Flooding the Zone

It’s a football term: when an offensive team overloads one side of the field with a slew of receivers, making it too hard for the defensive team to cover all of them at once.

That was the strategy I had selected for switch day this week. After reading about two many of you out there on extended orgasm denial at the arbitrary command of your BBD’s I figured I would be amusing to see what happens when Mistress is required to absorb too many orgasms.

Actually, I was curious to see if that was possible: if she would ever really cry “No mas”, and throw in the towel. Or would she simply lay back, relax and enjoy.

But when I woke with this plan confirmed on my scheming little brain, I found this little note from our Western Correspondent jammed under our electronic transom:




“I vote for more tickling and teasing .. for a LONG time!

tied spread eagled

but no cumming!

would do her good to wait!

If [our two NFL teams] win then she can cum! lol

We will turn her into a football fan yet

lol... make it happen on orders from the WC

as always your humble WC.”



Well it was tempting to simply follow orders, and drive Mistress crazy with denial. But I figured my plan was a good one, and this strategem could wait for the next episode of “Switch Day”. Sorry Big Fella’. Orders acknowledged, but deferred just a bit. Now Mistress knows what she has to look forward to next weekend already.

When Mistress let me know she was awake yesterday morning, I brought up the papers, reached for the Hitachi and explained to Mistress her sad fate for the day.

“You mean we aren’t going to read the paper first, Slave….”

“Sorry, Mistress don’t want to fall behind schedule. I am shooting for at least one orgasm an hour today…. And I have those errands to run at 11, so there will have to be some hours with a few more.

Mistress rolled over in a bit of a pout. But it was simple to slide the Hitachi between her firm, muscular butt cheeks and make contact where I knew it would just be a matter of time before…..

“Oh… and you need to beg to come each time, Mistress….”

That sounds easier said than done.

That first time she begged nicely….


“Please may I come, Slave….”

“You may, Mistress.”

But as I fucked her afterwards, she suddenly was coming again….without permission.

“Did you forget something, Mistress?”

“Oops…. It’s hard to be programmed so quickly, Slave.”

But the next time, as I pumped into her while using my finger to strum her needy little clit, she remembered her place.

“May I come again, Slave….”

“Of course you may…. You good little slut.”

So it began. 3 or 4 that first session.

Read the papers for a while.

Orgasm.

More reading.

Orgasm.

Get dressed for bike ride. But before we “saddle Up”, Mistress was bent over the bed and the Hitachi was applied to her.

“Nice begging, Mistress.”

And of course, each time the musky scent of Mistress’s sopping folds filled the room.

After the bike ride I had to quickly shower before heading off to an appointment downtown and to visit my cranky Mother.

And being a Slave at heart, I was persuaded to put on my cock cage. On switch day even.

But before I left, there was another quick but potent orgasm for Mistress, with her riding shorts hiked down just far enough to accommodate her favorite power tool.

When I came home at around 2 pm, Mistress was working with Surly teen No. 1 on college applications. I did not want to interrupt, but then I had fallen behind schedule.

“Could you come upstairs briefly, dear….”

Mistress had on a short black cotton dress. I suggested it might be easier for the both of us if she simply loose her panties for the rest of the day. She agreed, and after they were shed, Mistress was bent over the bed again for another one.

By now she was coming in less than a minute with the use of that efficient tool.

AS she finished up with our petulant daughter, who of course knows much more about getting into college than her two parents who actually have gone to college, Slave raked some leaves. Then I joined Mistress on our deck to peruse the Times.

But before Mistress was allowed to nap, there was a brief march up to our room for another session with the Hitachi. By now the little white ball oozed her scent before it was even switched on.

After we both napped in the sun, we decided to adjourn to our bedroom. And once Mistress had another Hitachi induced come, I elected to fuck her again.

Despite her training, she forgot to beg yet again. A spanking was promised, and delivered.

By now, my count was at around 15.

Mistress made her award winning chili for dinner. She suggested a little post-sinner stroll. So we headed off into a beautiful fall evening, sun just setting, swirling colorful leaves underfoot.

I suppose Mistress had paid her dues through the day, but I had yet to hear “No Mas.” So Slave was looking for a setting that could put a punctuation point on our day.

Unfortunately, it seemed there was still a bit too much light to press her up against a neighbor’s tree and force my fingers up between her squirmy thighs.

But then….

In our little business district there is a community arts center, and outside there was a vividly painted piano, with it’s own bench.

Part of a inter-active music display all around town.

Ah-hah.

“Let’s sit on the bench and tickle the ivories, Mistress.”

Since Mistress knows I am no pianist, I think the light bulb went off quickly.

“You, wouldn’t….”

So as the neighbors strolled by across the street, and the police squad car drifted past, Slave and Mistress sat side by side on the bench. My right hand tapped the keys as my left strummed between Mistress’s tender but damp folds.

Soon she was shuddering and quaking for me, stifling that little moan of release.

“Enough, Slave…..”

My work here was done. At least until next Sunday.

Mistress Haunts My Dreams

It was one of those busy Saturdays here in River City.

But not Mundane.

There was the morning sex, after a more leisurely read of the morning papers. No hurray to get up and out early.

Mistress allowed me to worship her succulent folds with  lips and tongue to a nice hip jerking series of mini-orgasms.   Then she taunted my cock with her fingers until I was doing the hip jerking, begging her for permission to fuck her. 

She ultimately relented, of course, merciful Mistress that she is to me.

We took our bike ride in brisk clear air. The leaves are still brilliant here, but beginning to fall.

Then I was off to collect my cute little grandchild, ply him with gelato, and bring him home for some playtime. He even “helped” me rake some leaves, if you call whacking the pile of leaves with a stick “help”..

