Mistress Begs, But Does Not Surrender.

Mistress was in a fix: bound, spread eagled, on her back on our bed yesterday morning.

You can see her in the photo.

Leather cuffs bound her wrists.

Strips of an old beach towel bound ankles to the corners of our bed.

I made her rise to accommodate a fluffy, full pillow under her hips, presenting the apex of her widely spread thighs for my “experiments”.

It was Switch Day.

There would be no stinging, flat handed spanks to her firm bottom today. No crisp red stripes from the riding crop.

Instead I was determined to test her will in another way.

My tongue and lips tormented her.

I fed her my cock, until it was throbbing, lubricated by her tongue, so it was literally sucked into her sopping, greedy tunnel. Then she received a slow, languorous fucking.

“No coming Mistress. You’re going to have to beg for it this morning.”

I pumped at her for 10 minutes or so, slowly sliding to and fro against her squirming pelvis. Her breathing was reduced to shallow sighs of quiet desperation, but she wasn’t begging. Not yet. Both of us were pacing ourselves.

Ultimately I slid from her, afraid that I might lose my own control. I wasn’t going to be the one to ask permission first.

“Where are you going, Slave.”

“I think you know what’s next, Mistress.”

I reached for the Hitachi, always at the ready under our bed.

I used it to create some false expectations of an easy return on her investment of surrendered authority on switch day. She was near the edge. But no begging.

I turned it off.

“Hey….. I was getting close, Slave….”

That was just a prequel, Mistress. I need another toy for the main act.

I reached to the table next to the bed, and slid the crystal cock from it’s elegant little box. She watched my moves with interest, while pulling at her wrists, testing her bonds.

“Oh… we haven’t used that in a while, Slave.”

Within seconds, Her cunt greedily devoured the hard, glass cock with it’s swirling ridges.

My face hovered over her there, focusing all my attention on the folds and valleys that presented themselves. A little rosy and wet playground.

Then I switched the Hitachi to low, applying it exactly where Mistress likes it. It sent a quiver through her. I heard that moan of delight. It was what she had been waiting for.

It didn’t take her more than 30 seconds….the horny, little slut.

“So can I come now, Slave?”

I laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like begging, does it?”

She fidgeted. Gave off a little frustrated mewl of anguish.

I pressed the Hitachi more firmly against her. I could almost feel her try to withdraw a bit… not sure where this was headed. But of course, she had nowhere to go, stretched so “cruelly” tight by her bonds.

“OK… Please, may I come, Slave.”

“Am I really the Slave under these circumstances, or something else?”

She was grinding herself side to side against the churning white bulb of the power tool. My other hand pressed the crystal cock even deeper into her. I had a wonderful view, my face hovering inches above ground zero of her frustrated desire.

“Oh God…. I really need to come….. what do you want me to call you.”

“What titles best fit these circumstances, slut?”

“Sir… Master…. Whatever…. Just, please, please let me come.”

“Either one will do, but I need to hear those words presented properly and with sincerety….”

She was moaning. Her hips were struggling for control. Muscles in her legs flexing against the cotton cloth that bound them. Did I actually hear her grit her teeth?

“Please, Sit, May I come?”

“How badly do you want to come, little slut?”

“Very badly, Sir. Please may I ….. now.”

I suppose I could have eased off on the Hitachi. But then she would complain that I was teasing her. I could have slid back the crystal cock some. But I liked the way it impaled her. Made her even less capable of evading the power tool. She was pinned and growing increasingly desperate.

But she hadn’t surrendered. Not yet. Not completely.

“Are you so desperate to come that you’d make me your Master indefinitely…become the Slave of the household.”

“No, Slave… not that…. how about for just today?”

Interesting. She was negotiating. She was clearly very desperate to come. I could tell that. But she would not really give up the reins of power. She had drawn the line. And she was not going to surrender her authority.

What to do? Shut down the Hitachi. Let her languish for a while. See if that might change her tune. Then start all over again in an hour or so?

But, as I continued to press the Hitachi and the crystal cock against her mulling my next step, I realized was glad to hear her resistance to my ultimatum. I was glad she was loyal to her role as my Mistress, no matter how much I tortured her with frustration and desire.


She was sticking to name, rank and serial number.

And, as you surely knew I would, I was the one who surrendered.

“Yes, Mistress, now you may come.”

I pressed unrelentingly on with my devices of torture.

It took her a minute or so, once the caution flag was lifted, to mentally cash in her chips…..but when she did.

Yow.

The moaning, the stretching of muscles, the sobs, as she took her self over the cliff, once, then twice, until she was begging me to switch it off….

“Oh, God,,,, I’m too sensitive now Slave. Please turn it off.”

And I did. Obedient as ever.

(I listened to you on that one, Sin.)

