Dream Machine

Mistress and I planned lunch together yesterday, and she met me at my office.

Well, I expect you know what happened next: the door was closed, Mistress sat on her throne and stripped off a boot and a leg of her black tights to allow me to kneel and worship her. By the time we were done, Mistress had that smug, contented look on her face, and Slave had a nice coating of her juices on mouth and cheeks, to remember her by for the rest of the day.

But before she reassembled her work costume, I suggested that we take a photo to share with M.

“Of course, Slave.”

I stayed on my knees, backed up a bit, and captured the moment. Then texted it off to M with a little caption: “Office visit.”

I hoped he would enjoy what I was appreciating: Mistress’s spread legs, that satisfied look on her face, and her glistening parts, freshly bathed with my tongue. And sure enough, as we were heading down to street level in the elevator, my text chime sounded:

“Feeling Deprived here, U 2 lunatics.”

Poor M. Missing the fun.

But what’s interesting about the Molly /M connection is their mutually supportive approach to their respective marital sex lives.

The other day, as she was talking to him on our drive from our hideaway to the airport out west, the first questions she asked him was “Well did you have epic sex this morning?”

AS Mistress said to me later, “we always talk about what sort of sex we had, Slave…is that strange?”

Well, whether strange or not, it certainly is nice, don’t you think?. They have each other’s back. Support for a healthy sex life with their respective spouses. And sympathy and consolation if there happens to be a dry spell.

On the way home last night, Mistress seemed particularly excited:

“M says I’m going to get a package from him: one of those Butterfly vibrators. He says he’s going to have me wear it to the gym.”

Hmmmm. Long ago, when Molly and Mick were married to others, but in a “relationship”, we had one of those cunning little devices. I can remember a particular occasion, at a fancy out-of-town restaurant. Molly was so shamefully young then. I was the older professional with the beautiful companion. And I had the remote in my pocket, toying with her.

My, did she squirm.

“I wonder if he’ll make you wear it to work, Mistress.”

“He might…”

Then the phone rang. It was M, joining us on our ride home. Of course, I could only hear part of their chat.

“Mick is wondering if you’ll have me wear it to work….”

“Do you think it will fit under my cloths so it won’t be obvious….”

She was doing that squirm again, her ass sliding oh so sensually against her leather seat.

“Slave, He wonders if he can get a remote that would work from where he is…. Just turn it on and off when he wants to turn me on…. M. I’m not sure AT&T has that capability.”

But I could tell the thought had Mistress going.

That’s where I chimed in, “Maybe there’s an App for that, Mistress….”

I do remember a story that ‘Nilla wrote several months ago featuring one of her sexy sub ladies, a distant Dom, and a vibrator he was turning on and off that was buried in her cunt.

I wonder if any of our readers can tip us off on where those might be found…. Or was that just another devious ‘Nilla fantasy?

(I found this odd promotional video on YouTube, but the remore only works from up to 7 meters away .... not two time zones. But what is with that odd accent?vibrating egg promo

AS we approached home, Mistress signed off with M, wishing him some epic sex with B, and promising him that was exactly what she had in mind for her and her Slave.

By the time Mistress and Slave got home we were “in a state”, so to speak. The sex chat had primed our pumps.

The Holiday candles were quickly lit. Trinkets were distributed to the teens. We got some chili cooking on the stove, then retreated to our bedroom, informing the teens that their parents would be “resting” while the chili cooked.

Their smirks were ignored.

Soon our cloths were off, and Mistress’s cunt was under siege by way of her Slave’s lips and tongue. She built herself to a nice robust explosion, then turned the tables.

Using her own considerable oral skills, with an assist from those well manicured fingers sliding the length of me, Mistress soon had my work-a-day cock close to it’s own edge.

“Please may I fuck you now, Mistress….”

“What’s the hurry Slave, can’t you tell I’m enjoying this….”

I could…. But to make her anxious for some additional attention, I reached around her, sliding a finger up her tight ass, and enjoying the sensation as she squirmed against it, impaling herself with delight.

