Missing Equirpment

Slave is in trouble.  Mistress is Hitachi-less this weekend. And it's my fault.

We had brought her trusty power tool to our Western hideaway, then decided to leave it there to avoid hauling it back and forth through airport security. The thought of TSA guys opening our bags and brandishing the sucker with questions about it’s purpose had us a little squeamish.  (Of course, that did not prevent us from carting Mistress’s harness back and forth. Go figure.)

So Slave ordered an extra Hitachi on Monday via Amazon, for arrival this week Then we would have one for both locations.I assumed it would be well in hand by Friday with no inconvenient “service interruption”.

Oops.

No package arrived by Friday. So much for that Cyber Monday quick delivery hype.

So Mistress was left without the efficiency of her power tool late yesterday afternoon, when she got a call from M for an unscheduled ‘date”.

But let me back up a bit….

Molly and Mick had a relatively relaxed Saturday, as snow fell gently through the day here in River City.

There was the ever popular morning sex, after paging through the scrawny local paper.

“I liked that morning cock, Slave….”

“It likes you too, Mistress.”

Then a trip to our gym.

Mistress did her spinning routine and lifted weights. I went through my own circuit of exercises. The weather will now keep us off our bikes for a while.

I had to deal with my cranky mother and her seasonal décor. Mistress tended to nail maintenance. We reconvened back in bed around 3 or so for a nice nap.

There had been some discussion earlier in the afternoon in a text from Mistress about ass fucking. But when we woke Mistress was in a more gentile mood, and it was just so damn warm and cozy in our bed that a long bout of making out ensued.

I was overcome by the wonderful aroma of my Mistress as I pressed my face against the back of her neck and reached my arms around her. The spicy scent of her perfume mingled with that of her own well exercised body and her blooming arousal was intoxicating.

She had on tight black panties and my fingers enjoyed gliding over them until Mistress was panting and writhing against me. That’s how she got her first cum of the afternoon, humping my hand as I kissed her deep and long.

Very high school.

Very hot.

I was thinking how we had skipped that “messing around” phase in our initial courtship, and how the younger Molly would have driven me crazy with a few incendiary, but no penetration, make out sessions,  had we been given that opportunity back in the age of Dukakis.

I was in bed without underwear…. As required in our household. And when Mistress turned her fingers loose on my cock…well my frustration was soon at a peak.

“May I fuck you now, Mistress?”

“Why so impatient, Slave….”

But ultimately she allowed me inside…. And we went at it for quite a while…. Taking a break at some point for water and for me to strip away my T-shirt.

I made sure Mistress had a few more choice explosions before I asked for permission to come.  Which she generously granted.

It seemed I drifted off a bit afterwards as I lay there, still inside her. But soon it was time to light our candles, and round up the surly teen for her evening gift.

We had plans to attend a holiday party, but were in no hurray.   I settled into watch a football game and do some work for a client, while Mistress was paying some bills.

Then her text chime went off.

“M wants to know if I am available to talk, Slave….”

“Of course you are, Mistress….”

She discretely disappeared upstairs to our room.

That’s when I realized that I was in trouble.

No Hitachi.

Mistress came downstairs about 40 minutes later.

“Well we had a little sex chat Slave….. but the Hitachi was sorely missed.”

“So how did you do it, Mistress?”

“Fingers, Slave…..”

She pressed two of them up against my nose.

Yummmmm.

“Now they’re a little sore.”

(I suppose I should have offered to go up and provide my tongue and lips as a substitute for the Hitachi, but they probably needed a little privacy.)

Let’s hope that Hitachi arrives by Monday.  Don’t want Mistress making a claim against UCTMW Enterprises, LLC for carpal tunnel syndrome.  Those are a real bitch to defend.

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.