When I put town my instruments, and turned to face Mistress, her face was red, blotchy from those sobs. Tears caressed her cheeks.

And she hardly protested when I slid back into her, still spreadeagled, to take my prize.

Yes, I was still her Slave. She made that very clear. But, at least for the moment, she was still at my mercy.

Beware Greeks Bearing Chili

First, thanks for all the good wishes on our contractual anniversary. It’s that type of feedback (along with Mistress’s addictive nectar) that keeps me waking up early and writing these little love letters to Mistress  every morning!

And, as you might expect, Mistress indulged Slave yesterday after she read the blog – well I suppose the indulgence began while she was reading the blog.

We had plans that took us in different directions Saturday morning, so Friday night Mistress let it be known that the cage would be worn, and that she wanted me to come to bed with the steel ring already in place.  She likes how hard it makes me, and the fact that it takes a little more effort for me to come with it’s tight grip around my balls and cock.

That sucker does squeeze tight when I am fully engorged for her.

So, by the time she gave me permission to come Saturday morning, Mistress had a good sampling of orgasms to start her day.

Soon Mistress was off  to have her tresses trimmed. I was scrambling some eggs when I realized that in our mutual post sex hubris, we had forgotten to secure my cage over that tight ring.

I suppose I could have blown it off.

But that would have been wrong. 

I slid the cage in place, popped the little lock closed, and snapped a photo of the resulting encaged cock, sending it to her by text message.

“Didn’t forget, Mistress.”

“Very good Slave.”

I take simple pleasures in pleasing her.

And later I was rewarded.

She unlocked the cage before taking my ass with that strap-on of hers.

When we were done  – after more orgasms for her, and one for me - we took a long luxuriant nap, then read in bed, before heading downtown to meet some friends for dinner.

Before I get to an explanation for the  photo posted above, I wanted to share a story from earlier in the week that slipped through the cracks of my Friday morning blog.

Recall that we had spent Thursday evening down at the old ball game. Mistress’s firm had one of those luxury suites reserved for the evening. I was out on the balcony, watching the game and chatting with friends during the latter innings, while Mistress, not much of a baseball fan, was inside, working the crowd of clients and prospects who had been invited for drinks and dinner.

As the game ended, I came inside and found Mistress and one of her female colleagues under the spell of two swarthy young men who seemed equally entranced.

These were the scions of a famous River City Chili Empire – a Greek family that started with a humble neighborhood greasy spoon of a joint,  and now have a chain that stretches through the region.

Mistress had shared with me some stories about her meetings with the family, usually including some comment about how hot and compelling various members of this multi-generational family seemed.

One of these lads had dark, shiny curls, and a sort of Don Johnson “Miami Vice” era closely trimmed beard. The other had closely cropped hair. Both had dark piercing eyes, and all four of them seemed to be taking Mistress in with appreciative, seductive amusement.

And when I say “Young”, I mean young.

Early 20’s. 

Only if Mistress took both of them on at once could she say she was staying within her own age range.

I talked with the four of them for a while, but they kept theur eyes and attention 100% on dear Molly. One shared a long funny story with a slightly naughty theme. And they talked about how they were looking forward to Mistress joining them at an upcoming “Chili Convention” in Nashville.

So on the way home, It was natural for me to tease Mistress about the prospects of both of them sharing her bed on that little junket.  I had in mind a scenario where Mistress sucked the large throbbing  cock of one, while the other fed at her musky fountain.

And Mistress seemed more than game to consider that scenario.

But somehow I forgot to cast these two, compelling Mediterranean characters into the blog Friday. It would have been fun, simply to yank M’s chain a bit – something I am not above doing if only to “stir the drink” a bit.

Well, despite my neglect, Mistress must have discussed them with M on Friday, because this email popped up later in the day from our Western Correspondent:

“Is there any truth to the rumor that your humble WC is in danger of being replaced by two young Greek Chili tycoons and/or and very comely lesbian couple, all of who are certainly younger and better looking than your broken down old WC.

 I would remind you that I have given my life to this organization, and it may well constitute age discrimination to summarily dismiss your aging WC.  

In fact I think these allegations about the WC's alleged lack of productivity coming from your office these last few months, have  been an obvious   pretext for letting the WC go, in favor of younger and less expensive employees.  Any alleged admissions I made have made to the contrary were merely attempts at levity and did not constitute admissions or ratification of the scandalous charges you have made.  

In any case the Greek Chili Tycoon story certainly seems blog worthy to your humble WC.

Take care U2 nuts.”

So it seemed that Mistress had shared her  Cougar imaginings with her Cyber Dom, with the desired effect. 

Clever, Mistress. Very clever.

