Catching Up for Lost Switch Days

It's been a while since Slave properly exercised his Switch privileges on a Sunday.... have I been lazy? Or was it simply the holidays and kids around that kept me in my more apropos submissive role?

In any event, with an empty nest yesterday, and no big plans other than heading to the gym early, and watching football late, there was no impediment for me giving Mistress a taste of her own medicine, was there?

So after returning from the gym, Mistress was instructed to strip off those spinning togs and lie on her tummy as I afixed those red cuffs to her wrists and then attached her properly to the bed.

Her ass was satisfactorily reddened with the palm of my hand, with a little twat tweeking interspersed to build up a little tension.

"What are you doing Slave?"

"Keeping you a little on edge Mistress.... will it be a slap from my palm, or my highly experienced digits sliding to and fro through those clean shaven folds?"

It was nice to have her going from cries of "agony", to moans of delight and back again.

But I'm really not programmed to frustrate Mistress.  So it wasn't long before I reached under the bed for her favorite power tool, that ended up thrust between those firm, well exercised thighs. Soon those ass muscles were flexing, tensing, trying to purchase just the right level of stimulation as I twisted and probed with her Hitachi.

Of course, the machine was turned off for a bit if it seemed she was getting there a little too fast. We had all morning after all....

"What are you doing, Slave?", she asked in frustration.

'What's your rush, Mistress?"

After I switched her little toy on again, pressing its churning bulb again betwixt those creamy folds,  she soon was begging to cum.....

And who was I to deny her?

She moaned into her pillow, her whole body tensing, pressing hard as she could against her power tool as she went over the edge....

"That was nice, Slave....."

"We're not done just yet, Mistress....

No, Slave had to cash in his chips too.

His Spooky Girlfriend

It's been a particularly low key weekend here in River City.

With a sullen teen returning from the land down under on Tuesday night, it's our last empty nest weekend for .... well, another week of so.

So why not just hang out, go to the gym, have some wake up sex, then more afternoon sex after a nice decadent nap.

Today's plans are pretty much the same. But maybe the AM sex will wait until after the gym today, to accommodate Mistress's early spinning class.

Then there may be some football to watch this afternoon and evening. I'll try to make sure Mistress's clean shaven folds don't get too lonely though.

I did take some time yesterday to visit my grumpy Mother, while Mistress had lunch with her Mom. I could tell that the story about my alma mater's linebacker and his non-existent not-dead girlfriend had gone viral when it was the first thing my mother asked me about after I poured myself some tepid coffee and passed on the post-dated milk in her refrigerator.

Of course, her perspective on the story was not quite as nuanced as some.

"What's this about with the Notre Dame guy who had the pretend girlfriend?"

She didn't know the back story. Hadn't realized that the story had been milked by the media for months as if he really had a girlfriend who died on the same day as his grandma. All she knew was that this guy thought he had a girlfriend who died, and it turned out that she was never real at all.

"How dumb can you be?"

"Well, Mom you need to consider the fact that he is a linebacker....."

That seemed to go over her head. So I had to explain that in this modern age, it's not all that unusual for folks to meet and build relationships of a sort on line, and maybe only communicate by email or text message. Maybe they talk on the phone too. I didn't get into the concept of phone sex... Nor did I explain that her beloved daughter in law had a similar arrangement with a certain Western Correspondent of her vast media empire that went on for a couple of years before we were able to verify his actual existence.

She might have thought all of us were a little dumb,  or crazy, like that ND kid.

I also explained my operating theory: that the kid had been suckered into this relationship by some people who were in it for sport, and that he had been let down by the spinners and coaches at ND who had let the story be exploited by the media even though it seemed a tad incredible from the very beginning.

Maybe a 20 year old Mormon linebacker from Hawaii can be naive and gullible. But the  press flacks at a major University and his Coaches -- they should have been experienced and clever enough to ask the right questions: like if your girlfriend is really dead, how come you're not even asking to go to the funeral, kid? 

