HNT / Day in the Cage

It was a long day in the cage yesterday.

We were up early to take Surly teen #2 to the airport for a visit with a friend in NYC.

Mistress allowed me to use my fingers to get her off to a juicy one in the shower.

“I’d play with you too a bit, Slave. But I know that might make it  harder for you to get the cage on.”

Very considerate of her, don’t you think?

So there I was, still dripping, as I  shmushed my balls and cock through the hard   steel ring, then forcing the cage part over my cock.  Mistress always seems to take a certain delight in closing the tiny lock shut, knowing I am secured away until she sees fit to unlock me.

After the teen was on her way, Mistress was heading back to that tennis tournament to entertain some clients. Meanwhile I was buried in some work at my office. As the players took the court, and worked their serves up to 140 mph, Mistress would text me a photo from her courtside seat.

One came of a guy who’s fans call him “Rafa”.

“Hot?”, I texted back?

“Yes!” came her reply.

But two can play this game.

I shut my office door, lowered my pants, and positioned my tiny cell phone just so.

Snap.

“Hotter?”, I responded.

When the picture of my caged cock surrounded by my public fur popped up on her I-phone at courtside, I understand Mistress  was a little surprised.

Later she confided that our Western Correspondent, M, was also texting her during that match – with some trash talk about how someday her lovely ass would succumb to his mighty cock.

So Mistress was being tagged team to distraction, even as she was distracting the both if us with shots of those hunksters throwing themselves around the court in front of her.

Served her right.

Mistress and I both headed home at about the same time.

The kids were now both out-of-state, which is always a cause célèbre. Our plan was a bike ride to the pool, where Mistress would slim her 30 minutes of laps as I perused the Times. Then back home for dinner .

But first worship was in order. The removal of my cage would not occur until Mistress had been satisfied.  She slid off those black undies, and I slid to my knees.

Before getting down to business, I inhaled the musky aroma of her clean shaven parts. Intoxicating.

“Hope I am not too stinky down there, Slave. I was sitting out in the sun all day.”

And of course there was likely the intermittent flow of juices, particularly with M’s salacious text banter.

“Not at all Mistress. You are marinated just the way I like it.”

And I showed my gratitude by helping her with tongue and lips to a nice writhing explosion that earned my release from that little confining prison.

Ahhhhh.

Later last night, after exercise, dinner, and some mindless TV, highlighted by Mistress parading about the house in some skimpy pinkish and black nightwear, we had a conference call.

After some months of reading her naughty blog, and some friendly emailing repartee, we had made an appointment to talk to one of our  blogger colleagues.  A first for us. (She can comment if she wants you to know who we are referring to.)

Hving this secret part of our life certainly has its charms. But sometimes keeping this far more exciting part of our life a secret is hard. It’s nice to have a few folks who we can talk with who are in on the secret.

So as Mistress and I lay across the bed, in various states of undress, the speaker phone between us, it was nice to trade tips, observations and backstories with someone who knows more about us from our blog than about 99.8% of the folks in our “real” life.

And we got some good, practical advice.

“You can never Dom too much.”

Point well taken.

And Molly heard a very nice endorsement, from one with some recent experience,  for getting that ass fucking  M has promised.

After that talk, it definitely remains one of her prime ASS-pirations.

And, for those out there who worry about “poor” Mick, after the conference call ended,  there was plenty of time for some non-ass fucking at the Collins household.

Love All

Over the last few days, Mistress has been spending some time entertaining clients at a tennis tournament going on this fortnight up the road from River City. And sometimes Mick gets to come along for the ride.

Last week it was the tennis babes who were in town.

Now the guys are here.

Mistress has snapped a few shots of guys who register on her “hunk” meter, and emailed them to me or to M for our amusement. A Spaniard named Lopez seemed to particularly catch her eye.

And last night, her Slave got to come a long to be charming and hold Mistress’s beverages.

Yes, I can do charming, like any good domesticated Slave may be required to do from time to time.

Mistress was particularly moved by the exotic accent of the Egyptian referee, who was a swarthy fellow, and rumbled in a peculiar Egyp-lish sound about whether a call had been challenged or there had been a “Leeaat”.

I promised to try to replicate later that evening in bed.

But during the doubles matches, things can get a little dull. We clicked onto our email account and say Weave’s charming comment about his admiration for Mistress’s ability to “Multitask”. That got me teasing Mistress, as we whispered at courtside, about our episode Sunday afternoon during which she demonstrated an uncanny ability to eat caramel corn and come at the same time. It was a fascinating engagement of two orifices, slightly different than the one ‘Nilla envisioned in her recent episode of “The Mountain.”

“Mistress, have you ever done that before…..eat and come at the same time?”

“Not that I recall, Slave.”

Hmmm. She was sounding like a well coached witness with something to hide.

I decided to ask M if this was something he had witnessed at home.

“I’m e mailing M to ask him if B can do that trick.”

