To Switch or Not to Switch?

Our colleagues in smutty blogging, SFP and Sin have been reflecting on whether a true Sub-stress can ever really Switch into a big bad Domme in their recent posts. But for this ancient Irish type, self-reflection and analysis is not a strong point.

All I can say is that in the Collins household there has been an evolution that can be traced back to our early, illicit love nest days, when wide ties and Mike Dukakis were top of mind, and Molly often found herself bound, teased and well fucked on that futon bed we picked up at Pier One. So what led us to these days when the Slave happily abides by the Contract, and Mistress gets it on virtually with her remote Master?

It’s complicated.

Let’s just say that, after some difficult years, Mistress feels more comfortable with her Slave on a very short leash. And it works quite nicely for me.

Then again, Mistress still has that sub side that M tends too quite nicely. It’s an itch that needs to be scratched on a regular basis. (Or at least wants to be).

And several weekends ago, when her quite impressive ass fucking had me in a sub trance that led me to pass up my switch privileges on a Sunday morning, Mistress got mighty pissy.

It became quite clear that she likes what I do to her on the day she turns the keys over to me. Maybe I am merely M’s handy dandy surrogate in her erotic imagination. But whatever it is, it works in a rather explosive way.

So cast Mistress Molly’s vote for the merits of switching.

And the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. And we made some nice pudding here in the Collins household SUnday morning. Which I expect is what many of you want to hear about in any event, rather than my semi-self-revelatory musings…..

I planted some seeds of doubt Saturday evening, as we cuddled in bed, Mistress still in a bit of a daze from her afternoon orgasm-fest with M, then with me.

“Maybe tomorrow’s switch day will be orgasm free for you, Mistress.”

“Huh? That’s not the way it works, Slave.”

“Oh really? …..you make me have abstinence days from time to time …. And M embargoed you a week or so ago. Why couldn’t I do that on my switch day….make you please me while you fast?”

“You wouldn’t …..”

But that look in her eye showed a little uncertainty.

Sunday morning, Mistress slept in a bit as I wrote the blog, caught up with the sub-sisters, and wallowed in world news. (When do you think Reverend Jones will get his own show on FOX?)

But around 8:30 I decided it was time to get Mistress moving.

She was still snoozing when I barged back into our bedroom, newspapers and laptop in hand. She seem a bit peeved to be woken, but time was wasting. We spent some time reading the paper before I began locking the red leather cuffs on Mistress’s wrists. And then it was time for her to read the blog as I used my tongue to moisten up those wanton, well groomed folds.

When she set the laptop aside, after suggesting I had been a little too hard on our Western Correspondent, I went to work.

By the time I was done, Mistress was nicely spread eagled out on her tummy, legs and arms spread wide and tightly secured. And her bottom was already wriggling in frustration.

She seemed surprised when I slid on top of her, my firm and hungry “every day cock” pressing into her. Not that she wasn’t already amply wet and receptive.

“What are you doing, Slave?”

“It seems I’m fucking you Mistress. From behind. Remember, we talked about you not being allowed to come today.”

She shook her head. And her ass. My sense was that she would have liked to dislodge my impertinent cock. But it was firmly planted.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“We’ll see, Mistress.”

I took her that way for a while. And she seemed rather close to the edge as my hips moved in and out, side to side, frictioning her tender and wanton parts against the bed.

“Remember, Mistress, no coming…..”

I liked her little mew of frustration. She was coming around to the realization that I just might be serious.

But I did not press my luck much longer. Instead I rose up, and fed her my cock, letting her taste her delicious condiments smeared on my fleshy shish-ka-bob.

“Aren’t your juices tasty, Mistress?”

But her mouth seemed a little too full to give me a review.

Her next course came from the tip of our riding crop. I flexed it with my finger, letting it snap down on her bottom with a nice crisp slap.

“Ouch….. that hurts, Slave.”

She squirmed, but of course her bindings gave her little range of movement to avoid the caress of the crop, or the slaps of my open palm, that turned her bottom a nice cherry red after about 10 minutes or so.

That’s when I pulled out the Hitachi.

I slid it between her legs, just under her hips, and turned it on low.

It was amusing to watch her gyrations, striving to pull the throbbing bulb closer to the place where she wanted it, as I continued with my intermittent spanking and cropping.

But even a cruel Slave exercising his switch privileges has to feel a little mercy when he sees how desperate his Mistress is becoming.

I settled down next to her, took the Hitachi in hand, and guided it more firmly between those lovely thighs.

And her hips rose, writhed and tried to suck the churning device in and under to get maximum effect.

Soon I had Mistress begging….

“Please, can’t I come Slave? Please?”

I was moved.

“Yes, Mistress… if you can, go for it….”

But saying it doesn’t necessarily make it happen.

Bound spread eagled as she was, it was an impressive feat of dexterity for Mistress’s thighs and arms and hips to strain, flex and contort as she sought just the right angle where power tool and clit could converge in catalytic harmony.

“You’re driving me crazy, Slave.. You keep moving it. “

By now, Mistress’s body was covered with a sheen of perspiration that mingled with the sweetly pungent aroma of her lubricants. MMMMM.

“Just tell me where to put it Mistress….”

By now I was actually trying to help, her plight was …. almost …..heart rending.

But she was increasingly frantic, and frustrated. Pulling at her bonds, twisting her hips, but unable to close her thighs in the ultimate orgasmic hug of the diabolical Hitachi.

“Why don’t you just untie me and turn me over, Slave.”

I laughed.

“Well, you know that’s not going to happen…..I can always just turn it off and let you rest a while.”

“Oh, God, No…..”

Declining my offer of a little rest period, Mistress was back on task with renewed determination…. I could hear the wooden bed frame creaking from her exertions. She is a mighty one.

But finally, after more of that lovely and inspiring twisting and turning, Mistress found her promised land, moaning and locking her thighs as tightly as possible, then shuddering as wave after wave shook her.

I kept the Hitachi pressed against her, forcing another strong quake from her, until she was begging for me to stop.

“Turn it off Slave, please. I’m too sensitive now.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

By now Mistress was shaking with sobs, letting the aftershocks subside.



I cozied her, then slid on top, letting my cock gently ride into her from behind, moving slowly and steadily, as I licked the tears from her cheeks.

Yeah, I think Mistress would cast a vote for the occasional switch.

And either way, this Slave is happy to play along.