Setting the Stage

I got a bit carried away yesterday --- no not with my attentions to Mistress - but with the length of my description of our switch day activities.

Even M commented on it during a call with Mistress:

“M says it was a Great blog, Slave…. But it took him a long time to read.”

Frankly, I think M mostly stops by for the illustrations, which can be …. inspirational  to him in those private moments of longing.

Maybe our next business plan for UCTMW, Enterprises, LLC should include a “classic comics” version of this tome …. Fewer words, more pictures. I always need to consider ways to enhance the (non)revenue stream

So today I will tighten things up, to get to the part I promised ‘Nilla on our flight out here last Friday.

Mistress and Slave were up relatively early …. There was blog reading, enthusiastic sex, a little after-nap for me.

Then I made breakfast for Mistress and we headed up the mountain.

There had been snow falling overnight, and snow clouds were still shrouding our little hideaway when we pulled out of the drive. But as we progressed up the canyon – climbing from about 7500 ft. to 9000 feet, we emerged from the clouds into a turquiose sky and a  winter wonderland of glistening, new fallen snow, clotting  tree branches and  shrouding the rocks that clog the Arroyo rushing down hill along the road side.

This week is a slow one for the local ski area. No real crowds show up until Christmas, so we had the place almost to ourselves.

Which may explain why Mistress let her guard down a bit. We had dropped our skis off for some tuning the night before, and as we walked into the little shop to collect them, Mistress got a text from M.

“Slave… I’m going to talk to the Western Correspondent a few minutes while you get the skis. Is that OK?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

She stepped outside as I signed papers promising that whatever they had done to the skis, any injury would be our fault alone --- same as it ever was. Then the burly bearded ski maintenance guy offered to help me tote the skis and boots outside.

Sure enough, as we came through the door, there was Mistress, pacing, chatting up M, all perky and squirmy, as she becomes when talking to him. She sees me – and presumably the ski fixer guy – and blurts out all cheerily, “Oh M …. Here’s the Slave now, toting our skis….”

I was left wondering what the Ski fixer guy thought when he handed me the boots, glancing at Mistress in her shapely black ski wear. “Slave… hmmmm.”

Ah well. I’m proud to be Mistress’s Slave… whether in the bed or toting her skis Sherpa style.  So what if the guy who I can’t sue knows it.

Though there was fresh snow, the terrain open on our little mountain is still limited, so we had no tredipation about calling it a day after about seven runs – maybe two hours- in the cold blustery air.

That left plenty of time for the real luxury of the day – an extended reading, napping, sex session in our bed, that took us through sunset. After that we took dinner at a nearly deserted local road house. Then rushed back to bed….

A perfect way for Mistress and Slave to spend a day….

Which gets me back to the notion of a kinky bloggers conference out here in the shadows of these timeless mountains.

Though it clearly would  be a challenge for some of you to attend, the notion sure is fun, isn’t it?  And I suggested via email to ‘Nilla that she might want to create a fictional account  describing what kinky zaniness might ensue if the sub-sisters and their domly consorts could join us out here some summer weekend. Maybe the Western Correspondent could join us to provide a little “local color”.

But I figured that ‘Nilla might need some illustrations to get her considerable imagination perking.  Here goes:

The house has two bedrooms, an extra office/ bedroom, and a common room with kitchen, dining area, and living room.  But if things get crowded, there is a local place that can rent tipis (I’, not making that up)…. Or some charming B & B’s nearby.

The ceilings are relatively low, with hand carved “vigas” (beams) above, that easily take a load bearing eye screw, as demonstrated in Monday’s illustration.  Here is a different view.

There are two fireplaces:

Outside there is a “portal” that surrounds the house, providing shade, held up by sturdy wooden beams:

Can’t you imagine Sir D, Aisha’s fave, demonstrating his rope skills with these as props?  Why settle for one bound sub-sister  when there could be a collection for  a rope workshop. There is plenty of privacy for such displays, unless you worry about the prying eyes of a neighbor's ornamental horses.

Oh, and there is a low adobe wall surrounding our patio (not sure I have a picture of that), that could certainly handle a slave bent over for spanking or …. Whatever.

And let’s not forget the trusty picnic table:

 It has so many potential uses:

So go for it ‘Nilla.  Can’t wait to read what you might come up with.

We are now accepting conference reservations for July 4^th weekend, 2011.

The Case of the Missing Riding Crop

Slave was up early again Sunday – trying to stay on East Coast time – so I had time to plot and prepare for a suitable switch scenario for my sleeping Mistress.

Well she wasn’t sleeping that deeply …. At one point, about 4:30 am Mtn. time, she called for me ….

“Slave…. Why are you up and out of this bed so early…..”

I came back in, slid into bed next to her, held her close and explained I had my fair allotment of sleep and was up working on my “homework”…. That seemed to mollify her, so I continued to coo and cuddle her until she was back in a sleepy comfort zone, allowing me to slide out of bed, finish the blog, and prepare….

Taking the lead from SFP’s recipes for home made spreader bars, I commandered one of our daughter’s older, disused ski poles. With some black leather ankle cuffs from our toy collection, a cable tie and a ski pass lanyard, I improvised a very efficient device for Mistress’s restraint…. The preview photo from yesterday show’s the end result.