Mistress took the teens for their group manicure, and a trip to Costco. (The Western Correspondent has turned Mistress on to the benefits of Costco, among other less mercenary things.)

When I arrived home from dropping off the little darling for his nap, Mistress was out sunning herself on the deck, signing off from some telephone chat with the Western Correspondent.

“Did he make you come, Mistress?”

“No, Slave…. He was at Costco too. He texted me there and said we should talk before his big golf game….”

Mistress and M do like to be in touch regularly, which seems to be a good outlet for both of them.  As I settled down next to Mistress to read a bit in the late afternoon sun, Mistress talked a little more about her chat.

“M’s always concerned that you get miffed about what goes on between us, Slave.”

I snorted.

“You know I’m cool with it, Mistress.”

“That’s what I tell him, Slave.”

And I AM cool with it.

My prime directive is to see Mistress happy.

Her relationship with M is important to Mistress.

It makes her happy.

It not only gives her lots of bonus orgasms, but also gives her someone to vent to about life’s ups and downs. No doubt some of the venting is about me – but I can be high maintenance. Even annoying. My sense is that M gives her good and useful words of advice on how to manage her occasional frustrations with me.

Though I think she “spares the rod” more than M would advise.

While I watched my alma mater have a rare laugher on the gridiron, Mistress rested a bit, likely with visions of M’s special occasion cock dancing in her horny little head.

Then we were off to see the new Woody Allen movie. A worthy watch for those of you who are fans.  Afterwards, over tequilla and Jamieson, Mistress made it clear that she would much rather do Antonio Banderas than Josh Brolin.

At home Slave and Mistress made up for a missed afternoon sex opportunity, and Mistress made sure she had a particularly hard cock by requiring me to insert my little white probe.

Afterwards, we drifted off, and Slave had an intriguing dream worth sharing.

We were in Paris, a place where Mistress and Slave have been together, though it was years ago.

We had arranged to meet some friends. Were they French? Or American? Maybe a little of both.

But among them was a couple and their Parents.

It seemed to be M, his wife B, and  M’s ubiquitous in-laws, who Mistress says are often weekend visitors at our Western Correspondent’s home.

There was a brief meeting of the group in front of some stately Parisian Manse. Introductions were made. Hands were shaked. Or kissed.

Then followed a scene at dinner in a very elegant Parisian restaurant.

Maybe I am too much of a foodie, but I have a specific recall of the starter course: a seafood combo: poached salmon, crab, smoked salmon, regaled with a variety of sauces and condiments.

It was so scrumptious, and the meal chatter was so delightful, that for a while I missed the fact that Mistress was missing. 

Then, at some point she slid into the chair next to me …. Passed me her crab (she’s allergic to shellfish)… and I noticed a little guilty smile on her face….

Then I noticed that the other guy – M, I assume – was sliding into his chair at the other end of the table.

He murmured something about a call he had to answer.

But I knew they had had their little quickie somewhere.

Did Mistress just have her first chance to venerate his special occasion cock?

Or did he take her over some antique chair where Marie Antoinette had sipped champagne.

I looked at her, raising an eyebrow…. Not trying to “out” her in front of B and the in-laws.

She gave me a little guilty shrug.

Busted.

 Her hand settled on my thigh, a finger sliding up toward my cock.

Twitch.

Ouch.

I apparently was caged for the occasion.

When she wakes up, I will have to cross-examine her about her little adventure.

It is Switch Day, after all.

.

Ideas?

I forgot to solicit any suggestions for switch day proceedings.  Our readers should feel free to make any special requests you may have for Mistress's weekly turning of the tables.

It's Second Nature to Me Now.

Mistress and I were on slightly different schedules yesterday.

So, without asking, I knew what that meant: a cage day.

As I slipped out of bed and picked up my laptop, I made sure that I grabbed the steel ring that creates the base of my cage from my dresser drawer.

And my first duty, before making my morning cup of coffee, is to smush my balls and then my cock through the tight ring. It takes a little poking and prodding, the only “touching” that Slave is allowed without express permission. Then my work down there is done.

Later, when it was time to wake Mistress, she seemed pleased that I had taken the initiative to make sure my ring was in place, ready to slide the cage on and have her close the lock.

I had already worshipped her with lips and tongue to a nice writhing orgasm. Now it was time for my reward (so I hoped, no guaranties of course). AS her fingers slid down to cup my cock and balls, she found the hard ring, capturing them.

“Good work, Slave…. You’re already to be caged for the day…. Plus I like what it does to your cock …..”

Oh Yes. I’ve commented on that before. The tight restraint makes me all that harder for her. Her teasing fingers drove me crazy, until I was begging, pleading to fuck her.

And when she finally rolled over and gave her consent, Mistress seemed pleased.

“My that is a hard one, Slave…..”

Later, when we talked during the day, Mistress was very solicitous.

“How’s the cage, Slave….”

Actually, it’s easy to forget, unless I am reminded…. Thanks, Mistress.

“Tight, Mistress…. Very tight.”

Mistress did check up on me after her lunch meeting. She had worn some elegant black trousers to work, with a lovely purple silky top – her version of dress down Friday.

But it was easy for her to slide her pants down and off, allowing me to lavish her with more worship before she headed back to work. She left behind a Slave with her taste and fragrance covering my face, and a cage that seemed all the tighter, at least for the moment.
And before you feel too sorry for me, rest assured that when I got home, Mistress unlocked me before our evening bike ride, and allowed me to fuck her once the teens were off to dinner.

She did share a bit of her talk with our Western Correspondent though:

“I told him how much I like you fucking me with that ring on, Slave…. “

Mmmmm. This Slave is a sucker for complements.