HNT / Better Safe than Sorry

So Mistress is off for two nights. 

She allowed me to fuck her yesterday morning, my cock and balls gripped by the hard ring that makes the base of my cage.  It makes it a tad harder: harder for her; harder to come. But when I do ---- yow. 

Highly recommended, with or without the confinement that comes when the party os over.

And that came for me at around 7:25 am yesterday. Mistress hid the key away.  And it was not at all clear when I would see it again.

“So here’s the deal, Slave.   You’ll be in the cage at my discretion while I am gone. I may consider letting you take it off tonight. We’ll see.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

I dropped her off at work, helped her unload her bag. Kissed her goodbye. We embraced and she gave me a discrete little “cage pat” out on the sidewalk in front of her aging office tower. 

“I’ll miss you, Mistress.”

“Me too, Slave.”

I went about my business of the day: balancing caseload with some political activities gearing up for Mid-term Madness come Tuesday.

Meanwhile Mistress and her 3 colleagues were on the road, heading right through the heart of  head stomping country.

We exchanged a few pithy text messages through the day.

“Stopping at Cracker Barrel.  Fun.”

Mistress is not a Cracker Barrel type. Though she has been known to gnaw on some beef jerky when on a road trip.

“Yum.  Just watch out for the guys in jack boots, Mistress. “

I was doing my best not to focus on what could be a potentially long term cock incarceration.

I also used Mistress absence to perform an annoying filial obligation: taking my aging cranky Mom to dinner with the surly teens. Amazingly, they were all on their best behavior and Mom had take home calzone to show her aging neighbors at the condo when I delivered her home.

I did get a chance to talk briefly with Mistress before picking up my mother.

“Busy here, Slave…. Just got to the hotel…. Will go to my room and rest a bit before dinner…. And I know the Western Correspondent is getting a little antsy to talk to me.”

Ahh.  The guy who wanted to make sure Mistress packed her Hitachi.

“Make sure you fit him in Mistress …. I am sure you could use a little ‘therapy’ after that long drive.”

“I will try, Slave….”

(M and I actually traded a few emails during the day. I could tell he was missing Mistress almost as much as I was.

“Try to keep her entertained, M …. Otherwise she might end up in bed with some

C & W crooner tonight….”

“Good point, Mick…..”)

After dropping off my mother, I was able to reconnect with Mistress before she headed to dinner with her colleagues in Music City.

“So did you track down M…. I know he was concerned about your well being, Mistress”.

“We did connect, Slave.”

“And did you get to use your power tool?”

“Yes, Slave. It was pretty funny. He was driving around and… you know.”

I imagined Mistress splayed on her hotel bed, her legs spread wide,  applying her powerful assistant at M’s directions. But let’s hope he didn’t join in the fun while driving. At least unless he has a hands free telephone.

And of course I was reminded of my cage when my mind drifted to Mistress coming at his command.

Damn.

“How many, Mistress.?”

“Only two slave….”

Mistress was off to dinner. I was home, catching up on old Jon Stewart episodes, paging through the Times. Avoiding incendiary sex blogs.

At around 11 pm, Mistress called.

“Still out to dinner Slave…. And next we are going to some club with a group of folks….How’s the cage?”

“Tight, Mistress….”

“Well…. I will let you out for sleeping, as long as you agree to ut it back on in the morning.  Word of honor?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“But remember…. No touching….”

“Of course, Mistress.”

She is a tender hearted, Mistress.

And even when I woke up last night with a raging hard-on, well, I followed the rule…. Thought of mortgage payments and stock portfolios… all the things that can divert one’s brain from the desire to touch.

I figure if the sub-sisters can do it, so can I.

But seeing the photo I took the other day in my office, remembering the silky touch of Mistress’s succulent folds against my tongue…. The intoxicating aroma of her flowing juices, her addictive taste….

Maybe I should go put my cage back on now, even before I give her my morning wake up call.

Better safe than sorry.

Caged Slave While Mistress Is on a Road Trip

So I am sitting down here in our kitchen, coffee made, Mistress snoozing upstairs in our Chambers, trying to figure the best way to catch up with all of you after two blog days devoted to Mistress’s sad Sunday “ordeal”.

The hard steel ring of my cock cage is already gripping the base of my balls and cock …. This is the day Mistress is heading off to her little work trip to the Capitol of Country Music, and I am to be caged in her absence.

“Trust but verify” is her watchword for her Slave, and who could blame her. Who knew she had a Ronald Reagan streak in her. “Spank one for the Gipper?”

So, catching up….

There was early Monday morning sex here at the Collins House of Corrections. Mistress still had some excess sexual energy to discharge, and I was happy to be of assistance before we headed for work.

