Washington Post Gets Kinky

Mistress and slave are sitting here at DFW. Our lovely daughter is in DC, boarding her flight to
"the Continent". We had a melancholy parting back at the River City airport around 2 pm, as we headed west and she headed east.  She confirmed via text that it "wasn't that bad being home".

And while I've been whining about our infested nest, it is a little sad to see her heading off again for another tour of duty in Europe, where she will no doubt be exposed to the threat of terrorism and the temptations of all that high alcohol content Belgian ale.

We plan to recover from the whole daunting affair with some time in our SW hideaway. And while Mistress may be sans alpha lover for another 14 days or so, I will try to make it worth her while.

But in the meantime, as I was scanning the Washington Post for the latest dreary political developments I stumbled across this illustrated  article about the recovery of some Irving Klaw photos of the legendary Betty Page -- including some hot bondage shots. It turns out that Mr. Klaw had his own tormenters in Congress, just as Mrs. Clinton has now. But the fact one of the nation's most main stream media outlets will now publish bondage imagery suggests that kinksters have come a long way.

Either that or Jeff Bezos, the Post's owner and Amazon kingpin is  one kinky dude!

Lazy Labor Day Weekend

Mistress and slave are running out the clock on our shared habitation with our lovely youngest daughter. Our wake-up sex rituals and afternoon worship sessions are still subject to the "run silent, run deep" rule, since the Domme in Training rarely leaves her room unless we take her out for yet another meal.

(She claims that when in Europe she prepares many of her meals at home, so eating out is a "treat". Somehow slave is skeptical. In the meantime, my Amex card is getting a workout, and my waistline is expanding!)

But there is hope!  Her long term visa has come through, and she is scheduled to return to "The Continent" come Wednesday. Mistress and slave are wasting no time, and will be traveling to the airport with her to catch our own flight west, to enjoy the final days of summer at our SW hideaway.

And while it's been nice to spend some quality feed bad time with our youngest, we also miss our ability to conduct our sex life without the encumbering veil of silence. And that includes Mistress's freedom to engage in some extracurricular fun too!  It's going on a month since she's been able to exploit her cuckoldress privilege!  I have a feeling Jay could use some Mistress time too.

In the meantime, Slave will resort to some visual stimulation as a cheap but gratifying substitute for  raunchy prose. Mistress was taking a nap yesterday afternoon after a few hours at the swim club in its final summer weekend. When I came up after tending to the salmon slowly smoking in our yard, I discovered her snoozing au naturale. As you can see, those tan lines have made a comeback in the last month. She's got some work to do on our high desert patio starting Thursday.

Cuckold Interruptus

The good news here is that Mistress is now back on our bed. Wednesday evening was our big reunion.

When I arrived home from work I wasted little time closing the door, and putting some "passion masking" music on the radio in our room to spare our daughter in the bedroom next door the sound of her desperate father enjoying his opportunity for some "real" sex after several days of the bogus kind.

Of course, Mistress has had plenty of her slave's workmanlike sexual attention these last few weeks. But she's been missing the tongue, cock and exertions of her more alpha lover Jay because of the vagabond daughter camping out here since early August. While they were able to act like casual friends at lunch last week in front of her, it might be hard to explain an hour squirreled away in our bedroom.  Plus I am not confident that Jay could "run silent, run deep" in a way that could mask their carnal fun from curious ears in the house.

We thought last evening would be her / their  big opportunity.  I arranged to take our nest crasher out to the Pussycats' final "exhibition" (aka practice for guys who won't be on the roster by Sunday) game, so Mistress could have an un-quiet evening at home in our marital bed with Jay.

But all my devious planning was for naught.

"His babysitter fell through, Slave", reported a crestfallen Mistress when I got home yesterday afternoon.

Bummer.  So much for my devious planning. And now I was stuck going to a game where the primary objective seemed to be to use players you never heard of who's mission was to generate some video tape that might catch the eye of some desperate coach in the Canadian football league.

When we got home after 3 quarters of fruitless on-field mediocrity from C-list players that had generated a 3-3 tie, Mistress was tucked away in bed. For all I know, the orgasms I had delivered in our Thursday morning wake-up sex were the only ones she enjoyed all day long.

Poor Mistress!   I'll try to make amends this weekend.  I may have to volunteer to be Jay's babysitter.

The Doctor Is In

Slave's sad 3 days of solitude are almost over. Mistress and our daughter are already in the car, headed back from the River City.  And you will be surprised to hear that slave was a slacker when it came to exploiting Mistress's "permission" to self-abuse daily while she was away.  I did it Sunday evening, and again on Monday night.  But by yesterday I couldn't muster the energy or interest in taking matters into my own hands.

I guess I am spoiled. I read over at A Married Sissy this morning that Terri has had only 11 orgasms in 2016. That's a little less than my average over two weeks. I may typically miss one day each week. But that's about it. And every now and then there might be a two-a-day!  Talk about your pampered house slave!  So I guess it makes sense that permissive pocket pool would seem like a yawn to me.  It's so much better to have Mistress's assistance!

I also dodged any cage time on this brief hiatus from daily supervision.  Following Mistress's edict, I was able to go to work cageless on Monday and will today because I rode my bike to work.  And yesterday - well there was an MD appointment at the dermatologist. It was time for my annual check-up for this fair skinned Irish lad. Since my MD - a sultry Iranian lady with a kinky wardrobe - is very thorough, well you would not want slave to be embarrassed!

Sure enough my MD appeared in her traditional black leather pants. But since it's still August, she was not in the knee high black boots she sported last November when we met for the first time.  Instead, she had on some strappy black sandals, showing off some well groomed toes in some sort of dark, purplish toe polish.  Impressive. Though not quite as kinky as some fantasy Domme MDs might be.

It turns out I was prudent not to wear the cage. On arrival the perky assistant proposed that I disrobe and put on one of those flimsy surgical gowns. (In green, not pink, Terri!)

"Opening in the back", she helpfully reminded. As if I would think to put the damn thing on with my front wide open, connected only by a couple of flimsy laces.

Soon my Doctor Domme swept into the room, dark hair and smoldering  eyes quickly sizing up my mottled, aging skin with a wisdom beyond her ears.  She quickly ordered me to shed the thin garment to allow for a less obscured inspection.

I had on some madonna blue underpants Mistress had selected for me -  a bit long in the leg, and very soft fabric. Not quite "panties" but the texture comes close.  If Doctor Domme reacted to them, I couldn't tell.  She had me turn around, and had one more direction.

"Would you mind dropping your shorts so I can take a better look down there?"

"Of course not.....( oops....I had to stifle the impulse to conclude with a "mistress"..... I guess that's what happens when I'm left unmoored for three whole days.)

In any event, hopefully Mistress will now understand why I didn't wear the cage yesterday.

Soon my inspection was over. But before I left there was some "discipline" in the form of her torturing my face and head with some of that ultra cold gas she sprayed from a little tank to freeze off some "pre-cancerous" spots here and there.

"Maybe I should just stick my head in a bucket of that stuff" I snarked.  She was not amused.

Sadly, she then left me to my own devices, with a nod and hand shake and instructions to come back in two months. I quickly climbed back into my street clothes, and caught one more glimpse of her at her desk computer, no doubt recording the results of my exam.  Or maybe she was just checking her "Fetlife" or "collarspace" in box?