When the sun was beginning to color a sky that had begun to cloud up to the West over night, I calculated Mistress had enough of  her “beauty rest”, and came back into our bedroom. Slipping into bed next to her, I spooned against her, waking her with some soft caresses along her hip and thighs, my mouth pressed against the back of her neck.

Soon she was fully awake, and I handed her the laptop to read the morning’s entry while I assembled the other supplies I would need.

“It’s that time, Mistress….”

After a trip to the bathroom, she surrendered her lush, naked body to my custody for the duration.  The red cuffs were locked on her wrists, linked close together in front.  And then I pulled out the spreader bar….

“What’s that, Slave…. “

“Isn’t it obvious Mistress….”

No doubt intrigued, she lay back on our bed, and meekly allowed me to tighten the black leather cuffs around her ankles, assuring that her legs could not be pulled closed to deny me access.

But there was one further surprise in store.

“OK, Mistress, slide your legs around the side of the bed and prepare to stand up….”

“Huhhh?  I can’t stand up with this contraption on me….”

“Oh yes you can …. Here, let me help you….”

I leaned down, helped pull her upright …. She was playing possum a bit now…. And took her weight on me, before guiding her a few feet away from the bed. We stopped under the eye hook that had been screwed  into the over head viga (wooden beam) in the center of our bedroom.

(One wonders what my visiting Mother in Law thought about that accessory when she used the cabin earlier in the fall).

Before Mistress had time to lodge her protest, her bound wrists was connected with some colorful climbing rope to that eye screw, and Mistress was upright, standing on those splayed legs, held up by the rope linking her wrists to that solid beam.

“Not fair Slave….. “

“Oh really…. “

I came around in front of her, one arms around her my tongue forcing its way between her protesting lips, my other hand sliding down between her spread legs.

“But I can smell your arousal already Mistress…. And feel it….”

Surprise: Her lips were already plump, damp, ready to be fucked. I swirled a finger there for a while, making her wriggle and wimper, her head thrown back.

I could have made her come in an instant.

But I retracted that damp digit, holding it to her nose, pressing it against her lips.

“Taste yourself, slut….”

She did.

“You, don’t like, Slave….”

“Oh but I do, Mistress…. I’m addicted.  But first things first.”

I stepped back, walked over to retrieve the riding cop she had used on me Saturday afternoon…. It had been next to our “toy bag.” But … no longer.

“Damn.  I swear that riding crop was right here, Mistress….”

She expressed indifference with a shrug. No loss to her, after all.

But….that gesture seemed to convey something more sinister.

“Did you hide it from me, Mistress …. Tuck it away somewhere so it would be MIA on switch day?”

She laughed.

“Why would I do that Slave?”

What a tease.

I stepped back to her.  A sudden hard slap from my palm greeted her bottom. She lurched, tugging at her restraint.

“Ouch….. , that hurt Slave…”

I added a few more spanks. She jerked against my palm, squirming to avoid it.

“I’m sure M would handle this hidden crop scam much more firmly than I will, Mistress.”

“He might, Slave….”

That gave her something to contemplate, as I let her languish as I did a more thorough search of our room and the adjoining closet.

But still no crop.

“Well, Mistress… hiding the crop only ratchets up your punishment….maybe that’s what you intended?

“But I did not hide it Slave….”

Another slap to her ass.

“Silence…. Unless you want to confess and tell me where you put it….”

That silenced her, at least for a few seconds. Enough time for me to step into the kitchen and retrieve a substitute implement. Taking Aisha’s lead, a grabbed slim wooden spoon, no hole in the middle to make those lovely marks, but it would do in a pinch.

I did some evil brandishing of the spoon to show Mistress what was in store.

“Oh no…Slave… that might hurt.”

I had gotten her attention.

And apparently it did hurt . As the spoon landed solidly on Mistress’s helpless bottom I was rewarded with all sorts of whining, moaning and complaints. And her butt was taking on a nice rosy glow.

Maybe I was getting  into the M zone…. No easy feat.

But I stopped when it seemed I had taught her the proper lesson, letting my hand linger on that warm bottom, and dip between her ass cheeks….  confirming that she was every bit as sodden and wanton as I expected. Within seconds those moans of pain were replaced with a different sort of moan.

Then I retreated, to her apparent displeasure, to snap a few photos to share with you and M.

I put down the camera and reached for the Hitachi.

“You’ve been a good girl, Mistress… despite hiding the crop… I think you’ve paid your debt for that crime, so maybe you are entitled to some “early release””.

I shed the dark blue robe I’d been wearing until now, approached her from the rear, naked, my firming cock pressing between her cheeks. She wriggled a bit to greet it. 

My left hand reached around her, toying with a nipple, as my right hand thumbed on the power tool and pressed it gently between those splayed thighs.

Mistress’s response was electric. Her hips thrusting forward to catch the vibrations, her legs straining against the spreader bar, frustrated in their inability to grip it closer….

But, too soon, I felt those familiar vibrations from her core….

I swiftly pulled the Hitachi away, clicking it off….

Still clinging to her, I scolded… “were you just coming Mistress….without asking permission?”

“Almost Slave…..but  not quite”.

I wasn’t so sure that she had not slipped one in, but I took her at her word.