And Monday was a long cage day for me too: We drove separately and our regular readers know what that means. Extra security required. And I was out later than normal: teaching a class at a local graduate school, a cameo appearance that had me dusting off some of my performance art skills. Well, the performance art that does not involve kneeling and lapping.

As I strode about the room, trying to engage and amuse while relying on the crutch of my power point presentation, I wondered what my earnest audience would think if they knew their confident, cocky speaker was sporting a stainless steel cock cage.

I got home to Mistress at about 8:30 pm, worshipped her succulent folds, then crashed. The performance art thing is fun, but takes some energy out of the old guy.

Tuesday morning was an early rise for us. Mistress had one of those annoying breakfast meetings that need to be scheduled at inhuman hours here in River City so as to cultivate the macho: “gotta’ be at my desk bright and early culture”, even though most of them are probably surfing sex blogs and facebook at those desks for a good chunk of their days.

So she had the benefit of my tongue and lips as she read my report to Warden M, but Slave’s twitching cock was placed on hold.



“Oh well, Slave…. You had your chance last night…. You will just have to wait until this evening.”

Can you blame her after Sunday’s treatment.

(By the way, make sure you check out the Governor’s comment on my report at the end of yesterday’s blog. Maybe his writer’s block is lifting?).

Fortunately, Mistress did have time to stop by after her early meeting yesterday for some early morning worship (round two for her that morning if you are keeping track).

She had broken her fashion mold, skipping the black for some sexily tactile brown suede boots, with deep brown tights. And you know both drove me crazy, particularly since it had been a “cruel” 24 hours now since Slave had his chance to come.

The photo above shows her as she begins the process of shedding her boot and one leg of her tights for a quicky worship opportunity. And she left me twitching in my office, the taste of her delicious juices smeared across my enraptured mouth.

Damn. Why was I so tired Monday evening.

On the drive home, Mistress talked about our protocol for her trip.

“Of course, you will be caged, Slave. I will hide the key where I can have you find it in an emergency… and, if you’re lucky, maybe there will be some video chat sex of there is time.”

“And what about M, Mistress? Do you have some plans with him?”

“I know he wants to have me go to my room in the afternoons for some of our “dates”…. But I just don’t know what the schedule will be like….”

“And I am sure you will be keeping your eye out for stud-ly country music stars too, Mistress….”

“We’ll see about that, Slave.”

Mistress does have carte blanche on such things. It’s always interesting to see who might flirt with her.

Some crazy storms and wind had cleared by the time we made it home. So there was a brisk bike ride in the chilly air that the passing front brought us.

Nice recharge opportunity for both of us.

And after the surly teens were fed, we had some catching up to do in our Chambers.

“Why don’t you insert your device, Slave.”

I did, and Mistress made sure that my cock had her full attention for the next 30 minutes or so….

“That seemed like a big one, Slave”, she commented, after I had exploded into her in the final throws of our tangle.

“Yes, it was Mistress.”

“One thing you need to do Slave, before you go to sleep….”

“and that would be?”

“Go pack the Hitachi in my bag, Slave…. Don’t want to forget that.”

No. I am sure she and M would be disappointed if her power tool got left behind.

The Warden Reports on the Imposition of his Prisoner's Sentence

From the Desk of  Warden Mick Collins, Collinsville House of Corrections

To: Governor M (AKA our Western Correspondent)

Re: Imposition of Sentence Imposed on Prisoner Molly Collins.

Governor, first I wanted to confirm receipt of your correspondence sentencing Ms. Molly Collins, our prisoner here at the Collinsville House of Corrections to a term of no less than 24 hours of orgasm denial, coupled with various forms of  tickling, teasing and torment (TTT).

We pride ourselves in our TTT treatment here and went to work bright and early on Sunday morning, as reported in  my earlier memorandum  to you.

As the day progressed it seemed that Ms. Collins was responding well to the prescribed sentence: there was the tell tale labored breathing, squirming, whining and cajoling that comes with the knowledge that her primitive longings would not fulfilled anytime soon. And the scent of her, Governor!  It was an olfactory outrage.

For the record, I wanted to confirm receipt later that day of the following correspondence, which appeared to be from your office, though I must say that I wondered whether the little minx had somehow hired a hacker to hijack your email account:

“Of course as the governor, so to speak,  I may entertain a afternoon plea for clemency,, plea being the operative word, and of course I would never override the warden if he thought the full sentence should be served...  will await a plea or instructions here in the governor’s  mansion.”

In any event, I suspect that Prisoner Collins, if she was not the source of this message, somehow obtained access to it and saw her opening.

