Yesterday I left you hanging about whether Molly would adapt a literal interpretation of M’s Thursday evening’s instruction that she could have “no more orgasms tonight” in anticipation of their Friday morning “date”.
After I finished my morning homework, I came upstairs to find Mistress busy on her computer, lying in bed, stroking her needy little kitty. (No, that is not a clever euphemism. We do have two very well indulged cats).
“I was wondering if you were going to come up to fuck me, Slave.”
I handed her my laptop, so she could be amused by my morning’s efforts.
“Uhhh. What about your instructions, Mistress. Do you really want me to fuck you but not allow you to come.”
She gave me a little scowl.
“Are you two conspiring against me or something. Trying to make me even hornier?”
“Who, me?”
I gave her my little devious shrug, settled next to her to allow her to read the blog: my memo to M.
After giggling through that, she took her “medicine” and made no further efforts to subvert her cyber Master’s command.
(BTW, I really don’t think I am programmed to fuck that way, in any event. My body’s prime directive is now so well engineered to serve Mistress’s pleasure, that the thought of coming before she does can’t compute for me.)
Soon we were off on different paths: Mistress was officially "working from home" today. She was taking an early morning bike ride before her telephonic rendezvous with M.
I was all suited up, and off to a “dispute resolution” event with some recalcitrant clients and their adversaries.
But I made sure before I left that the Hitachi was readily available and that the little white probe was resting on her pillow with a container of lube, as M had required.
That morning, I was focused on managing a client who had trouble articulating her own interests in a complicated case. But as the designated moment for Mistress’s rendezvous approached, I could not help but consider that Mistress would soon be getting some of her own needs taken care of by our Western Correspondent.
“Have fun, Mistress”, I texted to her.
“I will sexy Slave”, she promptly responded.
And over the next 40 minutes or so, I was shifting a little uncomfortably in my seat, as my own pavlovian response kicked in whith the thoughts of Mistress spread across our bed, her Hitachi in play between those lovely thighs of her, responding to M’s smutty directions.
Argh.
About 40 minutes later, I got another text.
“Done, Slave. Now I need your cock.”
It was nice to know that she was still thinking of me after her little adventure.
I was headed back to the house by noon though, for a little family trip to a leafy campus to the north, one of the places on Sullen teen #1’s short list.
Mistress greeted me in our room, in a sexy/preppy black (f course) Izod dress that stopped somewhere at mid thigh. We kissed, but since time was tight, I only had a chance to briefly slide a finger up between her legs, touching what was by now a well satisfied mound through black panties.
“Feeling more….satisfied, Mistress?”
“Yes, Slave….thanks for asking.”
She pulled away from my roving fingers, just as my cock was beginning to fill the gap between us.”
“Better get going, Slave.”
What a tease. And because the teens were in the backseat, it was hard for me to get much from her on our car ride except for a few veiled snippets.
“By the way, Our friend said you were right about those instructions. He said I was thinking like a lawyer, not a …..well you know.”
“That’s what I suspected…(I had to stifle the word Mistress in mid Mis….) . Imagine what would have happened if you had gotten those instructions wrong….”
But I had a feeling that Mistress was curious about the consequences.
“He said maybe he should begin imposing a 48 hour embargo….”
I raised my eyebrows.
“But I lobbied for 24 hours.”
“I’ll be curious to see how that comes out….”
“Yes, because it’s going to effect you, you know.”
“That’s what I figured….” (As our reader Aisha had too.)
After arriving on campus and enduring the long presentation about why our little darling would come in a indulged adolescent and emerge as a princess of industry if only she matriculated there, we were off on the 90 minute campus tour.
The first thing that greeted us was a group of bikini clad co-eds, already into their first Friday afternoon beers, sunbathing on the roof of an off-campus hovel, urging our daughters to join them in falls to come. I wondered if this was something a clever admissions co-ordinator had ginned up. If so, it was NOT working for this Dad.The thought of writing those big checks for tuition and fees, and providing extra expense money for a beer bong was not warming my heart.
But the tour did allow us to lag behind, giving me more time for Q and A:
“So, how many times, Mistress?”
“He asked me that too, Slave. I told him “at least 3” but in fact I lost track.”
“Nice, Mistress….”
“Does that make you jealous, Slave?”
I had to think about that. I had in mind thought of Mistress surrendering herself so completely to his voice and direction, and coming so hard, so quickly and so completely for him. I imagined her writhing, moaning, sobbing, begging for more.
And my cock was growing hard as the peppy male tour guide gave us his canned jokes about campus delicacies (the mashed potato bowl at the food court) and the failed Presidency of William Henry Harrison, who at least has a dorm named after him.
Down, boy, down.
“Well, I don’t know that jealous is the word, Mistress. I certainly don’t resent your moments with M. I think they’re good for you, and well, just taking about it is making me hard.”
“”Oh really?” Mistress eye’s lit up. I knew she was tempted to confirm that with her fingers But what would our fellow parents think?
“Doe it make you ….competitive, Slave?”
“Uhhh, yeah, that’s one word for it. A healthy competition. I want to give you some of those orgasms too, Mistress.”
“Well when we get home this evening, you certainly will, Slave.”
1 comment:
Nice one!
Post a Comment