ended up as cyber trash. They were too smutty and revealing to even share with M.
At least that’s what Mistress thought.
So when she read yesterday morning’s blog, I did not even consider doing my typical morning worship.
Then it was up and out into the chill lakefront air for that 50 mile bike ride with 5000 other early risers. The event organizers surprised us with a route that seemed to find the only rolling hills in the region. After 4.5 hours in the saddle, we felt like we had accomplished our goal, but at a certain price. The price I paid was sore knees. Mistress had a rather itchy and even more tender tush, as I had predicted.
“I’m not sure I will have sex for several days, Slave!”
“I can understand that Mistress….”
Though I suspect things will be better by this evening.
There were some interesting sights along the way.
The photo above shows where Molly might want to start up her own business someday, should she ever get tired of spin-doctoring. ( And yes, there is a little Eastern European in her gene pool, to balance out the Spanish that gives her that amazingly lush and dark skin tone).
What she found particularly appealing about this business opportunity was that the place was already advertising the availability of “subs”. You may recall that my contract does allow her to acquire others and put me on the block at any time. That sort of trade might supplement income from polish sausage and bait.
At one point a female cyclist pumped past us with what might pass for cyclist fetish wear: short, tight black riding shorts, paired with black thigh high cycling “stockings”, allowing her to show about 4 inches of skin between her “stocking” tops and her shorts.
I had to comment.
“Hmmm. Mistress. Check that out. Pretty hot look!”
“Oh really…. I don’t know that I care for my slave making comments suggesting that other women look hot.”
Opps. I tried my best to back and fill.
“Well it wasn’t her per se that caught my eye, Mistress. I never really got a look at her. I’m saying the ‘look’ is hot… I’d like to see you in that outfit.”
“Good try, Slave.”
So, dear readers – is Slave in trouble? Do I deserve a punishment for calling Mistress’s attention to another woman in that way?
Is it proper for a Slave to let another woman – or in this case – her outfit, catch his eye and comment to his Mistress?
Is this a Jimmy Carter “lust in my heart” sort of moment? (Not a guy Id like to be compared to … I was a Teddy supporter back in 1980).
And is it particularly un-slave like, or just natural?
Let us know what you think.
Now it’s time for me to go upstairs to see how Mistress is recovering from all that tush abuse.
This has to be a quick post. I have to wake Mistress at about 7 am. We are embarking on a 50 mile bike ride this am in the rather crisp wind -off -the -lake air here with 5000 or so other crazies.
And, picking up on Aisha’s blogs of the last 12 hours– I probably should be punished.
I let myself fuck Mistress far too long last night, and now I know what’s going to happen: overly tenderized female flesh, pressed against a bike seat -Particularly a cold weather bike seat – is going to be uncomfortable for her. Very uncomfortable.
In fairness to me – not that I deserve fairness – it’s not all my fault. M started it.
As we were preparing for bed around 10 pm, he texted Mistress, wondering if she was available for a call. And the text came with a photo of his hard cock.
“I have a feeling M wants a little more of that action from the other night, Slave.”
She considered not responding. Right. For about 10 seconds. Then she was asking for my cell phone with it’s clearer signal.
They chatted for a while. I was there on the bed next to her, laptop open, splitting my attention between their smutty little verbal foreplay and Aisha’s very hot fantasy about punishment at a school for Subs and Doms. (I can imagine the tables turning with male subs being taught how to use their own tongues and lips better, Aisha).
But soon it was hard to resist fully engaging with Mistress’s squirming cunt.
“He’s down there again, M …. And I didn’t even have to ask this time.”
“Slave, M wants you to ‘stick my finger up my little asshole’… those are his exact words.”
Naturally, I complied. And very quickly Mistress was moaning to her first orgasm, making sure M knew all about it.
The rest was a long and epic blur.
At one point, she is fondling my cock, sucking it, but also telling M….”This is exactly what I like, one hard cock in my hand, another hard one on the phone.”
She rode me to orgasm, filling M in on the details. And at some point, did that all over again.
I fucked her, rested, fucked her some more. All the while she was very curious about how M’s cock was doing.
It seemed to be doing well.
