Mistress has been mercilessly exploiting my craven reaction to those black tights with the strategic opening since she acquired them for her get up for our Much and Dungeon trip last weekend.
When she sees a little opening (no pun intended) that will further enthrall her Slave she goes for it, sort of like a WWF wrestler “heel” exploiting the bad knee of his opponent in the ring . And I am so easily drawn in, even though I know exactly what she is up to. What else to expect from the stupid, if greedy, Slave that I have become to her.
So yesterday, before our planned lunch together, Mistress popped into my office. Looking ravishing in her black boots, black dress, and black tights. Nothing unusual there. But I was soon to discover exactly which tights she was wearing.
I pulled her favorite chair up against the door, draped it with the maroon blanket well marinated with her fragrant juices, and she sat, pulling up her skirt.
“I guess we can do this with my boots on today, Slave.”
Sure enough her pink, full lips, already glistening, were there on full lascivious display, peeking through that clever opening, all ready for my worship.
Before I fell to my knees, I knew we had a moment to share with our Western Correspondent. He’s usually in need of inspiration. I positioned Mistress, legs spread, skirt hiked up, her naughty parts peeking out between those well tighted legs.
Snap.
Then I texted it to M.
“Mistress in her tricked out tights.”
That’s when I got to work.
“Yum, Mistress.”
“Glad you appreciate it, Slave.”
Oh, believe me, I do.
And when we were done, and Mistress was off to her office, and then to a dinner meeting afterwards, I was left to contemplate her waltzing about downtown, or dining with some male colleagues and clients, with her parts all shiny and damp, peeking out at the apex of those athletic thighs.
Gulp.
I took one of the teens to the movies after dinner, as Mistress did her dinner meeting. We both arrived home around the same time, at about 9:30. I was more than ready to redeem my credit for our earlier worship in bed with her.
As we shed our cloths, Mistress had a generous offer:
“Would you like me to sleep in the tights, Slave?”
“Sure…. If it’s not too uncomfortable, Mistress.”
“They’re very comfortable, Slave…. And I know what they do to you.”
“True, Mistress….”
We lay in bed a bit, catching up on emails. Mistress read Aisha’s entry about our evening at the Dungeon. We reminisced a bit about the remarkable things we had seen and heard.
That seemed to get us both in that mood, and I found myself grazing under the sheets, between Mistress’s thighs, my senses drowning in the taste of her arousal.
Unlike my daytime, work-a-day worship, we had no deadlines or fears of interruption, so I took my time working her over with lips and tongue: probing, poking, suctioning her tender clit between my lips, let her build to a shivering quaking series of climaxes as a finger sought out her tender little spots inside.
I get in my own little Sub zone in these moments, not unlike what Aisha describes as she let D and his young acolyte wind her into a cocoon of soft ropes on Saturday evening.
When she was satisfied, Mistress pulled me up to her, feeling her way down to my cock, gripping it firmly in those tender fingers
“Ohhh…. You’re so hard, Slave….. would you like to fuck me now?”
“Of course, Mistress….”
I slid onto her, thrilled by the friction of that opaque black fabric against my thighs, belly, and balls. She used her fingers to help me get past the opening and sink deeply into her. Then, buried inside, I did what a good slave is supposed to do at these moments: fuck her silly.
Fortunately, after a good bit of mutual silliness, Mistress gave me permission to come the very first time I asked.
Time to share some of those memories of our evening with Aisha and D while still freshly marinating.
If you are experienced in this scene, then you might want to pass on my naïve reportage. Mistress and I may talk a good game, but we are really just pretenders, not contenders, when it comes to hard core rope work, or the administration or receipt of serious discipline and pain. Sure we have read about the subject, enjoyed ‘Nilla’s fantasies, and Aisha’s first hand accounts, but we’ve never found ourselves confronting it first hand the way we did on Saturday night.
And while my snarky sense of humor is hard to suppress, please be assured that the fact that Mistress and her Slave found a little humor in the night’s festivities should not be taken as disapproval. God knows folks who spend their time the way we did Sunday evening, getting bossed around by our Western Correspondent from the Mountain Time Zone, hardly have standing to be judgmental.
