Yesterday morning we were actually able to "sleep in" a little later than on recent work days. Not having to leave the house until 8:30 am gave Mistress and Slave a little extra wiggle room for some robust wake-up sex before our morning oblutions.
Ahhh.
It almost made up for too many early mornings in the last week or two.
Later, after work, we headed to a political "cook out" at a local party poo-bah's home. An annual event where we can catch up with the usual suspects in River City's Democratic scene. As Mistress was talking to a former Mayor, I noticed a tall, early 60ish man that I'd not seen here before. Then I heard him introduce himself to the host.
The name rang a funny bell.
It was a name from Mistress's past. Once, years ago, she mentioned him when we were trading stories about past sexual adventures. A lobbyist she had "encountered" back when she was about 22, while working for a now more prominent politician, not long after she graduated from College.
What I remembered most about her stories about this guy, who we'll call D, was that he had an enormous "hard to fit" cock.
"It actually hurt....." is what I remember her saying, though since their affair covered several months, it seems she must have learned how to accommodate it.If at first you don't succeed.....
I also knew something else about this guy: he was married to a woman (his 2nd wife) who was my family's neighbor, back in my high school days. (the girl was about 4 years younger than me).
Got that: He used to fuck my wife (before I knew her); I used to live next door to his current wife (before he knew her). Yes, it's a small state.
So Slave's mind was swirling with the potential of making both D and Mistress squirm if I could bring the two of them back together in an unexpected encounter. Fortunately, D looked in my direction, and I reached out my hand and introduced myself.
"You know, I think you're married to an old neighbor of mine", mentioning her name. He actually recalled the connection, recounting a story his wife had told him about the infamous "Collins" brothers and their partisan proclivities, even back in high school.
Mistress was next to me but was still focused on the former Mayor, not aware of who I was talking to, or her smutty past connection to him.
But I had to change that, didn't I?
"D, let me introduce you to my wife, I think you may know her....."
I got Mistress's attention, and "introduced" the two of them by name.
It was quite amusing to watch Mistress's jaw drop, and to see D's confused recognition, after a few seconds, of an old flame that wass now married to someone else.
Oops.
Mistress "reminded" him that she used to work for the same politician that he is now shilling for in a big statewide campaign that is getting some national attention.
I think they were both a wee bit embarrassed.
Cute.
And, sadly, as the crowd swirled, they did not get any private time to "reconnect". I do wonder if D will reach out with a linked in connect or email in the week to come.
And of course, it did give Slave an opportunity to tease a bit.
As we glanced at him across the crowded lawn, I had to say, "Gee, Mistress, do you think he still has that big cock....?"
"They say they don't usually shrink, Slave." (Can you hear the sarcasm dripping?)
"I wonder how it compares to WC's special occasion cock?"
"I guess I'll never know, Slave...."
Once we got home, and while I didn't have one of those "ginormous" cocks to test Mistress's capacity, I did make sure to deploy my well trained tongue to please her as best I could.
And this morning... well.... hopefully shell be willing to forgive my little stunt last night.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Sex Education 101 (1967)
Mistress and Slave made it home safely Sunday evening, though poor Mistress was back in another car bight and early Monday for a long drive to the north with some work colleagues. Fortunately, she got home early enough last night for a bike ride to knock out some of those non-sexual kinks.
Last night we simply relaxed in our empty nest, relieved that we have some time together again without too many prying eyes and ears around.
While we were on the road last week, I did not have the time to comment here on the lunatic ramblings of the Missouri Senate candidates and his biological theory that women's reproductive systems simply "shut that down" when subject to a "legitimate rape". As the week progressed it seemed that more politicos got their feet stuck in the same crazy swamp, with frat boy Paul Ryan noting that rape was just another "method of conception".
But as the media pealed back Scott Aiken's biologocal theories the scary part to me was that he cited as his medical source the guy who provided me and my high school classmates the only class that passed for "sex education" at my Catholic High School here in River City back in 1967.