I was in the common room, watching a Sunday afternoon football game with other members of our staff and several prisoners when Ms. Collins asked if she might return to her cell for a rest period. Apparently the persistent touch of my fingers sliding through those sopping and aromatic folds had become a little too frustrating for her to handle. And since she had endured this treatment for an hour or so, I figured it would be consistent with our TTT protocol to give her about a 45 minute break for her to consider the folly of her ways before resuming alternative “therapy.”

After the game ended with yet another ignominious defeat for the local team, I went up to Ms. Collins cell to take out a little of my own frustrations on the needy little slut. I figured she could endure some special handling at the end of my cock for a while, before the dinner hour here at the House of Corrections.

When I entered the room, I found to my surprise that the squirmy little slut was on the phone. So much for our ban on cell phones for our prisoners. Another rule honored in the breach.

“I’m talking to the Governor, Warden. He tells me that he will commute my sentence.”

Apparently she had decided to proceed Pro Se, and was making a personal plea for clemency!  You really need to get your Chief of Staff to filter those types of calls, Governor, particularly on Sundays.

I expressed disbelief.

“How do I know that’s really the Governor, slut?  You could be manipulating the system.”

“He’s doubting my word, Governor.  Will you talk to Warden Mick directly and let him know I’m off the hook?”

She handed me the phone.

“Hey Mick….. how’s it going there.  Man…. I can’t believe how badly both our teams sucked today.”

Sure enough, unless she was wily enough to hire a clever impersonator, it seemed to be you, Governor.

“So what do we do with our Mistress / Slave here M?  She seems to be pretty desperate, though I think she might be able to suck it up until tomorrow when her original sentence expires. Do you really want me to commute that sentence?”

“What I told her is that it’s up to you, Mick…. You decide whether to finish the job or let her off the hook.”

Apparently Mistress’s cajoling has softened up the Governor. No big surprise there. Maybe next time she needs one of those Hannibel Lector gag / masks to stifle all that wheedling.

“Yes, sir.  I will proceed at my own discretion.”

I handed the phone back to Mistress. She turned on the charm for you, Governor. As she signed off No doubt she is thinking she can wangle some high level appointment in your next term. A real rags to riches story in the making. From lowly prisoner to Director of Corrections!  Please.

After she signed off, another successful appeal put to bed, she smiled at me.

‘So do I get to come now, Slave?’

She was feeling her oats, having reduced the Governor to her sniveling patsy.

“Take off the dress, prisoner. Things are now at my discretion ….”

She was positioned on her back on the bed, her head at it’s foot. The towel strips used on her legs earlier this morning secured her arms, spread wide.

That gave me ready access to her aromatic folds, already squirming in contemplation of her early release. The photograph documents this final stage of her TTT treatment.

“I do get to come now, don’t I Slave?”

“Let’s just see how things, develop….. And how nicely you beg. See if you can be as persuasive with me as you were with the Governor.”

I deployed the feather, one of ‘Nilla’s suggestions. And a useful one. The prisoner squirmed nicely as I let it slide from toe sole of her foot, up her leg and then dip into her sodden valley at the apex of her  thighs.

“Stop…. Slave……that’s just too much……”

I did. After a while. A long while.

I dipped a finger in,  collecting, then tasting those juices. I even gave the prisoner a little taste, dipping a finger into her wanton lips.

“Aren’t you just scrumptious, Mistress?”

She just scowled. 

“Can’t I just come…… ?”

That’s when I deployed the trusty Hitachi. By then she knew that I was not going to drag it our much longer, If only for fear of reprisals once she persuaded you to make her my boss.

She was squirming in earnest.

“Oh God… I really can’t hold back anymore, Slave…. Please may I come…please?”

“Yes, you may…..”

And of course she did: Shaking, jerking, wrapping her legs around that churning device, hugging it to her needy mound, her head thrown back, arms straining against her bonds.

I suspect your voters would like to see these TTT sentences, and their final acts,  shown on the local public access channels, Governor.  The DVR’s would be churning. Think about including that in your platform when you run for your 2^nd term.

And since I had only eased up but not shut off the power tool, she quickly was coming again. Ditto the paragraph above.

Afterwards, she did show her gratitude. It’s one of the perks of my job as Warden here, along with the bloated pension and lots of sick days.

“Warden….. would you like to fuck me now.”

Who could resist that sweet, if manipulative, voice.

In summary, just another day of the prisoners running the prison Governor.

“Same as it ever was.”

---

Mistress's Day of Denial

Some of you were snickering when I reported on last Sunday’s “Switch” activities, when I decided to overload Mistress with a cornucopia of orgasms.

I could hear you. “Wow, that sure was tough on her, Mick.”

So this week, with prompting from our Western Correspondent – who finally earned his lofty monthly retainer and expense check – we tried a completely different approach.