I was flattered when Mistress murmured into the phone, “I love it when my slave fuck’s me, M.”
And I had no problem when she pouted a bit about how she would like M to be doing the fucking some day. Or called him “Master” in that husky wanton voice that seemed quite desperate for both of us.
At one point I left the bed to visit the bathroom, and get a drink of water. Hydration was becoming an issue. When I came back, Mistress was vigorously rubbing herself to yet another orgasm. I took a few photos, and will make sure M gets a choice one to see what his compelling words wrought.
Was it hours by the time we were done? I just recall Mistress signing off at some point, exhausted…. But letting me fuck her some more, before giving me clearance to come.
Epic, M. Epic.
But now I have the sad task of waking sleeping beauty, and reminding her that she has 50 miles to ride…. That is gonna be one sore tush at the end of the day.
The surly teens suffered through their campus visit yesterday. Their primary factor in deciding whether a particular college gets thumbs up or down appears to be the presence or absence of a Chipotle.
This lovely campus apparently failed that test.
Afterwards, we hit the highway to our next stop: The summer home of Molly’s in-laws near the banks of one of those great lakes.
We had assumed that the sleeping situation would put us in close proximity to the teens, so planned on a vanilla weekend. I did not even bring any implements of bondage or torture for Switch Day (oops, there go our stat counts for Monday).
But instead we ended up in this sumptuous suite apart from the rest of the house, with a huge four-poster bed. My kingdom for some clothesline!
But, fear not, we were able to have some delicious post sort-of-three way sex yesterday morning, in that old campus mansion, while the teens slept in before their tour.
As Mistress read the blog, her Slave worshipped, kneeling on the floor to get the proper leverage. But…the poor dear was rather tender from all that abuse the night before.
“Owww…. Be more gentle Slave….”
I stopped sucking clit between my lips, and reverted to a softer laving with my tongue. That seemed to do the trick.
And, once given permission to fuck her, I used it as an opportunity to do some cross-examination about her college days’ encounters with her Journalism Prof.
“So who made the first move, Mistress?”
“I suppose he did…. We were spending a lot of time together …. In class. Working on the school paper… and I was in his office ….. and he just kissed me.”
I imagined Mistress, young, passionate, those long tan legs. Relatively innocent, but clearly open, even at 19, to a little adventure. Once she turned on the charm, gave that little signal of availability, this guy would not have had a chance, just like me back in the days of Mike Dukakis and Dan Quayle.
“Did he ask for permission to kiss you?”
“I don’t remember that… it was just one of those moments.”
“And was it hot, Mistress?”
“Yes, Slave…. He was a kittle quirky, but he was smart…. The older guy who seemed kind of cool.”
“And did you do it then with him?”
All the while, Slave is sliding in and out and against Mistress, listening to her little moans of delight as I take her down memory lane, early 80’s edition.
“No… it was a few days, maybe a week or two later.”
Good… patience. Planning. Anticipation. I imagined how hot both of them would be once they found each other in private again.
“And where did you do it?”
“In his office…. I remember that when he closed his door, there were all these academic robes hanging there… for graduation I guess. A weird thing to remember….”
“Did you do it on the floor? On his desk?”
“No… he had a couch.”
“Hmmm… How convenient.”
“And did he lick your cunt like I do, Mistress?”
“I don’t remember that… not as many men are into that the way you are, Slave.”
I guess it’s good to have a unique skill set in this tough economy.
“Did he like it when you sucked his cock, Mistress?”
“I am pretty sure he did Slave….”
Mistress must have developed those skills early on.
At this point the story line got lost …. Soon I was begging for permission to come, and Mistress was in a charitable state of mind.
Later, as we walked around the campus, Mistress pointed out to me the building where her illicit shenanigans had occurred. And she looked through the faculty roster. Her old Journalism Prof seems to have moved on. I wondered whether his “dabbling into female students” ( as a certain whacko Senate candidate might put it) had caught up with him.
The sort of behavior that was commonly winked at prior to 1985, one of the fringe benefits of academia, has long since become grounds for termination on U.S. campuses.
