Remnants

So what little visual or aural remnants are left from the sights and sounds of our Saturday evening adventure with Aisha and D?

More than just a few:

The sound of thwacks, moans, cries of anguish in a 360 degree quadraphonic arc as Mistress and I sat watching D wrap his web of ropes around Aisha before suspending her. All very distracting, and some a little disturbing too.

The strange, unanticipated costumes. Who knew that women would get a buzz out of   dressing up as “sweet” little girls, all pig tailed and dressed in short little see through “nighties”, watching their peers get whacked while sucking their thumbs?  That was a kink I have overlooked.

The full sized coffin,  sitting in a corner.

“Do you think they rented the place out for a wake earlier today, and they forgot the guest of honor?” I asked Mistress.

D explained that some folks are into “coffin play”.

I think I’ll save that experience for much later. 

Actually, I  opt for cremation.

Wonder if anyone has a fetish revolving around that?

D warned us to be careful not to invade other folks’ play space, and we were careful to keep our distance.

(BTW, Aisha, I think D enjoyed being very directive when it came to Mistress following dungeon protocol.  “Molly, Don’t point!” he corrected her in that dom-ly voice.  I suspect it made her sub side perk up and take notice, but who’s to say?)

But sometimes our “voyeur’ space was invaded by kinksters intent on their own play.

As we were sitting along a wall – not exactly minding our own business – but clearly fixed and stationary, a man and a woman, both fully dressed in street attire, hauled a rather full figured woman - dressed in fishnet hose and nothing more - up to a post right next to us. They bound her face forward, hands around the post, then proceeded to wale away at her with palms and paddles.

It seemed they were mo more than 2 feet away.

Hard not to stare, at those bouncing tits and huge ass, but then monitoring D’s progress in trussing up Aisha so skillfully, then sending her into flight was much more … rewarding.

“I’m a little afraid I might get smothered by those giant breasts, Mistress.”

She just laughed, trying to ignore the somewhat exaggerated cries of anguish, or the perverse delight in the eyes of the fellow doing the thwacking with a rather theatrical swagger.

Would it be rude to just stand up and walk away from all that vibrating flesh?

No matter, we stood and moved a little closer to D and Aisha putting on their  far more loving demonstration.

In the days that followed Mistress and I have had plenty of time to absorb and discuss our little expedition.

Was it interesting? 

Of course.

Was it educational?

Certainly gave us some new ideas.

Was it  amazing to see first hand the magic that D and Aisha create and that she describes so cunningly in her blog?

Absolutely. 

Was it a turn on?

Well …. That’s the funny part.

I think we both learned that watching other folks enmeshed in their own kinky scenes was not really a sexy turn on for either one of us.  Though I was all caged up, I had no problem keeping my cock under control. (I guess that’s the ultimate test, isn’t it? The “Youch” factor.)

We are more participants than watchers. And, as our readers have probably noticed,   our interests trend  more in the direction of sex than pain.

Does that make us weenies? 

Could be. Or maybe we are just more into sex.

So…. Does that mean we are disinclined to make a return trip?

Uhhh. No.

I can see the turn on in stepping out of the audience and becoming a more active participant.

I did like the part of Mistress leading me about in my collar and leash.

And I think she enjoyed flexing her Domme in public.

And what if she took it a step farther: lashed me to one of those St. Andrews’s crosses, arms above my head, feet spread.  A crop in her hand. Her hands teasing and tormenting me. With an audience egging her on, giving her pointers. I would be pulling on those implacable bonds, but unable to escape.

The “youch” factor would definitely come into play.

(Mistress asked the other day why they call it a St. Andrews’s cross. I deployed my primitive Catholic school education and described it as an alternative crucifiction device that one of the minor saints made infamous. Though maybe it was just bad carpentry. You can see the derivation here:)

And what if, after Midnight, with the advent of our Switch Day, Slave turned the tables, and I put Mistress up on that cross.

My Ingredients: A flogger. A feather. My palm. Her Hitachi. An extension cord.

How many of you would enjoy watching that?

HNT / Oops.

Slept later than normal today, dear readers. So you get a larger, more sumptuous image of Mistress's well exercised legs, and a little less of my prattle.  That's probably a very good trade for most of our readers.

She did get lots of attention yesterday.

When she read the blog lying in bed, before we headed out for a daybreak bike ride.

About 90 minutes later, Her peek-aboo tights gave my roving fingers access on the drive downtown to work. Mistress shuddered nicely as she tried to avoid the curious eyes of a trucker we passed just as my fingers found their mark.

Then she stopped by at my office for some post lunch worship. It's so much more effieient when the boots can stay on and all she has to do is spread her legs.

There was the before dinner, Mistress lays back on the bed, pages through the paper and Mick takes to his knees worship.

And of course, after bedtime, when Mick was finally rewarded for all that veneration.

I promise to wake up earluer tomorrow to provide some remnant memories of our Dungeon adventure.

Mistress Exploits Her Slave's Fetish

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.

Our Evening at the Dungeon

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.

All have a good day out there!