HNT / Ready to Hit the Road

Here in River City we are in the last few days before hitting the road early Saturday morning. to our mountain hideaway for about a week of R & R. No kids. No work. Just some time to ourselves, with the prairie dogs to keep us company.  So this may be my last full entry before you hear from us Sunday morning from the Southwest. Let’s hope the wind and smoke settles down, and we won’t be treated to a Plutonium sunrise, from the fires at Los Alamos, which are not all that far from where we will be hiding out.

Of course, there are a few friends, and could be friends we will see out there.

The other night, at one of those “events” where you end up sitting with folks you barely know, we were talking to a couple with similar political interests. They were closer to my age than Molly’s , and somehow (not from us – we are pretty discrete about such things) the subject of spousal “free passes” came up. You know, “my wife has a ‘free pass’ if he gets a chance to do….W personality or politico….”

The husband explained that he has a free pass to do former News Queen soon to be talk show host Katie Couric if ever given the opportunity. I decline to question his good judgment. She seems far more perky and snotty than sexy to me. But there is no accounting for our unique tastes.

His wife explained that her free pass is with the former leader of the free world, and occasional dabbler in trailer park bootie, Bill Clinton. I was kind enough not to suggest that Molly not describe that night in the summer of 1988 when she passed on the chance to visit the all too full of himself Governor of Arkansas in his hotel suite. Though I sure wish she still had the business card he wrote the room number on. It just seemed rather pretentious back in the summer of Dukakis when Bill was famous only for boring the crowd at the Democratic Convention and playing his sax on the Tonight Show.

In the spirit of this conversation, Mistress then explained that her “free pass” was with a certain famous mountain climber who lives near our hideaway. (She did not explain that we have a contract that gives her a rather expansive free pass). The Climber finally accepted her Facebook friend request a few weeks ago, and she’s been trolling through all the photos he’s posted from Everest, Kilimanjaro, etc.

All this adventure stuff has Mistress all the more interested in meeting the Climber first hand. Plus all that technical climbing means he’s got to be good with the ropes and knots too, doesn’t it?

While there’s always the chance that Molly will finally encounter her climber first hand next week, .she is concerned that this is high climbing season, and his recent updates suggest he may be headed for Dinali, up in Palin Land,  rather than hunkering down at home for the 4^th. But  she will definitely keep her eyes pealed for him, now that she has that rigged face and body down in more detail.

If she lands him, we will definitely post a “UCTMW Breaking News Update”.

Of course, I will do my best to sooth her disappointment if there are no Climber sightings. Our first Sunday there, July 3^rd, has already been designated “Naked Sunday”, when Mistress will be required to shed all cloths other than on our morning bike ride. Hopefully, the smoke will clear and she will be able to work on eliminating those tan lines.

Changing subjects…

Our Senior Correspondent Donna has another media sideline: reviewing erotic novels on another website, Black Raven Reviews. She even has this very charming avatar that goes with it.  She’s given me permission to post some recent reviews, which follow below:

Safe in His Arms by Claire Thompson

http://theblackravensreviews.blogspot.com/2010/07/safe-in-his-arms-by-claire-thompson.html

Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph

http://theblackravensreviews.blogspot.com/2010/09/author-review-comfort-object-by-annabel.html

Unanticipated Abstinence Day

Earlier this week we heard from a certain anonymous commenter who suggested that the “old farts” who populate the editorial staff here at UCTMW should get over the fact that their best sexual days are behind them and focus on more important things, like long term care insurance.

Of course, Donna had her own tart reply to this rather uppity point of view. But it got me thinking: what was my sex life like pre-40, as compared to now that I am 60, speeding through my “waning” days.

Of course, back in 1990, when the original Bush was President (you note how I always date things based on the political cycle) and the name Donna Flowers had yet to enter the sex scandal lexicon, trailer trash division, the younger and more reckless Mick was still married to his first wife. The two sullen teens were just a concept, and Molly had another spouse too.

When it came to sex, there might be one or rarely two opportunities with my first wife per week. And those were the sorts of “dutiful” encounters that simply helped avoid the conversation “why don’t we have sex anymore”. I can’t even remember the lame TV series that substituted for physical interaction.

And – if we were lucky – Molly and I might find time to sidle away to our little “love nest” (yes, a tiny studio apartment in downtown River City --- how did we get away with that stuff for so long?), for a visit about twice a week.

So there I was, in the prime of my sexual life, getting a chance to release all that pent up demand at most 4 times a week, and that was a good week.

Flash forward to life at 60 and this “pampered house slave” gets his opportunities far more frequently. It’s rare Molly and Mick don’t “get it on” every day, and it’s often twice a day here at the world HQ.

And that’s for Mick. As you know, Molly’s chances for worship, or the occasional “date” via phone with her personal trainer can get her a few extra chances a day.

No wonder I haven’t found the time to sign up for that long term care insurance. If I’m lucky I will punch my ticket in the throes of ecstasy some day, later rather than sooner, I hope.

Of course, some of you would say that Mick gets a little too lucky here at the World HQ. I know that there are some subs out there who are placed on a strict diet when it comes to release. Locked away in their cages, serving their Domme’s or wives, waiting for that once a week or even less frequent opportunity.

I feel for you brothers.

So what are your thoughts, dear readers, are we over the hill? Or are we crazy?



Of course, sometimes there is an exception to the typical rule. Monday turned out to be a rare Abstinence Day for me here in River City.

I’m not sure what provoked it. We had to hit the road early that morning, so after I worshipped Mistress while she read the blog, we agreed there was no time for our typical morning engagement.

But when we got home …. Maybe Mistress was motivated by Suzanne’s comment that it was time for the “Big Fellow” to get back in his cage after our robust Switch Day …. Nada.

Of course, I saw to it that Mistress was worshipped properly. But when we retired to the executive suite Monday evening, Mistress made her wishes clear.