Of course, even as a high school Junior poor Slave's sex education was rather spartan. Of course, I knew what "felt good", and was always trying to do it with my high school girl friend, who let me get about as far as a pick off play between 2nd and 3rd bases. I also knew that there were sometimes of the month that my girl friend got pissy and would not go swimming. What the fuck was that about?
But the notion of birth control and its various methodologies was grad school material as far as I was concerned.
So when Dr. Jack Willke and his wife Barbara showed up to explain it all to us, I was all ears.
Sadly, the presentation was limited to a "scare them abstinent" approach.... sex is an evil impulse, that should be abused only when you decide to make babies. If you "experiment" you're likely to get the poor girl pregnant, and that will ruin your life and hers". Then, so, "once you are married, and the girls in the class feel compelled to submit to your pathetic husband's concupiscent demands, here's how to avoid getting pregnant...."
We then got a detailed description of the "rhythm method", which involved monitoring the phases of the moon as far as I could tell as the presentation proceeded.
Even at the tender age of 16 or so, this rap made me roll my eyes at these incredibly un-cool, tedious scolds.
Dr. Willke and his wife later emerged as the local and then national leaders of the "Right to Life" movement, as the discussion of abortion obsessed so many people in the years prior to and after Roe v. Wade.
But I had thought Dr. Willke had faded from public view years ago.
But no, there he was, last week, being cited in the national media as the "medical" source of the theory ( an old wives' tale that apparently has floated around for centuries) that a woman must be "acceptive" of conception, and therefore, in the event of "legitimate" rape her reproductive equipment will be all "spastic" and tense, therefore dodging conception.
Fortunately, I didn't remember this little lesson as part of their 60's era sex education curriculum. The subtext, of course, is that the only women who claim they became pregnant as a result of "rape" were not raped at all, but must have been "looking for it", either by the way they addressed or behaved. As a result, there really is no need for a "rape" exception for any abortion prohibition, is there?
Of course, from the perspective of a father of four daughters, rather than a horny teen, this attitude is not just quaint but frightening. It's certainly something to consider as we go to vote, isn't it.
OK.... enough for political screeds this week, dear readers. I promise, there is more sex for this sex blog to come. In fact I better get upstairs right now!
Last night we simply relaxed in our empty nest, relieved that we have some time together again without too many prying eyes and ears around.
While we were on the road last week, I did not have the time to comment here on the lunatic ramblings of the Missouri Senate candidates and his biological theory that women's reproductive systems simply "shut that down" when subject to a "legitimate rape". As the week progressed it seemed that more politicos got their feet stuck in the same crazy swamp, with frat boy Paul Ryan noting that rape was just another "method of conception".
But as the media pealed back Scott Aiken's biologocal theories the scary part to me was that he cited as his medical source the guy who provided me and my high school classmates the only class that passed for "sex education" at my Catholic High School here in River City back in 1967.
Of course, even as a high school Junior poor Slave's sex education was rather spartan. Of course, I knew what "felt good", and was always trying to do it with my high school girl friend, who let me get about as far as a pick off play between 2nd and 3rd bases. I also knew that there were sometimes of the month that my girl friend got pissy and would not go swimming. What the fuck was that about?
But the notion of birth control and its various methodologies was grad school material as far as I was concerned.
So when Dr. Jack Willke and his wife Barbara showed up to explain it all to us, I was all ears.
Sadly, the presentation was limited to a "scare them abstinent" approach.... sex is an evil impulse, that should be abused only when you decide to make babies. If you "experiment" you're likely to get the poor girl pregnant, and that will ruin your life and hers". Then, so, "once you are married, and the girls in the class feel compelled to submit to your pathetic husband's concupiscent demands, here's how to avoid getting pregnant...."
We then got a detailed description of the "rhythm method", which involved monitoring the phases of the moon as far as I could tell as the presentation proceeded.
Even at the tender age of 16 or so, this rap made me roll my eyes at these incredibly un-cool, tedious scolds.