“Shame on you,,,, Let’s start again… but you need to beg….”

This time I thrust the Hitachi between her legs from behind… pressing it up against her sensitive and needy parts….gently at first, then with more purpose. It had a quick impact….

“Ohh … please may I come Slave.”

Her head was thrown back against my shoulder, her fragrant hair thick and wild, against my face.

I was in a merciful mood….

“Yes, Mistress…. Feel free…”

And of course, within seconds, she was pitching over the edge, hanging from her bonds, squeezing her thighs as best she could against the churning tool. Her cries of delight were a symphony to her humble Slave.

But it seemed a shame to end things there, and I had certain needs that were calling to be filled… or in this case be the filling.

I unhooked Mistress from the overhead viga, helped her to the bed, then took the rope and lashed her still bound wrists over her head to another  eye screw mounted at the corner of her bead.

Now she was on her back, her knees bent, ankles still connected to that converted ski pole. 

Very vulnerable.

So vulnerable that after some soft caresses designed to renew Mistress’s energy level, the Hitachi was redeployed, to the usual devastating effect.

She begged some more, and then, after I had given permission, she begged for me to turn the tool off, ovepowered by all that stimulation.

As she settled back into the bed, spent, I freed her ankles.

“It might be hard for me to fuck you with this pole down there, Mistress.”

“Yes, Slave…. And now I need that cock….”

She got it, all right. First, with me straddling her mouth, feeding it to her, allowing  her to lavish it with attention.

She does that so very well, her velvety tongue and soft lips gliding and swirling along that growing shaft ….

Ahhh.

But I  hear Mistress waking now. She’s probably wondering why I’m not in bed next to her …. Keeping her warm. Ready to worship. 

So I will leave the rest to your imagination.

(Oh, BTW…. The riding crop turned up later in the afternoon. Somehow I had not noticed it pressed up against a door jam, a curtain hovering over it.

Oops.)

Switch Day Preview

Taking a hint from SFP, Slave improvises a useful tool with a handy ski pole.

Managing the Clock

One of those well worn football clichés is that a coach “manages the clock” well. Or not so well, depending on the final score.

Yesterday was one of those days when Mistress and her Slave managed their clock pretty dang well:

I was up pre-dawn, to do my “homework”.

Then, as the sun was rising over “our” mountain (the one in the photo yesterday), we read in bed for a bit, before Slave dove into Mistress’s fragrant folds with hungry lips and tongue, to be rewarded – once she was satisfied -with the opportunity to take Mistress with my firm “work-a-day” cock.

“It was particularly hard this morning, Slave”, Mistress told me afterwards.

That’s something a Slave always likes to hear.

After breakfast, we headed up to the Ski Mountain under a bright, cloudless ski, for our first runs of the season. Not much of the mountain is open yet, but it was nice to get in those first turns, stretch out those muscles and enjoy the sunshine.

But after about 6 runs, the trail was getting a bit crowded with other people’s surly teens (even worse than one’s own), so we decided to retreat back to our hideaway for lunch.

There was lunch at that infamous picnic table…. Fresh mozzarella and tomatoes for me; some Spanish goat cheese on spelt bread for Mistress.

Mistress had already laid out a Mexican Blanket on a lounge chair… she was stripped down to her (surprise) black long undies, and after lunch settled into a luxurious nap under that amazing sun – it was up to 50 degrees by now.

I raked up some late fall leaves, then planned to read as Mistress rested, but soon found my self snoring on an adjoining chair.

But by around 2 pm, Mistress was awake.

“Time for our bike ride, Slave…. Then I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

What else could I say, but “Yes, Mistress.”

My cardio system handled the ride better than the evening before. We are already re-adjusted to the altitude.

We returned about an hour later, a bit sweaty, justifying a shower before our planned activities. As I was drying off, Mistress took charge.

“Get out my supplies Slave….and the riding crop too.”

I hopped to, and soon Mistress had her harness on, riding crop in hand.

“Roll over, Slave. I want to see that bottom.”

She had a little trouble coming up with a good excuse for my discipline…. Quite frankly it was so lame I can’t remember it now… but it was enough to justify a firm and steady flurry of blows to my bottom.

By the time she was done, I was squirming, chewing on a pillow to stifle my exclamations.

Ouch.

Mistress is taking this up a notch. Which is probably good for her Slave.

Tossing the crop aside, she climbed into bed next to me, and we clung and cuddled a while, as her hands roamed over my reddened butt and my straining cock.

And then she was positioning me to be taken with her “tool”. Mistress took her time - thrusting home, filling me, until she was moaning with her own climax, before collapsing onto me, her work done.

After catching her breath, Mistress extracted herself, removed her harness, and returned to bed. Now it was my turn to do the penetrating. And I was happy to oblige.

After we were both spent, I fell asleep, spooned against Mistress, as she read a novel. About 30 minutes later, I was woken by the sound of her I-phone’s ring.

“Hmmmm….. it’s the Western Correspondent, Slave ….”

“Go ahead and talk, Mistress,,,, I’ll get up and start dinner preparation.”

I slid out of bed, still a bit groggy, and pulled my jeans …. Commando …. But there was no biking planned, so the odds of M style cock chafe were slight ….

