Special Collector's Edition: The Asses of UCTMW.

As we build to a crescendo here at UCTMW for our special  week long ass-travaganza, we bring you a collection of asses from our burgeoning staff.

First and foremost, (see, I have learned my lesson), we have Mistress, who posed in my office yesterday afternoon. She stopped by for some post-lunch worship, striding in with those black tights and boots that have become a fashion signature.

“How was your lunch, Mistress?”

I closed the door behind her, reaching for the chair that would slide up against it, providing our only security from prying eyes or intruding colleagues.

“Good Slave…. I think C (her female lunch mate, who is an out of the closet lesbian) has a bit of a crush on me….”

“Who can blame her, Mistress”.

By now the maroon blanket is spread across the chair, and Mistress is seated, sliding off one boot and pealing off one leg of her tights.

Mistress has, on occasion dallied with female companions, but, as she said to the last one she found her self in bed with, “I really do need a good cock ….”

By now I was on my knees, beginning to dig in.

“And then I saw L, who was there having lunch with some other guy.”

L is a local corporate lion, who has shown some … interest ….in Mistress over the years.

“Did he flirt, Mistress?”

“You could call it that. He said we needed to have lunch soon. I gave him my card. “

He is definitely a prospect, either as a client, or….. maybe both.

All of this chitchat gets both of our motors running, and Mistress’s legs were now spread, her juices slickening my face. It was not long before her hips were rising off her chair, and her leg was wrapped around my neck as she came for me with a stifled moan.

I let her rest a bit, but did not move, and soon my mouth was back at work, providing a little bonus orgasm before she headed back to her desk, just two blocks south of mine.

It is a convenient arrangement, when you think of it.

But before she rearranged her outfit, I asked for a photo op.

“How about an ass shot, leaning across my desk.”

As you can see, she was very accommodating. And I was sorely tempted to take advantage by loosening my belt and dropping trou.  But there are limits to my madness at work. Believe it or not.

I did text the shot off to our Western Correspondent, wit the caption “Office Ass”.

He promptly responded, “That’s taunting.”

Fortunately, it did not cost me 15 yards.

After Mistress headed back to work, I noticed an email from Donna, our Southern Correspondent.  She contributed the following shot, sporting red in line with the day’s theme over at All Mine, and among the media. (Mistress had not gotten that memo).  As she noted, this is an excellent specimen for a woman just past 50, don’t you all think?

Last evening, long before deadline, she sent another contribution, selected by her hubbie Bill, who is known for occasional corporal punishment. (Donna- we need a dispatch on that subject from you!)  “Bill says this is his favorite butt shot … taken from his collection.”

I will let our readers decide which one they prefer.

Well that left only your Editor and our Western Correspondent unaccounted for on this UCTMW ass line-up. You all have seen mine several times before, but here is one from the annals:

Yesterday, as I was planning the layout for today’s issue, I made a simple request to our WC for a shot of his Ass to include in our “ASS WEEK” special edition.

Well I awoke here in River City, opened the email, and lo and behold …. Nada. The WC is doing his best to live up the  journalistic malpractice of his hero, Dr. Hunter S, Thompson, who never met a deadline he could meet. No doubt he is still on his extended leave, nursing his frozen cock back to lifel

Fortunately, I do have resources. I trolled through the video of the surveillance cameras installed outside our Mountain Time branch office and came up with this alluring shot. Could this be our WC, resting after one of those legendary bike rides?

Since we have never actually met, M, I can only assume that this “baggage” belongs to him, though I suppose this fellow could be a ghostwriter M has buried on his expense account, to keep the office humming while he focuses on more important thing, like the care and feeding of that legendary special occasion cock.

Whoever, just don’t try on a tool belt!

Mistress's Stereo Stimulation

With only about 4 hours of sleep, Molly and Mick woke to a spectacular morning out here in our undisclosed location. Still groggy, the sun and vistas drew us out to our patio, a bit overgrown with weeds fostered by the spring run-off.

I brewed us some coffee, and when I brought two cups outside, I found Mistress spread across a chaise, still quite naked, her I-phone in hand.

“I sent M some photos, Slave. To show him what he is missing.”

“And what did you show him, Mistress?”

“The Mountains, of course. And a shot of my cunt too.”

“Cruel …. You are such a tease Mistress. But I’m sure it looked good in the morning sunlight.”

Soon we were back in bed. It had been almost 36 hours for Slave. That’s a long time for me, and I was already pretty horny. And the thought of Mistress teasing her long distance Master so wantonly had a little more fuel to my fire.

In bed, I used my used lips and tongue to bring Mistress to her first orgasm of the morning. And, to tell the truth, I would have been happy to plunge into her then and there for a quick and dirty fuck to cut the edge on my desire.