“Did you feel he had exploited you, Mistress? In retrospect was this sexual harassment?”
She laughed.
“No Slave…. I had a boyfriend who was pretty nasty to me at the time…. This was a nice outlet… it was fun. It made me feel good. ”
Mistress told me that he and the Prof “did it” a few times. He was married. She had the boyfriend. There were no expectations, she says. And she could not recall why they drifted apart.
Of course, I wonder how I would feel if my own daughter got caught up in this sort of teacher / student romance. Now that I think of it, I know exactly how I would feel. Pissed. Demanding retribution.
But sometimes a parent has to let go. Kids need to learn from their own experiences and make their own mistakes. For Molly this did not seem to be a mistake at all. But I am curious to know what some of you out there think about it.
Changing subjects….
Yesterday, Sin and Aisha wondered how Molly could handle the conflicting roles of sub / Mistress in our 3M sex-capade Thursday evening.
It seemed confusing but rather incendiary for her.
She had trouble with titles. Was the guy on the phone whispering who knows what into her ears, “Sir” or “M”? Was I “Slave” or “Mick”?
It seemed at some times I was her Slave … responding to commands about when to lick or fuck her. Then again, in her mind I may have been M’s surrogate, taking her in the way M was describing how he would take her.
And then, later, I was doing things that M had her tell me to do …. Like slide a finger into her little tight hole while the other one was impaled by my cock.
It was all very befuddling for poor Molly. And her orgasms kept on coming. Yikes.
The best comparison I can make is crossed jumper cables. If you mistakenly hook the red cable attached to one car battery’s positive knob to the negative knob on the other car’s battery ---- oops. Stand back and watch the sparks fly.
Mistress’s poles got crossed the other night and it was a wild and crazy thing to behold.
I’m reporting to you this morning from the campus of that small liberal arts college where Mistress matriculated back in the 1980’s. We are on a short weekend road trip with the surly teens, who are in the college shopping phase. Mistress wanted to show them her alma mater – at long last – to see if she could pique their interest.
But of course they think they are far too special for this lovely pastoral place that, to them, seems to be in the middle of no-where.
I for one loved the campus tour that Mistress gave me last night, under a bright full moon. There was the frat house where she once fucked E, the cocky guy who discovered Mistress’ s penchant for being a cyber sub last fall.
And we speculated about whether Mistress might run into the Journalism Prof she had a brief, but incendiary affair with back in Sopohomore year. (We calculated that he’s probably younger than her Slave….so who’s the cradle robber?)
But so much for the travelogue. I suspect that you, dear readers, are more interested in Sex-tourism.
One of our commenters yesterday cleverly suggested that the best way to begin a period of orgasm denial is to condition a slave to 6 or 7 orgasms a day, then pull out the rug. Damn.
If M decided to apply that technique to Mistress, today would be a very good day.
Yesterday morning, I worshipped her sopping cunt for a while as she read the blog, but elected to pass on giving her an orgasm, or fucking her myself. She had a telephone conference planned with our Western Correspondent for about 10 am, and I figured it would be unfair to him for me to prematurely discharge all that anticipatory sexual energy..
It was a “work from home” morning for her. And when she reported back to me later it sounds like she had been very productive.
“How many, Mistress.”
“Four, Slave….it was pretty hot.”
“And did M get some action too, Mistress?”
“Oh yes. He kind of went wild, Slave.”
No wonder M had been generating fewer column inches lately. His hands have a higher and better use.
We hit the road with the teens around 3:30 pm for the long drive north, and not long afterwards, M and Mistress were texting back and forth. M was at the airport in his home town, heading to one of our Midwestern cities best known for its beer production, where he will be spending some time this weekend on the golf course with his brother.
And we were still driving when M landed, texting Mistress about his trip, and asking whether she could call.
The teens were in the back seat, all ear budded up. And Mistress kept the talk very vanilla. But it was cute to see her light up and tease her big bad cyber dom about his flight reticence.
We finally made it here around 8 pm, and ate dinner with the girls at an old off-campus beer and pizza joint, still around after 100 years of serving college kids with fake IDs and workers from the long shuttered paper mill. A few of the guys who seem to have grown roots at the bar ogled Mistress and the teens as we slid into a booth. I guess they aren’t used to much River City glamour in these parts.