“Slave… you’ve not had an abstinence day in some time. I think it might be good for you to wait until morning.”

Of course, her pronouncement only made me want her all the more. A consensual “let’s take a pass” is hardly as compelling as a “none for you tonight”, is it guys?

I recall waking in the middle of the night, with a very hard “work-a-day” cock, wondering if Mistress would notice if I deployed it as intended.

But I figured that might only cause my beloved sleeping beauty to extend my sentence.

Bad idea.

Suffice it to say that I tamped down my burning desire, and waited until after she was worshipped on Tuesday morning.

You will be happy to know that my sentence was suspended for good behavior.

Our Senior Correspondent: DeCompressing After a Hard Work Day

 Molly and Mick had a late evening here in River City, out to dinner with our surly teen #2 and some friends visiting from Florida. That's why it was particularly nice to find this contribution from our Senior Correspondent in our in box to share with all of you.

Who says that the under 40's of this world have all the fun?

Well Guys and Gals, Doms and subs,

If you caught Sunday’s blog comments you know that I became rather vocal on a couple of issues. One might even say that I ranted a bit. I could try to convince you that the whole thing is totally out of character for me, that I am a soft and gentle soul who never rants or has strong opinions about things, but that would be a lie. No, along with being Bill’s submissive, I am clearly a Don’t Tread on Me (or mine) kind of girl. And that seems to be a common thread among submissive friends of mine, both male and female.

I swear to you that if the people Bill and I worked with in the vanilla world were to hear that we are a BDSM couple, their first thought would be of Bill lashed to a St. Andrew’s cross with me cracking a whip like Clint Eastwood in the opening scene of Rawhide! Very few could imagine me as the submissive begging for permission to suck Bill’s cock or envision me rocking my body, trying not to reach orgasm until given Bill’s approval. To the rest of the world Bill is currently a laid-back environmentalist and gentle political activist, a joking kind of guy, easy-going almost to a fault and I continue to be perceived as a take-charge, suck it up, organize it and make it work sort of person.

You may well be asking how this ties into a sex blog and here it is: Bill finds it very sexy that I am so strong in public. As part of my job when we were in the workforce, I led men and women, telling them what to do and exactly how I wanted it done. I was also required to call them on the carpet from time to time. Bill found it to be quite stimulating to watch his little sub be in charge. Since we worked together, being erect so often frequently made the days extra long for him and proper decompression in our hotel suite was always important.

We would head back to the hotel ASAP, hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and strip out of our clothes as quickly as possible. The shower was the first step in releasing work tensions while cranking things up sexually at the same time. After a basic wash-up Bill would push me up against the shower wall and I would run my soaped fingers through the hair on his chest, then run them slowly down his abdomen following that trail of dark hair leading to his groin.

I moved on to a gentle rubbing of his balls and a not so gentle grasping and rubbing of his cock. After a warm rinse, he lowered me to the shower seat that was just at the right height for me to lean forward and lick those first drops of precum from the end of his fat cock. After some time spent licking and sucking, Bill gave my wet hair a solid tug to let me know it was time to stop and he spread my legs and used the hand-held showerhead set on hard spray, showering attention on my nether lips and clit. We dried each other off with the thick hotel towels and relocated to the chairs in the living area. 

Bill placed me over the back of the chair and after gently rubbing my butt for a few minutes and maybe adding a little back rub, would pull his hand back and *whack* spank me for that day’s offenses, both real and imagined. He stopped after every ten swats or so, running his fingers up and down my slit to distribute my juices and judge just how turned on I had become. Sometimes he brought me to orgasm right then, but more often than not he insisted in a manner and voice that only Doms own, that I wait.

 He continued rubbing my clit while at the same time nudging my legs farther and farther apart until he could bring up his knee, rubbing my slit with his knee and thigh, again and again, while using his hands to tweak, pull and pinch my nipples. Finally granted permission to come, I buried my face in the upholstery in an effort to keep from screaming with my release. And then, before my heartbeat returned to normal, he would take me to the bed.

In bed then, as now, bondage is the name of the game. Bill was a scout leader and is a very creative guy. He can make most anything into an implement of bondage. Belts and ties are obvious and easy choices, but my Dom can take a bra and turn it into a rather secure tie down. He can have me pull on my jeans only to knee level and adjust them to immobilize my legs and he can twist exercise bands into handcuffs in the blink of an eye. Once I was bound in whatever manner pleased him on that particular day, Bill continued his complete control and Dominance of me, his sexual submissive until we were both freed from the day’s stressors and well sated.

That is exactly what I wanted and, more to the point, it is exactly what each of us needed.

I have heard vanillas speak of submissives as weak, sniveling creatures never wishing to make a decision on their own and Doms as overbearing, mean, obnoxious people As with all stereotypes, the beauty and diversity of life is missed by generalizing.

Vive la difference!

Donna

Rainy Day Mistress

We woke here in River city to what seemed like a millennial rain storm. Hours of hard and steady rain, that was preceded by some house rattling thunder. Our plans for an early morning bike ride were put on hold, which gave us a morning to loll in bed, read the paper, and well….do what Molly and Mick do.

I grazed through Mistress’s silken and naked folds as she read the blog, but she seemed a little startled when I pulled away as she closed the laptop and placed it on the bed.

“Huh….”

“Did we forget it’s Switch Day, Mistress?”

“I guess I was hoping you’d forgotten, Slave….”

Hardly.

Mistress soon found herself bound face down on our bed, her arms attached to the corners, her ankles bound together by our leather cuffs.

She was wriggling no where on her own.

I turned on a local public radio station to make sure the sullen teen would not hear any of our shenanigans. Irish music. The lively stuff that matched up well with what the Big Fellow had in mind.

I deployed the feather that ‘Nilla had suggested some months ago. It combined well with the firm slap of my palm on her lovely ass. A little sour to go with the sweet, that had her squirming nicely, the aroma of er arousal soon filling our “executive sweet”.