Did they peddle and milk the story to pump up his chances to win the Heisman trophy, something that would surely help the University's own image and recruiting prospects? The same place that asked a QB when I was there to change the pronunciation of his name to rhyme with that big assed trophy?

Maybe.

Or were they just dumb, like the media that did no fact checking on this sad, tear jerking tale as they used it to build ratings for the BCS Championship game on January 7th?

But at least it provided something for my Mom and me to talk about other than who's sick and which mother of one of my brother's old girlfriends died last month.

Spooky Girlfriend

Say it Ain't So

Mistress was avoiding her office yesterday it seemed, so she spent some time camped out in mine between meetings. It was nice to have her about, and in such close proximity, particularly after her overnight business trip earlier this week.

And of course it gave me an opportunity to graze within her clean shaven folds as a little post lunch palate cleanser.  Mistress did not have on her special peek-a-boo tights, so she had to slide off one boot and leg of her conventional tights to accomodate a little mid-day worship.  The result was an interesting contrast of limbs after I pressed her "throne" up against my office door to provide a little privacy.

The result was a lovely break in the middle of a busy day for both Mistress and Slave.

But another matter crossed my computer screen yesterday: the bizarre tale of the linebacker from my alma mater and his pretend dead girlfriend.

It's still not clear to me what the hell happened: what Manti knew and when her knew it? And (more importantly to me) what the ND shills and handlers knew and when they knew?

But what was intriguing to me is the role the internet and a "cyber" relationship played in the dead fake girlfriend hoax.

Here in the sex blog world we have all developed rather "unique" relationships with friends and for some folks, lovers, that are not grounded in the conventional. In other words, we "talk" via emails or comments, but never hear each others voices or meet.

Well sometimes.... for several years, we had an e mail and telephone relationship of sorts with our Western Correspondent. Not unlike the purported relationship between Manti and the imaginary girl, who apparently "spoke" via phone with him sometimes.  But ultimately, we finally pried him into the light by scheduling a flight through his hometown one day.  Sure enough, the big guy is who he claimed to be (though there were moments we had out doubts, and Mistress did not get a chance to inspect the legendary SOC on that visit).

And we have met Bill and Donna.

Yesterday I was emailing with Suzanne over at All Mine about the Tale of Manti. Although we've become close with her and her sidekicks through emails and running comments, we've never met or talked.

"I suppose you might be a trucker from Montana, and I could be a stripper from Vegas,", I emailed.

Let's hope we find out someday. Trust, but verify used to be Ronald Reagan's watch cry.  It's something Manti should have picked up on. And also the spinners at the ND athletic department who exploited this half baked story and contributed to his apparent humiliation and exploitation.

But in the meantime, I will always be skeptical about the gullibility and/or credibility of linebackers.

Welcome Home Mistress

It's been dark, cold, wet and gloomy this week in River City. The only thing to do is huddle up and share bodily warmth until the misery of a drab winter passes, or at least until we can flee to our Southwestern Hideaway again.

And adding insult to injury, Mistress had to spend Tuesday night on the road, off in one of our state's dreary backwaters.

"You'll be in your cage all day, Slave."

Of course I would.

Now I know Suzanne over at All Mine will not sympathize, but when cold weather meets the hard steel of that confining cage.... well, OUCH. Those tender balls want to contract and hide as the temperature falls. But their path is blocked by that hard cold ring.

The result can get rather uncomfortable as the day goes on, and unfortunately Slave had several appointments out of the warm confines of my office.

OUCH.

So when I finally got home, late after a client meeting, I was thrilled that Mistress was in an indulgent and beneficent mood.

"You can take it off, Slave.... and I won't make you wear it tomorrow.

Ahhh...

""...But no touching, Slave...."

It was a fair price to pay.

Last night, Mistress and I both arrived home by 6 pm, giving us plenty of time for some hot re-union sex in the executive suite. And after a cold and lonely night the prior evening, it was heavenly to sidle up to her warm and sumptuous body through the night.

In a damp cold January in River City, one has to embrace life's simpler pleasures.