Then I closed the door behind me to give the “little lovebirds” some privacy. They’d not spoken much in the last two days. My sense was that they both were a little needy on that front…. And a good Slave tries to accommodate his Mistress’s needs.

When Mistress emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, she was dressed, and announced she was heading down the street to do a little Christmas shopping for our teens.

“M says he might call me while you watch your football game tonight, Slave.”

“That’s fine, Mistress….”

Ah … football. Back to that….

My alma mater had it’s big rivalry game last night. Fortunately I was able to jerry rig our tiny TV to get it here. I knew I would be poor company for Mistress as I suffered through their travails … could they end that long ignominious losing streak to these notorious cheaters? It could be a long evening.

So as I settled into the game…. getting dinner ready too, I had no qualms that Mistress got her call from M near the end of the first quarter.

“Do you mind, Slave….”

She is a considerate Mistress, even though she has no need to ask my permission.

I told her where her Hitachi could be found, in case it’s use was required on her “date” with M. And as I watched my team manage their clock well at the end of the first half --- two TD’s in the final 2 minutes – I could hear Mistress’s soft, murmuring voice through the wall to our bedroom.

We were both in our own form of heaven.

At the half, Mistress emerged, a contented look on her face.

She inquired about the score. And after I told her the good guys were clinging to a precarious lead, I asked if she had scored too.

“Yes Slave…. But he had me use my fingers this time….”

You’ll me happy to know that my alma mater won….. at last. Mistress spent the rest of the game curled on the couch, in front of the fire, snoozing in contentment.

And we were both in bed by around 10 pm or so….my arm wrapped around her.

All told, I think we get an A for our own Saturday clock management. But that does not make us Bowl Eligible. Unless there is a bowl for sexual excess.

Hunkered Down in Our Hideaway

After a long day of traveling, and some “in-air antics” inspired by Aisha’s dare, Mistress and her Slave made it to our little hideaway here in the shadow of the Sangre de Christo Mountains.

It was a beautiful, cloud free day for that 3 hour drive, though the temperature was dropping in inverse proportion to the altitude’s increase.  And as her Slave drove through beautiful vistas, Mistress read a book and kept in touch with M via text message. He was skiing with family a  hundred miles or so to the north, where there has been considerably more snow. 

So they traded photos – he and his kids on skis, and Mistress’s shot of the fresh guacamole at a charming restaurant we stopped for lunch along the way.

We stopped for provisions at a local organic grocery store, and quickly jumped back in the car as the sun sank precariously low – Mistress was determined to get a bike ride in before we lost the “magic hour” light  that made Georgia O’Keefe give up the Big City all those decades ago.

As we pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, Mistress’s text chime went off. It was M, back from skiing and eager to talk. Mistress had sent him a little teaser text about her in-flight O, and he wanted the details.

Soon they were chatting.

“I had this big sweater with me, so it just went over my lap…. And then I slid off my pants underneath.  It was actually pretty easy….”

“He says he’s proud of us, Slave….”

“I offered to get the Slave off on the plane…. But he said it might be too messy.”

“Plus I was on the aisle, Mistress….”

It’s hard for me not to toss in a line or two when my name comes up. Impertinent, I know.

“True, Slave… I think he’s kind of horny now, M….. “

Her hand reached over, running a finger down the fly of my jeans.  She was right.  The scent of her musky juices had clung to my fingers through the afternoon and my Pavlovian reflexes were pathetically true to form.

“But first, a bike ride…. It’s been a long day of sitting on our asses, and it’s so beautiful out.”

“Of course, Mistress….”

M and Molly chatted a bit longer, until the cell reception faded, and we were pulling into our driveway.

We had no more than 30 minutes of a sinking sun left, so scrambled to unlock the bikes, round up some gloves and hats, and head out.  By now it was in the low 30’s and darn chilly, particularly in the brisk wind coming down off the mountains.

And Slave was huffing and puffing as we hit that first hill…. Feeling my age and the altitude. I had forgotten the value of acclimatization, but Mistress was right. We needed the exercise.

And we made it back in one piece, in the dark by the time we finished our circuit, stars popping out in the high dessert sky.

Beautiful.

Now we had time to unpack our provisions, make sure things were in good order.

I poured Mistress a Tequilla,  and myself an Jamieson.

Now the time had come…..

“Why don’t you take off your cloths and get in bed, Slave….”

“Excellent idea, Mistress….”

Soon we were warming ourselves under the covers, Slave naked, Mistress still in those lacy black panties, and nothing else.

“Wow…. Your bottom is still cold, Mistress….”

It was still warming up after those 45 minutes  in the saddle. I used my hands to warm her chilly cheeks, occasionally dipping between them to confirm that she was already moist and juicy for me.

And her fingers were busy too…. Fondling my cold cock until the blood began to flow back and remind me how very long it had been. 

(Yeah, Sin, I know 36 hours is hardly a big deal….but still.)

Mistress was rewarded with a few more digitally induced orgasms as we clung to one another to spread the warmth. And soon I was begging for the privilege of fucking Mistress. 

“Yes you may, Slave… I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Indeed, it sure seemed I had…. And I began robustly, sliding hard into her, working to make sure she had an orgasm or too before I was begging for the privilege.

