HNT / WC claim by the WC?

It was very cold here in River City yesterday morning …. The warmth of our bed won the debate over whether to take that early morning bike ride. So that gave Molly and Mick a little more time than normal to explore bodies and plumb the depths of our desire for one another.

Nice. Very Nice.

But duty called, and our day got away from us after that.

We did get to talk briefly with Aisha on our drive downtown. Glad she seems to have gotten over her early morning blues and heard from D. Wish she was coming to River City for today. We really do need a buffer guest to help us work our way through an afternoon with our extended family B list.

Then there was Work. Lunch with the surly teens downtown at an Italian joint. (They were surprisingly un-surly, probably happy to have a long weekend ahead with minimal parental supervision). And Mistress headed home with them, while I stayed at the office to finish some work before our little trip out West.

Of course, missing from this scenario was the sort of attention that Mistress has come to expect: no opportunity for that mid-day release that she gets sitting on her little throne in my office.

Not to worry.

That’s where our Western Correspondent came in to pick up the slack.

Actually, he’s been earning his keep lately. Writer’s block seems to have cleared for him, and we’ve appreciated his comments and contributions of late. I just hope he doesn’t  decide to free lance once he discovers we are cranking up the employee contribution and deductible on the UCTMW Enterprises Health Care Plan.

Actually, one big concern I have is a potential WC claim by our WC. As in Worker’s Comp.  Mistress read me an email from him yesterday morning describing some damage done to the special occasion cock  Turns out that M had run out of briefs (or is it boxers?). So he wore jeans “commando” for his bike ride. In that cold mountain air.

Youch. 

Been there, burned that.

Nothing like a little  cock abrasion to cramp your style.

M, that sounds like a classic off-duty “frolic and detour”. I don’t want to see a letter from the WC Office in my email inbox with any bogus claim.

But M was not being selfish, yesterday afternoon, despite his disability. M made time for Mistress, who was home. And horny.

Around 3 or so I got a text from Mistress:

“Date with M at 4 pm, Slave….”

“Excellent, Mistress.”

She even called to make sure her Slave was cool with her extracurricular plans.

Of course, I was. Mistress has her needs, and when I am neglectful or other wise preoccupied, it’s only fair that she fill them at her discretion. Don’t you agree?

When I got home, Mistress was on our room, primping for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner at her Mother’s house. (We needed to exercise those stomach muscles to get them more supple and elastic for this afternoon’s feast).

And she seemed…. Satisfied.  I could tell that her lovely folds and the Hitachi had gotten a good work out.

She had that well fucked and content look in her eye.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave….”

“And Mike, was he able to handle his injured ‘junk’.”

“No… he was in his office and expecting some type of delivery…”

I suppose it is a little embarrassing to sign for a FedEx delivery with your pants around your ankles.

In any event, we hope that our Western Correspondent enjoys a well deserved holiday with his family and that his recovery from that abrasion is prompt and complete.

We’d hate to have to put him on the Injured Reserve list.  Then he’d be out for the season.

And we hope all of our stateside readers have a great Thanksgiving too!

Thanks-Ticipation

First… let’s talk a bit about our day yesterday….

We don’t mean to bore you, dear readers. But it was a yet another busy workday in which Molly and Mick found time to indulge, as we are want to do.

Morning sex… a little earlier than normal, because Surly teen #1 got back from her class trip to our nation’s capitol at about 5:30 am. She immediately went to bed, but we were up ….so … Well …. you know.

Then there was time for a hearty bike ride on what may have been the last balmy morning in River City for the foreseeable future.

We had lunch with a friend who was one of the clobbered Democratic candidates for public office back in our sad, formerly blue, now red as Mistress’s nail polish state.

Our candidate was filled with denial about his ignominious defeat. After listening to him blame everyone but himself, we had to perk ourselves up with some worship back in my office.

For the occasion, Mistress had worn her peek-aboo black tights, under some up to the knee black boots.

“When I was walking over to meet you for lunch, I could feel myself poking out a bit, Slave….”

“That must be… interesting … Mistress. “

I wonder if guys on the street have the same nose for her arousal as I do. If so, “I pity the fools”, to paraphrase a famous ‘70’s era philosopher.

Mistress could simply sit in her throne and spread her legs for me.. No cumbersome unpeeling required. And, sure enough, there were those pink, puffy lips all engorged and ready for attention.

But first, a photo. I knelt from about 5 feet away, and snapped. Then texted it off to our Western Correspondent, with the caption “Office Visit”.