I responded to M as follows, without an admission or denial of the prospects of replacing our Western Correspondent with a younger, more energetic duo. Mistress could probably engage both of them at no more than half the salary of our more experienced, if under productive stringer form the Mountain time zone. But we might have to cover the costs of an on-line Journalism class.

“funny.... I forgot to mention those guys. I couldn't tell who was chasing whom last night.  The two guys were certainly charmed by Mistress.... but then again she seemed interested in what the chili guys had to offer too.”

M got back to me later Friday evening:

“Lol. I suspected just such a thing.. the little flirt cant help herself... bless her heart..."greek is good"...isn't that a line from a Michael Douglas movie, or something like that... and I hear they are experts at anal sex.... I might get beat to the punch .. but don't underestimate me. I'm a quick counter puncher with a hard right cross.”

I suspect Mistress would love to endure whatever M might have to offer in that category.

Now for that photo….

Last night, in the way home from dinner, we came to a rail crossing not far from our home, on a dark side street. The bars were down and red lights were flashing for a long freight train. It was late, and no other cars were in front of or behind us.

Rather than back up and find an alternative route, I put the car in park.

Mistress had  black, high boots on, for the first cool, damp day of Fall. But her legs were bare. She had not resigned to the inevitable arrival of tights weather just yet.

“Why don’t you pull down your underwear Mistress, to give me better access.

She was game, and even shot this photo before my fingers burrowed into her dampening folds as the red lights flashed and the train slowly rumbled past.

It was our Anniversary after all.

I figured Mistress deserved one more orgasm before bedtime.

An Anniversary: One Year Under Contract

It’s been a year since Molly and Mick signed our contract.

In case you’ve never read it, here is a link.

http://undercontracttomywife.blogspot.com/2009/11/contract.html

And the back story – why the contract became a necessary step for us a year ago – is described here.

http://undercontracttomywife.blogspot.com/2009/11/why-contract-backstory.html

I mentioned the upcoming anniversary earlier this week and our Western Correspondent took some time away from his, long term, highly secret investigative reporting project – to share some good words with us:


Mick and Molly

Congratulations on one year of your contract, and your wonderful blog. Its always great to find out what you two lunatics are up to, although from time time to time I already know! You two have the more sex than any married couple in America. Wow!

And that’s coming from one who has a lot of sex with Mrs. WC. You guys are my heroes! And the lusty Molly is always ready for more. Very hot! For all of Mick’s loyal readers, I can vouch for the veracity of the blog. Those two lunatics really do have that much sex, in fact I think it is actually underreported.

I know I am the under productive and over paid western correspondent, but at least I occasionally provide raw material.

Keep up the great work and I will try to be a more productive WC, although I doubt my efforts will be successful. The WC is too busy keeping Molly entertained. It is a full time job for two men!

Your lazy WC



But I didn’t want to waste your time and mine today rehashing the whys. That’s old news, and a little angsty for both of us.

Instead I thought I would spend a few inches describing the unforeseen benefits of the Contract, which may be obvious to the handful of you who have followed our rather raucous adventures over these months.

When We decided that Slave needed to make his submission something more than an occasional “play date”, but a permanent state of mind, I collected language from some Slave contracts found on line, and threw in a few choices lines to be provocative.

But as I assembled all those promises – and all the rights that Mistress was entitled to exercise – I realized that the whole concept sent a direct, activating current to my cock.

Hmmm.

“What if Mistress ever did these things?”, I began to think to myself.

And the cock twitched some more. He was my silent editor, egging me on. Those little twitches were the "tell" that said: "you need this as much as Molly does, you stupid Slave!"

Turns out my mute but cunning editor was right.



We had stumbled on to something that I had not realized would be such a turn on for an aging, cocky, jaded guy who had taken things as they came, and to many things for granted, for all those years.

And when Mistress realized she had rights to explore all her newly acquired privileges of ownership, she seemed to acquire an even sexier gait. She was leaking pheromones. Turning even more heads than before.

So when her old college fuck-buddy E got in touch, it led to their brief but steamy cyber affair, that turned on a different side of Mistress. She had a wanton sub side to complement her hot, Mistressy authority. A side that lit up at the thought of a hard spanking or being taken from behind, spread across E’s desk.

The twists and turns of that relationship, and the sparks it generated between us, led me to my daily “homework assignments”, which I decided to share in this Blog, begun about 6 weeks after our contract was executed.

And when E turned out to have feet of clay, I wrote Molly’s “Part Time Dom” want ad, initially posted on Craigslist, and the crazy and (a few) compelling responses she received. (You can find it at her “MollyCollins” Fetlife page, or here: http://undercontracttomywife.blogspot.com/2009/11/casting-call-my-mistress-needs-to.html)

And all the while, Molly and Mick were having crazy, unprecedented sex that surpassed even what we got ourselves into all those years ago, when we first came together in our reckless collision of flesh and need.

