The ad we put up on craigslist in the San Antonio area went like this:
Sub's Date in the Desert
My wife is one-hundred-percent devoted to her Master, worships her Master, and I want to
show my appreciation and perhaps that appreciation is you.
Are you somewhere of the age of mid- to late twenties, petite, soft and warm of mind and
spirit and curiously submissive?
We live in a small town west of San Antonio, basically in the desert. We're in our
early-forties, fun, and she would like to play the mistress role with you and you are the
submissive and I the master. It would go something like this...
The first two hours Mistress will pamper the be-Jesus out of you. Hot baths, washing and
rubbing, cool toweling, whole body shave, whole body rub with oils, all punctuated by the
ambiance of flickering candles. She will be at your every whim (non-sexual) just like a
geisha girl. Mistress loves to please.
Sound good? Great! (You know what my wife, your mistress, is really doing is preparing
you, you the sacrificial lamb :-).
After those first two hours then comes your training. You will then be required to be
naked except for a diaper, and be our house servant. When we are hungry you will prepare
us food and feed us. When we are quiet and contemplative you will be kneeling facing a
corner with your thumb in your mouth, waiting for command. When we wish your company, we
will call to you and include you in. We might even leash you and take you on a walk, on
your knees, through the house.
At some point we will blind you and gag you and tie your hands back onto your ankles and
then take our liberties, for our pleasured finales.
This first visit to your Master and Mistress will not include an orgasm for you. Your
responsibility is to insure we have ours. The next time we are together is when you will
receive our entire attention and, God willing, you will then receive your finale.
The ultimate objective will be to set you free.
Interested? Please respond with photo, and a little bio of yourself. No drama. When the
bed sheets go out to the laundry, we just want you, Sub, and Mistress and Master in the
long run to be pleased and to please.
(Mistress comes with strap-on attached – quite literally)
“What do you think? From a woman's point of view.”
“It's wonderful!” Mary says, “To the point, certainly.”
We're drinking coffee in bed on a Sunday and one stream of morning light is
zapping across the room above us with little tiny dust particles swishing through it.
It's quiet and warm under the sheets. We're naked, as usual, playing with our
given gifts now and again between sips. What's this? Ooh, that's my special
place! For me? Yes!
Mary and I married when I was just turning forty and she nearing forty, two and a
half years ago now. I'd been in two marriages, no children, more of a free spirit. I
write stories and take photos and sell my imagination to the fictional world. Mary had
been married for nearly twenty years, two children, boys, one now in college and the other
a sort of free spirit like me. She soon began writing erotic poetry after we met. I wonder
what inspired her.
Her husband had worked for a bullet factory, basically, which, in the end, provided
bullets and their propellants, guns, to NRA-driven extremists.
“It was a perfect line of work for him, dealing with cold hard steel.”
We'd met not long after she'd walked out of the house with just a
suitcase, a teddy bear, and her boys. It wasn't long before we were married and set
up house and, one day on a whim, she dragged me to the adult bookstore.
“Come on, I got an idea!”
We were inside the store adventuring through all the toys. We were contemplating
the strap-on or the collar-ball gag. Mary pulled out her credit card and said, pointing to
the strap-on, “I can afford that, I really can. Don't let money be a factor.”
At a more frugal time in my life I would have probably refused, because of the
price, and probably chosen instead something much cheaper and really stupid, like the
collar-ball gag. I mean, what real guy would go for the collar-ball gag when a strap-on
dildo would do so much more, could open so many more doors. (pun)
I whispered to Mary, You want to fuck me, don't you? You want to fuck me back,
you do.
Mary made her infamous little shriek. The shriek would come to define her. It was
her mating call. Like one day we're at the park and we're on the blanket eating
Rice Krispie Treats and I formed mine into a cylinder and then another into a set of balls
and she immediately got curious about what I was doing but when I mashed them together
that's when the light bulb went off and, the Shriek! – and zoom, we're in the
bushes.
I made her “do” the Rice Krispie dude first. “Now bite off a big ol' chunk!”
And with her mouth full and moaning gibberish we went at it and, good lord, wouldn't
you know it, our orgasms timed perfectly with her last swallow.
We chose the strap-on and when we left the store, Mary drove and I swear somehow
not one light turned red on us and she never used the brake except when we launched into
the driveway and came to a sudden, head-bopping stop.
Needless to say it was a bedroom day; a kitchen day; a bathroom day; an attic day;
and a laundry room day (up against a washer on spin, with the clothes loaded
helter-skelter, on purpose).
Hell, I might be a guy but damn if I didn't learn that that day (and many more
thereafter) once a guy gets over his fears and once a guy meets someone like Mary a whole
other life erupts, one in which the pleasuring of a woman can go on and on and on with the
guy really doing not much of anything but submitting to her indulgences...get
it?...without that show-stopping man-orgasm thing happening anytime too soon. It's
absolutely incredible, with someone like Mary, to delay the finale for hours.
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