New Halftime Ritual?

Slave "suffered" through two dismal football games over the weekend.

First there was the humiliation of my alma mater by the Blue Devils on our home field. Maybe it was fitting payback for our schooling their primo basketball team several times over the last two seasons. In any event, it was painful to watch.

Then I sat in brutal heat through the Pussycats' game yesterday.  Some rookie no-name QB  seemed to be possessed by the spirit of John Elway, and broke the home team's back via two long TD passes. Somewhere our erstwhile Western Correspondent was smiling (while choking his chicken, no doubt!).

But there was a glimmer of sunshine too!

On Saturday, Mistress ordered her slave to come visit her in her "Executive Suite" at halftime. So I passed on those cheesy promos for Sunday night's game that have long since pre-empted the traditional marching band highlights, and reported for duty.

"Gather my tools, slave. And don't forget the riding crop!"

Gulp!

But naturally, I complied with suitable haste.

Mistress slid into her strap-on harness, but had trouble coming up with even the Trumpiest of charges when it came to explaining the 10 or so stripes she decorated my as with during a flurry of stinging pain.

"Let's consider this preemptive discipline, slave...."

Apparently watching me writhe counted as foreplay for her next task.

Once the crop was tossed to the floor, Mistress quickly proceeded to the next phase of her slave's halftime therapy.  Since I was already "in position", all she had to do was apply some lube and she was ready to apply her self to the task at hand.

And she did so con mucho gusto, finding her target and pumping with enthusiasm until she had her own cum with a moan of delight, then collapsing onto her slave's back with the satisfaction of a pegging well done.

Once Mistress withdrew and shed her harness, slave was instructed to insert his "device" (the aneros), and given permission to fuck Mistress in more conventional style. Rest assured that slave was both privileged and happy to comply.

The only down side: Mistress had worked so efficiently to drain her slave of any uppitiness, that I did not miss my alma mater's 2nd half meltdown!  If your team is going to lose, I recommend this therapy as a way to innoculate yourself with the proper "who give's a rat's ass" attitude!

Game Day Rituals

Here at the UCTMW World HQ we're counting down the hours until our flight to our SW hideaway Monday morning. Sadly, we're stuck here in the hot, sticky River City air because of some work demands for Mistress. She's got a client dinner tonight, and will be dragged into a long busy day tomorrow that will keep both of us out late Sunday evening.

So it's been nice to go a little slower here today, which just happens to be the kick-off of my alma mater's football season.

Our game day schedule included some robust wake-up sex, an outing at a local park and farmer's market with my cute grandkids, then a midday bike ride in this yucky heat. That got us back home about an hour before "game time".

My preparation was a shower, and handling a few household chores as I counted down the moments before kick-off.  And of course, right before kick-off, I made sure to discharge a little of my anticipatory excitement by lavishing Mistress's clean shaven folds with some attention from my lips and tongue.

Some "good luck" worship can't hurt can it?

So far my team looks good, but then again, the competition is of the "cup-cake" variety.

Of course, Mistress is here too, just across the room but she has a different approach to the "excitement" of collegiate football:

 But at least when she takes a nap at home, rather than at the Stadium, she doesn't have to overdress.

State By State Breakdown

Yesterday saw us wake at a Best Western  in Illinois for morning sex, breakfast in Michigan at a favorite little greasy spoon on the Lakeshore, attend a college football game in Indiana, then complete the daunting 260 drive back home. What was the rush, you might ask? We’ve had enough of sleazy motel beds. And after all the driving we’ve done, somehow 260 miles just seemed like a jaunt around the block.

Fortunately, the outcome of the game had Mick in a good mood. And Mistress, well she is not much of a football fan.  Here’s how she engaged herself at the game.

About 1/3 of the way home, we did stop long enough for a pit stop and a celebratory “meal” at one of Molly’s favorite haunts along the highway home.  She ordered what amounted to a deep dish sundae in a styro-foam cup.

It looked yummier than it sounds. The sugar high and Mick Jagger kept us rolling on home, arriving not long after midnight.

Bt we did find a way to entertain ourselves along the way yesterday.

On our way west, one of you suggested we make sure there was a Molly and Mick sex act in every sate we passed through. And we completed that rather simple assignment on the trip back, knocking off Kansas and Illinois.