Dr. Willke and his wife later emerged as the local and then national leaders of the "Right to Life" movement, as the discussion of abortion obsessed so many people in the years prior to and after Roe v. Wade.
But I had thought Dr. Willke had faded from public view years ago.
But no, there he was, last week, being cited in the national media as the "medical" source of the theory ( an old wives' tale that apparently has floated around for centuries) that a woman must be "acceptive" of conception, and therefore, in the event of "legitimate" rape her reproductive equipment will be all "spastic" and tense, therefore dodging conception.
Fortunately, I didn't remember this little lesson as part of their 60's era sex education curriculum. The subtext, of course, is that the only women who claim they became pregnant as a result of "rape" were not raped at all, but must have been "looking for it", either by the way they addressed or behaved. As a result, there really is no need for a "rape" exception for any abortion prohibition, is there?
Of course, from the perspective of a father of four daughters, rather than a horny teen, this attitude is not just quaint but frightening. It's certainly something to consider as we go to vote, isn't it.
OK.... enough for political screeds this week, dear readers. I promise, there is more sex for this sex blog to come. In fact I better get upstairs right now!
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Coming to Ground on the East Coast
I'm writing from the awninged deck of a B & B where Mistress and Slave have come to ground in one of those old East Coast beach towns where most folks resemble someone from the cast of the Sopranos. And way to many of those remind you of Tony's crazy sister, whatever her name is. The sun is coming up over a coastal lake, some sprinkles are tapping on the awning, and the breeze is gently churning the flowering trees that surround this little oasis.
Mistress is snoozing in bed, and I am awaiting her call.
Slave's been remiss this week in updating all of you on our adventures, but most were pretty mundane. The early morning departure with our whiny sullen teen on Wednesday for her new life in College. Dinner with a long lost cousin who lives not far from her campus, then the overnight in a nearby "sketchy" Motel, where the teen lectured us on how inappropriate it was to make her share a room with us at her lofty age.
"It's not like we were doing anything .... ummmm.... wrong", I muttered to Mistress. Ah well, it was out last night together for a while, and Slave would just have to stifle, I suppose.
The next day there was the big move-in to her dorm, meeting the roomies, and the official greetings from the President of this small liberal arts college, who insists that everyone call him "Sandy."
Somehow I don't think I would have gotten away with calling my University President "Ted", but times have changed, and most likely for the better. That eye popping tuition lets you call the President whatever you want, I suppose.
After our daughter made it clear to us that our presence had become an embarrassment it was time to go. Some tearful goodbyes behind us, we considered an evening exploring the sights of her new town ... but had a better idea.
After all, (sit down loyal readers) it had been TWO WHOLE DAYS since there was a chance for any type of sexual encounter for us. So it was back to the sketchy motel, where we tossed back the bedspread that our daughter had suggested one could AIDS from (I can't make this shit up) and got down to business.
"Don't have high expectations, Mistress, I'm not sure I remember how to do this...."
But, it all came back with surprising ease. First I made sure to lavish attention on the still clean shaven folds, assuring that Mistress had a nice starter cum. Then she turned her attention to my firm and drooling cock, which needed no priming prior to completing it's mission. Actually. the ambiance of the sketchy motel room seemed only to enhance the furtive fun of our fucking.
Maybe someday our daughter will come to value such retro joys? Or even her parents.
We made sure to take advantage of our privacy again yesterday morning, before climbing back in our rented mini-van (needed to transport all the stuff that our non-material girl needs to survive for the next few months), and heading to the "Sho-wa". And after a day soaking up sun on the crowded beach we made sure to reserve some time for another round of fucking in our B & B before dinner.
We found a cute little organic restaurant where we ate on the deck, watching the Sopranos cast walk bye, wondering about the guys who go to dinner on a Friday night with their family in tank tops and shorts.
"I guess it's so they can display those fancy tatoos, Mistress?"
Then we strolled the crowded board walk, though we passed on the bumper cars. I led the way, steering us past the bars and restaurants, including one with a large collection of drag queens preening on the deck. Diversity has come to the Shore!
