I am not exactly sure how it happened.
But sitting here this morning, coffee brewed, I am wishing I had read stories in the “mainstream media” about “terror mosques” and the silly things 20% of Maericans believe, rather than ‘Nilla’s blog about her adventures with her Sir last Sunday, or Aisha’s blog anticipating her encounter with a special someone wielding a yard stick collected from the State Fair.
After our late night Thursday watching the tennis studs, Mistress had let it be known that Friday morning before work would be set aside for a bracing bike ride. She is an exercise fiend, as those shots of her lush body show.
So after reading ‘Nilla’s further adventures of some barely fictional characters performing unnatural acts in a Mountain Stream, it was time for some tough love for Slave.
I did my best to file away the image of a certain Domme being forced to fuck an inanimate phallus to please her Master, and slid into my riding shorts and shoes. The air was still cool as I joined Mistress for that first 7 am loop up a killer hill.
When she returned (she is a two loop girl, and I am a two lump guy), there was just time for a shower before heading to work. And though I made sure that Mistress had a special treat in the shower - sliding my fingers through her wet and soaped up folds until she was shuddering through a comfy little climax – I knew that I should not expect any sauce for this gander.
Later, at mid-day, Mistress surprised me with a visit to the office.
I had been to a rather tedious meeting, and was grinding away on an even more tedious project, with a mess of papers spread across my desk, when she floated in as an unanticipated vision, all glamorously summer casual in a loose fitting navy cotton dress, floating a tad above her knees, legs naked and well tanned.
But beneath that Friday in August professional polish, I had a feeling there was a little itch that needed to be scratched.
At this point, words are not required.
She “casually” shut the door behind her.
I slid her “throne” against the door, laid that little maroon blanket underneath to keep the upholstery presentable for more official visitors.
She sat back, knees spread, black panties draped around an ankle, the hem of her dress barely covering her cleanly groomed “naughty bits”.
Delicious.
I could not resist recording the image to share with you.
And by now Slave’s earlier “denial”, was taking it’s toll. On my knees, sucking Mistress’s pink and needy clit between by teeth, inhaling her scintillating musk, my cock began to twitch and grow.
Mistress wrapped one of her firm thighs around my neck, pulling my mouth even closer to her, and came with a sudden jerk, her head knocking a bit against the door to my office. Fortunately, no one in the hallway outside tried to open that door to figure out what the two lovebirds were up to now.
But quickly, after pulling the disheveled parts together, she was out the door.
“Better get back to work, Slave.”
I collected a kiss, austere enough not to smear the lipstick she had quickly reapplied. She left behind something firm and needy.
“Later”, I told myself, and dug back into that unruly collection of paper on my desk.
Later, yesterday evening, we joined some friends for dinner and one of those “preseason” football games in which the first teamers make cameo appearances, and the scrubs finish things off. Fortunately, our friends were more entertaining than the roster fodder on the field. And the first string cheerleaders provided an opportunity to speculate about the source of their frighteningly uniform perma-tans.
But by the time we got home, after 11:30 pm, it was clear that Slave’s window of opportunity had passed.
“I guess you actually gave me an Abstinence Day that I didn’t see icoming, Mistress.”
“It’s good for you, Slave. Just think how horny you will be tomorrow, when I fuck you in the ass.”
Twitch.
Of course, it could be worse. Much worse.
Changing subjects: yesterday Sin asked the question about whether this writer, when contemplating the concept of being required to “share” that shot of me in my cage in the blogosphere generates any “heat” for me.
The short answer: “Yes”. Not because I like the idea of strange dudes / dudettes from Saudi Arabia or Brazil or Amarillo checking me out. (Yes, we know you are out there, thanks to StatCounter). But because of the inherent hotness of Mistress forcing me to do something outside of my comfort zone to prove my devotion to her.
Now that is hot. So how we handle the distribution of my “caged” photo is up to her.
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