Summer's End

 After a long and restful summer here at our SW hideaway, Mistress and slave took a trip back to River City over the Labor Day Weekend.  Now we're back for a few days before heading over "the pond" for a long trek.  Our living room is filled with back packs and the clothes and gear we need to organize for our next adventure.

Last night we spent the evening at a local haunt for what will likely be our last out door music event of this fading summer.  Mistress got all gussied up in her boots and a short black shirt, as you can see from this photo. It's a shame the bar / restaurant was only populated by the usual Tuesday night suspects. Sadly,  no one was there worth Mistress exercising her flirtation chops. 

But all that alluring leg was not wasted on me!

Who's In Charge?

After our early morning sexual rituals on Thursday, Mistress and slave spent the day on our foot, hiking for the 2nd time this summer to the top of New Mexico.  We are in about as good a cardio and endurance shape as we have been in some years, preparing for our leave of absence in early September for a journey to the roof of Africa. As you can see, Mistress's legs are particularly fit and fetching as a result of all this hiking and cycling. Unfortunately, the trail was a little too crowded yesterday for any on mountain oral attention to those fit and fabulous clean shaven folds.

After we got back from the mountain (and showered off all the distilled and crud), we had a long conversation with the WC.  It is getting to sound like he and B really will be coming down to see us on Monday.  We even did a little meal planning, and had a candid conversation about what really might happen when they arrive.

Poor B is the one person who has been out of the loop when it comes to the adventures of Molly, Mick and our Western Correspondent over the years. What will really happen when they show up at our door here at the UCTMW HDH?  We made it clear that it's all up to B. Maybe we just have some pleasant dinners and vanilla tourism activities during their visit. Or maybe more.... it's her call.

The WC must have passed that onto B last night, because when I woke up this morning there was a text message from him on my phone.

"Mick- I told B that you said she would be in charge, She wants you caged when we get there. :)."

My response....

"It shall be done."

Of course, was that smiley face a sign that Mike was only pulling our legs.  Or does B really want me in the cage?  I guess I'd better play it safe and make sure I have the cage on.

Revisiting the UCTMW Employee Handbook

Yesterday, on the drive home from work, Mistress was flashing some black tights and boots, distracting her loyal chaufeur a bit as I dodged and weaved through rush hour traffic. It was so unfair.... I wanted to focus on sliding my hands up those firm and well exercised thighs, but the traffic required more attention than usual.

Mistress noticed where my eyes kept darting.

"You know Slave.... it's almost spring. Soon the tights will get packed away until fall. "

"No problem, Mistress.... those legs look mighty fine naked."

Mistress is not much for pantyhose of the conventional kind. Either it's black tights or naked legs for her.

"But I'm awfully pale.... need to get a bit more tan for naked leg season, Slave."

It seems early for that, but the sun will come. And at some point, the traffic ground to a short halt, allowing me to pull out my I-phone and snap a shot of those lovely legs to share (maybe I should rotate hot shots on her AM page to keep the drooling masses amused?)  In any event, you can see how a slave can get distracted. 

At home we went for a twilight bike ride - the sun had been out all day and temperatures were in the 50's. Afterwords I made sure Mistress was suitably worshipped.

"Am I a little gamey down there, Slave?"

"Just the way I like it."

After dinner, we spent a little time sorting through Mistress's AM applicants -- the culling was a little cruel, but you have to do what you have to do.

"Am I being too superficial, Slave", she asked as a brief perusal of one applicant's "private showcase" left him in the dustbin of history.

"Well it's sort of like the admissions process at some Ivy League school, Mistress... a lot of potentially great candidates get left behind."

Of course, some were easier to cull than others. As an example, if your "handle" was derived from a brand of farm equipment, or you liked to use the word "ur", that might be a quick way to end up on the cutting room floor.  Under age 37 also seemed to be a hard line. And for the most part, 120 miles distance seemed a disqualifier -- though there was one guy from Canada who's photo seemed to leave Mistress agog. He remained on the list.

Slave was just taking orders in my role as recording secretary.

We even prepared a little spread sheet with the names, locales and key characteristics of the prospects that Mistress found tempting. By the end of the evening she had responded via email to a select few, asking for a little more information.

We will keep you updated -- sort of.

Amidst all this we did get a call from one of our far flung staff members,  asking for a refresher course on our employment policies.