Soon, my tawdry ploy had the proper, distracting effect.

“Now I want to ride your cock, Slave.”

“Please do, Mistress.”

Mistress was in control, and all Slave had to do was lay back and enjoy….as you know I did.

(Not) Sparing the Rod

On our trip back home on Wednesday, Mistress got a text from M – a photo of a dangerous looking black paddle, the kind with the holes drilled in it. (Sort of like the one in the picture, but black and a little longer).

“Man…. That looks pretty nasty, Slave….He says that B was tired of his grousing about her new work schedule, and how he had to do more kid driving now. So she used this on him in the morning….”

“Ouch…. I’ve seen those before…. Must have hurt big time.”

“Yeah, he says his bottom is bruised… he thinks he got almost a hundred thwacks from it….”

Well, I had a little trouble believing that she administered quite so many …. B’s arm would be sore after that many strokes. Not to mention M’s ass.

Back in the early days of my career, when I dealt with lots of school teachers, most of them had paddles. It was the day when “spare the rod and spoil the child” was still an accepted rule of thumb, and most school boards had a policy that prohibited the EXCESSIVE use of force.

In some communities, parents actually encouraged teachers to clobber their little darlings when they got out of line. Those phone calls from teachers asking them to do something about little Johnny’s behavior wer more irritating than listening to their kid whine about his 10 strokes from Mr. Miller’s paddle.

But there were rules: no more than 10 strokes at a time; not on bare skin; a witness had to be present (i.e., another teacher, or administrator), and no holes in the paddle.  Apparently the holes reduced aerodynamic drag, and could leave more distinct marks of bruises. 

And there were some sadistic teachers out there who enjoyed playing the game.

I do wonder whether a whole generation of spanking fetishists were spawned from these in school paddling rituals, which have long since been confined to the dust bin of history.

Of course, there are some teachers and parents who claim that once unilateral disarmament was imposed on teachers, discipline in schools deteriorated severely.

I don’t know the answer to that one, though I do know I would not want a teacher to lay a hand on my daughters.

On the drive home last night, M and Mistress chatted a bit as I chaufered.  It had been a busy day for both of us as we re-merged from our odyssey out west,   so they had little time to chat during the day.

Mistress had those black tights with the little opening in, and those high, tie-up black boots, her legs stretched onto the dash.  And as she talked to M, I noticed that tell-tale squirm of her shapely ass against the seat, and the way her free hand finds its way between her thighs.

He does bring out the horny in her.

Mistress sometimes acts as a sort of family counselor to M, and she shared some of our experiences in balancing work and family schedules, to help ease the transition from B working part time to full time.

“You need a plan M…. I’d be happy to come out there and help you and B work one up…. But you’d have to fuck me silly in return….”

From this I could imagine the birth of a new reality series: “Super Nanny with Benefits”.

Of course, I could not hear M’s response.

But by the time we arrived home, with some bags full of Deli food for dinner in honor of the Jewish Holiday, I could tell Mistress was in need of some attention.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress…”

“That would be good, Slave.”

She settled onto the bed, hiked up her dress, and spread those wondrous thighs, her boots still on, the opening of her tights giving me ample access to her damp and wanton parts. And she let me build her to a nice throbbing climax, her hips lifting off the bed as my lips clung to her, leaving my face nice and juicy. It was a lovely appetizer in advance of latkes and Ruben sandwiches.

The surly teens actually seemed glad to have us home (or maybe it was glad to have us put a meal on the table), and lingered with us, filling us in on at least some of their activities over the weekend.

(I didn’t cross examine them about the bottle of spiked lemonade I’d found in the garbage).

Then Mistress watched an episode of Dexter before retiring to bed.

It had been almost 36 hours for Slave…. A seeming lifetime of denial of you live in the Collins household, so I was more than anxious to have at my Loving Mistress.