After dinner, we collected the keys to rooms at an old mansion on campus, where returning alumna are entitled to stay… I warned the teens to be on the look out for ghosts. But they seemed more interested in the fact that their room had cable.
Parenting finally done for the day, Mistress and I took that walk, then hunkered down in our room. I was looking forward to collecting my sexual IOU from the morning, and debriefing Mistress about her morning conference call.
But as I was emerging from the shower, Mistress’s text went off.
“It’s M, Slave… he wants to know what we are up to….”
“Go ahead and report, Mistress…. No rush on my end.”
There was more tapping and chiming for a while, as I checked for email on the laptop.
“He wants to know if I can talk, Slave.”
“Of course, you can, Mistress.”
“I’m going to tell him we have other priorities now, Slave. That my Slave needs his attention.”
“It really is OK, Mistress.”
I could tell she was torn. But there was something compelling about his request. And sure enough, soon they were chatting on the bed. I took the photo above to record the scene.
But soon, inevitably I suppose, I was drawn into their action.
“M says your mouth should be on my cunt, Slave.”
Of course, Mistress. I was waiting to be asked.”
Soon I was on my knees, Devouring. And Mistress was murmuring into the phone. It was another one of those kinky Bob Newhart routines.
There was some conversation about titles… Mistress kept getting confused.
“Yes, M….I mean Sir.. Yes, Sir, I think Slave gets turned on when you make me call you Sir.”
And I got some questions too.
“M wants to know if your cock is hard, Slave?”
“It certainly is Mistress.”
For a while M was doing the talking, whispering Mistress into a world where she was likely enjoying the full measure of his “special occasion cock”.
Soon Mistress was coming hard and long against my mouth, as I sucked and cajoled her with lips and tongues. She seemed to enjoy vocalizing it all for M’s pleasure and amusement.
And she was very fixated on what was happening at M’s end of the line.
“What are you doing, Sir…..are you hard…. Does this turn YOU on?... You know I like to hear about that….”
She was clearly trying to provoke him…. To make sure he was having as much fun across the lake in beer town as we were here in her little college town.
But then Mistress (or was it M) decided to ratchet things up a notch.
“Why don’t you fuck me now, Slave…. “
Well, I certainly was desperate to do just that. And I would not want to be accused of insubordination. But doing it with an audience of sorts, was a new experience for me.
I slid on top of Mistress, thrusting into her, as she continued to describe the action to her Sir.
“It’s a little hard to guide him in with one hand on the phone, M.,,, er,,,, Sir.”
Bu we overcame that minor inconvenience, and soon I was fucking her hard and with mucho gusto. And Mistress was coming some more, first with me on top, and then later, riding my cock, describing it all in great, smutty detail for our Western Correspondent.
“You do like hearing this don’t you, Sir….”
It seemed he did. And I chimed in.
“I just hope that if you and M ever do get together, I get a phone call like this…”
“M says it’s a deal, Slave.”
As we continued to fuck there were some special requests thrown in.
“M wants you to stick my finger up my ass, Slave.”
We rolled over again, and I followed orders. More crazed Mistress coming sounds ensued.
But I could tell Mistress was getting near the edge of even her mighty endurance.
“What I’d really like is for both of my cocks to come at the same time….do you think we could do that?”
Well, as it turned out, the answer was “no”.
Within moments I could hear M’s mighty roar through the phone pressed against Mistress’s ear. Wow. Youthful exuberance. No wonder Mistress likes to egg him on that way.
And not long after that, Mistress signed off, wishing her Sir a loving sweet dreams, as I continued to piston in and out of her at a more leisurely pace.
While I am not sure that I could have come with the distraction of those other ears, and Mistress’s running narrative for him, I certainly had no problems after the phone was put aside. And soon I was begging to come, and Mistress was more than happy to grant me permission.
She’s still sleeping now, just a few feet away. She has a right to be tired. And I am wondering if in her wanton college days she ever had, or even imagined having , as many orgasms as she had yesterday with her Slave and her Sir.