But somewhere between breakfast and game time, we decided to make a list of all the states where Molly and Mick had “gotten it on”. I drove while Molly composed this rather primitive if amusing spread sheet, to which I’ve added a few editorial comments:

Maine: Molly. 

NH:  Shut-out.  “Live free or Die”, sounds a little threatening to us.

Vermont: MM together.  (But Molly scraped her knee while biking).

NY: M/M together ( Plenty of nights in Big Apple hotels).

Mass: M/M together.  (Slave impressed Molly with his faux JFK accent, and scored).

Delaware: Too small, with apologies to Joe Biden.

Maryland: Never went on the Edgar Allen Poe tour.

RI: Mick. (But that was in a former life).

Conn: yes, but not with each other.

Penn: Molly. (She had a soft spot for Ben Franklin?)

NJ: MM together. Trip to Shore to visit Mick’s Mother. (Before “Jersey Shore” became a bad joke.)

DC: MM together. This goes back to our “undercover” days, and I’m not referring to the CIA.

VA: (No, unless making out in Subway on way to Reagan Airport counts).

NC: Molly (visits to beach)

SC: Molly (ditto)

Georgia: MM together (Highlight: 1988 Democratic Convention. Much hydration needed).

Florida: MM together (before and after we went public).

Alabama: (We spend as little time as possible in  these types of states).

Miss: (ditto).

Arkansas: No, but a former Governor hit on Molly once.

Tenn: MM together. Before and after climbing Mt. LeCont.

LA:  MM together. Some excellent times in NOLA.

Texas: Never took a roll on grassy knoll.

Michigan: MM together. (Weekends at the beach on Lake shore),

Indiana:  MM together. Visits to Mick’s alma mater.

Ohio:  MM together

Illinois:  MM together.  Hot times on cold nights in Windy City.

Wisconsin: Molly. (She has a soft spot for Madison radicals.)

Minnesota: Molly. (Not sure Mick got the story on this one….maybe when she was a camp counselor?)

West Va: MM together. Visits to grandma’s house.

Kentucky:  MM together. Just a short drive away.

Kansas: MM together (A memorable night last week in Abilene at a sketchy motel).

Missouri; MM together (Show Me (and tell) in Independence).

Oklahoma: MM together (Will Rogers’ hometown).

Nebraska: Off our beaten path.

Iowa: (Can’t believe Molly did not score when she went to caucus in 1988, but so she claims.)

North Dakota: Molly (Lots happened on her geology field trips in College, apparently.

South Dakota: Molly (ditto)

Montana: Molly (ditto)

Idaho: Molly (ditto)

Wyoming: yes, but not together.

Colorado: MM together and separately  (ski tripping at Vail and elesewhere).

Utah: Utah (cold nights in Snow Pine Lodge at Alta).

Arizona:

NM: MM together

Nevada: MM together (Crazy few days in Vegas on Molly’s company expense account)

Washington: MM together (rainy Seattle).

Oregon:  MM together (Rocky coastline for a family wedding).

California: MM together (San Francisco, and points north… Santa Monica too).

Hawaii: both, but with prior spouses. Don Ho did not participate.

Alaska: Molly’s been there, but she claims no one got past 2^nd base.

As you can see, Mick was not even close in this contest. Guess I didn’t get around as much as Molly did in my youth. Either that, or Molly just has more fun.  For those of you interested in following in her footsteps, I would recommend majoring in Geology. Apparently those field trips get a little wild when the sun goes down on the granite and limestone.

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.

Home Cooking

Sin’s recent post referred to our little cross-polinating blog-o-sphere as “Mick and the Sub-Sisters”, which seemed like a slightly kinky version of an early 70’s lounge lizard band. Hopefully a little edgier than Tony Orlando and Dawn.

But since we all seem to be in this cyber-space together, girls, I have to share a recipe, improvised last night for an intimate little dinner for two that Mistress and I shared.

I took my incredibly cute grandson to River City’s 19^th Century street market Saturday morning, and bought some freshly fallen from the vine tomatoes. I picked up a few oddly shaped eggplants too. My daughter, a bit of a gardening fanatic, gave me a bag full of fresh basil. And we had some very thick Salmon filets thawing on the kitchen counter.