And then the Hitachi was deployed, slid between the tight confines between her thighs, making her squirm and writhe to accommodate it even though her ankles were still bound together.

I do love watching those ass and thigh muscles flex onvulsively as she builds herself to a lovely climax.

And give her some credit: this time she remembered to ask permission first.

Soon I was releasing her, then flipping her over to accommodate my needy little work-a-day cock.

All in all, it seemed nice that the rain had allowed us to take things at a more leisurely pace.

Soon I was off to visit my cranky Mom, as Mistress worked on some business matters. I got home around 1:30 pm or so, and we were surprised to see our comment count climbing precipitously. It seemed our “staff” was in a huff over their reprimand yesterday, and then there was the Anonymous refuge from Sin’s blog, mocking all of us as a bunch of depraved old farts.

I suppose it might be hard to argue with her/him (other than with respect to Molly of course), but Donna gave her / him a nice chewing out. Her inner Lou Grant came out…. Exactly what us crusty old hardscrabble editors like to see.

Ah, where were we…. Heading for a bike ride, right?

Well we got briefly off schedule at the behest of the WC, who took some time off from collecting kick backs from his trucking companies in his capacity as a Teamster shop steward to suggest to Molly that they have a spontaneous date.

It had been a while, and even though it was Switch Day, I would not be one to stand in the way of their fun.

“Do you mind, Slave…. a little privacy…”

“Of course not, Mistress…”

I took the Time and my laptop, and adjourned to the employee lounge, downstairs. The teen was at the gym, allowing Mistress to fully relax into the moment.

But around 15 minutes later…. Rather short by their standards, she came downstairs, holding my cell phone.

“Slave…. your phone rang… and at a rather inopportune time.”

Oops. Apparently one of my older daughters had called in the midst of Mistress’s passionate throws with the Hitachi in hand and the WC on the phone.

“I hope it did not cause too much inconvenience, Mistress.”

Actually, I was rather amused.

“Well. I was just about there….”

“But you soldiered on….”

“Yes, Slave….”

In fact she still had that nice post-orgasmic flush. And it sounded like the WC got off in full measure too. Indeed, it sound like the special occasion cock had plenty of action yesterday, starting with some “epic” sex with his wife that morning.

How many for you, Mistress?”

“Just one, Slave…. B was on a run, so that’s all the time he had….”

Well at least the WC was doing more on his Sunday than sowing dissent in the ranks here at UCTMW.

And it was nice for Mistress to add a little extra excitement to her rainy day in River City.

A Subtle Reprimand for Our Staff

UCTMW WORLD ENTERPRISES, LLC

MEMORANDUM

TO: ALL STAFF

FROM: MICK COLLINS, EXECUTIVE EDITOR AND DIRECTOR OF HUMAN RESOURCES

RE: Excessive Sucking Up

Yes, mid-year reviews are coming up. I will be meeting with the CEO to go over your self -appraisals once submitted sometimes early in July.

But I note a disturbing tendency in recent days to an excessive amount of sucking up in the comments section.

“What a wonderful blog you have, Molly and Mick….”

“What a great community you have brought together here, Mick and Molly….”

And on and on.

It makes an old executive editor want to puke.

We certainly appreciate your devotion, but this sort of prattling sycophancy does  not become the crew of hard nosed, jaded, prurient and sometimes even crude “journalists” we’ve tried to assemble here at our burgeoning media empire.

You all sound more like Eddie Haskell than Lou Grant!!!!

Indeed, knowing each of your personal histories as I do, I expect your recent sucking up may be a subtle form of mockery, or, in the alternative, an attempt to curry favor for grander titles or preferable mast head positions. Lord knows you can’t expect cash bonuses at mid year, can you? 

Instead, the CEO would be more inclined to reinvest our profits in items that can expand our audience, like foxy lingerie for future photo “spreads”.

Better spend your time on arranging some type of product placement deal with a high end purveyor of silky nightwear, staff.

While I am at it, I wanted to mention one thing about your status on our “payroll”.

While we loosely refer to you on these pages as our “staff” with titles like “Senior Correspondent”. “Director of Security, International”, “Assotologist” etc., I want to make clear that you are actually independent contractors of UCTMW, LLC, and not “employees”.

We do not manage your day to day activities, requires you to clock in or out, or provide the tools you use to do your “work”. (Although you have gotten a few freebies from EdenFantasies.com.)

The distinction is important for several reasons, but I wanted to emphasize one today:  “Worker’s Compensation”.

We do not provide it!   

We are only required to provide worker’s comp coverage to actual employees.

I mention that because I know that both Bill and M have recently acquired a device for attachment to an Hitachi magic wand amounting to a cock sleeve.  Here is the photo Donna recently provided. M also sent a similar photo to Molly mentioning his plans to put it to good use on the so called “special occasion cock”.

I am not sure whether this device has been approved by the consumer product safety commission, but regardless, if injuries occur, such as a dislocated or desensitized member, WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE!

However, we are happy to print a product review when and if you ever figure out how to turn that device off.

Have a productive week, and please get those self-appraisals into the World HQ by July 1^st.

Licensed to.....

Well yesterday’s post here led to lots of interesting comments, and even Mistress weighed in at the end of our day. You may want to turn back a page to catch the “debate”, and get the WC’s more straightforward embrace of the male proclivity to stray.

On further reflection, maybe the young testosterone overloaded Mick was just exploiting a skill he nurtured in his high school days. If I had been a better bass player in that high school rock band, than I was getting  female members of the audience to “make out” with me after the show, maybe I would be an aging rocker, backing up Steely Dan now, rather than writing a sex blog for the entertainment of this “vast” audience.

When I went searching for that James Bond image, it opened up a another set of memories for me that I’ve been sorting through in the last day.

