Slave recovered from his failure to follow the Boy Scout pledge (“Be Prepared”) on Saturday afternoon, by stopping at a local Ace Hardware Store to acquire about 25 feet of rope.
(Mistress was waiting patiently outside with our bicycles, as I lingered in the rope/chain department. What is it about that section of the store that always makes for such hard shopping decisions).
That meant that by Sunday morning I was ready to fully exercise my switch privileges. Fortunately, the goat milking hostess had left a small scissors in the room (which seemed to double as a study when the occasional boarders were not booked), so it was easy for me to cut my newly acquired hank into about 5 equal pieces 5 feet or so in length.
After some coffee drinking and web perusing, Mistress found herself on her tummy, spread eagled, and ready to be used and abused. I turned up the classical music station on the radio, to help cover up any errant crys of anguish or pleasure that might emit from Mistress’s soft and tender lips (though maybe I should have considered a gag?)
AS anticipated, Mistress looked quite lovely affixed to this antique, country style bed.
And when I applied my belt and palm to her bottom, producing a nice rosy glow, she squirmed delightfully against the bed, pulling at her restraints, moaning into the flannel sheets, the aroma of her arousal filling our little farmhouse room.
“You sure are squirming, Mistress…..I think this spanking actually turns you on…..”
“What do you think, Slave?”
Of course, I wasn’t completely prepared. I had forgotten Mistress’s power tool, which has become a critical part of our switch day rituals. But necessity is the mother of invention, and I knew that Mistress was due a nice cum after all that spanking and strapping.
I slid one hand under her hips, my fingers probing between her clean shaven folds to find the little place that makes her crazy. And my other hand lingered over her ass, a finger sliding ever so slyly into her tight little hole little. This dual assault quickly had an impact on her, and her hips were bobbing up and down, forcing my finger even deeper into her as my other hand worked her from below.
Poor Mistress worked herself into a nice little frenzy, coming once, then again no much later until she collapsed against the bed, all tuckered out.
I took this little calm in her storm as an opportunity to untie her ankles, and flip her over, re-fixing her wrists to the top of the bed at the center, to one of those convenient little center posts. (We really do need a bed like this).
And, after she caught her breath, I was straddling her, allowing her to enjoy the flavor and texture of her cock, until it was more than ready for the next stage of our little session.
Hopefully our hostess was out on the porch on the other side of this old country home, whipping up a batch of goat cheese, and not listening against the door to hear what her guests were up to.
And no, Sin, we did not leave the rope behind, although if I ever ran a quaint little B & B, it would certainly be an accessory I would make available, along with the exotic tea bags and classic book collection.