But I had forgotten the cunning logic of high altitude sex…. Pace yourself. No matter how horny a male slave might be…. When you come from the flatlands to 7500 feet or higher, it’s easy to lose your breath.

So Slave had to back off a bit, slow, then vary the pace.  And WTF, there was no rush… No kids to drive or nag us…. No schedule at all.

So Mistress got her money’s worth…. And hopefully a premium, as Slave took his time to get her over the top a few more times, with those languorous shudders and precious moans.

And soon enough, Slave was begging too: Desperate for release, and then, after permission was granted, coming for her in a series of eruptions that seemed like it had been a week, not a day….

Ahhhh….

Mistress is very kind.

I slept for a bit then, while Mistress read.  I think I woke to the chime of her text message.

She reached for it, laughed.

“It’s the Western Correspondent, Slave… eh wants to know what the two lunatics are up to….”

“Aren’t you glad he’s keeping you on a short leash, Mistress?”

“Why yes, Slave…. I am.”

In-Air Antics

The Crazy Collins couple were up early this morning, to catch a 7:15 am flight.  So no morning sex for us. Just a quick shower and a dash to the airport. Which was amazingly deserted.

M had speculated about the type of security screening we might encounter.

"He said he hopes I get the full body cavity search, Slave....he thinks that would be funny."

But, alas, M.... the TSA "gestapo" was sleeping in after indulging themselves on turkey and schnapps . There were no humiliating full  body scans to whet the prurient appetites of sinister "Big Government" storm-troopers, like Rush Limbaugh had promised we would encounter. There was not  even an invasive pat down for the shapely Molly. As it turns out, I didn't even have to avoid wearing my cage....There was just  the same old conveyer belts and a friendly 'bon voyage'.

So now we are safely on board our flight out west, after making our connection in Atlanta

Google is providing free wifi on Delta for the Holidays... inspiring.... well.....

We were paging through our fellow bloggers entries.... Some hot ones this morning, particularly to a guy who has not "done it" since Thursday morning. More than 24 hours now and counting. (Of course, Mistress got off yesterday afternoon while talking with M, but who's keeping track?)

And there comes Aisha, with a comment, wondering if there will be any in-air antics to report on.

It was sort of like throwing down the gauntlet to Molly and Mick.

Fortunately, Mick was shrewd enough to book us seats on the side of the plane with only two seats. Though there is the disadvantage of that un-moveable arm rest between us....not to worry.

Mistress has a black wrap type sweater (it was cold this morning in River City)... and it spreads nicely across her lap.

"Why don't you slide off those pants, Mistress."

"Ummm .... OK Slave."

She spread the sweater over her lap. Then wriggled out of her tight jeans. There are some nice, lacey black undies underneath.

I hand her my computer....

"You may want to read Aisha nice little fantasy about submitting to a certain Dom, Mistress...."

"Sure, Slave... let me see."

As she's scrolling down through that fantasy about Aisha's frustrating wait for her Dom's attention, my fingers are under the sweater, doing what they have been well and thoroughly trained to do.

"Ummm.... this is hot Slave...."

I wasn't sure if the reference was to Aisha's elegant prose, or my massaging fingers.

But the inevitable consequence was soon upon her.... a little shuddering quake from Mistress, as she buried her mouth in my shoulder.

"Nice.... Slave."

Unfortunately, I think Slave is expected to wait patiently for his own reward until we reach our little mountain hideaway...

I think we may have to defer appreciating the view once we get there, at least for a while.

Heading West

 We made it through the obligatory ritual family feast.

What a relief to have it over with.

In the morning, Molly and Mick are up early, and headed out to our little Southwestern hideaway. Yeah, this is the view from our backyard.  Don't you think it would be a great venue for that kinky blogger's conference we've been speculating about?

Here's a song about our little chunk of paradise....

Beautiful Valley

.... we will be back with you Saturday morning.

HNT / WC claim by the WC?

It was very cold here in River City yesterday morning …. The warmth of our bed won the debate over whether to take that early morning bike ride. So that gave Molly and Mick a little more time than normal to explore bodies and plumb the depths of our desire for one another.

Nice. Very Nice.

But duty called, and our day got away from us after that.

We did get to talk briefly with Aisha on our drive downtown. Glad she seems to have gotten over her early morning blues and heard from D. Wish she was coming to River City for today. We really do need a buffer guest to help us work our way through an afternoon with our extended family B list.

Then there was Work. Lunch with the surly teens downtown at an Italian joint. (They were surprisingly un-surly, probably happy to have a long weekend ahead with minimal parental supervision). And Mistress headed home with them, while I stayed at the office to finish some work before our little trip out West.

Of course, missing from this scenario was the sort of attention that Mistress has come to expect: no opportunity for that mid-day release that she gets sitting on her little throne in my office.

Not to worry.

That’s where our Western Correspondent came in to pick up the slack.

Actually, he’s been earning his keep lately. Writer’s block seems to have cleared for him, and we’ve appreciated his comments and contributions of late. I just hope he doesn’t  decide to free lance once he discovers we are cranking up the employee contribution and deductible on the UCTMW Enterprises Health Care Plan.