I recall seeing my first James Bond movie from the back seat of a friends car, at a Drive In movie theatre in up state NY, on the banks of the Hudson River. Apparently his parents thought "From Russia With Love was good entertainment for an 8th grader.

It was the summer of 1963. JFK was still with us.The Beatles had yet to appear on the Ed Sullivan show.

Here is the trailer – short on the special effects that came to dominate and deaden the series as it lumbered over the next few decades. Looks like there was even a bit of bondage tucked in.

Of course, I was hardly a  sexually educated dude on the cusp of 8th grade, I just knew that this guy was pretty danged cool, and seemed to have a charm that got a really nice looking blonde into bed with him. What happened next, who knew? But the concept has a certain compelling, if mysterious, appeal.

I learned later, most likely after the Assassination, that the novel the movie had been based on was one of JFK’s favorite books (was he role modeling James too?). The movie was the last one he saw before his murder in November of that year.

With that inspiration, as a teen I set aside Tom Swift and devoured the whole series of Ian Fleming’s novels, though one, Thunderball maybe,  was “seized” by a nun at my Catholic High School here in River City.

“I can’t believe that your parents allow you to read that smut, Mr. Collins.”

I suspected she and the other nuns passed that book from one to another back at the convent. Who knows what happened next in their little narrow beds.

So with role models like these, who can doubt why I responded to any sign of female attraction that crossed my bow. I mean, I was just getting read for my first assignment, once I obtained that License to Kill.

I liked the thought of the women I would encounter would someday be mumbling “Oh….Mick”, just like Tatiana and all the rest of the “Bond girls” in the series would sooner or later murmur, “Oh…. James….” at some point in the film. The Cold War would be won one seduction at a time.

Of course, that photo of Sean Connery brandishing his “special occasion firearm”, and its cheap phallic imagery, made it abundantly clear that sex mixed with violence was to be the formula for selling tickets. And sure enough, subsequent Bond marketing did not fall far from that tree. Here are just a few:

It's nice that Sean Connery sometimes only brandished a "work-a-day" firearm.

Yesterday Mistress chimed in with her own comments about the Male weakness for cheating. But what she has yet to share with us is her own motivation as a femme fatale.

You see, when she and I had our transcendent chemical reaction to one another back in the days of the short Greek from Massachusetts, she brought to the table her own little list of conquests.

Over the months she slowly disclosed her history to me, with one older guy after another falling for her devastating charms. And she was married too, but only about 26 at the time. By my calculation, she seemed to have as many extracurricular relationships / year as the older Mick. Who was her role model?

Don’t you think she owes us a little history about how and why all these men fell into her web?

I know I’d like to hear about it with the benefit of some hindsight. Wouldn’t you?

On "Straying".

I thought I would take a break from the day to day sexual antics here at the UCTMW World HQ and flashback a bit, inspired by a post a few days back by Sin on the subject of men and their proclivity to “stray”.

Sin’s theory was that men crave “variety”, which may be supported by the old biological imperative to sow those dna particles wide and far.

Of course, Sin’s not the only one talking about this subject. The recent public meltdown of a certain New York Congressman got tongues wagging on the subject “what is it about these guys”.

The New York Times had an article Sunday, linked here http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/19/fashion/scholars-discuss-weiners-behavior.html?_r=1&ref=anthonydweiner, which trots out some experts to speculate on why the male political class tend to get caught with their dicks twisting in the wind. As one “expert” opines, “Most people who get as far as he’s gotten are high testosterone people … Along with that ambition comes a high sex drive.” Another Prof claims that “men, particularly successful men, have an evolutionary history of polygamy.”

Of course, for folks like Mitt Romney, that history is only a generation or so removed.

But, Mick, you ask, isn’t this kind of boring?

Next you’re going to be talking anthropology, and we’re going to look elsewhere for our fun.

Okay, lets get a little more personal.

Let me talk from personal experience.

Back in the day – I’m talking late 60’s up until I discovered Molly  in 1988– Mick was a bit of a Wiener, so to speak. But of course that was before Twitter. I didn’t do my talking by text message. I did it the old fashioned way, one slap and tickle at a time.

When Mistress and I had our own crisis abut my fidelity, which led to my signing the contract that gives title to this blog, I found the need to consult with a psychologist here in River City.

I picked a woman I had dealt with in a professional capacity. Someone who specialized in sexual matters. But a grandmotherly type who I knew who call things straight and not tell me what she thought I wanted to hear.

One of my first “homework assignments” was to prepare a list of all the women I’d had sex with in my adult life.

I figured this would be easy, but as I started writing, I started remembering, and the list got longer. And longer.

It made for an ugly pattern.  While a few were one or two night stands, most were real relationships, extending for months or even years, and overlapping with other relationships.

I traveled more for business in those days. So there were women in Chicago. New York. DC.

You get the picture.

Am I sounding like Rif Dog?  Well there was some of that to it, but I was not nearly as swaggering-ish about it. And that was before anything like Ashley Madison which facilitated off-line hookups.

Man, I had to work to find these “opportunities”. And I worked to keep them alive.

Keep in mind that most of these encounters happened during the time I was involved with or married to my first wife. With the one exception that Molly knows about, I’ve stayed “on the wagon” during my involvement with her, since 1988.

So what explained my proclivity to “stray” in those days?

At the time, I had some bad examples for “heroes” in politics and popular culture. JFK.  James Bond. It was cool to make oneself available to the ladies, wasn’t it?

And my father had modeled some of this behavior. Think Don Draper, but in the insurance business. I’d seen some evidence of his straying when I was a teen.

Of course, I had a rather cocky attitude: If a woman came onto me, who was I to deny them the opportunity to be with the one and only Mick Collins.

I suppose my marital life was a tad dull. Certainly not like with Molly. But is that really an excuse? Couldn’t I have worked harder at bringing some adventure home?  Of course I could have.

