"Press It Up Against Me, Slave."

That’s what Mistress said last night when it was lights out here in River City. In fact, that’s what she usually says. She likes the feel of my cock pressed up between the cheeks of that delightful ass as she slips off to dream land.

And of course I try to accommodate, spooning up against her, an arm wrapped around her resting on a breast. 

Last night, the cock was all worn out, a little damp from some power fucking, the type that goes on for a long time, in part because after a long and busy day, Slave has the energy to get his cock nice and hard (with some handy provocation from Mistress) but not the energy and focus for a quick cum, once Mistress’s needs are “resolved”.

So Mistress had the experience of me taking a long slow and persistent time before I begged for permission. And I heard no complaints. In fact, Mistress seems to enjoy that long slow fuck, with a few additional orgasms tossed in to keep her entertained along the way.

Before the fucking part, we had been laying in bed, watching the uplifting if unnerving news from Cairo on my laptop (That Erin Burnett on NBC must have packed a lot of wardrobe for this story – I swear we saw her in 3 tops over the course of the evening).

Mistress was multi-tasking: trolling through facebook to check out photos of friends, while texting back and forth with our Western Correspondent.

M’s town, out there on the edge of the Rockies, was in the crosshairs of the weather Armageddon that the networks are obsessing about, and M texted Molly that the temperatures were supposedly headed for 17 below.

“Better warn him to protect the equipment, Mistress …. They say once a body part suffers frost bite, it’s even more vulnerable the next time….”

We sure don’t want to see  UCTMW Worker’s comp premiums spike. Profit margins are pretty thin already, and can barely keep Mistress in power tools and tricked out black tights.

Mistress must have passed on the message. When the little text chime went off, she snickered.

“He wants to know when Donna is going to deliver his cock cozy…. He may need it this week.”

A bit later, Mistress was texting some more, and mentioned that M was complaining that he’s getting “fat”…. Has all that rehabilitation  made him a couch potato?

“I guess we could adopt a wellness program, Mistress …. Don’t want our far flung staff getting too thick… that’s going to drive up health care costs.

When M got wind of this possibility, he began layering on the demands …. Gym membership …. Massage therapist …. You get the picture.  I’m wondering if we can outsource his job to someone in India, who won’t abuse the expense account, but can still keep Mistress entertained with the occasional rampant cock shot?

Something to consider when we update the UCTMW strategic plan.

It was about that time that Mistress signed off with M, and I shut down the news feed.

“I told him we’re having sex now, Slave.”

And so we did.

But at around 4:15 am, I heard from Mistress again.

“I’m having trouble sleeping Slave….”

Hmmm. I wasn’t. But I do live to serve her.  I stifled a yawn, and did my best to respond.

“Would you like me to deploy your power tool, Mistress?”

I wasn’t too confident that the batteries on my organic tool had recharged sufficiently, if you know what I mean.

No, Slave…. I think I want the real one….”

I tried to wake myself, then sidled up next to her. Fingers slid between those familiar folds. Already damp. Teeth latched onto vibrant nipples. Deep kisses were exchanged as Mistress’s lovely body wound itself around mine.

Soon my fingers were having the desired effect, as Mistress moaned and writhed her way through a seemingly satisfying cum.

Would this make her drowsy?

Uhhh, No.

“How’s my cock, Slave….”

Her well manicured hands sought it out… and, I was surprised to discover that it was …. interested. Soon, with some additional provocation from Mistress’s skilled fingers, it was very interested. So interested that I was begging for the opportunity to demonstrate it’s intended purpose.

Not unlike a few hours earlier, this turned into one of those long drawn out affairs. At some point I took a break to slide off my T-Shirt.

“It’s getting hot in here, Mistress….”

“Yes, Slave…. Very.”

And when we were finally done – after permission was granted and taken – I slid back to sleep for a while, having served my purpose. But Mistress  -- she was up and running – on her lap-top, responding to office emails, checking the weather.  Very focused.

No wonder she’s the CEO. And I’m the lackey.