To each their own kink, even if it might cause Molly and Mick to choke back an occasional giggle, or stifle a raised eyebrow.
That said …. Here is our report, as seen first hand through the eyes of your humble Eastern Correspondent and his compelling Mistress.
From the munch we followed Aisha, D and the other cars to a rather seedy neighborhood south of their downtown, to an old warehouse with a parking steward suavely dressed in a Three Musketeers’ hat, feather and all.
He pointed to a good location after determining that we had no plans to spend the night. We parked and toted ourselves and out bag of tricks to the entrance where ID’s were being checked. Some of our fellow travelers clearly came prepared for an overnight with sleeping bags in hand.
Down a hallway, and past a kitchen stocked with soft drinks, water and munchies was a a large, high ceilinged L shaped space, packed with all sorts of devices conducive to the detention and discipline of deserving (and undeserving) Subs and Slaves.
A rope bed (an elevated surface with criss-crossed ropes as it’s surface)
Pillories and Posts.
Stocks.
Several St Andrew’s crosses.
A Barbar’s chair.
(I wondered if there were some Sweeny Todd re-enactors on hand… my hand instinctively covered my throat.)
And that cunning suspension set that Aisha found herself flying from later in the evening.
There were flashing lights, a little stage, and soft ambient music with a techno tilt filling the room.
Other rooms, off an upstairs balcony and down hallways weren’t furnished yet, though the Kinky Kiwanis was planning a contest to furnish and decorate the side rooms. I can imagine a fundraising event focused on a contest for the kinkiest themed play spaces on the not too distant future.
And as we learned from the MC at the munch, the Dungeon is not just used for these periodic play parties. You can for rent it for special occasions too. Wish we had thought of this for an upcoming birthday bash we have planned. A wedding maybe? How about a Bar Mitzvah with the Village People providing the music.
I can almost imagine all the kids waiting for turns to tie their high school crushes to the rope bed, or maybe play spin the flogger.
But back to the facts….
Molly stripped away her skirt and sweater, getting down to those sexy black tights, her thigh hi boots, and black strapless top. I slid and zipped up her long black over the elbow gloves.
With my chain leash clipped to my black collar, we seemed to fit in well. We ventured away from our courteous guides to take in the startling sights and sounds on our own.
Mistress found a bowl of Halloween candy, and I was instructed to stuff my poclets with little morsels, to feed her as the evening progressed.
“Be careful not to smear my lipstick, Slave.”
“Of course not Mistress…. I don’t want to earn your wrath with all these opportunities for torture so easily at hand.”
The room soon filled with lots of watchers, like us, sashaying about in various states of dress and undress, taking in the strange, compelling and / or (in some cases) repelling sights and sounds.
And there were plenty of participants, too, who clearly enjoyed the audience as they either endured or imposed their perverse will on their “victims”.
And the body types! A cornucopia of combinations: Skinny guys with large women. Large women with extra-large women. Large guys with slight women.
One tall, slender guy was naked, but for his tattoos and a steel cage containing his cock. His rather full figured Mistress had a chain choke collar around his neck as they strolled about taking in the mini-dramas unfolding around them.
Another man, who seemed more the Dom-ish type at the Munch – where I noticed him arrive in a local sports team pullover – was now being led around on a leash with nary but sheer black panties, ivory stockings and a rather ill fitting white bra. His Mistress soon was tying him bent over to a low bench, where she proceeded to whack him with some sort of cane as he squirmed in response to her discipline.
Afterwards, when she released him, it seemed he had to readjust those tight panties to cover his cock, much to her amusement.
There was a large man with an impressive collection of floggers, working his way through said collection as he methodically worked over an equally large woman standing against a post, her arms bound around it.
“That actually looks like it might feel good, Slave…. He’s not really hitting her that hard….”
Maybe so, but after thr first 30 minutes or so…. All bets are off.
