Mick and Molly’s spring break with the surly teens is coming to its end. One more day of skiing and then we head back to River City on Sunday. We have spent a good bit of our time with our kids, skiing, and sampling the music at some local honkytonks. But those long afternoon après ski siestas have also given us plenty of time for our favorite form of recreation.
As a daughter said last night:
“How can you spend so much time ‘napping’?”
“Well, dear….” (How to explain?)
The photo above shows how Mistress gets herself all gussied up for a night on the town here, once that long siesta is over. Like the cowboy boots?
This week, which began with a theme of devotions to my favorite Mistress parts. So before week’s end, I would be remiss not to mention those delicious morsels at the apex of Mistress’s firm thighs.
Their taste and scent have long been a primary source of my addiction to her. I suspect I have spent at least a hundred hours over the 20 some years of my relationship with my face planted between those legs exploring, lapping, munching, sucking, probing with tongue and fingers. I see myself as some ancient Conquistador looking for the headwaters of the Rio Grande, our local tributary out here. It will take a while, but sooner or later I may solve the mystery. Or die trying.
Sometimes I have gotten an assist from our collection of toys, in particular that subtly colored crystal cock we acquired in Soho about 2 years ago. Using it to probe as my tongue works Mistress’s clit always produces an interesting and delightful response.
Of course, my cock has a particular affection for these parts. Nothing feels better than her tight grip on it when I get the chance to take her the traditional way.
Since Mistress and I signed our contract, my relationship with her cunt has become more formalized and hierarchical. It has become “worship” and often occurs with me on my knees, her thighs pressed against my head, holding me close, or maybe draped over my shoulders clinging tight to the head that is stimulating her. When my hands are tied behind my back for this exercise, it’s all the more fun.
And of course, now I need an express invitation to fuck here, which often does not come until Mistress has toyed with my cock enough to assure that it is very hard to meet her exacting standards, and I am very, very desperate.
And before I am allowed to come inside those precious parts, I must ask permission. I need to be careful not to get too close before I make that request. That’s not as easy as it sounds.
Now that Mistress’s Dom, the enigmatic Sir M, has required her to keep her parts all clean shaven and tidy, my addiction seems to be even more intense.
It’s just a whole lot more fun to taste and toy with her in this hairless mode. My view is unimpeded, and what a view it is. Pink, fleshy bud protruding between somewhat darker fleshy lips.
The feel of it is now slick and soft, particularly when those juicies begin to leak. It’s hard for me to keep my hands off.
And the taste is all the sweeter without the fur to impair its flow to my taste buds.
Last night, after some time at a local bar, we sidled into bed against one another, with no plans for sexual engagement until morning. We had been pretty busy during that earlier siesta, after all.
But my hand had trouble staying to itself. It slid under her gauzy, pale green panties to remind myself of the treat that awaiting this morning.
“What are you up to, Slave?”
“Oh…nothing Mistress …. Just touching your smoothness. Do you want me to moisturize?”
I was being impertinent, I know. But sometimes it’s just hard to resist.
“I’m sleepy, Slave. You can touch, but no stimulation.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
After a few soft and non-stimulating strokes, I withdrew my hand, in “good Slave” mode.
But now the moon is setting here, and the sun is beginning to light the eastern horizon, still hiding behind the sacred mountain.
Soon it will be time for my morning devotions.
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