The Crazy Collins couple were up early this morning, to catch a 7:15 am flight. So no morning sex for us. Just a quick shower and a dash to the airport. Which was amazingly deserted.
M had speculated about the type of security screening we might encounter.
"He said he hopes I get the full body cavity search, Slave....he thinks that would be funny."
But, alas, M.... the TSA "gestapo" was sleeping in after indulging themselves on turkey and schnapps . There were no humiliating full body scans to whet the prurient appetites of sinister "Big Government" storm-troopers, like Rush Limbaugh had promised we would encounter. There was not even an invasive pat down for the shapely Molly. As it turns out, I didn't even have to avoid wearing my cage....There was just the same old conveyer belts and a friendly 'bon voyage'.
So now we are safely on board our flight out west, after making our connection in Atlanta
Google is providing free wifi on Delta for the Holidays... inspiring.... well.....
We were paging through our fellow bloggers entries.... Some hot ones this morning, particularly to a guy who has not "done it" since Thursday morning. More than 24 hours now and counting. (Of course, Mistress got off yesterday afternoon while talking with M, but who's keeping track?)
And there comes Aisha, with a comment, wondering if there will be any in-air antics to report on.
It was sort of like throwing down the gauntlet to Molly and Mick.
Fortunately, Mick was shrewd enough to book us seats on the side of the plane with only two seats. Though there is the disadvantage of that un-moveable arm rest between us....not to worry.
Mistress has a black wrap type sweater (it was cold this morning in River City)... and it spreads nicely across her lap.
"Why don't you slide off those pants, Mistress."
"Ummm .... OK Slave."
She spread the sweater over her lap. Then wriggled out of her tight jeans. There are some nice, lacey black undies underneath.
I hand her my computer....
"You may want to read Aisha nice little fantasy about submitting to a certain Dom, Mistress...."
"Sure, Slave... let me see."
As she's scrolling down through that fantasy about Aisha's frustrating wait for her Dom's attention, my fingers are under the sweater, doing what they have been well and thoroughly trained to do.
"Ummm.... this is hot Slave...."
I wasn't sure if the reference was to Aisha's elegant prose, or my massaging fingers.
But the inevitable consequence was soon upon her.... a little shuddering quake from Mistress, as she buried her mouth in my shoulder.
"Nice.... Slave."
Unfortunately, I think Slave is expected to wait patiently for his own reward until we reach our little mountain hideaway...
I think we may have to defer appreciating the view once we get there, at least for a while.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Heading West
What a relief to have it over with.
In the morning, Molly and Mick are up early, and headed out to our little Southwestern hideaway. Yeah, this is the view from our backyard. Don't you think it would be a great venue for that kinky blogger's conference we've been speculating about?
Here's a song about our little chunk of paradise....
Beautiful Valley
.... we will be back with you Saturday morning.
HNT / WC claim by the WC?
It was very cold here in River City yesterday morning …. The warmth of our bed won the debate over whether to take that early morning bike ride. So that gave Molly and Mick a little more time than normal to explore bodies and plumb the depths of our desire for one another.
Nice. Very Nice.
But duty called, and our day got away from us after that.
We did get to talk briefly with Aisha on our drive downtown. Glad she seems to have gotten over her early morning blues and heard from D. Wish she was coming to River City for today. We really do need a buffer guest to help us work our way through an afternoon with our extended family B list.
Then there was Work. Lunch with the surly teens downtown at an Italian joint. (They were surprisingly un-surly, probably happy to have a long weekend ahead with minimal parental supervision). And Mistress headed home with them, while I stayed at the office to finish some work before our little trip out West.
Of course, missing from this scenario was the sort of attention that Mistress has come to expect: no opportunity for that mid-day release that she gets sitting on her little throne in my office.
Not to worry.
That’s where our Western Correspondent came in to pick up the slack.
Actually, he’s been earning his keep lately. Writer’s block seems to have cleared for him, and we’ve appreciated his comments and contributions of late. I just hope he doesn’t decide to free lance once he discovers we are cranking up the employee contribution and deductible on the UCTMW Enterprises Health Care Plan.
Actually, one big concern I have is a potential WC claim by our WC. As in Worker’s Comp. Mistress read me an email from him yesterday morning describing some damage done to the special occasion cock Turns out that M had run out of briefs (or is it boxers?). So he wore jeans “commando” for his bike ride. In that cold mountain air.
Youch.
Been there, burned that.
Nothing like a little cock abrasion to cramp your style.
M, that sounds like a classic off-duty “frolic and detour”. I don’t want to see a letter from the WC Office in my email inbox with any bogus claim.
But M was not being selfish, yesterday afternoon, despite his disability. M made time for Mistress, who was home. And horny.
Around 3 or so I got a text from Mistress:
“Date with M at 4 pm, Slave….”
“Excellent, Mistress.”
She even called to make sure her Slave was cool with her extracurricular plans.
Of course, I was. Mistress has her needs, and when I am neglectful or other wise preoccupied, it’s only fair that she fill them at her discretion. Don’t you agree?
When I got home, Mistress was on our room, primping for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner at her Mother’s house. (We needed to exercise those stomach muscles to get them more supple and elastic for this afternoon’s feast).
And she seemed…. Satisfied. I could tell that her lovely folds and the Hitachi had gotten a good work out.
She had that well fucked and content look in her eye.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Mistress?”
“Yes, Slave….”
“And Mike, was he able to handle his injured ‘junk’.”
“No… he was in his office and expecting some type of delivery…”
I suppose it is a little embarrassing to sign for a FedEx delivery with your pants around your ankles.
In any event, we hope that our Western Correspondent enjoys a well deserved holiday with his family and that his recovery from that abrasion is prompt and complete.
We’d hate to have to put him on the Injured Reserve list. Then he’d be out for the season.
And we hope all of our stateside readers have a great Thanksgiving too!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanks-Ticipation
First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.
Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.
Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.
We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.
Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.
For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.
“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”
“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “
I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.
Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.
But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.
Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?
Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.
“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”
I had to respond:
“It depends on how you define sex.”
After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.
Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.
It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.
“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”
“And what did he say, Mistress?”
“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”
“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”
At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.
Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.
So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.
“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”
“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”
We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.
“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”
It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.
It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.
So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.
As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.
Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.
And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.
So who’s left?
There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.
There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.
There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.
There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.
And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.
So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?
Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?
Should Slave wear his cage?
With or without the butt plug?
Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)
Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.
But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.
That’s another thing to be thankful for…..
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