Actually, one big concern I have is a potential WC claim by our WC. As in Worker’s Comp.  Mistress read me an email from him yesterday morning describing some damage done to the special occasion cock  Turns out that M had run out of briefs (or is it boxers?). So he wore jeans “commando” for his bike ride. In that cold mountain air.

Youch. 

Been there, burned that.

Nothing like a little  cock abrasion to cramp your style.

M, that sounds like a classic off-duty “frolic and detour”. I don’t want to see a letter from the WC Office in my email inbox with any bogus claim.

But M was not being selfish, yesterday afternoon, despite his disability. M made time for Mistress, who was home. And horny.

Around 3 or so I got a text from Mistress:

“Date with M at 4 pm, Slave….”

“Excellent, Mistress.”

She even called to make sure her Slave was cool with her extracurricular plans.

Of course, I was. Mistress has her needs, and when I am neglectful or other wise preoccupied, it’s only fair that she fill them at her discretion. Don’t you agree?

When I got home, Mistress was on our room, primping for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner at her Mother’s house. (We needed to exercise those stomach muscles to get them more supple and elastic for this afternoon’s feast).

And she seemed…. Satisfied.  I could tell that her lovely folds and the Hitachi had gotten a good work out.

She had that well fucked and content look in her eye.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave….”

“And Mike, was he able to handle his injured ‘junk’.”

“No… he was in his office and expecting some type of delivery…”

I suppose it is a little embarrassing to sign for a FedEx delivery with your pants around your ankles.

In any event, we hope that our Western Correspondent enjoys a well deserved holiday with his family and that his recovery from that abrasion is prompt and complete.

We’d hate to have to put him on the Injured Reserve list.  Then he’d be out for the season.

And we hope all of our stateside readers have a great Thanksgiving too!

Thanks-Ticipation

First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….

We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.

Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.

Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.

We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.

Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.

For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.

“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”

“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “

I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.

Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.

But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.

Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?


Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.

“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”

I had to respond:

“It depends on how you define sex.”

After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:

“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.

Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.

It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.

“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”

“And what did he say, Mistress?”

“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”

“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”

At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.

Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.

So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.

“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”

“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”

We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.

“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”

It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.

It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.

So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.

That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.

As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.

Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.

And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.


So who’s left?

There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.


There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.

There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.

There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.

And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.

So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?

Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?

Should Slave wear his cage?

With or without the butt plug?

Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)

Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.

But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.

That’s another thing to be thankful for…..

Our Toy Collection

Finally had the chance over the weekend to dump our toy collection on the bed and rise to the challenge from SFP and Sin last week.

Of course there are a few things missing, as I realized after I shot the photo and put our collection back in the bags and drawers where they languish between use: my cock cage was on me at the moment. (Mistress had me wear it Saturday when I went down to rake leaves at a rental property we own; it’s a helpful reminder to me to “behave”, and some extra security for her too.) The Hitachi was parked under the bed, all ready for the date Mistress would have later that afternoon with our Western Correspondent. And Now I remember another batch of items that have not been put to use in a while – an obsolete vibe or two muscled aside by Mistress’s preferred power tool of the moment.  But you get the picture.  There are lots of goodies useful for the restraint and discipline of a recalcitrant Slave.

And I was reminded that those nipple clips had not been put to good use in a few months.  Maybe next Sunday?

Yesterday Mistress made an amusing revelation when she came to my office for worship.

She was sitting on her throne – a chair pressed against the door with a thick soft blanket underneath to absorb all those juices we create – and sliding off her clingy black trousers (only one leg really, enough to give me access to her slick and fragrant folds).

“M said he loved the blog this morning, Slave…. And the photos…well….”

“Yes, Mistress?”

I was on my knees now, ready to “dig in”. I confess: I am an addict, and the font of my addiction was right there in front of me now, taunting. I wasn’t too intent on a lengthy conversation. But my curiosity was piqied.

“Well he said that he blew those photos up on his computer and …. You know….”

I laughed.

“Got himself off?”

“Yes Slave… that’s what he says….”

“Impressive Mistress…. How does that make you feel? The thought of him focusing on that delightful ass of yours while taking the special occasion cock for a little joy ride?”

By now I was grazing a bit, letting my tongue slide over that moist clean shaven skin, provoking her little pink clit, that would soon be gripped possessively between my needy lips.

“It’s pretty hot, Slave….”

No doubt.

I could tell Mistress’s mind was mulling over that scenario as I began to assault her in earnest with tongue and lips, pulling at her clit now, her hips rising as I suctioned it out of it’s little hiding place. 

“Do you think other men  …. Our readers … do the same thing when they see those photos of you, Mistress…. All vulnerable and aroused?”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands were grabbing at my hair (the little of it left) her thighs squeezing my head….and then she was coming for me, stifling her moan so as not to alert my colleagues outside in the hallway about what their graying, sober compadre and his delicious young wife were up to now.

Afterwards, as Mistress was tidying up, she gave me a little more details on M’s photographic preferences.

“He said he liked that one with you gripping my hand, Slave…. With my bottom all ready to be spanked.”

“I’m sure he did, Mistress….”

“He mentioned my nails …. ‘you really have nice ones” he said.”

She does… lots of maintenance makes for nice nails, and other yummy body parts too.

“And he mentioned that you must have given me a hard spanking for a change, because my bottom was so red.”