“Go put in your device, Slave (our aneros)…. I still think you deserve a spanking for forgetting it to bring it on our trip.”

I already was hard for her, so when I lubed up the little sucker and pressed it out, Slave’s work-a-day cock was suddenly supersized.

Youch.

I slid back into bed, sidling up against Mistress, who still had those hot, peek-aboo tights on…. The friction of that fabric against my thigh and balls brought me all the closer to critical cock mass.

I did not want to advertise my desperation, so used my fingers to slide and glide a bit to give Mistress a little intro orgasm…. But her own fingers found my hard and needy cock.

“Wow…. Slave…. Miss me or something?”

“It’s been since yesterday morning, Mistress….. that’s a whole lot of abstinence.”

AS she used her hand to fondle and caress I was getting all too close to the edge….I pulled away…thinking of the faltering Irish economy as a hedge against an accidental explosion.

“Mistress you may want to elt me fuck you now….”

“If you must Slave….”

“Ohhhh …. I must…. Believe me.”

Mistress takes a certain perverse pleasure in such desperation, giggled a bit at me, then rolled onto her back, spreading those thighs, helping me pry open the “hatch” in he tights, as I pressed home with more determination and skill.

And as I fucked her hard, long and with abandon, I think she got some reasonable return on her investment in her Slave’s frustration.

In this case, she was not spared the rod….

HNT / Baaack in River City

Molly and Mick are back, a bit groggy from the shift from Mountain to East Coast time... and too sleepy for any sex before heading to work in this grim Midwestern cold and grey.

But I noticed Mistress put on those black peek-aboo tights, so maybe I can delve my fingers into her folds on the way to work, giving me something to remind me of her as the day progresses.

The photo is an outtake from our Sunday switch. We are already missing the beauty and solitude of our hideaway. And the sunshine!

Stay warm out there and we will have more to share tomorrow.

On the Way Home

Delta has that free wifi going this month.... so it's hard to resist providing a brief update, particularly since I suspect I will be too time lagged to get up for a proper posting on Thursday morning.



After Mistress's encounter with the tricked out ski pole, we fixed some breakfast and headed up the mountain for  a half dozen ski runs in some very frigid, windy air.

By frigid I mean, the temperature never tipped above 10 degrees.

So when we got home, around 1 pm, we were both in need of some warming up. We planned a quick trip to the post office to mail off some Christmas presents we had acquired for relatives, then some serious under the covers time.

But just as we were taping up our package, Mistress got a text message from M.

"Uhhh .... Slave. He wants to know if I can talk...."

Well I knew there was some pent up M/Molly demand, so I happily agreed to make the post office run myself.

"Of course, Mistress.... do you know where your power tool is, just in case you have a need for it?"

I was a cracker jack Boy Scout all those years ago. "Be Prepared" remains my motto.

"Why don't you get it ready for me, Slave."

I did so, happily.... making sure the extension cord was on and her Hitachi was plugged in and resting on the bed, and at the ready.

Then I was off, posted our package, then shopped for a few more family gifts at our local General Store. I was making myself scarce, to give Mistress and M the privacy they deserved.

About 30 minutes later the text message chime on my phone went off....

'Call over, Slave."

I returned home then, and Mistress had that contented, well fucked look on her face.

"How many, Mistress?"

"Only one, Slave ... he wanted to make me have more, but I told him I was afraid that I'd embarasss you if you just walked in on me .... you know...."

I did know. Been there done that.... very hot, I must say, seeing Mistress writhing on the bed, all wrapped around her power tool, heeding M's directions.

"It's happened before, Mistress.... ",  I reminded her of those events at the Lake Michigan Inn a few months back.

"I know, Slave.... that's what M said too."

By now, Mistress was warmed up plenty. and I was inspired by the brilliant sunshine in our little valley, where the temperature was considerably warmer than up on the mountain. I proposed a bike ride before we retired to our bed, and Mistress agreed.

"But I want that cock as soon as we get back, Slave."

That would not be a problem.