Remember that skinny, naked guy with the cock cage? We soon discovered him bound to a bench, on his stomach, knees bent forward, face down, his ball sack presenting a rather obvious target of convenience as his Mistress thwacked him with a mini-flogger over and over again.
Ahhh… a little CBT.
He was so well tied that there was no squirming he could do that could help him avoid those repeated blows. His cries of anguish did not seem to be overly dramatized.
“Glad you’re not into that, Mistress….”
“You should be glad, Slave.”
Her hand felt for my well caged cock through my jeans. But nothing it had seen so far had tested the hard metal restraints.
We heard more male moans and screams of agony emanating from a little alcove as we sat watching a skilled Master work over his well endowed female slave as she squirmed, spread eagled on a St. Andrews’s cross.
A crowd was gathered at the opening of the alcove, but the sounds were so disturbing neither one of us felt compelled to stand and crane our necks to satisfy our curiosity. When we asked D what was up, he told us he knew these two, and that the Male slave had finally agreed to submit to a procedure involving a tool inserted up the little channel on his penis and electric current.
The thought of that made Mick and Molly squirm, and not in a good way. To us, a very big “Yuck”. But, as we reminded ourselves, we were not there to judge.
We found out what the barber’s chair was for: bootblacking, not faux throat slitting. Sub service via polishing the boots of others. A guy thing, so it seemed. But I did not offer up my boots.
One of the more overtly sexy scenes involved a woman tied to the rope bed, spread eagled, various electrodes attached to key body parts – nipples, tummy, cunt. And she was squirming mightily, and rather sensuously, as two masters controlled the flow of current from one spot to the next.
D explained the process to Mistress who did not seem interested in being the next “subject”.
“Seems painful to me”.
But D disagreed.
“Believe me, she’s enjoying it.”
I could believe it.
One of the more entertaining displays was the Master who had tied three young 20 something types side by side with wrists raised above them to the suspensions set Aisha and D so lovingly used later in the evening.
“They look like refugees from a local Sorority, Mistress”
D seemed to think this fellow was a bit of an amateur when it came to applying his ropes. But I must say I was amused when, once he finally had them tied, he wrapped big bands of duct tape around them, and proceeded to alternate fondling, kissing and cropping them, front and back, to their apparent delight.
One had to imagine what would happen when the girls and their dom left for the evening. I had in my mind that they might turn the tables on him – a sort of “Three in the attic” scene, but with duct tape remainders stuck to their bellies.
I;ve been going on a while, and Mistress calls. Better post this now, and resume with a few more details tomorrow.
I do plan to get back to a better description of the sights and sounds of our Dungeon visit with Aisha and D, but while all this is fresh…..
I could be in a bit of trouble with Mistress.
Sunday morning – after I posted that rather long entry about our evening down river with Aisha and her D (or should I say D and his Aisha) – I slid back onto bed with my snoozing Mistress. We had the advantage of the time shift, and it seemed like a very good idea for me to drift back to sleep along side her, all spooned together.
When I woke about an hour later I realized two things: Mistress still had those fetching black tights with the strategic opening; and the friction of flesh against that soft, seductive fabric had given me a raging hard on.
She was waking too. And soon my fingers were sliding from behind, between her legs, poking and probing for that generous opening…..
Well you can imagine what ensued.
Mistress was coming with a soft, moaning shudder.
I was asking for permission to fuck her.
And then I was feeling that fabric all up and down my thighs, caressing my balls as I took her quickly and with mucho gusto.
I think I’ve mentioned my hose / tights fetish before. It probably dates back to 7th grade in a catholic grade school. When the girls started showing up in stockings and ‘r over the knee socks, and it was all the rage to steal glances of their fleshy thighs.
By high school, stealing glances had turned to attempts to cop a feel as one‘s girlfriend sat next to you in the bus to an away football game, or in the bucket seat on the passenger side of Dad’s car.
Ahhh. Those were good days.
And of course Mistress knows how to push all my smutty little buttons all too well.
Well I succumbed to it big time yesterday morning.