“I’m glad our Western Correspondent appreciates my effort to follow those instructions, Mistress.”

AS she left to return for work, we returned to the question I had posed earlier: are there other guys out there who “get off” on Mistress’s lovely body parts? And which are their favorites? It would be nice to hear.

“You know, Mistress, there could be women out there who delight in those photos too?”

“I guess that’s possible, Slave.”

Would it be interesting to hear from Mistress’s male (or female) admirers?

Could be.

Consumer Research

UCTMW ENTERPRISES, LLC
MEMORANDUM

From: Mick Collins, Executive Editor
To: M, Western Correspondent

Re: Result of Consumer Research on your “Instructions”

While the experience is still fresh in my mind, I wanted to report back on my efforts to utilize your helpful instructions on the proper spanking of a recalcitrant female.

As you know, our publication often likes to publish little “how to do” articles that our readers might find compelling and useful in their work-a-day lives.

Of course this is hardly an original idea. Lame-stream media outlets like the New York Times frequently publish recipes to use for posh holiday gatherings, and even cocktail recipes. One of our more comparable competitors, SFP, through her blogging empire sometimes posts handy “how to do” articles, like the one on how to makes a spreader bar from materials available at Home Depot. And you will surely recall how Aisha did a consumer review article on the higher and better uses of Risotto Spoons.

So, after we were surprised to see your article on “spanking methodology” pop up in the in-box that we reserve for you --- I could barely see it at first amidst the cob webs – I figured that our readers would love this helpful guide.

But first some quality control. Before we could give your procedure the coveted “UCTMW Seal of Approval”, we needed to do some consumer testing and take some illustrative photos.

Fortunately, it was Switch Day here at the corporate headquarters in River City, so our revered publisher, Molly Collins, could be compelled into serving as the test pilot in this experiment.

After Molly had read the morning papers a bit, I called her attention to the chair I had brought up from the dining room.

“Why do I have to be the sacrificial lamb on this one, Slave,” she whined. “I’ll bet one of the sub-sisters would be happy to volunteer.”

“I know, Mistress. But remember you chopped the travel budget in our latest austerity measures.”

Times are tough in the publishing world these days. And we don’t want to have to sell out to Ruppert Murdoch. The next thing you know you’d be seeing shots of Sarah Palin getting her bottom paddled.

Mistress agreed to be the subject of our little demonstration. But, as you might expect, getting her full co-operation was not an easy task. There’s a reason she’s the Publisher here and I am the lowly Executive Editor.

“Ok… first thing: take off that lovely black nighty, Mistress. You are supposed to be nude.”

“Huh…. Why? I don’t remember that part….”

I re-read the instructions to her, and she agreed, reluctantly, pulling off her soft black nighty to reveal that lovely, shapely body that has drawn so many page views to UCTMW in the last year.

“Now for your inspection.”

I was sitting on the chair. She was positioned in front of me. My fingers slid up the inside of her well conditioned thighs, exploring the path that I know well, dipping into her clean shaven folds.

“Wet already, Mistress? Our WC will be pleased to hear that this part of his instructions seem to have some appeal.”

She just gave me a snooty little sigh. But her slight undulations suggested that drawing your name into the conversation had a certain helpful effect.

I used my palms to rotate her around, giving me a close-up of her firm, rounded bottom. And my fingers slid between her legs, probing a bit, making her squirm as I invaded her virgin ass.

“I’m sure he likes the thought that you’ve saved this for his special occasion cock, Mistress.”

That seemed to make her ass tighten it’s firm grip on my invading digit.

We were ready to proceed with our demonstration.

"Okay, Mistress time to assume your position". I pulled her down, onto my lap.

It took us a while to get her oriented in the right way. My right leg over her left leg. Her right hand gripped by my left hand. Her bottom open and accessible to me. And before I got started I snapped this illustration to help our readers when they conduct this little exercise in the privacy of their own bedrooms … or dungeons, as the case may be.

Then I proceeded to thwack away with an open palm.

I had music on the mask the sound of flesh hitting flesh, since Surly Teen # 2 was in the house.

Mistress squirmed and wriggled as you would expect. But your instructions worked excellently. With her leg under mine and my hand gripping hers, she was going no-where.

The only problem was the chair. Mistress was clearly worried about her precarious balance, and the risk that she might slide off onto the floor.

Now maybe this is a good thing, making what is supposed to be an uncomfortable position all the less comfortable.

But Mistress can whine. And whine she did.

“I’m afraid I’m going slide off the chair, Slave.”

It may take a stronger more compelling Dom to take charge and get the subject of this exercise to suck it up and take her medicine, even if the is afraid she might slide onto the floor.

To that extent, this Executive Editor may not have been the best person to conduct our little experiment. I am wondering if some of our readers can persuade their Dom’s to follow your prescription to more … compelling effect.

Or maybe if our travel budget gets restored in the coming year, you can demonstrate yourself.

So after about 20-30 good strokes, and a good deal of Mistress squirming and whining, I succumbed before we got to the all important “begging and pleading” phase of the proceedings.

Maybe a wider, deeper chair would work better. Will have to keep a look out for that type of furnishing.

But I felt that Mistress deserved a little additional punishment for her failure to complete our mission.