To be clear, unlike many employers, we have a more "permissive" attitude when it comes to relationships between employees and officers here. With so few employees, we fall below the threshold where those pesky federal laws prohibiting sex discrimination and harassment come into play. And since most of our employees are out of state, it seems unclear whether even our home state's laws apply. So our policy on sexual harassment is a little "sketchy".

As a general rule, we do not have any hard lines when it comes to creating a "hostile working environment". We figure this is a god damned sex blog! If you aren't comfortable talking about sex, being subject to sexual taunting, propositioned, or seeing hot photos of the Publisher laying around, or posted by the coffee pot, then maybe you should look for a job at Reader's digest.

AS for Quid Pro Quo harassment -- the type where getting ahead at work is conditioned on responding favorably for requests for sexual favors - we figure who would turn down a come on from our Publisher, anyway? Plus, she's pretty darn selective.

And of course, since the Executive Editor is strictly accountable to the Publisher, and has to wear a cock cage at all staff meetings or "retreats". So he poses little threat of demanding a blow job in return for a raise, doesn't he?

Nor do we have a policy prohibiting "Fraternization". That's the kind that says employees may not have "personal" relationships with one another, usually designed to avoid a sexual harassment claim down the road, when one party or another decides it's time to move on to the next hot secretary or purchasing manager.  In fact, considering our ongoing need for "blog-fodder", a little sexual hi-jinks behind the file cabinet could well be an inspiration.

Of course, we would prefer employees to do that sort of thing without charging their sex toys and lubricants to the company credit card without pre-approval.

And this is one employer that will not have a religious or conscientious objection to including birth control on our generous (if high co-pay) health insurance plan. There's nothing more annoying than having to pay a temp during someone's long pregnancy leave!

Have I made all that clear, staff?

She's Got Legs....

It may have been Mistress’s long, strong and very shapely legs that made me fall head over heels for her all those years ago.

My first recollection of meeting Molly was at a political fundraising dinner in River City back in the Fall of 1987. She was an (early) 20 something who had recently gone to work for a politico who has since become a rumpled U.S. Senator (yes, he did vote for the health care bill).

I was a late 30’s professional, involved in the local political scene.  It was the age of Reagan and  Iran/Contra. Michael Dukakis had yet to don a combat helmet or ridden in a tank.

We were both married to other people at the time.

I saw her across the room: this young, vibrant beauty with long dark hair, and a stylish short dress that exposed those incredible legs.

Somehow I figured a way to get into her conversational orbit. She must have been chatting up a mutual friend. That was my chance to find out who this heavenly creature with the beautiful legs and luminous smile was. In the conversation that ensued, I can remember commenting on the length of that fashionable dress, how it was something one did not see often in our more conservative, frumpy town.

This was not the sort of conversational theme I would normally have launched into on my first encounter with any woman. But then I was immediately and hopelessly smitten.

She seemed amused, a bit flattered, by my attention.  But wary.  Very wary.

She turned down my obsequious and questionably motivated offer to walk her to her car that night. It was a dark night, in a not altogether safe downtown. I was simply concerned about her well being. Right. I was just looking for a chance to spend some private time with this young lovely.

 Later she told me that she had asked a bellman from the hotel where the dinner was held to do the honors. She was questioning my motivations. And rightfully so.

I will spare you devoted readers the tale of how we ended up in bed with one another within about 9 months from that fateful encounter.

But flashing forward through a lengthy affair, two children, marriage, and sidetracks to Florida and other locales, Mistress’s legs are as compelling as ever.

She keeps then in such shapeliness with lots of biking and other forms of exercise. They are weapons of mass seduction that need to be expertly maintained to retain their seductive powers, and she is an expert.

In years past, and on our witch days, I have enjoyed restraining them, ankles tied to opposite sides of the bed, so I can work my hands and mouth up their full length, watching her squim in anticipation.

In my recently discovered status as her Slave, I enjoy kneeling for her,  her legs spread wide, or maybe draped over my shoulders,  gripping my head, as I use my mouth and tongue to show my devotion to her.

I will remain eternally grateful that Mistress had not worn trousers to that fundraising event all those years ago.

Yesterday an anonymous commenter asked if I had ever “taken Molly up the ass”. The answer is “uh….no.” It’s not something either one of us have been into. I suspect it would take some very powerful persuasion to get Molly interested in that particular experience.