So this is what a blogger who procrastinates ends up doing as a substitute for pith, humour and insight:
Posts an alluring photo of his Mistress, in repose, after a recent switch day enterprise.
I know some of you out there will have no complaints.
For the rest of our fans, I can only offer this excuse. I slept in a little later than normal. Mistress woke up a little earlier than normal. So just as I was opening a blank word document to begin my a.m. musings, after perusing a variety of my colleagues' postings .... duty called....
"Slave... get up here!"
"Yes, Mistress."
Tomorrow is a big day here in Molly and Mick land, and I promise to do much better.
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.
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 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.