What I like to do is create something from whatever fresh ingredients are at hand. So three tomatoes, a hefty bunch of basil leaves and some olive oil went into the food processor. I cut ½ of an eggplant into little cubes. I browned the filets and eggplant chunks in some olive oil in a deep skillet for about 4 minutes. Then poured the tomato / basil concoction over the top. Turned the gas flame to low and let it simmer for about 10 minutes with the lid on.

The salmon and sauce were dished into pasta bowls. Some fresh baguette chunks were great for mopping up the sauce as we gobbled the moist and flavorful fish.

Yum. 

Healthy. Light. Delicious.

And it was a suitable tribute to Mistress who had been most wanton earlier in the day….. and isn’t that why most of you checked the page here…. Not for my goofy recipes?

(Of course, I know that some of you may have multi-faceted interests. Our Western Correspondent has a clever enchilada recipe he may want to share some day, if he gets off his bike, turns off the porn, or puts down the golf clubs long enough to do a little corresponding for you).

But then M was busy yesterday too.

Molly and Mick had some boisterous wake-up sex, after Mistress read the blog, with my tongue burrowing between her warm and muscular legs.  She even called from the car on her way to a hair care appointment, noting that – once again – she had failed to wipe the now drying come from her leg.  Hopefully the blue haired matrons at her Salon did not go into catatonia over that little shimmering smear.

After my trip to the market, the grandson and I had a play date. Mistress lolled on the couch, napping a bit, working a bit as I played with him and some   Legos. But I got him safely home just in time for me to watch my alma mater take on a bitter rival to the north. Game time was 3:30.

Mistress is very indulgent about my college football obsession. But, of course, she has no obligation to suffer through these contests with me.  No, she had other plans.

“M and I talked a bit, Slave. He’s going to have a date with me sometime during the game.”

She settled in next to me with her laptop, as the kick-off approached.

“But I have a homework assignment first. He wants me to go on this website and watch some “MILF” sex videos. I have to report back to him on what I saw.”

Clever, M. Very clever.  Mistress would get her pump primed, and be particularly desperate for his voice and the unsubtle touch of the Hitachi by the time he made that call.  I added a little fuel by referring Mistress to yesterday’s particularly hot post by the Discerning Dom on the subject of “Punishment”.

As I followed to ups and down of my team, Mistress was sitting on our old leather couch (the one in the photo) next to me, watching her smutty videos, commenting on the sometimes alarming and / or humorous content.

“These seem like home videos, Slave….then they post them for the world to see themselves fucking.  Crazy.”

I could hear both shock and awe in Mistress's voice. But she diligently kept on task, for far of punishment from M.  What an obedient little slut she can be for him!

As Mistress worked on her homework assignment, it was hard to keep my hands from sliding up the inside of her thigh, and rest against her black undies. I suspect my fingers were working her there a bit too. Not enough to make her come, just to put her on simmer, like those filets. Soon, I could not miss the sweet, musky aroma of Mistress’s arousal  filling  the room. It’s not an aroma you get at the Stadium, where we were last Saturday.

But soon a squirmy Mistress was kissing me goodbye, heading upstairs for her appointment with our Western Correspondent.

“Are the phone and Hitachi readily at hand, Slave?”

“Of course, Mistress, just where you like them.”

I made sure to finish that assignment during a commercial break.

“OK, Slave,,,,enjoy the game.” She quickly pecked me good bye and climbed the stairs, the greedy little Sub wannabe, at least to her Master, M.

About an hour later, as half time was ending, a seemingly content and smiling Mistress came down stairs and settled back on the couch next to me.

“How was M, Mistress?”

“Mmmmm…. Good, Slave.” She had a little dreamy far away look in her eyes.

Obviously, Mistress got  much better entertainment than she did with me at the game last weekend.

Later, after I suffered through a last minute loss by my team, Mistress consoled me in our bed.

The chat with her Dom, and the extra couple of Hitachi induced orgasms did not prevent her from riding my cock like a woman possessed. As we fucked, and between her orgasms, I debriefed her a bit on her “date”.

“Did you pass that quiz on the sex videos, Mistress?”

“I guess so Slave….he had me describe what I saw, what turned me on.”

“And did he describe a particular scenario as he let you play with the Hitachi, Mistress.”

“It’s sort of a blurr, Slave.  But I know it involved me on the kitchen counter, him lifting me up, then taking me from behind….”

“Hmmm….wonder if that would work on our counter?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out, Slave.”