When I came upstairs to let Mistress read the blog, and learn about her sentence, she was one step ahead of me.

“I saw that email from M, Slave…. You aren’t really going to do those things are you?”



She was already resorting to manipulation. Wheedling to get her way. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had already snuck one in under the wire, once she learned of her “sentence”

“And why not, Mistress. Doesn’t it turn you on to have M calling the shots, denying you through his minion here in River City?”

“Well….”

My finger was slowly circling her moist clit, where my tongue had explored while she read the blog. Her hips were already squirmy.

“I suppose it does Slave…”

I went to work at that point.

Her hands were bound in those little red cuffs, then tied off, together at the top of the bed.

Her ankles were tied off to the corners with some long soft strips torn from a beach towel, spreading her legs wide.

You can see her in the photo, the feather ‘Nilla recommended ready for action.

She looked delicious. And the aroma of molten cunt was already filling our room.

As M suggested, she got a good spanking first. Her bottom glowed red. She whined a bit, but took her medicine well.

I suppose she knew it was far better than what was to come.

Then She was tickled.

The feather has a nice squirmy effect on her, particularly when the tip pokes and probes between her juicy folds. Her hips strained against her bindings, in a futile attempt to evade.

“Why don’t you just let me come, Slave….. we don’t have to tell M….”

Oh, the Slave conspiracy theme. I was not falling for it.

“But that would be wrong, Mistress….”

I fed her my cock, kneeling on the bed to allow her access. She did an excellent job of bringing it to full dimensions.

Then I slid onto her back. She was so wet and eager that I found my mark immediately, sliding deep inside. But taking it slow and easy to keep Mistress on the edge.

I’ll give her credit. I know she was struggling to resist coming as I fucked her from behind. Usually the friction of her clit against the bed, and the pumping from my hard cock makes it easy for her to tip over the edge. Her labored breathing told me how hard she was working at staying under control.

“Good girl, Mistress.”

I was getting a little close to the edge myself, so slid out and picked up Mistress’s trusty Hitachi, lying next to the bed.

She saw what I was doing.

“That is completely unfair, Slave…..”

I laughed at her trepidation.

“Oh Mistress….. suck it up…..”

I learned that the Hitachi is not just a one trick pony. It also makes a lovely tickling implement, if slid along the soles of a restrained slut’s feet, or under her arms. Lots of struggling and squirming ensued, making our old wooden bed groan.

But when I slid it under those squirming hips, letting it come into contact with her sopping folds it was a different song that Mistress sang.

Her hips were doing their best to pull away, but there was very little range of motion for her.

“You’ve really got to let me come, Slave…. Or take that thing away. I really can’t take it anymore without coming.”

I decided to show her mercy. The Hitachi was parked. Her legs were untied. I rolled her over.

Then I fucked her.

I was not on denial, after all. I made sure I took it slow and easy until I was ready to come. And I did ask for permission. It’s hard to break that habit.

I almost felt guilty taking my own pleasure while Mistress was denied hers’.

Almost.

“You really are doing this, Slave?”

I think she thought M and I were just pulling her leg. That I would drag things out but ultimately relent.

“Let’s go for a bike ride, Mistress, that will distract you from your plight”

We went biking. When we got home I was off to do some maintenance at a rental property we own closer to downtown. But first I had some orders to fulfill.

“Come here Mistress….”

I was sitting on the bed.

“And pull those riding shorts down to your knees.”

She gave me the “you’ve got to be kidding me look”.

But she was a good little slut, and complied. Maybe she thought I would relent.

Instead, I pulled her over my lap for that nice bare bottom spanking M had prescribed for her. She does squirm nicely.

And when I asked her to spread those delicious thighs a bit, to allow more access, she greedily complied.

But when my fingers began to do what they have been trained to do, she began to object.

“You’re driving me crazy, Slave….. why don’t you just let me come.”

“But it’s not even noon, Mistress….. just think of our friends who have had to endure so much more denial that a mere few hours…..”

“But they don’t have someone teasing and fucking them when they are on denial, do they?”

She had a point. So I stopped my fingering of her aromatic folds, and let her off the hook.

Later in the day, she lay next to me on the couch as I read the Times and watched our miserable NFL team.

She had not gone the multiple layers of riding shorts root. Instead she elected the naked cunt under black cotton dress route. That gave me easy access to finger and taunt her every ten minutes or so.

“You know you’re driving me crazy, don’t you Slave….”

“But you taste so good, Mistress,” I said, as I licked her juices from my fingers.

And she does have a lovely pout.

Unfortunately, dear readers, my deadline has approached. Time for me to go upstairs and wake Mistress…..So I will leave you waiting for the conclusion of this little tale of frustration.

Until tomorrow, Mick