Mistress stopped by for some worship after lunch on Thursday, allowing me to take this picture of her as she makes her luscious cunt available for suitable worship. Hot lace up boots, don’t you think?
But that’s not what this entry is about…..is it?
No. Our sordid little tale of the day begins on our drive home.
“I think the Western Correspondent is a little pissed at me, Slave.”
This peaked my curiosity. Much more interesting than the gossip we had been sharing about the local non-profit poo-bahs.
“Oh really, Mistress…. Why would that be?”
“I told him maybe I need a REAL boyfriend…. Not one I just talk to on the phone or trade text messages with….”
This part got the attention of other parts of me. Actually a specific part.
Twitch. Damn. How predictable.
“Oh, really….. I bet that might get M a little annoyed, Mistress.”
I was going to ask for a little more detail, a rationale for her provocation, but then the chime on her text message went off.
I didn’t need to be told who it was asking for her attention.
“He says I need a spanking, Slave….”
“I am always happy to oblige, Mistress. Sunday is just a few days away.”
“I’m telling him ‘who put you in charge’”.
A few seconds later I heard the little chime again. She giggled. And she squirmed just a tad too. Mistress has her own tell-tale twitch.
“He says, ‘you did, Slave’….”
Ask him if I should advance that spanking to this evening, Mistress.
A few moments later we got M’s response.
“He says I should get ten hard ones tonight, with the shoe horn, Slave.”
Suddenly Mistress was in a compliant mood.
We arrived home, Mistress got some lasagna ready and popped it in the oven. Then it was upstairs to our Chambers.
I switched on the Evening News to dampen any unsavory sounds for curious teens. Don’t want them to think Dad abuses Mom.
Mistress stripped off that black form fitting dress you see above. She was down to her black bra and tights. I pulled a chair into the center of the room. The shoe horn – wooden and 15 inches or so long –was looped over the chair already.
“Pull down the tights and get over here Mistress. “
She was very obedient, settling over my lap.
My fingers couldn’t help but test and tease her.
“Hmmm…. Already wet, Mistress. You are his little slut, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am Slave.”
She took her medicine well. And when I got to ten, alternating cheeks, nice red stripes on her firm ass, she said, “that’s enough, Slave.”
“You were keeping count, Mistress?”
“I suppose I was….”
I gave her two more just for her own good. Then my fingers explored again. As I expected:
It’s so nice to have her squirming on my lap that way.
I got her close to her particular edge, but decided there was another, better way to skin this pussy.
“Come over to the bed, Mistress. Now it’s time for your reward.”
She lay there, on her back, her tights still drooped down to her thighs, pinning them together a bit. Not quite bondage, but a taste of it.
I reached for the Hitachi, on the floor under the bed, and thumbed it on.
Mistress seemed pleased, then increasingly excited as I pressed it home, exactly where she likes it.
But what was interesting was how she fought it, dragged out her inevitible surrender to its cunning and ultimately irresistible pulsation.
“It’s Ok to imagine it was M spanking you Mistress, and now forcing you to come for him.”
“I know, Slave….”
But it seemed Mistress was trying to struggle against it, trying to deny the tool’s power, and M’s power over her too.
But, alas, poor Mistress, we know how that comes out in the end, don’t we?
When Mistress finally surrendered to the inevitable, it was with one of those moaning, sobbing orgasms that left her with tears streaking the mascara left over from her day at the office.
It’s the kind of display that makes a Slave proud. Nothing like the satisfaction of a job well done.
And afterwards, once I helped her slide out of those tights, she took my cock in hand and made sure I surrendered to her too.