When I went over the list with my Psychologist, she rolled her eyes a bit. The phrase “sex addict” came up. But she seemed to back away from that diagnosis. It seemed that while I had a high count, she’d seen a lot worse. And that fact that most of mine were actual relationships discounted that diagnosis.

After some session she focused on the type of relationship I had with my Mother. She was distant, self-absorbed. Not particularly affectionate.  (Think Rose Kennedy here).

Was my need  to seduce other women  fallout from my  desire to find the affection that my Mother supposedly denied me? And practice made perfect. I had become a bit of a seduction machine, apparently sending off signals that made the next conquest all the easier than the one before.

Mingle that with the higher testosterone that may have come with the territory – after all I was apolitical activist, though I never pulled the trigger on running for office myself – and you have a toxic mix.

The good part about my time with the Psychologist is that I had a better idea of what led to this behavior. That more clinical understanding helped me back up and see the harm and anxiety I had caused others – particularly Molly, but my first wife too, and some of the women on that list.

And it also helped me admit what a reckless, inconsiderate asshole I had been.

No one wants to be an asshole, right?

So Sin, at least or me, it was a bit deeper than “variety”.

Past Our Bedtime / HNT

Mistress was spared having another “take daughter to work day” yesterday, which was also a break for me: no cage, and a chance to ride to and from work with her.

She even stopped by for lunch. But apparently I was not quick enough to take the hint.

When she arrived at my office, I was on a rant about something, can’t recall what now, and we talked on the subject, distracting me from what should have been the primary task at hand. As I reached for my jacket, ready to leave for lunch, I realized that something important had been neglected.

“Oh… would you like me to worship, Mistress….”

“I was wondering when you might ask, Slave….I’ve been pacing here waiting for you, a little on edge….”

Interesting. Maybe Mistress now gets a little pavlovian response when she enters my office, her cunt anticipating what should be coming up next. My distraction had been a subliminal source of frustration for her.

Love it.

I quickly acted to correct my error, shutting the door, sliding the chair into place and taking the proper position – on my knees – to lavish her with the soothing attentions of my tongue and lips.

A little work on my part took the “edge” off, and we were soon headed to lunch on our public square on what was a mild if blustery day, a little window of opportunity between thunderstorms.

At home after work, Mistress was worshipped again before we headed for a bike ride. Then Mistress stopped by her Mother’s house (just up the street) for a walk with her, as I hunkered down at home to fix a little sandwich and watch the President’s speech.

Mistress was back at about 8:30 or so, and we lingered downstairs in front of the TV, until I could take no more of the grousing from left and right about his plans to back our troops out of Afghanistan.

Not fast enough. Too fast. Accelerated timetable needed. No timetable. Argh. The Whipsawing was impressive. Maybe Rachel should run for President and solve all this for us, right? I wanted to scream, but then Howard Dean was already doing it for me.

We headed upstairs to the “Executive Suite”, hunkered down in bed, both with our lap tops out , Mistress responding to some emails – including a quite if exasperated one from Aisha – let’s hope she survived that tornado warning. We were teetering on the edge of “calling it a night” or “night cap” sex.

I won’t go into the details of what tipped us in the direction that makes my continued writing worthwhile here. Suffice it to say, the feeling was mutual.

“Slave… I know it’s a little late…. Go put in your device (the aneros)… you may need a little extra for after hours activity….”

True, that little sucker can be like a “booster” rocket, particularly when Slave is tuckered out. And being told what to do in that commanding tone adds a bit to the erotic stew.

As I slid back into bed, Mistress’s soft fingers made a beeline for my already thickening cock. We snuggled close, my hand diving between her legs, sliding through those moist clean shaven folds.

I was already getting close as her hand worked me with a slow, sensuous fervor.

“Would you like me to lick, Mistress?”

“Not now, Slave…. this is nice, don’t you think….”

The question soon became whether her fingers or mine would win the race of driving the other one over the edge first.

I was determined not to blink, or pull away…. And on this occasion, it was my fingers that prevailed, as Mistress bucked and moaned through a nice little starter cum.

“Would you like to fuck me now, Slave?”

“Uhhh, yeah… I thought you’d never ask, Mistress…”

On "Variety".

Summer has arrived here in River City. We are more than a week into “school’s out” and a bit frazzled about it.

Sullen teen # 1 is on an even keel, low maintenance, getting ready for her college experience, with some trips with friends and family thrown in. It seems she will only be making cameo appearances here at the world HQ over the next few weeks.

Sullen Teen # 2 is a whole different story.

She just finished her junior year, but will be overseas for her senior year, studying abroad. And since she seems to have forsaken all the “boring” and “loser” friends she had accumulated in high school,   she is in our face (more typically Mistress’s face) just about 24/7.

Combine that with some prep she must do to be able to graduate on time (two on-line courses), scrambling to visit some colleges she may lower herself to apply to, and arranging for a visa and medical clearance for a year abroad, well…. she has become a full time  job for poor Molly, and to a much lesser extent for me.

This can throw a monkey wrench into the more indulgent lifestyle that Molly and Mick have become accustomed to here in River City.

With Teen #2 deciding she is best working on her on-line studies at Molly’s office, and constantly poking her head in to her mother’s work space, well that has certainly cut down on chances for Mistress to engage in those occasional smutty conversations with the WC.

And it also means we’ve been driving separately to work over the past week, depriving us of that morning and afternoon decompression time.

And, let’s not forget the infernal cage that Mick is required to wear when we drive separately.  Ouch.

The teen’s trips to Mom’s office have also put a damper on Mistress’s visits to my office for our little mid-day worship sessions. (“Where are you going?... and why can’t I come? Can we stop for ice cream on the way?)

But there was a brief respite yesterday. At mid-morning, the teen discovered she needed to go to the MD’s office for one of those TB tests so he could sign off on her visa paperwork. That meant she borrowed my car from my downtown garage, and gave Molly a few hours of relative solitude to do her “real” job, and also visit me without her little “shadow”. I was more than happy to turn over the keys.