She was positioned on our bed. Her hands were bound behind her with those leather handcuffs we bought on San Francisco years ago. And I picked up that long shoehorn.

The result from the combination of spanking and the shoehorn was a very nice rosey ass, as shown below:


Now I could have concluded the experiment there. Mistress was squirming delightfully against the bed as I took a slow taunting pace with the shoe horn. At one point I slid onto her my firm cock poking its way between those sheets. The moaning that induced was delicious for an Executive Editor's ears.

But it seemed despite all those orgasms on Saturday, Mistress’s participation in our little demonstration deserved a reward.

That’s when I reached for the Hitachi. Somehow it had survived your lengthy Saturday evening conference call.

As I flicked it on, Mistress gave off a little anticipatory shudder, and spread her legs as I slid it between her ass cheeks.

The rest is subject to an Executive Privilege.

Any input on how we could have done this consumer research more effectively will be appreciated.

Some Helpful Guidance from Our Western Correspondent

If there was day when Mistress deserves some orgasm denial  for her Switch Day, it is surely this one.

In the morning, Mistress was lavished with her usual therapy – her Slave’s tongue, and then, after she read my homework and ‘Nilla’s clever blog about that fetching “fictional” Domme, Slave’s firm “work-a-day”  cock.

At least a few orgasms were to be had there, before our morning bike ride

Then in the afternoon, after various mundane tasks were completed, Mistress ordered me upstairs.

“It’s that time Slave…. Get out my supplies.”

She meant her strap on and lubricant.

It had been a few weeks, and Slave was probably due.

But beforehand, Mistress said I probably also needed some cropping.

“But it’s hard for me to come up with a good excuse Slave….you’ve been pretty good lately.”

Of course I take pride in that, but….

Mistress had retrieved a very whippy crop from our closet. She was thwacking it a bit against her palm. Measuring it’s weight.

“Ok…. How about your rant this morning, when [Surly Teen #2] took your car and didn’t tell you….”

“But I needed those leaf bags in the trunk, Mistress.”

“I don’t like rants, Slave….

Thwack.  Ouch.  That stung.

“Will you do it again?”

“No… Mistress.”

Thwack.

“Liar….”

The blows rained down. And of course, Mistress was right. I probably would do it again.

By the time she was done, my bottom was very sore.  And she snapped a shot to transmit to M, and to sahre with all of you. You can see it on yesterday’s preview.

All of this got done with Mistress’s strap on cock bobbing in front of her.

She snapped a shot of that as well.

“The Domme’s eye view”.  (You can see that photo too in last night’s “preview” entry.)

When she texted that photo to M, she received   a prompt, “fucking HOT”, in return. 

Instant gratification.

And as Mistress positioned and then plunged into me, she came with a certain ferocious enthusiasm. Maybe twice. And there were more orgasms as I fucked her with the little probe stuffed inside me, assuring that my cock would remain nice and hard.

(Did I tell you I had the hard steel ring from my cock cage on…. That always assures a longer, harder fucking, as Mistress has come to know).

But she wasn’t done adding to her O count for the day.

When we woke from our post sex nap, Mistress checked her I-phone and there was a message from our Western Correspondent.

“M wants to know if I can talk with him at 6, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”  I had plans to watch my alma mater on TV. Mistress was going to dinner later with the Surly Teen #2. This would work out fine.

About 90 minutes later, Mistress came downstairs, with that glazed, contented look on her face.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Not sure…. I lost count, Slave.”

I will have to look for a spike in our electric bill. Sounds like the Hitachi got a work out.

But now it’s Switch Day, and out Western Correspondent has some ideas on how to handle Mistress this morning. We got this dispatch from his yesterday and I plan to follow directions:

“Your lazy and underproductive WC has decided to do his job and provide some blog fodder.  For the entertainment of the sub sisters and a certain incorrigible  young lady, I provide the following tutorial on how to properly tan a young lady's bare bottom:

Have her strip bare naked.

Have her stand before you naked while you inspect her at your leisure.

Make sure she keep her hands at her sides and does not try and cover up

Embarrassment is good at this time.

Sit in a comfortable chair (you might be there for a while) with no arms to impede your swing.

Take her over your left knee.

Rap your right leg over both her legs.

Say hand please

She will then present her right hand to you.

Grab her right hand with your left hand

Now she is not going anywhere and you can give her a good talking to about the reason she finds her self in such a compromising position.

Then begin to spank her hard with your hand or implement of choice (a shoe horn would work well).

Stop often to lecture her about her bad and insolent behavior.

Don't pay any attention to her pleas for forgiveness. 

Or her howls, kicking and screaming.

Be strong, and do you duty.  

Remember she will say or do any thing to get out of her spanking at this time.

Pay no attention at all to her and spank her till you decide she has been properly punished.

Then have her go stand in the corner with her bright red bare bottom on display for you to admire as you have a nice soothing cocktail of your choice.

You deserve it after all that hard work.

I mention this only because I read your last blog entry with great interest, I actually said 10 extra not 10 total.   The 10 extra were for asking impertinent questions, as I know your are aware she is prone to do.   So use this information as you will on Sunday.

As always I remain, your lazy and underproductive,

Western Correspondent.”

Thank you, M…. I will see if I can live up to these high standards.