And afterwards, as we clung and cuddled and contemplated packing up and hitting the road, Mistress had a question:
:What happened to my Switch Day, Slave?”
Oops. A little too eager. Slave deserves to be punished for his negligence. Mistress counts on that time as much as I enjoy it.
Indeed, I’m wondering if the dungeon is ever open on Sundays?
(Come to think of it, I should have bushwhacked her at the stroke of midnight Saturday…. Bound her to a St. Andrew’s cross, and worked on some impact play. I had the Hitachi in our little kinky kit bag…. But no extension cord. Next time!)
On the drive home we called Aisha to express our thanks, and M gave Mistress a call to get a full report. He seemed relieved that Mistress had not been waylaid by some Dom on the hunt to extend his stable. AS I drove they talked about the difference between a BDSM scene focused on torment and pain, and a place like Hedonism in Jamaica where sex was the main course and the BDSM accoutrements were merely the accessories.
Molly is clearly interested more in the latter.
“Just tell us, M …. Mick and I will be there in a heartbeat….”
Our afternoon was devoted to helping surly teen number one with college applications, and reading the desultory news in the Times.
After dinner, as I cleaned up, Mistress got a text from M.
“He must be home alone, Slave, and wants to talk….”
“Of course, Mistress…. I will finish up here.”
While Mistress need not ask my permission she is always considerate of me. She then headed out onto our deck, and sat out there as the sun went down and the leaves swirled, catching up privately.
They need (and deserve) some private space to nurture their flame. And I was happy to watch a little football and read Frank Rich’s latest whiney screed as they did.
Mistress came back inside in about 30 minutes, and we headed up to our chambers, where the plan was to read, maybe watch Boardwalk Empire, until sleep caught up with us. We were both pretty fried so sex was not top of mind.
Until the phone rang.
“Hmmm, it’s M again…. he must be lonely, Slave.”
She laid back, in her short black nighty, phone to her ear. I was paging through the sports section, watching the Raiders and Chiefs in OT.
“What are we doing… Mick’s here watching football …. I’m reading.”
Dhe was curled on the bed, focused on his voice. I was focused on a long reception by an Oakland receiver, well within field goal range. This would be a short OT.
“Really …. Hmmmm …. Mick, M says turn off the TV….”
I could go with this. Not really a Raider or Chiefs fan.
“Yes, Mistress….”
“Now he says you should lick me Slave…. You know where.”
Of course, I knew exactly where. I positioned her just so, knelt on the floor and went about my assigned task.
Mistress was focused on whatever sordid tale M was spinning. I was teasing her rosy clit between my lips, sucking hard, pulling it not so gently side to side.
And soon Mistress’ thighs were wrapped around my back and she was thrusting at me, describing her bliss to M, as she came and came….
Tag teamed again.
“I think my Slave should fuck me now, M….”
And, surprise, surprise, I was suddenly in the mood.
But M ad other ideas.
“Slave, did you unpack the Hitachi….”
I found it, plugged it in, handed it to her. She was deeply under M’s spell now, conveying his direction that I should focus on her feet as she took her power tool for a spin.
I sucked and massaged her feet and toes as she writhed and wriggled on the bed, the churning tool trust against her undulating cunt.
She came hard again, moaning, asking me to climb up next to her.
“Can Slave fuck me now, M…. I need his cock.”
She was tying with it with her fingers, making it even harder.
“What am I doing…. I’m playing with his cock, M…. it’s so hard.”
Uhhh, yeah.
“You don’t want me to touch it….Slave, play with your cock for me….lying there…. Just keep it hard …”
I did just that… a rarity for me under my “no touch” regime.
“What are you doing M…. Ummmmm ….. this is perfect for me …. My two men both playing with their hard cocks …. Thinking about me.”
I guess it was an intriguing situation for Mistress. And when they finally signed off, my cock was still ready for her.
When we were done, we both had that “what was that?” look on our face.
Somehow our quiet Sunday night had been delightfully hijacked by our Western Correspondent.
