HNT/ Ouch!

On Sunday, our switch day, Mistress got to sport some clothes pins on her firm and succulent breasts, at the direction of our Western Correspondent.  On Monday, this blog described the experience, and we even had a lovely shot of both of her wonderful breasts all “pinned” up for the occassion.

But when we sorted through the comments, Mistress was a little surprised:

“No one commented on my breasts, Slave…..”

Yes, we do pay attention to your fun and helpful comments.

“Maybe it’s because I buried that picture midway through the story, Mistress…. I didn’t want to give away what your punishment was by sticking the little lovelies above the fold….”

“M did mention it though…. He thought the photo was very hot…..”very nice breasts, Molly” is what he said. Though apparently B (his wife) also has some pretty hot breasts.”

“I am sure that yours would hold up very well in a side by side comparison, Mistress.”

Maybe we should schedule that, M…. what do you say?

So just in case you missed Monday’s shot, I am featuring it again, along with a lovely close-up out take from Sunday’s “punishment”, as choreographed by our Western Correspondent.

Fortunately, he did not impose an embargo yesterday. Mistress stopped by for some post lunch worship, and after I had done my pleasant duties, still there on my knees in front of her spread legs, she had a suggestion…. Well, I considered it more of an order…..

“Now, take a picture slave, and send it to M ….”

“Of course, Mistress.”

I snapped one of her in her “throne” legs spread, one boot off, and one leg of tights off, her clean shaven folds still glistening, a smug little smile on her face, then zapped it off to Mike for his approval.

If she is free to cavort with her Slave on the afternoon before a planned “date”, she at least can show her gratitude with a smutty photo.

And, as it turns out, their date is now in jeopardy. She had planned to stay home a bit later this morning, for their scheduled “conference call”, but now the snow is falling, schools are closed, and it seems she will have to drive with me, in our only 4 wheel drive UCTMW mobile unit.

Poor dears. Let’s hope  they can figure a way to reschedule soon. Otherwise, our WC is likely to fall even further behind on his 2011 strategic plan.

Crisis Management

Mistress is an expert at “crisis management”, and by last night she seemed to have tamped down the threat to UCTMW’s balance sheet caused by the accidental cock freeze that had befallen our Western Correspondent.

The hamhanded instinct of this the General Counsel and Executive Editor was to hunker down, point fingers, and hire a private investigator, who would shadow M and take grainy, low resolution photos with a high power lense, through his office or bedroom window, to prove that his claim of partial disability was bogus. I figured it would not be long before he took matters into his own hands, so the speak.

I imagined surprising him at a hearing during cross-examination with the embarrassing “full mast” money shot, after his pitiful testimony about how his life was now in dick-less tatters.

But Mistress (and, I might add, several of our correspondents) were more inclined to slather the poor injured, suspected sandbagger with their own form of honey.

Ultimately, Mistress took the matter into her own sensuous and well manicured hands. I got a taste of her approach as I lounged in bed next to her last night, perusing the Times, as she responded to M’s request that she give him a call.

“So how are you feeling now, you poor boy….it must have been just awful. I was having nightmares thinking of that beautiful cock all frozen and lifeless.”

She was really laying it on. (Or is that lying, SFP?)

“Ohhh….. that’s nice…. Epic sex with B this morning. I guess things are feeling better then….”


Her sweet and solicitous tone of voice would make a hard nosed HR Manager puke, but it already seemed to have evoked a critical admission. Good job, Mistress!

“Slave, he says he still may need some ongoing physical therapy to make sure all the nerve endings are restored to full function….”

By now, I was with her program.

“Maybe we should fly you out there tonight, Mistress, so you can personally supervise his recovery… I mean he seemed so close to having lost that critical function…. We should spare no expense….”

I think she could tell I was being a tad bit sarcastic. I got an elbow in the ribs.

They talked about Donna’s generous offer to knit M and our other male staffers a warming “cock cozy”, to prevent further injury. After all once a body part has suffered frost bite it is all the more susceptible in the future. But of course, measurements would be required.

“He wants us to buy him a plane ticket for the fitting, Slave….”

“That only seems fair, Mistress.”

But Mistress was a little concerned that so many of our female readers seemed to take a little too much compassionate interest in the sad plight of his special occasion cock.

“Now M, I don’t want to hear that you are sending photos of your injured parts out to others we have come to know and love on the internet.”

Yes, it would be sad if one our competitors got the scoop when it comes to any public (or private) unveiling of his legendary instrument.

At this point, I had my fill of all the commentary on the sudden, unanticipated end of the Patriots’ season, and the emergence of the suddenly potent Jets. And those little wriggles that Mistress can’t suppress when she’s on the phone with M got the better of me.

