I do plan to get back to a better description of the sights and sounds of our Dungeon visit with Aisha and D, but while all this is fresh…..
I could be in a bit of trouble with Mistress.
Sunday morning – after I posted that rather long entry about our evening down river with Aisha and her D (or should I say D and his Aisha) – I slid back onto bed with my snoozing Mistress. We had the advantage of the time shift, and it seemed like a very good idea for me to drift back to sleep along side her, all spooned together.
When I woke about an hour later I realized two things: Mistress still had those fetching black tights with the strategic opening; and the friction of flesh against that soft, seductive fabric had given me a raging hard on.
She was waking too. And soon my fingers were sliding from behind, between her legs, poking and probing for that generous opening…..
Well you can imagine what ensued.
Mistress was coming with a soft, moaning shudder.
I was asking for permission to fuck her.
And then I was feeling that fabric all up and down my thighs, caressing my balls as I took her quickly and with mucho gusto.
I think I’ve mentioned my hose / tights fetish before. It probably dates back to 7th grade in a catholic grade school. When the girls started showing up in stockings and ‘r over the knee socks, and it was all the rage to steal glances of their fleshy thighs.
By high school, stealing glances had turned to attempts to cop a feel as one‘s girlfriend sat next to you in the bus to an away football game, or in the bucket seat on the passenger side of Dad’s car.
Ahhh. Those were good days.
And of course Mistress knows how to push all my smutty little buttons all too well.
Well I succumbed to it big time yesterday morning.
And afterwards, as we clung and cuddled and contemplated packing up and hitting the road, Mistress had a question:
:What happened to my Switch Day, Slave?”
Oops. A little too eager. Slave deserves to be punished for his negligence. Mistress counts on that time as much as I enjoy it.
Indeed, I’m wondering if the dungeon is ever open on Sundays?
(Come to think of it, I should have bushwhacked her at the stroke of midnight Saturday…. Bound her to a St. Andrew’s cross, and worked on some impact play. I had the Hitachi in our little kinky kit bag…. But no extension cord. Next time!)
On the drive home we called Aisha to express our thanks, and M gave Mistress a call to get a full report. He seemed relieved that Mistress had not been waylaid by some Dom on the hunt to extend his stable. AS I drove they talked about the difference between a BDSM scene focused on torment and pain, and a place like Hedonism in Jamaica where sex was the main course and the BDSM accoutrements were merely the accessories.
Molly is clearly interested more in the latter.
“Just tell us, M …. Mick and I will be there in a heartbeat….”
Our afternoon was devoted to helping surly teen number one with college applications, and reading the desultory news in the Times.
After dinner, as I cleaned up, Mistress got a text from M.
“He must be home alone, Slave, and wants to talk….”
“Of course, Mistress…. I will finish up here.”
While Mistress need not ask my permission she is always considerate of me. She then headed out onto our deck, and sat out there as the sun went down and the leaves swirled, catching up privately.
They need (and deserve) some private space to nurture their flame. And I was happy to watch a little football and read Frank Rich’s latest whiney screed as they did.
Mistress came back inside in about 30 minutes, and we headed up to our chambers, where the plan was to read, maybe watch Boardwalk Empire, until sleep caught up with us. We were both pretty fried so sex was not top of mind.
Until the phone rang.
“Hmmm, it’s M again…. he must be lonely, Slave.”
She laid back, in her short black nighty, phone to her ear. I was paging through the sports section, watching the Raiders and Chiefs in OT.
“What are we doing… Mick’s here watching football …. I’m reading.”
Dhe was curled on the bed, focused on his voice. I was focused on a long reception by an Oakland receiver, well within field goal range. This would be a short OT.
“Really …. Hmmmm …. Mick, M says turn off the TV….”
I could go with this. Not really a Raider or Chiefs fan.
“Now he says you should lick me Slave…. You know where.”
Of course, I knew exactly where. I positioned her just so, knelt on the floor and went about my assigned task.
Mistress was focused on whatever sordid tale M was spinning. I was teasing her rosy clit between my lips, sucking hard, pulling it not so gently side to side.
And soon Mistress’ thighs were wrapped around my back and she was thrusting at me, describing her bliss to M, as she came and came….
Tag teamed again.
“I think my Slave should fuck me now, M….”
And, surprise, surprise, I was suddenly in the mood.
But M ad other ideas.
“Slave, did you unpack the Hitachi….”
I found it, plugged it in, handed it to her. She was deeply under M’s spell now, conveying his direction that I should focus on her feet as she took her power tool for a spin.
I sucked and massaged her feet and toes as she writhed and wriggled on the bed, the churning tool trust against her undulating cunt.
She came hard again, moaning, asking me to climb up next to her.
“Can Slave fuck me now, M…. I need his cock.”
She was tying with it with her fingers, making it even harder.
“What am I doing…. I’m playing with his cock, M…. it’s so hard.”
“You don’t want me to touch it….Slave, play with your cock for me….lying there…. Just keep it hard …”
I did just that… a rarity for me under my “no touch” regime.
“What are you doing M…. Ummmmm ….. this is perfect for me …. My two men both playing with their hard cocks …. Thinking about me.”
I guess it was an intriguing situation for Mistress. And when they finally signed off, my cock was still ready for her.
When we were done, we both had that “what was that?” look on our face.
Somehow our quiet Sunday night had been delightfully hijacked by our Western Correspondent.
Do you think he will send in a request for holiday pay?