Do you think he will send in a request for holiday pay?
It was a rich and full day for us. And a long night. So be understanding if I dribble out parts of our day - and night – over the next few episodes here at UCTMW.
Lots of material to work with.
And Slave is a bit groggy. Mistress is still snoozing on the other side of our room.
For the moment I will simply slide past our Saturday morning sex, and the entertaining conversation Molly had with our Western Correspondent on the drive down here to meet Aisha and her Sir D.
But it was clear he wanted to stay in touch as long as he could. M was living vicariously, and maybe a little anxious that his loving little slut might fall under the spell of a more accessible Dom.
Cute. And who could blame him.
So when we got to our hotel room here, a bit on the seedy side, romantically reminiscent of Molly and Mick’s “forbidden affair” days, M was in the mood to play …. With himself and us. He was exercising some authority.
Molly me read her text message from him and laughed.
“He wants to have a sex chat with us, Slave. In about 45 minutes…. And he says no coming until then.”
“Of course, Mistress….”
I offered to step out with the newspaper in the event Mistress wanted some private time with her long distance Master, but she demurred.
“No Slave…. It’s our weekend together. I’m sure M won’t mind if you join in. And by the way, he says ‘ditch the cloths’”.
We both did. Soon I was naked, and Mistress was down to sexy black panties.
We took a brief nap, then I got Aisha on the phone to firm up our rendezvous time. And I was talking to her, M called Molly, all ready for action. And Mistress was too.
“Slave, help me off with my panties.”
I fumbled with my phone, abruptly signing off with Aisha as I focused on preparing Mistress and her supplies for her slutty little session with M.
Sorry, Aisha. It seems we have cut you off this way more than once.
Following Mistress’s direction I found the Hitachi (be prepared!), and plugged it in. Mistress was laying back, legs spread, Hitachi already buzzing.
“M says you should worship my feet as I play with the Hitachi, Slave.”
Easily done. So as Mistress listened to M’s guidance, Hitachi pressed against her succulent folds, I knelt on the floor laving her toes and the smooth and sensuous arch of her foot with my tongue.
Yum.
Soon Mistress was begging M for permission to come. And he was no pushover. I loved the increasing desperation in his voice.
And when she finally persuaded him, she exploded, writhing and moaning on the bed, before flicking off her power tool, she was in the mood for my cock, that was certainly in the mood for her.
The fucking seemed to go on quite a while, and I could hear the faint sounds of M’s own release through the I-phone pressed hard against Mistress’s ear.
And of course this was just our warm up act.
Soon Mistress had signed off with M, and she was primping for our evening.
My get-up was simple and at her direction: cock cage, jeans, blue shirt, black cowboy boots.
Mistress had layers and accessories to shed or add as our evening progressed.
And yes, it was all in black. (The photo above is Mistress after the night was over. No photos in the dungeon, of course.)
We hooked up with Aisha and D, as arranged, at a lovely Italian restaurant in a funky urban neighborhood.
As you can imagine, Aisha and D are charming and great fun to be with. I worked on my deference as dinner progressed, modeling my behavior after the lovely Aisha. It was interesting to let D and Molly carry and guide the conversation. Though Molly noted more than once.
“You’re not talking much Mick!”
I guess I can be a little dominant in the typical social situation. But exercising my will to take on a different role in the company of folks who are clued in on our “situation” was, to tell you the truth, kind of …. hot.
I wonder if Aisha gets the same vibe.
At some point during dinner she was required to disclose that D had tied her into some type of crotch rope …. Something that required adjusting when she went to the lady’s room. It made her blush …. And blush some more when D gripped her hair from behind.
I so wanted to see it, but such a request would have been rude.
And of course I made full disclosure about my cage, which seemed to grow just a bit tighter when I acknowledged it.
Our dinner was filled with the mundane personal geography lessons, and more colorful talk about our little band of bloggers.
Were your ears burning? I assure you it was all good. It’s clear we love this odd little community we have created. We wish you all had been sitting around the table.