Then I did what a good Slave does, before sending Mistress back to her office with a chaste kiss out in our lobby. I speculated about what my office mates think about all these brief visits from my darling wife. Maybe that we are planning a kitchen remodel and picking out fixtures on the internet?


Later I was in a conference with a client when my text message chime went off. I assumed it was Mistress, and hated to delay a response, but I had to ignore it until my meeting was complete. But when I flipped my phone open, I realized it was from M.

“ Ha Ha. U too lunatics have more sex than any married couple in America.”

I had to respond:

“It depends on how you define sex.”

After all, M has been telling Mistress about his 3 (or more) a day regime, though sometimes those are solo acts. At my age, it’s more typically 2 a day, but then I am not allowed any unauthorized touching. Soon I got my response:

“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me, Mick”.

Don’t worry, M. I’m not much on cigars in mixed company.

It turns out, Mistress and M had their own dialog about her little office call yesterday. I heard about it on our drive home.

“I told him I was a good wife and came over to let you worship me, Slave.”

“And what did he say, Mistress?”

“He laughed at me…. Said ‘let me get this straight…. You get your clit sucked and that’s his reward?”

“I guess he’s not one for deferred gratification, Mistress.”

At home we realized that the teens had already begun their Thanksgiving break…. Surly #1 was already on sabbatical for the night with her boyfriend, and #2 was squirreled away in her bedroom, acting grumpy and saying she had no plans to eat with her boring parents.

Go ahead twist our arms, sweety.

So we headed off to our chambers for some pre-dinner amusement. Mistress allowed me to worship her through those sexy tights yet again. Then peeled them off before mounting me.

“I do like to ride my cock, Slave.”

“And it enjoys being ridden, Mistress.”

We settled into an evening then of a picnic in front of the TV (catching up on Dexter) and an early bedtime, reading, cuddled against one another.

“We are in a very good place these days, Slave…. A lot better than Thanksgiving 2008.”

It’s very true. That was a bad time for us…. Still living in two cities, groping our way through Slave’s ugly misbehavior. We’ve traveled far and found ourselves much closer, much more open and honest with one another.

It’s been very nice to rediscover what brought us together more than 20 years ago.

So that’s what Slave has to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.

That may just get us through the next 36 hours, as we play host to a mismatched group of expanded family members for Thanksgiving.

As we took inventory of our 20 something guest list, we realized that we were burdened with the demanding, grumpy, arrogant, mean and self-absorbed members of the family, without the leavening of the cute, gregarious or generous ones.

Sure, the surly teens will be here, but you can bet they will find a way to conceal their presence from the masses until the turkey is carved.

And my older daughters and the cute grandsons are obliged to be elsewhere, at her Mom’s house, as the rotation protocol demands.


So who’s left?

There will be my sister-in-law, who is such a pure feminist that it is beneath her to help clear the table once all the meals are consumed. Sadly, the guy who made these occasions in the past, my gregarious “straw that stirs the drink” brother, died 4 years ago in this season. His absence continues to cast a pall over these types of obligatory family set-pieces.


There will be my stooped Mother, who will be complaining about the weather and her condo fees, and will take offense between cigarette breaks when folks pass up her store bought pies for the homemade ones that Molly’s Mom will bring.

There will be Molly’s Sister and her supercilious Husband, who is already complaining about when we plan to serve dinner (too early) and that we won’t allow her to bring her “cute” little dog. (Lest all the other dog owners insist on bringing there own). I’ve prclained it a “dog free zone” to much grumbling.

There will be my reclusive sister, and her strange, live-in, Civil War re-enactor boyfriend. Unless they cancel at the last minute. There is at least a 50% chance of that.

And then there is Molly’s Step-sister, her know-it-all Physician Husband, and their three “perfect” sons.

So what should we do to get through this gauntlet of downers?

Hitachi breaks for Mistress every 30 minutes?

Should Slave wear his cage?

With or without the butt plug?

Maybe a Conference call with M between the Bird and dessert? (Though I’m sure he has his own family to entertain. Hopefully it’s a more fun group than ours.)

Any of your ideas could be of great assistance.

But what will get us through this min-melodrama will be the anticipation that around 7:30 pm the band of mis-fits will all know it’s time to leave, and after the gargantuan clean-up, we will go to bed early, then get up the next morning for a 5 day retreat to our SW hideaway …. Without the surly teens.

That’s another thing to be thankful for…..

Our Toy Collection

Finally had the chance over the weekend to dump our toy collection on the bed and rise to the challenge from SFP and Sin last week.