Mistress arrived at my office shortly after lunch, dressed for business in an elegant cotton dress, her legs bare. As we talked about our mutual exasperation with the teen, I was already positioning the chair against my door, draping the maroon blanket, and otherwise preparing her “throne”.

As I gently kissed her lips, the taste and aroma was just a little bit different, exotic maybe….I filed it away to mull over.  But the difference got me thinking about the post Sin had made the other day about men who “stray”. Her theory was it’s about “variety”, that somehow men get a little bored or stale with the same old, same old. (or  same young, for that matter).

I don’t  exactly agree. Maybe it’s something I need to write about later, in the context of my own “wild oats’ days during my first marriage.

But suffice it to say that since it had been a while since Mistress had stopped by my office, and this odd new taste and scent, it all seemed a little different, new and … exciting to me.

But of course there was the cage.

 As I knelt to worship, inhaling the musky scent that mingled with the new aroma I had detected, my cock stirred, strained and banged up against it’s restraining steel.

Double Ouch.

And although I knew it was Mistress here doing what we had done many times before, it was hard not to imagine doing this for the first time, the risk of it, the submissiveness of being on my knees, focusing only on her pleasure. I even imagined  that Mistress had dispatched someone else, a friend maybe, a business colleague, or maybe a “babysitter”, like Tammy over at All Mine has for the weeks when Suzanne is overseas this summer.

That musing didn’t help the cage situation at all. I should have been thinking about who would be starting on the mound for the home team that night.

Fortunately, my highly trained and experienced lips and tongue, were already busily engaged, and soon Mistress was more than satisfied, her hips rising off the chair, her head gently clunking against my door, little muted gasps coming from those full, lush lips.

We drove home, and on the way home chatted with Donna about the reactions to her wonderful posting here yesterday. They commiserated a bit about some human resource issues here at UCTMW World Enterprises.

By the time we got home, I made sure to offer to worship Mistress again before our evening bike ride. But first, as  my mouth lingered at Mistress neck as I unzipped her dress, I asked about that new taste / scent.

“Oh…. I didn’t think you’d notice…. It’s something I wore in college… “White Shoulders.”  I used it when we were in Europe, then put it on this morning because I figured I wouldn’t see you today until we got home…”

It’s funny isn’t it, how a little change can make an intriguing difference?

It wasn’t until after Mistress was worshiped again, lying across our bed, me kneeling on the floor, that she remembered the cage, and reached for the little key.

“Poor slave….”

Actually, I have it pretty good.

Our Senior Correspondent on "Sympathy F***s"

(The original posting missed the end of Donna's story. hopefully I have now fixed that error).

Last week we had a little riff in the blog on “sympathy (aka mercyI) fucks”, and a few of you chimed it. When Donna mentioned she’d had some real life experiences I suggested she share, and she has. Here is the little explanation she sent to me, followed by her wonderful, and very moving description. While this isn’t the normal flip tone we keep here at UCTMW, this piece is clearly worth sharing with all of you.

I wrote up the most powerful of the mercy fucks that came to mind, but after writing it-I 'm not sure it really falls into that category.
I have had mercy fucks with a professor who just found out he lost his job because he attended a Vietnam War protest, a service man in uniform on a Greyhound bus, a female dorm friend overwhelmed by the huge university we attended, and a friend recovering from surgery due to Crone's Disease who was afraid he would never be able to use his penis to please a woman again.
I know that may seem like quite a number and there are more, but like most BDSM subs, it was a journey rather than a single event that led me to know who I am and what I need. Plus, I have a big heart. :-)

So I wrote this up and I think it may be too strong for the blog. I need you to be honest. If it isn't right for the blog I will tuck if away for now and eventually the right time or situation for using it will come along.


Mick mentioned mercy fucks in a column last week. I hadn’t thought of it in exactly those terms, but knew immediately what he meant. I imagine most of us who are in open marriages have participated in a mercy fuck.

The situation that comes to mind took place with a friend who I’ll call Sam. He was a great guy, a friend to both Bill and me. We had worked with Sam in some tough and unpleasant situations and knew him to be a hard working man with a heart of gold. His regular job was in a profession that required him to be what people living in that part of the country considered a “manly man”, showing no emotions and no tears. When placed on special assignment to work with us in two week rotations, he let down a bit, joked some and became much more relaxed and open. The three of us often had meals together and shared stories of our kids, our jobs and our lives back at home. When work assignments were completed we kept in touch by phone and email.

One night we received a phone call from Sam’s best friend telling us that Sam’s teenage son had been killed in a car accident. A drunk driver in a pick-up missed a four way stop and T-boned his son’s small car. Immediately we began making arrangements for all the teams to attend the funeral until we received another call from Sam’s friend saying that Sam’s ex-wife insisted the funeral be only family. There were no more emails from Sam and phone calls weren’t returned, so Bill and I sent cards and hand written letters over the course of months, hoping Sam would know we were thinking of him. We never heard back.

The following year we attended a training meeting and were pleased as punch to see Sam walk into the meeting facility. Pleased to see him, but immediately concerned. He had lost weight he didn’t need to lose and his face was pale and drawn. I went over to give him a hug and he hung on tightly and whispered in my ear a choked thank you for all the letters. He asked if he could talk to me when the training was over. Of course I agreed, and he gave me his room number. Then he turned around and left, not staying for the training.

At breaks and at lunch, Sam was the focus of the conversations Bill and I had. Bill’s opinion was that Sam needed to talk to me alone, that he needed someone he felt he could open his emotions to without feeling judged, that he probably needed to be held physically and that he might need sexual release, too. I was glad to know we had both been thinking the same thing.
Bill and I are always point blank honest and clear about this type of situation, so I asked whether he was giving permission for me to have sexual intercourse with Sam should things go that way, and his answer was yes. When the training sessions concluded for the day, we went back to our room, I showered, put on some nice but not sexually stimulating clothing, Bill gave me a big kiss and hug and I went to Sam’s room.

