"That's What a Slave is For...."

As Super Sunday dawned, we lounged in bed a bit, reading the newspapers. There would be a trip to the gym in about 90 minutes, but we were in no hurry. At least not just yet.

We talked about our Saturday night out with a vanilla couple. I had an opportunity to slip a little non-vanilla comment in, which always is fun.  He is a former media type who is adjusting to retirement. She is still a working professional. So he was describing all the chores he now does at home.

“I just tell her ‘don’t you worry your little head about it.’

Mistress looks at me, and says, “I wish I’d here that more from Mick….”

It was a great set-up.

“No, what I usually say is ‘that’s what a Slave is for’”.

Mistress gave me a little kick under the table.

After chuckling through the blog, as I slid my tongue through those tasty folds, Mistress tried to pretend it wasn’t our Switch Day. Maybe she thought I would forget, with all this attention on the Big game and preparations for the party we had in store with a collection of friends and relatives.

But I am a man who pays attention to his responsibilities, and duty called. The last time I skipped exercising my switch privileges, Mistress got a little huffy with me. I think she really did miss that hour or so of surrendering the keys and being taken for a ride to an unknown destination.

Of course, things might have been better with the appropriate props. Don’t you think a strategically placed Cheesehead would have gone made for a fetching picture for the end of ass week. But so it goes…. We were able to bottom out without props.

I knew I wanted one more photo to tease all you bottom feeders out there, and what better than one that features her scrumptious derriere with a nice red glow.

So after I had to draw her out from hiding under those sheets, I cuffed her hands together and tied them off over head. Her ankles were also bound with the black leather cuffs we have for such ocassions.

“On your tummy now, Mistress.”

She gave me that little pout, but complied with my simple direction.

And that’s when the spanking began. Slow at first, but advancing my pace until Mistress was yelping a bit into her pillow. I was looking for a nice red glow to share with our readers.

“I know M thinks I’m a wimp when it comes to spanking, Mistress….I’m sure he’d be much crueler and more persistent than me….”

“Ouch….that’s what he says, Slave…..”

Of course, knowing Mistress, I am sure she thinks she could distract him with her lovely twitching ass and that slick, tempting, clean shaven cunt of hers.  And maybe she would.  Maybe M would want to move on ASAP to the next course.

Let’s hope she finds out some time.

By then Mistress’s bottom was all nice and pink, and I think she had “learned her lesson”…. Whatever that might have been.

It was hardly the sort of spanking that Tammy got from Suzanne, with those witnesses on Saturday night. But it served my purpose.

The camera came out and Mistress languished a bit, her bottom still grinding against the sheets as I snapped some seductive images. A sample is above.

Putting the camera down, I settled back onto the bed, lying on top of her. Her legs were tightly bound, but it seemed she enjoyed the feel of my cock sliding between her cheeks. As I grazed on her neck and shoulders I considered biting her, which seems to be all the rage on some of your blogs these days.

I wondered how she might explain a nice hicky to her very proper Mother later in the day, when she came by for our Watch party. 

Maybe next week.

I slid away, urged Mistress to roll over, and reached for her power tool.

“I should probably just make you fast a while, after that wanton behavior yesterday afternoon, Mistress.”

She just gave me one of those faux innocent looks.

“What are you talking about, Slave….”

“You know, getting yourself off under the sheets with the WC while I was downstairs, replacing light bulbs.”

“Oh …. You know how he is Slave…. He can get very insistent.”

No doubt.

Suffice it to say that Slave did not impose a power tool embargo. Mistress got two or three of those orgasms she likes, all the while complaining about how ahrd it was to come with her ankles bound.

“”That’s the point Mistress, you have to work for it.”

And she did forget to ask for permission the first time. That’s something to mark down for next Sunday.

When she seemed to have exhausted herself against the little churning bulb, I figured it was time to claim my reward. Her ankles were freed, but her  arms were still bound overhead as I slid into her.

“Sorry I can’t help you Slave….”, she murmured as my firm cock probed for the proper entry point.

“Don’t worry your little head about it Mistress, I am happy to help myself.”