Arghhh.

Molly and Mick had a long and ugly election night.

No, nothing bad between us.

Just saw too many of our friends go down to ignominious defeat.

It may take another 24 hours or so for us to get back into our upbeat and sexy mood.

But we will make it.

I guess we could just accept the new world order.

Start smoking cigarettes.

Work on our tans and golf games.

Stop paying taxes.

Now there's a plan.

Gone Electionering

You won't be hearing much from Mick and Molly over the next 48 hours. Mick has some election duties here in River City, and my day will start around 5:30 am and end who knows when. But I thought I would leave you with this image of Molly, after I led her from her ordeal bent over that table, and before I proceeded to take her from behind.

Afterwards, on our drive back home, Mistress got a call from our Western Correspondent.



"M says that he likes that shot you texted him, Slave. It was almost as good as that one with me over that picnic table."

"Glad it amused him, Mistress..."

They caught up on their day for a while. But soon Mistress's chit chat with M took a different turn.

"Ummmm..... really.... Slave, he wants me to get myself off.... is that OK?"

"You don't need my permission, Mistress."

"He says it's OK, M..... but I have to take off my jeans...."

Mistress handed me the phone, and M and I caught up on our football's teams ignominious defeats as Mistress squirmed and wriggled out of her jeans and panties.


" She' ready for you now, M."

Mistress took the phone back form me. So, as I was navigating through through the highways of northern Indiana, Mistress was navigating her well manicured fingers through her slick folds, while murmuring over the phone to her long distance Master.

Of course, I couldn't hear what he was saying that had those fingers working so zealously, her musky aroma filling our little steel and glass capsule traveling past those corn fields.

But it must have been compelling.

Horniness is the Mother of Invention

We were tucked away in this old Victorian “rooming house” at the Lake Michigan Beach. Leaves almost gone from the trees.

Chilly wind blowing off the lake.

Winter coming on.

Our friends from out west were off with their team on the flight home.

So the apartment we had rented with them in mind was now all ours. And as I worked on yesterday morning’s blog, I reconnoitered the furnishings and fixtures to see what I could improvise for a suitable switch opportunity when my Mistress woke from her beauty rest.

As you can see, I settled on a the little 4 person dining room table tucked against the wall, repositioning it closer to a plug so that the mighty Hitachi, still tucked into Mistress’s bag from her naughty phone sex date in River City with M, could be readily deployed.

When Mistress finally awake around 8:45 am, I was ready to pounce. She read the blog and your comments.

(“My, Aisha and Sin beat me to the blog this morning Slave”)

Then I pounced. Black rope was ready to bind her wrists in front.

“Not so tight Slave….do you think I’m really going to try to escape?”

“It’s always possible, Mistress.”

Then I pulled her up and out of bed.

“What….. where are we going.”

“There is a nice balcony out front, Mistress. Just think what the cool wind would do to your nipples….”

“You wouldn’t ….”

Well, I would actually …. But not this morning.

I pulled her into the little living room, over the table, onto which I had positioned a thick cushion. Fixed her hands to the front legs. Then roped her thighs to the rear legs in that nice and available position illustrated above.

There was then a photo opportunity. One shot was on my little cell phone. A Text message to our Western Correspondent.

“Look what you are missing, M.”

Was that cruel? Maybe. But Mistress seemed very supportive of the idea.

“That will be a nice wake up for him, Slave.”

Photos taken to record the moment, I turned my attention to Mistress.

My probing fingers demonstrated how wanton she really is. All that Molly juice. All those little wiggles.

“Wet already, Mistress…..and I haven’t even started.”

I stated with my broad western belt.

“Owww…. That hurts Slave.”

“are you asking me to stop?”

“Ummmm ….. no.”

Of course not. My little slut for the day liked it. It got her ass all squirmy, witching back and forth as she made her pathetically unsuccessful efforts to avoid each slap from the belt.

once she turned a nice rosy glow, it was time for her to feed a bit on my cock. Which, once nicely firmed up, poked and probed at her…. The angle and height of the table did not really permit a good solid fucking from behind, but the teasing was nice for both if us. Well at least it was for me.

Then there was some hand spanking. Some more teasing with probing fingers.

Mistress was moaning a bit now, well Into her role as my Slave for the day.

That’s when I reached for the Hitachi, tucked under a nearby couch.

Mistress started when she hurt the low hum as I turned it on.

“Ohhh…. You found it Slave….”

“of course, Mistress…. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

As I slid it between her legs, pressing it home, Mistress was almost immediately begging ….

“DO you mind if I come now, Slave….. I really need to …..”

“I think what you need is to beg…..”

She was writhing now, tugging against the ropes that bound her thighs apart, and to the legs of the table.

“Oh…. God….. please Slave… please.”

I slid the device down her thigh a bit, damping her urgency. At least so I thought.

“Ohhh…. So mean Slave…. I need it…. Put it back…. Please.”

I am a pushover, as you all have come to know.