I won’t go into the level of emotional pain Sam had been experiencing except to say that it had been exacerbated by comments from well intentioned friends and relatives. In my experience we never do anyone a favor by telling them that God has a plan and good reason for taking their child; that we aren’t being a good friend to state in a simple manner that things will get better; and it isn’t a positive thing to act as though a deceased child never existed by never mentioning them again or by taking down all the pictures of that child.

I knew that Sam had been divorced for many years and enjoyed playing the field, but one of the things he shared as we talked was that he had not been with anyone since his son’s death. We talked for hours, ordered room service for dinner and, at Sam’s suggestion, called to ask Bill to join us. Bill declined and told me to feel free to stay for as long as I felt Sam needed me.

Sam and I eventually ended up reclining on the crisp white sheets of the king sized bed of that hotel room. We kissed and touched, he cried and I held him. Eventually he fell asleep and I curled up in his arms and slept, too. He woke me in the wee hours of the morning and I knew we would soon be making love, love that comes from being spiritually connected to another human being.

Not having been with Sam before, and Sam never having been with a woman disabled as I am, during foreplay there were those moments of exploring and learning that led to adjustments and sweet laughter. Seeing a spark of life in his eyes and feeling his filled penis against me, I asked whether he had any condoms. I dressed his penis in the all-weather gear and proceeded to twist around and suck him off.

We laid back and talked some more, this time about sex, politics, life, the universe and everything while our hands wandered across each others bodies. Within 30 minutes Sam was reaching for another condom. While he held himself up on his arms, I slowing massaged his balls with one hand and rubbed and pressed the head of his penis rapidly over my clit. He leaned onto his side and took over rubbing my clit with his thumb while I gave him a good solid hand job. I came first and he came soon after with a great release of ejaculate and emotion.

We cleaned up a bit, then I called and woke Bill to tell him that Sam and I were headed toward our room and to please order some coffee and rolls. The three of us talked and later, as I headed in to take a shower to get ready for the day, they each gave me a kiss and Sam gave me a wink and a smile. When I came out, Sam was gone and Bill was reading the paper. We discussed what had happened, Bill made sure I was okay and we headed for our training. Sam was there, looking much better than the day before. He had lunch with us, no mention was made of the night before, and he went out dancing with friends that evening.

We were on assignment with Sam several more times over the years and while I wouldn’t have been opposed to it, we never made our friendship into a three-way or ever made love again.

As human beings, we are sexual creatures and it isn’t at all unusual for there to be a sexual component to the grieving process.

So was this a mercy fuck? It might be called that, but I think I would prefer to think of it in the sense that a friend needed something Bill and I could provide, we cared about him, so we did.

Donna

A Switchy Father's Day

Here at the World HQ, Slave woke with those red marks on my ass all faded. Mistress and our remaining sullen teen (the other one was still up North with the boyfriend and his family), had plans to take me out to brunch at a local restaurant.

But Mistress had a little “payback” in store.

After we read the morning paper for a while, and she perused our blog with my tongue and lips nipping at her delicious folds, it was time to get down to business.

The red cuffs went on those slim and sexy wrists. Don’t you like the way the cuffs match her scarlet nail polish?

And once her arms were secured overhead on our bed, her lush body all exposed and nakers, I tied her ankles off with those long soft strips that are the remains of a cotton beach towel. Soft but secure.

Of course, with her lashed down, spread eagle style on our bed, I wouldn’t be able to match those red marks she had left on my bottom, as Sin and Donna speculated I might.

But there were other tools and torments available.

After some teasing, and kissing, and probing between her legs with my hungry “work-a-day” cock, I reached into the drawer next to the bed….

“Oh…. Not those clothespins, Slave….”

“Why not, Mistress… you gave me a good thwacking yesterday…”

“But you deserved it…”

“True, Mistress…. But still, you wouldn’t want me to go too easy on you….”

“But they hurt so much….”

“Somehow you managed over in Europe, masturbating away with them on, when you lost the coin toss with M….”

(She still owes us a narrative on that, doesn’t she, audience?)

“Yes…. But…. I could adjust that… they were looser….”

So somehow, when she put them on herself, it seemed more “manageable” than when she is helpless, and knows they come off only when I decide. Interesting. Any thoughts on that Sub-sisters?

In any event, I really hadn’t planned on the clothespins.

No, I was reaching for those black “nipple vices”, which can be adjusted as you play to tighten or loosen.

She was still not “thrilled”. At least as far as I could tell as I primed her little red buds with my lips and teeth, until they were plump and firm, ready for me to literally “turn the screws” on them.

Don’t they look charming?

Mistress whined a bit, but they didn’t seem too painful.

And of course by now I was distracting her with her favorite toy: the Hitachi magic wand, which I pulled from under our bed, and slid between those outstretched legs.

Her inner thighs and belly got a little attention, but soon enough the churning bulb of the power tool was pressed firmly against those lovely clean shaven parts, and mistress hips were rising up to meet it.

I kissed her a bit, but things quickly got out of control. Mistress’s hips were bucking, and that tell tale convulsion and moan told me that a primary rule of switch day had been violated.

“Uhhh…. Did you forget something, Mistress?”

“Ooops…. Sorry, Slave…. I forgot to ask permission….”

I contemplated the consequences…. instinctively tightening the screws on those little breast pincers as she winced and moaned a bit, the Hitachi still gently resting at the juncture of her thighs.

“Well, Mistress, I was going to take these off when you came, but since you violated our protocol, we will have to start all over again….”

I’d make a really tough “master” wouldn’t I?

I went back to work with the power tool. Mistress went back to work, squirming and moaning and acting all helplessly wanton.