She laughed but did not object. Later we got his response.

"Too funny! No she doesn't believe in eating in bed. unlike u two lunatics we don't have picnics in bed... wish we did but oh well... very impressive multi tasking though Molly! u should have been an executive.... keeping all those balls in the air would be a breeze compared to your level of concentration drive and purpose. too funny."

Yes, it was impressive.

But soon the tag team from Carmel, Indiana succumbed to an odd combination from Pakistan and India (we were concerned that there might be a nuclear confrontation of they lost), and Mistress and her Slave were heading home.

We surprised Surly teen #2 when we arrived home a tad earlier than she had planned. Ur basement was filled with some of her surly compadres, though if they were up to no good, it was hard for us to tell.

Upstairs, Mistress reminded me of the next morning’s agenda:

“I want you in your cage in the morning, Slave.”


“Of course, Mistress.”

I would not be repeating the mistake I made Monday. (Still awaiting that punishment.)

“But now, go put in your device….I want a hard cock to go with the Egyptian accent.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Catching Up

When I write it seems always to be on a deadline.

I get up, make coffee, peruse blogs by colleagues like ‘Nilla, Aisha, Sin. This am, Remittance Girl has a long and compelling story. Watch the clock. Knowing that at a set time, my duty is to go up to Mistress, assure she is awake, give her my morning work product to review, and, of course, caress her lush parts with my tongue as she scrolls through it.

Sometimes the deadline works well. Other times my opportunity to finish my thoughts or sufficiently edit my outpouring expires.

Yesterday I got through our morning activities but was unable to add some of the afternoon and evenings details to keep you up to date with the crazy Collins.

Like how, on Sunday afternoon, after we spent some time broasting ourselves at the local, no PDA’s allowed swim club, we came home to an empty home and dug into a large bag of caramel corn I had acquired for Mistress on an outing with my cute as can be grandson.

Mistress has a weakness for caramel corn. I have a (well documented) weakness for Mistress.

So as she munched her way to the bottom of that bag, splayed naked across our bed, I munched away on her. I was wondering if my tongue and mouth could be as compelling as the caramel corn. Could I squeeze an orgasm from her even while she was crunching away at it? Or was Mistress unable to chew corn and come at the same time? (sort of a kinky version of the Gerry Ford conundrum, of you remember him).

The answer: I knew Gerry Ford, and Mistress, you’re know Gerry Ford.

Mistress can multitask with the best of them. Or at least her cunt can.

And afterwards, when the caramel corn was just a fond memory, she commanded me to insert my little device, and service her properly with my firm and steady cock.

I did not try to fuck her and eat at the same time, mind you.

Sunday evening I had plans to take surly teen #2 to a preseason football game. And Mistress had her own plans.

Knowing she would be home alone, she had made a date with our Western Correspondent.

She was looking forward to it since they had not had that opportunity in a while. Mistress did not want to admit it, but I suspect she was feeling a bit desperate for M’s attention, his explicit directions on how to deploy the Power tool on her needy parts.

But I can be a trouble maker.

“Maybe I should hide the Hitachi, Mistress.”

She looked at me in horror. Apparently our morning session, and then the afternoon, catered session, had only stoked the fire.

“That would be very bad slave….”

“Might earn me a punishment?”

I guess I literally am a glutton for it.


She grabbed her new I-phone, and tapped away.

“I’m telling M you are threatening to hide it, Slave.”

Moments later, she got her response.

She glanced at it and smiled.

“He says that’s very bad Slave behavior.”

But of course, I am not so cruel.

Later, at the game, as I daughter and I watched the NFL debut of a certain human battering ram with a collection of Heisman trophies, I knew that Mistress was back at home, battering her cunt one more time at M’s direction. Sort of taking it for the Gipper.

Yesterday morning I performed the duties described above. Then headed off to work.

Though I am in trouble. I forgot to ask Mistress if I should wear my cage, since it was not a day when we drove together.

She reminded me later of my error, in a brief phone call.

“You screwed up, Slave.”

I confessed to my error, and await my punishment.

When I got home, a little later than Mistress, she described her own afternoon.

“I had a little mini-date with M a little while ago, Slave.”

“Oh….”

“I mentioned I was home alone and he called me.”

I could tell Mistress was happy about this. She likes our mutual attention.

And of course this got Slave going too.

“ How ‘bout I worship you and you tell me about it Mistress?”

“Of course, Slave.”

Our planned bike ride could wait.

Mistress stretched across the bed. I placed a pillow on the floor for my knobby old guy knees. And as she spread her legs, I hopped to my duty.

She described how he told her to apply the tool to her horny little cunt, and spun a tale of her bent over his desk, absorbing his spanks, and then that larger than life cock of his.

And I did my best to help her relive her role.

‘After that he had to go, Slave. He said he was going to his office bathroom to take care of himself.”

