Our Western and Southern Correspondents were into a clever round of one-up-manship that involved the proper placement of cloths pins. It was good to see both of them earning their hefty paychecks.
And Ms. Marie volunteered to step in and demonstrate the proper training of Mistress Molly.
Now that’s a thought that sent our imaginations running wild. Can’t you imagine Molly consigned to Ms. Marie’s dungeon for a few days for some “re-programming”. I know I would enjoy the pictures.
But it’s another day, my coffee is at hand, Mistress is still snoozing, and my deadline approaches… Time to get my mind out of Ms. Marie’s dungeon and back to the entry at hand….
For those of you who thought that V Day here at the UCTMW World HQ might be an afterthought after our weekend celebrations …. Well, think again.
Though it was a workday we seemed to rise to the romantic occasion. There was delightful morning sex, and then Mistress surprised me with not one but two mushy V Day cards – one from my loving wife; one from my commanding Mistress.
I am not one for cards, but I did make sure some flowers were waiting for her when she arrived at work. And I was fortunate that her lunch meeting was cancelled so we were able to have lunch together. But before lunch… well you can imagine.
Mistress had worn her peekaboo tights. (No, Donna, the tights on the action figure do not have a tiny little opening. I don’t think her staff was quite aware of Molly’s wanton proclivities when it was tricked out). So all she had to do was sit and spread those scrumptious thighs and I could fall to my knees and demonstrate my devotion to her.
After she had a nice little climax, squeezing my head with her thighs as she came, I settled back and snapped a photo of her decked out in a lovely red V-Day blouse’ her black skirt hiked up to her waist, and those glistening parts on display. Then I texted it off to our WC, with the message “Happy V Day from Mistress”.
As we were shooting down the elevator I heard back from him..
“Hot”..
Yes, Very.
At home I groused a bit about a post-work bike ride. The sun was already down. The air was in the mid 40’s. the wind was blowing. But Mistress insisted, and who was I to say no. We were chilled to the bone by the time we got home.
I grilled some flank steak, and our meal with surly teen # 2 and some nice wine warmed us. We were relaxed and happy by the time we headed upstairs to our chambers to put a finishing touch on our Valentine’s Day celebration.
But when Mistress looked at her I-phone she noticed a message from M, asking for her to call.
As you may have noticed, he’s been unusually quiet these last few days. Even Suzanne noticed it, sending me an email asking what was up….
Mistress reports that he’s been feeling fatigued. Sleeping a lot, even on the couch at our branch office. (Which gets me wondering…. When did we by a couch…. It does not show up on the inventory list?). There had not been “epic” sex with B in days. And the other night, when Mistress was available to him, and I offered to make myself scarce, he seemed uninterested in getting off.
A sad malaise had set in.
Even I – always a skeptic about M’s constant sandbagging -was worried.
When Molly got M on the phone I asked to talk to him briefly.“What’s up M…. has that frozen cock developed a nasty case of gangrene?”
“No, Mick…. That would be bad. Isn’t that when you need to amputate.”
Duuuh.
There was a touch of humour, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he just was not his normal cocky self.
AS they talked a bit, Mistress supportive and sympathetic, urging him to check into the nearest hospital for a full check-up, It dawned on me what the problem was.
Dissipation.
It’ what the nuns and priests warned us about all those years ago, when the ugly concept of ‘masturbation” came up. Do it too much and well …. There’s nothing left.
Maybe the old wives’ tale (or better yet, the nasty old uncle’s tale) is true: there could be only so many orgasms built into a man, and once they are done…. That’s it.
For years, M has been getting off, and off, and off. 3, 4 times a day was just a walk in the park for him. And though he is a younger man than me, he got an early start. When we did our initial background check, before signing him with a hefty bonus, we came upon this amazing video he did as a teen, showing his peers the “ins and outs” of self-pleasure.Training Video M is the guy with the cucumber, in case you are interested.
“Dissipation” is synonymous with “abjection, debauchery, decadence, corruptness, degradation, depravity, libertinism, perversion, rakishness, turpitude…. “ and all that nasty jazz. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/dissipation
And doesn’t that describe our WC to a T? Of course, what would you expect from a guy who calls Dr. Hunter S. Thompson his journalistic role model.
So has the WC literally burned up his seed corn? Has he come to the end of the line? Has he shot his last wad in a blaze of in-glory?
We are concerned. Very concerned.
Particularly if M plans to add this to his mounting worker’s comp claim.
If anyone out there has a cure in mind, please email it to us immediately. And Donna, I don’t think the concept of clothes pins on the special occasion cock is the ticket. At least until we can find a cure for this deeper malaise.
Once M signed off it was time to bring our V Day to its end.
Mistress was still in her tricked out tights, and as I used my tongue to pleasure her, I thought of Tammy and how he is expected to lavish Suzanne with attention after her work-outs. If he’s like me, he appreciates the gamey, salty flavors that blend with the sweet tastes of Mistress’s arousal.
It’s an especially intoxicating brew.
Maybe that’s the elixir that could help cure the WC.
