A Wanton Display

By Sunday night I could tell Mistress was getting a little … edgy. She and M had been unable to arrange one of their phone “dates” over the weekend. Schedules and stars did not align correctly.

It had been on, then off in Sunday evening. So instead of begging for release as he muttered scenarios of her debauchery over the phone, the Hitachi churning between her legs, Mistress ended up excavating the layers of refuse and tank tops in surly teen number 2’s bedroom. 

She went from the sublime to REAL torture, and not the kind involving nipple clamps.

Of course, Mistress had  more than fair share of orgasms over the weekend, as one could see from our postings. But she had not had the proper balance of Slave and Master that she seems to crave these days.

Monday morning we were off to our respective offices.

 Focus, Focus, Focus.

There was just time for one of those shower orgasms for her, when I slide my fingers between her wet folds, kiss her passionately and get her off with a little shudder and giggle. 

Hardly enough to get her through the day.

And from the reports I was receiving her day was a series of long and boring meetings, with little time to engage either M or me in any smutty diversions.

When I came down from my perch and met her in the lobby of my office tower at around 5:30, I found her looking a bit frazzled, though amply fetching, in a black and white patterned cotton dress that flitted about her thighs.

But what she said took even me by surprise.

“M wants me to get me off  on the ride home, Slave.    I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

Well …. I suppose I wouldn’t.

“He’s been trying to get me all day …. But I’ve been so busy. So he said, let’s just do it on your drive home.”

“Fine with me, Mistress.”

“Yes….I told him you would love it.”

We took the elevator down to the bowels of the building where my car was parked against a wall. Mistress quickly climbed inside, and hiked up her dress.

“I’m taking off my undies, Slave….”

Yes, she was. Her feet askew, ass wriggling,  her black panties sliding down her legs,  and then off.

Very efficient. She had swiftly transitioned from frazzled but focused business executive to his little wanton slut, desperate to dig her fingers into what must surely have been a sopping cunt.

I would have liked to dig in too, but I was focusing on navigating the car out of the garage before one of my colleagues caught a glimpse of Mistress’s naked cunt, now on full display, through the passenger side window.

Before we even pulled onto a downtown street, Mistress was dialing M up.

“We are a few blocks from the highway, and there are lots of folks and cars around us. But I know you are in a hurray…..”

My sense was that M had a tight schedule now, but had a need to get Mistress off as much as she needed him.

“I’m slidng the seat back, M.”

Her feet were up on the dash. Her knees spread wide, giving her fingers free and ready access.  The seat was in full recline. Mistress was  providing a lascivious view to anyone who bothered to peer through our window.

I wanted to watch the action, but I was also steering through some end of day traffic, and trying to make sure that we did not come to a stop next to some teenaged girls in the car in the lane to our right, who’s wandering eyes might be a tad shocked.

The sounds I heard were the squishing of fingers against damp flesh, and mumbled  responses to her Master’s compelling voice.

“Yes”.

 “Ummmm”

“Of course I would…..”

“I’m listening….”

Then a burst of impassioned  moans.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Mistress’s hips rising off the car seat. Her thighs were scissoring and squeezing against her roving fingers.

When she came down she thrust a damp and musky finger between my lips, letting me savor her musky taste.

We had not even made it onto the expressway.

“That was fast M.”

An understatement. 

They talked a bit more. Mistress’s legs were still spread wide, her feet still parked on the dash.

A minute or two later, as I navigated up the expressway, taking particular care to zip past truckers who would have gotten an eyeful of they had glanced our way, the cycle began anew.

“He wants me to do it for him again, Slave.”

Her head was back against the seat, eyes screwed shut, focused on his voice and the fingers that were sliding with purpose through her glistening folds.

And, again within moments she was coming for him, moaning her passion, her hips bouncing from side to side in her leather bucket seat.

Hopefully the lady in the pickup truck next to us was not too distracted.

Sadly, M had to ring off. Mistress allowed me to savor her flavors by licking off her fingers again.

“So what was he telling you, Mistress that made you so hot?”

“Oh the usual, Slave”

She was underselling, probably a little embarrassed at how quickly she can succumb to him.

But if she had let her fingers rove below my belt line at the moment, she would have understood that “the usual”  worked for me too.