I am not sure what part of this Mistress likes better. Coming so hard at his command, or imagining M working his cock to a lather with dreams of Mistress in his head.

But I do know that Mistress seems happy with M as part of her life.

And that’s good enough for me.


Opps. Time is up.

The Frustrated Mistress

It’s usually the Slave that gets frustrated in this household.

Either by denial – locked in my little cock cage – or when I am allowed to fuck Mistress to my hearts desire, but the tipping point to orgasm seems achingly out of reach.

But yesterday’s Switch day waas a different story.

Mistress was tied to the bed. Her wrists locked in our red leather cuffs, linked over head and lashed to the bed.

She was on her tummy, bottom available and exposed.

And her ankles were tied together tightly, making it harder for her to spread her luscious legs.

I began with a thorough cropping of that ripe bottom (or as one commenter has referred to it her “sweet ass.”) As I lavished it with red stripes we discussed Sin’s recent observations on her relationship with M:

“I think she was closer to the mark than you would like to admit, Mistress….”

“Oh really, Slave?”

“Yes….I think you are longing to submit to him, grovel for him the way I have groveled for you….but you are too proud to admit it.”

A new blow landed.  

“Ouch….that hurt…., Slave…but you may be right, I’m not much for groveling, am I….”

Before I was done with her bottom, and after a few hand spanks were thrown in,  it was red and she was squirming against the bed. And - big surprise - the intoxicating smell of her runny little cunt was all about our bed chambers.

I lay next to her on the bed, a hand roving over her bottom and back, feeling the little red welts I had left behind. And, of course, dipping between her ass cheeks to confirm how wet she had become. Mistress seems well programmed to anticipate a good fucking after a good cropping.

But first….the power tool.

It was resting beside the bed. I flipped it on and slid it through her legs from behind.

She squirmed as best she could with bound ankles to accommodate it.

“Oh…good Slave…., finally.”

And her wriggling began in earnest.

I had my head resting on her back, enjoying the little show she puts on, with her well defined ass and leg muscles flexing, relaxing, flexing some more, as she tried with increasing desperation to extract what her cunt demanded from the churning tool.

But her bound ankles were a confounding obstacle to her prime objective.

She could not spread those heavenly legs wide enough to get the access that her clit demanded from the churning white bulb of the Hitachi.

But that did not stop her.

Her hips began to rise and lower against the bed, all the while pumping and churning to grab tighter hold of the business end of the tool.

And I have to admit, I was not being all that helpful. Yes, my wrist had the little device engaged between those gripping thighs.

But did I do my best to slide it under her where she needed it to be?

Uhhh….not so much.

“You seem a little frustrated, Mistress. Should I turn it off for a while and let you relax a while?  Maybe go make us some coffee as you languish in your bonds?”

Her expletives have been deleted.

By now her body was glowing and damp with her perspiration. Her hips kept churning, though I could tell her muscles were beginning to strain and tire.

“Maybe you’d like me to help you roll over….?”

“No….just a little more………ohhhhhh…….yes , OK, roll me over.”

“How do you want to ask that, Mistress?

She moans in further frustration…..

“Please, Slave, roll me over….”

“Of course, Mistress.”

By now our sheets were damp….very damp. I noted with delight the dark stain where her cunt had been pumping so hard but fruitlessly  against the sheets.

On her back now, Mistress did her best to spread her legs, still bound at the ankles.

And I must say that as I pressed the tool against her, I was beyond trying to frustrate her. She throbbed and squirmed and pressed her self against it.

But still……She was just not quite there.

Her head was pitching back and forth, damp locks sticking to her face, her mouth devouring my tongue when I saw fit to share it with her.

The show was a good one, but I was feeling a little sorry for her by now.

“Maybe I should untie your legs, Mistress?”

“Oh, yes, please Slave…..”

She had the tone right, so I switched off the tool, and stepped away, untying her legs, helping her stretch and flex them.  Then sliding on top of her….

“What are you doing, Slave?”

He voice sounded a bit panicked.  She wanted that tool back. Now.

“Well my cock has been so hard for so long, I thought I might fuck you now.”

More expletives deleted.

I did for a bit, giving her a taste. Enjoying the warm embrace of that frustrated cunt. Lavishing her with kisses. But knowing she was far too gone for the sweet treatment.

Even a Slave on Switch day is not so cruel as to deny his Mistress what she really needed.

So I withdrew and the tool was re-engaged. And mistress spread those wondrous legs far and wide, allowing the device prime access to her needy and throbbing clit, which by now was probably on red alert.

And Mistress was convulsing and writhing and pumping those hips into the air to (finally) come with a deep and expansive moan of relief.

The after shocks were still racking her soaking body when I finally turned the machine off, resting my head on her chest, an arm comforting her as tears wet her face and sobs racked her.

But she was not done. Not just yet.

“Fuck me now, Slave….I need my cock.”

“Of curse, Mistress.”