Soon she was asking for permission…. And with only a little theatrical hesitation, I rolled over and said what she wanted to ehar.

“Yes, Mistress…. You may come….”

And she did, writhing, moaning, thrashing about as best as her restraints would accommodate.

And damned if I didn’t keep that tool in the “on” position after that, forcing yet another cum from her, until little beads of perspiration were popping up on her lovely forehead, and she was now begging me -

“Oh, God… enough…Slave,,, please fuck me now.”

“If you insist, Mistress.”

As you can see…. I am quite the pushover, particularly on Father’s Day.

Hope all you Fathers out there had a great one too!

Mick Gets What Was Coming to Him

Saturday night....

Mistress is off at her big high school re-union tonight.

Now I’m sure several of you are asking yourselves: Mick, what sort of husband / slave doesn’t accompany his Wife / Mistress to her high school reunion?

Well, first, I did, once, about 10 years ago. And I suspect that Mistress spent more time that night making sure I was not bored than actually interacting with those long lost male and female friends.

So I offered to let her go solo this time. She had friends, a  female and a male, offering to be her “date”, and she seemed content to let me spend the evening with surly teen #2. (I happily rejected the offer of her friends’ spouses for an evening drinking elsewhere with them).

The teen and I  went to see the Green Lantern movie (my childhood fave when it comes to super heroes), while Mistress cavorts with her old high school chums.

And of course she had license to flirt and do whatever she wants should any of those guys, who no doubt had the hots for her back in the day, decide to take one last shot at the lovely Molly.

It’s in our contract.

But don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a review of Green Lantern… let’s just say the studio did not get it’s money’s worth. But the chick from Gossip Girl (that’s why the sullen teen picked it over “X-Men” or “Super 8”) is relatively hot, though not much of an actress.

So lets skip over “Mick and his daughter go to the movies…”

In fact there was plenty of sex at the UCTMW World HQ to report on since my last full dispatch.

I’ll skip over the action here Friday night, after our bike ride, when Mistress rode my cock to a rather stunning cum.  Non-reverse cowgirl.

I’ll also breeze past Saturday morning, when Slave was allowed to fuck Mistress before I headed to a political meeting.

No, let’s pick up the action later in the day, around 4 pm, after a nap and bike ride, before Mistress started primping for her reunion.

Previously, while we were riding, Mistress said we would probably not have much time for afternoon “action”. But, as it turned out, some time opened up on her schedule.

We were barely out of the shower.

“Slave, go get my supplies… I think you need some attitude adjustment.”

“Uhh… OK….”

I scrambled to assemble her strap on equipment – dildo, harness, lube.

“You’ve been a little too full of yourself lately, Slave…cocky, arrogant, … too much swagger….”

“I won’t disagree with you Mistress….”

“Of course you won’t….”

She was in her harness now, lubed up. But there was something else to take care of first.

“ down on your stomach, Slave….”

“No cuddle and kiss first, Mistress….”

She just laughed.

“Not today, Slave…”

That’s when I heard the swish of the riding crop, firmly hitting her hand.

Oops.  Mistress wasn’t fooling around.

I assumed the position she required.

Smack.

Ouch.

I squirmed.

My ass was on fire.

“I didn’t like your tone on the phone yesterday, Slave…. when we were talking about (our sullen teen’s) checking account… you clearly had an attitude.”

Smack..

Ouch again.  Very ouch.

I’m squirming as a series of blows hit my ass in quick succession. My mouth attaches itself to a pillow to stifle any exclamations. It’s the best I can do to resist the temptation of twisting away or covering my ass with my hands. But I knew that would only earn me more punishment.

“You’re right…Mistress… I know I was being an asshole.”

“Let this be a reminder to mind your tone, slave.”

I had a feeling it would be. And fortunately, after about 10 strokes Mistress was done. 

Then she  slid onto the bed next to me, warming me with some affection strokes on the ass, and passionate kisses, before straddling me, guiding her ‘cock” into place.

Her aim was true… her strokes were slow and deliberate. I suspect I was moaning as she worked into a quicker rhythm. And soon she was coming hard, with some impassioned thrusts, gasping her release.

After a bit more of the old “in and out”, she had her fill, and slid out of me, standing to toss her harness aside for me to put away later.

“Why don’t you go put in your device now Slave (my aneros)”

So I stood too, walking the few feet to our bathroom to follow her directions.  That’s when she noticed my ass….

“Oh my, slave…. I don’t remember ever getting it quite that….  red… I need a photo of that…”

She had me stand in position. Then she texted off an image of her handy work to the WC, for his amusement. And copied me too.

“Put it on the blog Slave… our readers should know what happens when you get surly with me….”

So there you have it, my boney old ass, all red from Mistress’s crop.

Before we climbed back into bed, where Mistress allowed me to fuck her, the chime on her I-phone went off.

M says “ha ha”.

Funny.

Oh, and there was one more picture Mistress wanted me to share.

“Here’s one to send to Tammy, Slave….”

It was this photo that Mistress took at Saks the other day. No doubt M got a copy.  But since Tammy and Carol (his weekend babysitter) were going panty shopping this weekend, Mistress wanted him to get a little example of what’s out there….

 I like the yellow ones... not for me mind you. I've been spared the panty training.

BTW, tomorrow is Switch Day. You can bet Mistress will be closely interrogated about her evening out. I’ll make sure some of those clothespins are handy, in case she is reluctant to clear her conscience.

P.S. … Just as I was finishing this, Mistress arrived home. It was only around 11:45 or so. No late night partying with the class of 1981.

When I asked if there had been any flirting, her response was “not really.” We may have to get a little more to the bottom of that one this morning. And she also showed me something on her I-phone. The photo of a pink, rigid cock head.

“It came from the WC… just after I got to the re-union…”

“Can you believe it. It looks like Anthony Weiner’s at it again, and hacked into M’s account.”