After dinner we followed D and Aisha to the local munch. We found a robust and diverse crowd of more than 130, above a local wine pub in an old warehouse district along the River. Maybe more on that later, but suffice it to say it was like a Kinky Kiwanis, with old friends catching up, new ones introduced, and announcements of upcoming events that had Molly and I suppressing our grins and raised eyebrows.
A Master / Slave duo made an oral presentation on creating and maintaining that type of relationship.
It was more Dale Carnegie than kinky, but emphasized the need to “write it down.”
“We’re ahead of them, Slave….”
True. Maybe we should offer a CLE course on Slave contract law at some future Munch.
Then …. Drum roll …. It was onto the play party.
The local dungeon is an expansive place, in a 70’s era warehouse. D clearly is a leader in the local community, and introduced us to an intriguing cast of characters as the evening progressed. He and Aisha gave us an initial tour, describing how all of the various devices and furnishing worked: the pillories, stocks, rope beds, etc.. So many possibilities.
There was a vendors area with all sorts of leather goods and implements of punishment.
And both public and more private play and meeting spaces.
This was clearly a big investment for the local community in their particular “pursuit of happiness”. Is that what old Tom Jefferson had in mind? He did have his needs, as Sally Hemmings might testify.
As play began, Mistress and I got into more appropriate attire. She stripped off her skirt, down to those lovely black tights (with the discrete opening) and Black leotard. She had my slide on her long black leather gloves.
And I buckled on my collar. Mistress attached the leash, and kept me close at hand through the evening.
It was show time.
It felt good, and we really did fit in better that way than if we had gone with vanilla.
I’ve been at this for a while now, and there are far more details to share.
But I have to mention the last part of the drama, before we excused ourselves at around 1 am.
D was waiting some time for access to the suspension rig.
He gently reminded a “supervisor” that the current users had been there for a while. Word was passed. “Don’t bogart that suspension rig, my friend.”
You could see D’s mind churning with his plans. And you could also see Aisha mentally preparing herself for what was to come.
The three matching sorority sisters were finally unbound by their older master who alternatively had been flogging and fondling them (Don’t worry, we’ll go into that tomorrow).
And then D went to work.
He clear is a world class master when he gets out his ropes.
He spent a good but of time unpacking and sorting all the ropes and carabineers required for his demonstration, all the way whispering softly to a very attentive Aisha who was intently focused on his every word.
D was tutoring a younger man – a guy who seemed no more than 25 and looked eerily like my son-in-law – and explaining the process to him each step of the way.
At D’s direction, Aisha was shedding her skirt. Then her top. Then her bra. But she seemed oblivious to the crowd milling about, or the surround sound of implements slapping flesh all around her.
Amazing focus, Aisha!
Soon D and his assistant were wrapping Aisha up. Bands of colorful soft rope wound around her- above and below her breasts, around her waist, hips and thighs. Binding her ankles too. But her arms remained free.
And then she was in the air, suspended parallel to the ground, in her own gravity resistant world. That song from Peter Pan came to mind. “I’m Flying.”
And she was flying, and spinning. And D was on the ground, lying in a blanket underneath her, playing with her, talking to her, coaxing her through it all.
Some very intimate communications in a very public setting.
At about this point, as we stood and watched, I pulled Mistress close to me, in a tight embrace. We kissed long and deep. And my fingers found the opening between her tighted thighs.
I was not sure if the “no sex” protocol covered what I was doing, but it seemed that folks had much more interesting things to look at than Mick and Molly. I slid my fingers into, between and against those sopping folds until she was shuddering against me, still clinging to my leash, her hips grinding against mine.
By now, D had undone all that complex rope work. And Aisha was slowly being lowered to the ground. His Assistant found her a chair, and D wrapped her in a blanket, to warm her after her “ordeal”.
AS we thanked them and said goodbye, I could tell Aisha was in that zone she describes so well to us in all those wonderful blogs.
And now I’m going to go look and see how she describes the wonderful evening we shared.
That is, if she is up yet and has the energy left to type.