Of course there are a few things missing, as I realized after I shot the photo and put our collection back in the bags and drawers where they languish between use: my cock cage was on me at the moment. (Mistress had me wear it Saturday when I went down to rake leaves at a rental property we own; it’s a helpful reminder to me to “behave”, and some extra security for her too.) The Hitachi was parked under the bed, all ready for the date Mistress would have later that afternoon with our Western Correspondent. And Now I remember another batch of items that have not been put to use in a while – an obsolete vibe or two muscled aside by Mistress’s preferred power tool of the moment.  But you get the picture.  There are lots of goodies useful for the restraint and discipline of a recalcitrant Slave.

And I was reminded that those nipple clips had not been put to good use in a few months.  Maybe next Sunday?

Yesterday Mistress made an amusing revelation when she came to my office for worship.

She was sitting on her throne – a chair pressed against the door with a thick soft blanket underneath to absorb all those juices we create – and sliding off her clingy black trousers (only one leg really, enough to give me access to her slick and fragrant folds).

“M said he loved the blog this morning, Slave…. And the photos…well….”

“Yes, Mistress?”

I was on my knees now, ready to “dig in”. I confess: I am an addict, and the font of my addiction was right there in front of me now, taunting. I wasn’t too intent on a lengthy conversation. But my curiosity was piqied.

“Well he said that he blew those photos up on his computer and …. You know….”

I laughed.

“Got himself off?”

“Yes Slave… that’s what he says….”

“Impressive Mistress…. How does that make you feel? The thought of him focusing on that delightful ass of yours while taking the special occasion cock for a little joy ride?”

By now I was grazing a bit, letting my tongue slide over that moist clean shaven skin, provoking her little pink clit, that would soon be gripped possessively between my needy lips.

“It’s pretty hot, Slave….”

No doubt.

I could tell Mistress’s mind was mulling over that scenario as I began to assault her in earnest with tongue and lips, pulling at her clit now, her hips rising as I suctioned it out of it’s little hiding place. 

“Do you think other men  …. Our readers … do the same thing when they see those photos of you, Mistress…. All vulnerable and aroused?”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands were grabbing at my hair (the little of it left) her thighs squeezing my head….and then she was coming for me, stifling her moan so as not to alert my colleagues outside in the hallway about what their graying, sober compadre and his delicious young wife were up to now.

Afterwards, as Mistress was tidying up, she gave me a little more details on M’s photographic preferences.

“He said he liked that one with you gripping my hand, Slave…. With my bottom all ready to be spanked.”

“I’m sure he did, Mistress….”

“He mentioned my nails …. ‘you really have nice ones” he said.”

She does… lots of maintenance makes for nice nails, and other yummy body parts too.

“And he mentioned that you must have given me a hard spanking for a change, because my bottom was so red.”

“I’m glad our Western Correspondent appreciates my effort to follow those instructions, Mistress.”

AS she left to return for work, we returned to the question I had posed earlier: are there other guys out there who “get off” on Mistress’s lovely body parts? And which are their favorites? It would be nice to hear.

“You know, Mistress, there could be women out there who delight in those photos too?”

“I guess that’s possible, Slave.”

Would it be interesting to hear from Mistress’s male (or female) admirers?

Could be.

Consumer Research

UCTMW ENTERPRISES, LLC
MEMORANDUM

From: Mick Collins, Executive Editor
To: M, Western Correspondent

Re: Result of Consumer Research on your “Instructions”

While the experience is still fresh in my mind, I wanted to report back on my efforts to utilize your helpful instructions on the proper spanking of a recalcitrant female.

As you know, our publication often likes to publish little “how to do” articles that our readers might find compelling and useful in their work-a-day lives.

Of course this is hardly an original idea. Lame-stream media outlets like the New York Times frequently publish recipes to use for posh holiday gatherings, and even cocktail recipes. One of our more comparable competitors, SFP, through her blogging empire sometimes posts handy “how to do” articles, like the one on how to makes a spreader bar from materials available at Home Depot. And you will surely recall how Aisha did a consumer review article on the higher and better uses of Risotto Spoons.

So, after we were surprised to see your article on “spanking methodology” pop up in the in-box that we reserve for you --- I could barely see it at first amidst the cob webs – I figured that our readers would love this helpful guide.

But first some quality control. Before we could give your procedure the coveted “UCTMW Seal of Approval”, we needed to do some consumer testing and take some illustrative photos.

