Ancient and Not So Ancient Rituals

It was a cold Saturday morning after a busy work week here in Frigid-It-Is-Stan. And there was nothing Mistress and her Slave would have preferred to do more than stay huddled under the  furs through the morning after our wake-up sex.

But Mistress had accepted a gracious invitation from one of our new neighbors to attend a "coming of age" ritual for her son at a local Temple.... So we were soon saddling up the yaks, dressed in our "go to meeting" clothes and heading to this rather exotic ceremony.

Now I'm one of those old Catholic guys. Our idea of a religious service is hushed silence (lest the nuns whack you up side the head), mumbling through a few rote prayers, and (most importantly) getting it all done in 45 minutes so  one can move on with their day and the parking lot can get cleared for the afternoon's bingo.

But there is another approach, as I learned  yesterday: a long meandering service, with folks in the congregation, or even up in the sanctuary, carrying on their own conversations (maybe about their tee times?), walking about to greet their long lost pals, or maybe stepping out into the hallway to check their email as the "priest" mumbles and chants to himself. 

Then there were the folks who kept arriving deep into the ceremony, even as the young man who was the center of attention had already begun his readings from the sacred texts. A crowd that seemed to be about 60 when the service began at 9:30 or so seemed to have swelled to 300 or more by the time the bar opened at noon for fermented yak curd cocktails and a generous spread of local delicacies prepared according to strict dietary rules.

"I think a lot of these folks just came for the lunch, Mistress."

"You may be right, Slave."
 

I must say that Mistress was impressed by the costumes that the men wore to the service, which left very little to the imagination.

I pointed out two of them to her.  "They look a little like the WC and his brother, don't you think, Mistress?"

But what had me distracted through most of the ceremony was my knowledge of what Mistress was wearing beneath her demure frock.

She had spent some time that morning looking for the peek-a-boo tights that D, the SBPP had included in our provisions. 

"Ahh.... here they are Slave..... won't it give you a thrill to know my parts are there available to you under my dress.."

Well, yes.... it did. It made me want to reach underneath at a discrete moment. and I could swear I could sense the aroma of her fragrant clean shaven folds through the ceremony. Was it just me? or were those guys in the male thongs and prayer shawls distracted too?

After lunch the well fed and liquored up crowd adjourned outside for some manly displays of prowess, presumably to show that reading from fancy scrolls is just part of the job.  But by then Slave was getting a little impatient to partake of Mistress's barely hidden fruits.  (Plus my alma mater was going to be on the satellite, hoping to regain some lost pride from their disgrace last Saturday).

So we slipped away, hoping that our hostess would not notice our early departure.

Back at our humble yurt, Mistress napped a bit as her Slave watched the football game. It was actually a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon.  and afterwards.... well, Slave made sure to worship Mistress with those tights in place, and was given permission to fuck her long and hard through that clever opening, the texture of the fabric doing a stimulative little number against my balls.

She does know how to press my fetishy little buttons, doesn't she?

Three Strikes

I suspect this blog creates the impression that Molly and Mick are always chipper and upbeat. That we are relentlessly courteous to one another. That we live in a drama free zone where, like a kinky version of that mythical Minnesota Town, the cunts are always dripping, the dicks are never flacid, and the cock cages never get tarnished.

Hate to break the news, but even we can have a bad day here at UCTMW, one that requires a little energy and humility to overcome.

Our day started a bit too early yesterday morning. Both of us had early downtown meetings. And Mistress had been up the night before working on a project. So there was no sex to begin the day.

Strike one.

Then, in the car, as we game planned the rest of our too busy week, trying to figure out how to get Surly teen #1’s care serviced, get to the gym, make sure that a car was available for Surly teen #2’s dentist appointment, blah, blah, blah, Mistress got a little snappish:

“Don’t lecture me…..”

Strike two.

That quieted things down for the rest of the ride to work, as you might imagine.

I dropped Mistress at her meeting, then went to mine.

We did exchange mushy text messages from our meetings. Little peace feelers. And when Mistress called me on her walk back to her office, we seemed to be in a better space.

We also talked as she walked to and from a lunch engagement, at a posh downtown Club where all of the corporate lions of River City gather at noon time, to tut tut about our nation’s slow descent into socialism, as they export jobs and their bank accounts to warmer and more congenial climes.

No doubt he would be much admired in her black dress, with those lovely slits showing off those strong shapely legs in black tights and her over the knee boots. Very Tina Turner.

But it was around 3 pm that I got a rather snippy text from her:

“You never invited me over for worship today when I was walking around, Slave.”

Ooops. Strike 3.

“You seemed so busy, Mistress.”

“No excuse.”

At this point my initial instinct was to get defensive …. But I quickly realized that would put us back on a downward slope. Instead, I groveled.

“I deserve punishment, Mistress.”

“Yes, you do…. What if I come over now.”

“Excellent.”

Within about 5 minutes, she strode into my office. Looking hot. (I forgot to ask whether any of those corporate lions flirted with her…. Another demerit.)

“I can’t believe I had to ask for worship, Slave….. and here I am in my special tights.”

That was a surprise…. Usually I get advance notice, to remind me how to plan my day.

“Hmmmm…. Did you wear those for someone other than me, Mistress.”

“No…. but I probably should have.”

No further discussion was required. I pressed her “throne” up against the door, spread out the maroon blanket, and fell to my knees. With those peek-a-boo tights, Mistress was ready for action. No need to remove her boots.

“Take your time, Slave…. I’m taking a photo that I want to see posted on the blog.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Suffice it to say that I did take my time, with Mistress’s legs over my shoulders, holding me firmly in place, as I proceeded to bring her to two robust little cums to break the chill.

Hopefully I had redeemed myself, but I suspected there might be further consequences for my poor attitude and negligent behavior. If any of you out there have any suggestions, I am sure Mistress would welcome them.

Later, at home, things were back to “normal”, which suggested that groveling was definitely my best path to redemption.

Mistress and I were sitting in bed, resting up a bit, checking your blogs on our laptops, before it was time to prepare dinner.

The WC had been texting Mistress, and I suggested that she ask him if he was going to respond to Suzanne’s comment, requesting that he describe his first use of the “diaper position.”

The WC, who apparently does not want to get all that lube residue on his computer keyboard, quickly responded.

“He says he is going to dictate the story to his Slave Molly, while she wears that buttefly vibrator, Slave…. What do you think of that….”

“I think you would probably like that, Mistress….”

“Yes, Slave…. I probably would.”

By the time the teens were fed, and we were done watching #POTUS do his #SOTU (too much tweeting last night!), there was still time for some hanky panky. And I was fortunate that Mistress was in a forgiving mood.

“Are you finally ready to fuck me now, Slave…”

“I am fortunate that you are allowing it after my misbehavior today, Mistress….”

“Yes, you are a very lucky, Slave.”

Amen.