But Mistress had other things in mind.

“I want to taste my cock, Slave.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

She has gotten very good over the last few months at driving me crazy with tongue and fingers . Maybe it was her experience with Sir M, her starter Dom, who liked her on her knees servicing him before he decided how to fuck her. Or it could be all the fantasy talk she’s had with Master M about how he would / will require her to please him. Whatever the inspiration, I am glad to be the beneficiary.

Within a few minutes she had me reduced to an all too pathetic whimpering and craven state, making me beg her repeatedly for the right to fuck her.

When she finally relented, she pushed me onto my back.

“I’m going to ride you for a while Slave. Remember, no coming until I give you permission.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

At this point I seem so well programmed that I don’t think I can come without her permission.

She began a slow and relentless process of grinding her way to the type of orgasm built only with care, patience and a single minded purpose.

And all I could do was provide the very hard cock. And a little chit chat along the way.

“M thinks that I let you come too often, Slave.”

Hmmm. This could be a little unnerving.

“Maybe I should make you wait 2 or 3 more days, Slave. What do you think?”

“He should talk. What with fucking B and jerking off with you, he seems to get off 3 or 4 times a day.”

“Well he is the Master…. But he says it’s very hot and powerful to make you wait between orgasms.”

“I can’t argue with that, Mistress.”

Well you can imagine what this talk was doing to me. And Mistress’s fingers caressing my balls as she rode me, setting her own tempo, was certainly pressing the edge of my will power.

Fortunately, after Mistress came with a nifty explosion of shudders and moans, she seemed to lose focus on her thoughts about orgasm denial, and she allowed me to mount her and, at long last, come with her consent.

The resulting shock and awe left me depleted. I drifted off for a while before the sun shining through our window rejuvenated us enough to begin our day anew.

There was some weedwacking to do, and a long, exhilarating bike ride past pastures and flowing irrigation ditches.

Later, around noon, I had to go down to negotiate the renewal of our little used post office box with the local Post Mistress. She is a short, stocky woman who’s authority in this little village is absolute and uncompromising.

She probably has a riding crop tucked away behind the counter.

She required me to return for more documentation to confirm that, yes, we really are citizens entitled to receive mail. But I elected to take a lunch break before re-engaging with the Post Mistress.

Muffin and beverage in hand, I found Mistress lounging on our patio, back on the chaise. Naked. Phone to her ear.


“Ahhh….here’s my Slave. I’m talking to M, Slave….he’s at work. But he’s giving us … instructions.”

I had a feeling that the muffin I had just bitten into would have to wait.

“He says you are to get on your knees and worship.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

I retrieved a pillow, to save my knees from the hard bricks and red ants, and assumed my assigned position in this little tableau.

“He’s down there, M. Ummmm…. Nice.”

It was nice for me too. Mistress’s lovely parts were already quite damp from sunscreen and her natural juices. A lovely taste and aromatic treat for me, bringing back memories of teenaged lust on New Jersey beaches during the reign of LBJ.

As I looked up, tongue still at work as her hips squirmed to the beat of my ministrations, I saw Mistress’s eyes screwed shut, focused on whatever it was M was murmuring into her ear.

And there was the sound of her voice, thick with arousal, responding to him. Egging him on.

“Yes, M. I want you to do that to me….”

“Oh….yes. that would be amazing.”

“Does this turn you on, M?

“Yes….I’ve been imagining that…..”

Soon Mistress was pumping in desperation against my mouth, her free hand reaching down to press my face harder against her….as she was moaning her pleasure into the phone. With a sudden convulsion, she came once, so very deliciously in response to his command.

But I had not yet been relieved of my duties, so I continued on, with my own relentless devotions.

I could tell he was still spinning some type of dark and delicious fantasy for her, but her responses were incoherent now, as she built herself to yet another, even more enthusiastic climax.

“Oh God, M. I just came again….enough Slave.”

Her hand weakly pressed against my forehead, urging me to back off.

“Is that OK with him, Mistress.”

I did not want to be party to insubordination. Not that this little drama would get any Rolling Stone coverage. That’s become more of a family magazine with the passing of Dr. Thompson.

“He wants to know if he can stop, M.”

“Yes…Slave. He says I’ve had enough….and he has to get back to work.”

Relieved of my command, I slid back, and brushed some errant muffin crumbs off Mistress’s sodden and swollen parts.

Later, when it was time for me to collect my reward, I asked Mistress if she enjoyed her stereo sexual stimulation – with me at her clit and M at her ear.

She just smiled.

“What’s not to like, Slave. ….And, by the way, could you go get the Hitachi. I don’t think I’ve had that since Tuesday night.”

“Of course, Mistress.”