Fortunately, it was Switch Day here at the corporate headquarters in River City, so our revered publisher, Molly Collins, could be compelled into serving as the test pilot in this experiment.

After Molly had read the morning papers a bit, I called her attention to the chair I had brought up from the dining room.

“Why do I have to be the sacrificial lamb on this one, Slave,” she whined. “I’ll bet one of the sub-sisters would be happy to volunteer.”

“I know, Mistress. But remember you chopped the travel budget in our latest austerity measures.”

Times are tough in the publishing world these days. And we don’t want to have to sell out to Ruppert Murdoch. The next thing you know you’d be seeing shots of Sarah Palin getting her bottom paddled.

Mistress agreed to be the subject of our little demonstration. But, as you might expect, getting her full co-operation was not an easy task. There’s a reason she’s the Publisher here and I am the lowly Executive Editor.

“Ok… first thing: take off that lovely black nighty, Mistress. You are supposed to be nude.”

“Huh…. Why? I don’t remember that part….”

I re-read the instructions to her, and she agreed, reluctantly, pulling off her soft black nighty to reveal that lovely, shapely body that has drawn so many page views to UCTMW in the last year.

“Now for your inspection.”

I was sitting on the chair. She was positioned in front of me. My fingers slid up the inside of her well conditioned thighs, exploring the path that I know well, dipping into her clean shaven folds.

“Wet already, Mistress? Our WC will be pleased to hear that this part of his instructions seem to have some appeal.”

She just gave me a snooty little sigh. But her slight undulations suggested that drawing your name into the conversation had a certain helpful effect.

I used my palms to rotate her around, giving me a close-up of her firm, rounded bottom. And my fingers slid between her legs, probing a bit, making her squirm as I invaded her virgin ass.

“I’m sure he likes the thought that you’ve saved this for his special occasion cock, Mistress.”

That seemed to make her ass tighten it’s firm grip on my invading digit.

We were ready to proceed with our demonstration.

"Okay, Mistress time to assume your position". I pulled her down, onto my lap.

It took us a while to get her oriented in the right way. My right leg over her left leg. Her right hand gripped by my left hand. Her bottom open and accessible to me. And before I got started I snapped this illustration to help our readers when they conduct this little exercise in the privacy of their own bedrooms … or dungeons, as the case may be.

Then I proceeded to thwack away with an open palm.

I had music on the mask the sound of flesh hitting flesh, since Surly Teen # 2 was in the house.

Mistress squirmed and wriggled as you would expect. But your instructions worked excellently. With her leg under mine and my hand gripping hers, she was going no-where.

The only problem was the chair. Mistress was clearly worried about her precarious balance, and the risk that she might slide off onto the floor.

Now maybe this is a good thing, making what is supposed to be an uncomfortable position all the less comfortable.

But Mistress can whine. And whine she did.

“I’m afraid I’m going slide off the chair, Slave.”

It may take a stronger more compelling Dom to take charge and get the subject of this exercise to suck it up and take her medicine, even if the is afraid she might slide onto the floor.

To that extent, this Executive Editor may not have been the best person to conduct our little experiment. I am wondering if some of our readers can persuade their Dom’s to follow your prescription to more … compelling effect.

Or maybe if our travel budget gets restored in the coming year, you can demonstrate yourself.

So after about 20-30 good strokes, and a good deal of Mistress squirming and whining, I succumbed before we got to the all important “begging and pleading” phase of the proceedings.

Maybe a wider, deeper chair would work better. Will have to keep a look out for that type of furnishing.

But I felt that Mistress deserved a little additional punishment for her failure to complete our mission.

She was positioned on our bed. Her hands were bound behind her with those leather handcuffs we bought on San Francisco years ago. And I picked up that long shoehorn.

The result from the combination of spanking and the shoehorn was a very nice rosey ass, as shown below:


Now I could have concluded the experiment there. Mistress was squirming delightfully against the bed as I took a slow taunting pace with the shoe horn. At one point I slid onto her my firm cock poking its way between those sheets. The moaning that induced was delicious for an Executive Editor's ears.

But it seemed despite all those orgasms on Saturday, Mistress’s participation in our little demonstration deserved a reward.

That’s when I reached for the Hitachi. Somehow it had survived your lengthy Saturday evening conference call.

As I flicked it on, Mistress gave off a little anticipatory shudder, and spread her legs as I slid it between her ass cheeks.

The rest is subject to an Executive Privilege.

Any input on how we could have done this consumer research more effectively will be appreciated.