Through her “want ad”, Mistress found her “starter Dom”, which led to some hot rendezvouses between them, and us, when she shared her “after action” reports.

And our Western Correspondent, M, found us through the Blog. He shared his own crazy stories with us. But on a long car ride, Mistress and M finally spoke, and soon they were generating their own sparks, which I continue to chronicle.

And of course, the Contract also led to us acquiring all of you new, imaginative friends – our little coterie of fellow bloggers – who probably know more about those seemingly boring Collins’ than our “regular” friends back here in River City ever will. (At least let’s hope it stays that way!)

Of course, we have our own workaday challenges - parenting surly teens, dealing with a rotten real estate market, shiftless tenants, crazy clients. But the Contract has given us plenty of new reasons to soldier on, and look forward to the end of each workday.

And – most importantly - it’s helped Mick and Molly find a path out of a sad and challenging phase of our lives together.

I am very grateful to my Mistress for giving me the chance to prove that I could be a worthy and devoted Slave to her.

Truly.

Mick and Molly at the Bat.

Mistress was running around like that proverbial headless chicken yesterday: client meltdowns. Finger Nail emergency. You get the picture.

Fortunately, We got a chance for some gratifying, if workmanlike, sex before a morning bike ride. And I used my fingers to give her another orgasm in the shower as the warm water flowed through her long, dark hair.

But after that…. I didn’t hear much from Mistress other than a brief call on her way to take care of that broken nail.

There would be no time for a worship stop today.

“I think M is probably annoyed with me today, Slave. I haven’t had the time today or even yesterday for the type of conversation he likes.”

“I’m sure he understands that some day you’re a busy girl, Mistress.”

But I knew how he felt, so decided to reach out in brotherhood to show we were both in the same boat. I titled my email “MIA” and mentioned that Mistress and I would be hooking up that evening at a business event that her company had set up for clients at the old ball yard.

“Mistress has been hard to pin down today. Very busy girl. Hope you enjoyed that "slave's eye view" shot in the blog today.

We go to the baseball game tonight, tho it sounds like it will be more business chit chat than enjoying the game. Wonder if we can find a place for worship there?”

He quickly responded:

-“-I wouldn't put it past u2, tough at the ball park though, if u pull that off I’ll really be impressed..

Will be pulling for your team in the playoffs. Mine choked down the stretch.

Loved the pic today

take care, M”

I felt a need to inspire M, get both of our minds off of our missing Mistress / slut and on to smuttier things.


“Now it's on.... a challenge. I will see if I can find a way to squeeze an O out of her come hell or extra innings.”

He got in the spirit:

lol too too funny... my money is on u2 lunatics but I will be VERY impressed .

Well, M, I have to confess. I let you down. It was one of those nights when I came back on my shield, as some horny Spartan might put it.

I have no story to tell of pulling Mistress into the Party suite’s single bathroom, sliding down her pants and kneeling to savor the flavor of her sweet, clean shaven folds.

I can’t explain how I pinned her against the wall of some dark hallway in the bowels of the stadium, slid my fingers into her tailored pants, and stroked her there while taking her mouth with my hungry tongue.

There was no hot scene where we found an unoccupied luxury box, and I pushed her over the back of an upholstered chair to take her from behind.

I am beaten, but not bowed.

Unfortunately, it was a very well attended soiree, and Mistress had to be on her best behavior. I do like watching her turn on the charm. And I tried to play the properly filial role of corporate hubby, a bit older and more taciturn, but attentive and supportive too.

There was that charming lesbian couple. Mistress amused them and a few others about a comment I made a few months back about the younger of the pair. They emailed us a photo of them at a party with my glamorous Mistress between them. All three were dolled up in their best party going wear.

As Mistress told the story, we were lying in bed, the photo popped onto her laptop screen and I described the woman next to my wife as “stunning,” causing Mistress to take offense. I.e., I should have complemented her rather than ( or before) her companion.

I suitably blushed. And said, “but of course you know how devoted I am to you dear”, reached out and stroked her arm.

All the women standing around cooed their approval.

What I didn’t share is the comment I made that day in bed, when the photo popped up, about how delicious it would be to see the three of them naked, in bed together.

And how Mistress responded to that scenario: “Ummm. That would be interesting, Slave.”

The game was mercifully short. The home team won. And by the time the party broke up the stands were empty. Down below, the grounds crew was rolling out tarp to cover home plate and the lights were shutting out.

I thought there might be one last chance to find a secret hiding place for some hanky panky.

But no, Mistress colleagues clung to us like cheap suits for the walk back to the parking garage they share.

So on this dark day in Mudville, the seemingly mighty Mick and Molly struck out.