What would they think?

Last night, Mistress and Slave attended a charity event that attracted a good chunk of River City’s gay and lesbian society set . A fun evening with goofy, over the top spring costumes. We stood out as sore thumbs among only a handful of the bland, vanilla couples.

I sipped a vodka and tonic and watched my charming wife commiserate with a very attractive female couple we have come to know. She shared a story with them about my comment when I saw an emailed photo of them with Molly. When it arrived, Mistress and I were lying together in bed over the Holidays (naked of course, a detail Mistress was sure to add).

I said something to the effect that the taller of the two was “stunning” (and she is). Mistress reported the comment, and acknowledged that she took some offense at the time. For me the truth was a defense. It was no different than our conversation about a recent photo spread of Grace Kelly in Vanity Fair. Wow!

But the acknowledgement of a classic beauty takes nothing away from the fact that Mistress is and always will be a knock out. She has been my my primo fetish object since I met her all the way back in 1987.

The two women laughed.

Mistress said, “I think he takes me for granted.”

They shook their heads. They knew better.

“Hardly, I grovel for her….”

They smiled, laughed again, one said, “I’m sure you do.”

Hopefully Mistress was paying attention.

The night evolved into lots of dancing to all those cliché gay anthems, from Cher to Leslie Gore and the rest, played by a cross dressed disk jockey who seemed reluctant to move for fear his poufy wig would hit the floor.

Watching the joyously writhing bodies, it was hard not to imagine how Mistress’s lesbian friends would react to the site of Mistress’s clean shaven cunt, and what they might do to make it perform its slutty tricks.

Would they be surprised to learn that this straight couple, who had not gotten the funny costume memo (or at least not taken it to heart) were over in the corner sharing comments on the latest email from her Dom, or trading observations on how this side relationship Mistress is cultivating makes both of them hot for one another too?

And what would they think if they had seen Mistress sporting her strap-on earlier that afternoon, reminding her Slave of his place?

Our morning had begun with a provocative email from Sir M, which Molly read to me when I returned from dropping a surly teen off for one of those dreaded college admissions exams.

As I recall the message, he noted his pleasure in how Mistress’s clit became engorged with blood as he massaged it on their last date. He asked for her comments on what she likes about his cock and his manner of fucking her with it.

These were notes that I could relate to. Now that the forest has been cut, its interesting to observe the “before” and “after” view of Mistress’s pink clit poking from between her paler lips. But why does the knowledge that he had been massaging my Mistress’s leaky cunt, and pushing her to an orgasm or four with fingers and cock turn me on too?

These words had clearly cranked up Mistress’s arousal in my absence. Fortunately it seemed she had waited for me to help her scratch this itch. So we were soon working our magic on one another, spending our passion before taking to the hills for a long bike ride.

Later that day, after some yard work for me, and a trip by Mistress to find a prom dress for a surly teen, Mistress reminded me it was time for a Saturday ritual that we had missed on our trip out west.

“It’s time for me to fuck you in the ass, Slave.”

I had showered and was lying on the bed, naked, ready for her, the way she likes.

Mistress took her time, assembling her tools and sliding into her harness. This was the sight that I wondered how her lesbian friends would react to….Would they invite her to “bring it on”, or would they like to use one on her? Probably both.

Mistress and I kissed and snuggled a bit. She likes me nice and hard before she takes me this way. And when she was ready….

“Tell me what you want, Slave?

“I think you know Mistress.”

“Remind me.”

With that, her grip tightened on a hardened cock.

‘Fuck, me in the Ass, Mistress.”

“Pardon?”

“Please, Mistress. Please fuck me in the Ass.”

I know, it sounds pathetic. But it’s our way.

She positioned me, a pillow under my hips to give her the right angle.

She needed a little help finding her target. It had been a few weeks.

And my ass seemed a bit tighter than normal. She filled and stretched me real good.

“You need this, don’t you Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Explain….”

She’s thrusting now. Hard to focus on a Q and A, but I try.

“It reminds me that …. I am yours, Mistress. That I …..that …you are in charge. You can take your pleasure from me as it pleases you….”

“Yes I can, Slave.”

She’s thrusting harder now, and then explodes against me. Is it the power, the angle, the leather harness pressing and rubbing against that highly exposed clit? Who knows, but this was a very big one.

As she comes down a bit, her body straightens and her thrusts get even harder, deeper. Ouch.

“Enough, Mistress”.

She responds, slowing then withdrawing. But she threatens punishment later….

“I don’t know that I like you telling me when you’ve had enough Slave.”

Point well taken.

Reflecting on this last night as the music swelled and the bodies bumped, I wondered what our fellow revelers would think about the “real” Mick and Molly.