So I buckled to Mistress’s pleas. The power tool was quickly back where Mistress wanted it – pressed home against her twitching, soaking folds.

“Oh, yes…. Slave….. now please may I come..”

“Yes, Mistress…. You may.”

It took no longer than 5 seconds before Mistress was straining all the harder against the ropes, squeezing her thighs in a death grip around the business end of the Hitachi, crying out her passion, hips flaying against the table.

I could have relented then, knowing she had her wanton way, but I continued to press it home until she rode the cunning vibrations through another mighty cum.

As she collapsed against the table, she was making another plea….

“Turn it off now please Slave…. So sensitive….”

And of course I did.

Her legs were unbound then. But not her hands. I wanted to control her still, leading her by the black rope into our little bedroom. Spreading her on the bed, on her tummy.

Then I took my reward from behind, sliding hard and deep into her, burying my face in her long, fragrant hair.

But now I’m hearing Mistress’s footsteps upstairs. And I am thinking that this story may have to resume tomorrow…. I have some other plans.

Rip, Ripple, Rippling

That comment yesterday morning, the one about our Friday night activities being “F****ing hot, came, of course, from the Western Correspondent.

And when Mistress read it, as I showered her damp and musky folds with attention from my tongue, it seemed to make her all the more wanton and responsive to my ministrations.

M’s reaction to our little tale had rippled back to Mick and Molly back here in the heartland.

And she was pleased to discover, as her hands groped for my cock when her first orgasm of the day was in the books, that her sexual energy had rippled along to me.

“Oh… already prepared to fuck me, Slave…. That’s what I like.”

Yes, my “quick start” mechanism was in good working order .


After, we took a walk on the Lake Michigan beach, all bleak and blustery, the sun just rising over the bluff. Then it was breakfast with our friends before heading to my alma mater for a football extravaganza

These are good friends that we see only a few times each year. But because they know us not from the world of work, family and kids in River City, somehow we seem more open with them, and them with us. We trade candid stories about kids, ex’s, or our life before we went “public”, much more easily than with our family and friends at home.

But how far do you go?

At some point over the weekend, I think I referred to my beloved Molly as “Mistress”. It’s hard not to let it slip. But it seemed to fly past them.

And when we mentioned a trip next weekend to a party a few hours south of River City, it’s hard not to share the backstory: the blog, our new blogland friends, etc.

But I stepped back from that ledge. Not quite ready for the plunge.

Later as we walked around campus, Mistress was checking her I-phone.

“M’s watching Colbert and Stewart, Slave. Their big rally in D.C. He says it’s hilarious.”

Had Molly just mentioned M to our friends?

I whispered to her, “Uhhh…. Does Jane know about M?”

Maybe Molly had disclosed what I had contemplated, during some girl talk that I had missed?

“ Oh… I just told her that he was our friend.”

After the game, our amigos from out West headed back to their hometown on their team’s plane. And as we walked back to our car, Mistress shared a few more details about her texts from M during the day.

“He says that our blog really made him hot this morning, Slave…. He read it and then went upstairs and had ‘epic’ sex with B….”

“Glad we could spread the lust, Mistress.”

.

Hearing that our activities and words can light fires so far away is quite a rush for this old Irishman.

And on the drive back to the Lake, Mistress and M got to talk a while. It had been two days, and it was clear M missed Molly. And she had missed him.

Over dinner, we were contemplating what ripples we might encounter next weekend, when Aisha and Sir D join us for dinner and we attend their local play party.

“I ordered those special hose, Slave. The one’s with the strategic opening, so you can have easy access.”

“Well, theoretically, not just me, Mistress.”

“True, Slave…. So true.”

Mistress eyebrows lift suggestively, that little teasing smile hinting at the possibilities.

“I think all that talk about you taking on other cocks must have gotten M going, Mistress…..”

“Yes, Slave…. But sometimes I think you just try to tease him.”

“Who me? …. Maybe he was imagining it was his cock…. That I was watching you suck him off, Mistress.”

Mistress’s eyes lost focus a bit….I could sense that little squirm across the table as she fingered her wine glass. Apparently that scenario had struck a nerve.

“But what about you Slave…. What should you wear to the party?”

“The cage?”

“Well, of course. But wouldn’t that get uncomfortable?”

“I suspect it might.”

“Well I could always have the key with me, in case of an emergency.”

“How about a collar, Mistress?”

“Good idea…. But would I get a leash?

“If you would like.”

“I think I would, Slave.”

“Should I bring along those red leather cuffs, in case you want to lock them on my wrists?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Slave. But wouldn’t all this be a little humiliating for you?”

“Not if there are other folks dressed in similar fashion, Mistress. It would sort of be like a Halloween Party, wouldn’t it? And I would just be showing m devotion to you.”

All this talk led Mistress and Slave to skip dessert.

At least the sugary kind.

With our friends gone, and the little apartment we had rented for the weekend now all to ourselves, we retreated to bed, and some “Epic” activity of our own.