MIstress Presses Several of Her Slave's Buttons.

Mistress put me on notice early on Saturday morning:

“Are you ready for my strap on this afternoon, Slave?”

Gulp. Yes. I was ready. But somehow the advance notice always sends a shiver down my spine that settles at the base of my balls.

After a trip to the gym, some auto maintenance and other light Saturday duties, Mistress suggested we adjourn to the bedroom, announcing to the surly teens that their parents would be taking a “nap”.

Mistress must have decided to press several of her Slave’s buttons. First she slid into those silky nude toned pantyhose with the special access passage carved into the crotch. She knows their texture can drive this Slave to distraction.

Next she donned her strap-on (the photo is from a few weeks back, but you get the picture). Menacing with promise.

She likes her Slave naked, and I obliged. Soon we were both under the sheets, me sidling against her sensuously sheathed legs, she grasping my cock with obvious purpose. Within a few minutes I was begging to fuck her ….but, of course, she laughed me off.

“Slave, you know who will be doing the fucking ….”

I was fully prepared to submit.

But just as were preparing  for the main event, the text on Mistress’s cell chimed. Mine too. It was surly teen number 2, demanding an immediate ride to a friend’s house. Argh. (Why does a teen text her parents from down the hall, rather than walk a few short steps and knock on the door? Maybe under those circumstances one can’t complain.)

Being a pushover, I obliged. Though it was literally painful to pry Mistress’s warm fingers from my swollen appendage. I slid into a pair of jeans, and was soon off into the cold Midwestern air for driving duty.

15 minutes later I returned.  Fortunately, Mistress had not found an alternative “victim”, and was still there, under the warm covers, tending to internet duties on her laptop. I was glad not to have been replaced.

It did not take long for Mistress’s skilled attentions, and my own roving mouth and fingers, to put us back in the same crazed state we had created for one another before that damn text chime.

Mistress directed me to assume the proper position.

With my Ass plumped up for her, she found her target and plunged in, filling me with her hard plastic tool. My firm, desperate cock throbbed against the pillow beneath me as Mistress exercised her powers, reducing her Slave to a panting, whimpering receptacle.

Maybe I was distracted in my own little sub space, but it seemed that Mistress’s quivering explosion crept up on her quickly, as she suddenly bucked against me, losing the rhythm of her penetrating strokes, her nails digging into my shoulders as she moaned in her pleasure.

“That’s enough for now Slave.”

She rose, leaving her apparatus on the bathroom floor for Slave to attend to later. I remained spread out on the bed, breathing hard, in the strange state of semi-shock I find after these sessions.

She commanded me to insert my little probe, so I struggled up from the sheets sticking to my body, and complied. My ass was open and ready.

Returning to the bed, my cock full and ready for her, Mistress lay back, and helped me find the little opening in her panty hose so that I could fuck her properly.

She was still in need, but now it was my time to do the work. And I was happy to clock in. In these tough economic times, it’s crazy to pass up a little overtime on a Saturday afternoon.