Cowboy in My Mouth, pt. 1, or, How we almost lost our riding privileges

It’s hard to recall exactly how it started. We were in the sweltering tent, though now at least we had a fan going, so that was helping enormously. We’d also bought a new airbed (yeah yeah, we weren’t roughing it, okay?) and it was set up. He was kicked back, trying to cool off a bit, while I puttered around organizing the tent, as I am wont to do.

It’s a spacious, three-room tent with plenty of room for the queen mattress, all our gear, plus a couple camp chairs, an ice chest and a small table for playing games on. As I moved around the tent, I thought about the past year that we have been together, the Hypnotist and I. It’s been an exciting year, full of discoveries and adventures, of sweat-soaked eroticism and sweat-inducing vanilla activities. He’s become a part of my life, and I of his.

But it also occurred to me, as I set about making a happy temporary home for us, that this was the longest time I had spent in a D/s relationship in which I spent copious amounts of time in his presence without being in some form of required-by-the-D-type undress. Or dressed up a certain way (slutty, or kitty, or at least in heels), or in (consensual) distress: in chains or bound in rope, or in some kind of devious torture device, while I tried to finish my chores. Or being smacked on the regular while I tried to accomplish said chores, with a cane or some other implement, playfully (or not) throughout the time we spent together.

Now I recognize, and said as much a bit later, that this is because our relationship is not a series of discrete playdates, as my previous long-term D/s relationship had been. (That it had been, and that I had been deluding myself that it was more than that, had come as a difficult realization.) Ours is a full-on, sharing-our-lives relationship, with D/s dynamic at its base. He doesn’t always have me in a buttplug, or tell me to diddle myself in the bathroom at work, or have me wearing lingerie and heels. But in some indefinable way, our D/s is much more 24/7 than any I have known since W passed away, even though, on the surface, it may not appear to be. And in spite of that “not in chains all the time” thing.

Anyway, I mused about this aloud to him, and then returned to organizing. And when I turned around, I saw he held a pair of clover clamps in his hand. I was momentarily nonplussed: he had misplaced them (I thought) some time ago. Apparently not. They were quickly re-placed in their proper place: fastened to my nipples.

And so I went (carefully) back to organizing, in clover clamps and my underwear, finishing setting up our little tent-home, and being quite pleased, even as I grimaced when they pinched and pulled, waking Lil Sister up and soaking my panties.

After some time, he decided they could come off. This, I knew, would be worse than having them put on. The rush of blood back to those tortured parts would make me scream: I grabbed the comforter from the bed (as I said, we weren’t “roughing it”) and stuffed a corner of it into my mouth. It was as he removed the second one and I collapsed onto the bed face down, moaning (I had been kneeling up next to him before, in full view of the gravel drive and empty pasture just beyond the screen window) and he – wanting to be helpful, of course – was smooshing and grinding me down onto my ravaged nipples (my hips may have started humping the blankets just a bit, all on their own – Lil Sister will not be denied) when we heard the sound of a truck approaching, then stopping, and a voice call out.

“Hey there, you two, anyone around?” It was our horseback guide, returning from her lunch, stopping by to let us know we could come over to the barn whenever we were ready to ride. Kevin popped up, disheveled and shirtless, and I still lay face down, the comforter now muffling my near-hysterical laughter.

“Oh,” she said, “if you’re busy–“

“No, not busy, nope,” K called. “We were just, uh, taking a little nap.” I admired his cool-under-fire attitude, and laughed all the harder. They continued for a moment, setting plans, while I lay there and thought about how close a call that had been. Literally seconds before I had been kneeling up, tits out, clamps on, screaming into a blanket.

I think they might have refused to let us go riding with them.

To be continued…

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