When we found ourselves back at our B & B, Mistress was impressed.
"I had no idea where we were Slave....."
"See guys are good for a few things.... sense of direction... cocks...."
"Carrying baggage too."
"That, too, Mistress...."
It was
We did see a machine on the boardwalk that brought to mind the big question that all "old" married couples have to consider when their little ones finally leave the nest.
Although the details may be obscure, I have a feeling they will include a lot of sex.
Mistress is snoozing in bed, and I am awaiting her call.
Slave's been remiss this week in updating all of you on our adventures, but most were pretty mundane. The early morning departure with our whiny sullen teen on Wednesday for her new life in College. Dinner with a long lost cousin who lives not far from her campus, then the overnight in a nearby "sketchy" Motel, where the teen lectured us on how inappropriate it was to make her share a room with us at her lofty age.
"It's not like we were doing anything .... ummmm.... wrong", I muttered to Mistress. Ah well, it was out last night together for a while, and Slave would just have to stifle, I suppose.
The next day there was the big move-in to her dorm, meeting the roomies, and the official greetings from the President of this small liberal arts college, who insists that everyone call him "Sandy."
Somehow I don't think I would have gotten away with calling my University President "Ted", but times have changed, and most likely for the better. That eye popping tuition lets you call the President whatever you want, I suppose.
After our daughter made it clear to us that our presence had become an embarrassment it was time to go. Some tearful goodbyes behind us, we considered an evening exploring the sights of her new town ... but had a better idea.
After all, (sit down loyal readers) it had been TWO WHOLE DAYS since there was a chance for any type of sexual encounter for us. So it was back to the sketchy motel, where we tossed back the bedspread that our daughter had suggested one could AIDS from (I can't make this shit up) and got down to business.
"Don't have high expectations, Mistress, I'm not sure I remember how to do this...."
But, it all came back with surprising ease. First I made sure to lavish attention on the still clean shaven folds, assuring that Mistress had a nice starter cum. Then she turned her attention to my firm and drooling cock, which needed no priming prior to completing it's mission. Actually. the ambiance of the sketchy motel room seemed only to enhance the furtive fun of our fucking.
Maybe someday our daughter will come to value such retro joys? Or even her parents.
We made sure to take advantage of our privacy again yesterday morning, before climbing back in our rented mini-van (needed to transport all the stuff that our non-material girl needs to survive for the next few months), and heading to the "Sho-wa". And after a day soaking up sun on the crowded beach we made sure to reserve some time for another round of fucking in our B & B before dinner.
We found a cute little organic restaurant where we ate on the deck, watching the Sopranos cast walk bye, wondering about the guys who go to dinner on a Friday night with their family in tank tops and shorts."I guess it's so they can display those fancy tatoos, Mistress?"
Then we strolled the crowded board walk, though we passed on the bumper cars. I led the way, steering us past the bars and restaurants, including one with a large collection of drag queens preening on the deck. Diversity has come to the Shore!
When we found ourselves back at our B & B, Mistress was impressed.
"I had no idea where we were Slave....."
"See guys are good for a few things.... sense of direction... cocks...."
"Carrying baggage too."
"That, too, Mistress...."
It was
We did see a machine on the boardwalk that brought to mind the big question that all "old" married couples have to consider when their little ones finally leave the nest.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Still Switching After All These Years.
You will be happy to know that despite the prying ears of our little darling, I made sure Mistress got a full dosage of switch on Sunday morning, before a long bike ride that had the teen moaning about the sore muscles we had forced upon her.
Indeed, it was Mistress doing the moaning after I tied her to the bed (the classical music station on to mask those erotic sounds from the teen down the hall). I will provide the illustrations.... Just imagine what a well positioned Hitachi Magic Wand might squeeze from a securely bound damsel with a string quartet playing in the background.
Now I better haul my ass back upstairs and get our morning going properly before we are out the door for another unnecessary 8 am meeting on Mistress's dance card.
We will be back in touch -- liberated -- by the weekend. Have a good week all.
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