We had already done worship, and some nice healthy fucking before dinner, but I figured a little pre-sleep stress relief for mistress couldn’t hurt.

So I made my move, sliding under the covers, feeling a bit like Matthew Brady, under the hood of that ancient camera he used to document the Civil War.

“M, he’s at it again. without even asking, the Slave is between my legs, just licking away.”

It seemed that M had gotten beyond his wheedling for a generous worker’s comp settlement, and was in the moment with us.

“Yes Master M…..”

“I understand, M…..”

It was clear that he was spinning one of his smutty scenarios for her, as I was plying my skills on her molten parts, which were suddenly quite needy and responsive.

Within moments, Mistress was gasping, her hips rising to meet me, through a series of spasms that seemed to go on for quite some time. Finally, she came down, satisfied, it seemed.

“That’s enough Slave…..”

I kept at it for a few seconds more though. I am a bit of an addict. Until, she usd her hand to push me away.

“He’s like a little suction cup down there, M.”

By now Mistress was tired, and signing off. And Slave was sleepy too. We snuggled up, lights out.

It seemed that Mistress had resolved our tempest in a frozen teapot, though they plan to confer again on Thursday morning to make sure that all of our Western Correspondent’s functions are GO.

Hmmm. I wonder if he plans to impose an embargo on our Publisher?

I better get one under the wire this morning, just in case.
(Illustrations courtesy of google images, category "frozen penis". Really.)

UCTMW Management Responds to Shocking Workplace Injury

We were lying in bed here at the UCTMW World Headquarters.

Mistress had been worshipped upon my return from work, as is her right and expectation. 

The kids had been fed, all back under the roof after their three day weekend. 

We planned to watch the 1^st episode of this season’s Big Love (you know, the adventures of  the narcissistic, messianic Morman State Senator, and his three increasingly schizoid wives). Then, if Mistress was in a generous mood,  Mick would get his first opportunity to fuck her since our rather extravagant “punishment” session on Sunday morning.

All in all, it was a good plan for a quiet evening at home.

Then (sound the claxon horns),  we received a text message about some potentially critical problems at our Western field office.

As Mistress peered at her I-phone, she expressed her surprise with a guffaw.

“The Western Correspondent says he was out riding his bike for the last hour and a half, and now his cock is frozen…”

She tapped away, apparently asking for a more complete report.  His response came quickly.

“Here are more details, Slave:  23 degrees; high winds; he had jeans on, but no underwear.  And he must have forgotten to zip up his fly.”

“The winds was so strong he was sliding sideways on ice….”

Now I was the one laughing.

“Just remind him that our UCTMW Employee Handbook specifically says that we are not responsible for frozen dicks when an employee exposes himself to below freezing temperatures without wearing his underoos.”

I write one hell of an Employee Handbook, in case you need one.  The key is to anticipate of all the potential shit storms that could befall an employer, then figure a way to make all of them the employees' fault!

I was trying to pay attention to “Big Love”, disappointed that all that multi-partner sex shown in the earlier seasons had now been replaced with lots of angst and finger pointing among the wives.  Clearly this Series jumped the shark once the Prophet met his ignominious end.

But our Western Correspondent continued to provide Mistress with updates.

“Sounds like it’s not responding to treatment, Slave….. still frozen.”

I could sense an expensive workers’ comp claim on the horizon. And our defense would have to be based on the reckless behavior of our Western Correspondent, out on yet another frolic and detour.

Could he argue that this frigid bike ride was in the scope of his duties? I suppose it would be possible.

Sometimes when he calls and directs Mistress to deploy her power tool, he is out cruising around on his bike. He could characterize as her consent to such work / recreation field trips. And our health insurer has been pushing all this “Wellness” crap-olla, as an incentive to get our lofty premiums down. Certainly after hours exercise might be described as "just following orders."

One way or the other, I can see him sweet talking some dumpy  administrative hearing officer in an ill fitting pants suit that he was just following company policy as he went on that frigid, cock risking bike ride last night.

No doubt she will want to adjourn to her chambers in order to personally inspect the damaged appendage, in her effort  to confirm whether  his claim for permanent partial disability is firm or flaccid.

Our final line of defense may have to be that he was out of uniform. Our correspondents are not expected to go commando while on duty, without clear instructions from the publisher. It says so in the Handbook. Page 35, footnote 13. He can look it up.

“Slave, I’m telling him that he better not have done any permanent damage to the special occasion cock before I have the chance to try it out.”

“That would be tragic Mistress…. Do you think he has a microwave big enough to fit it…. That might work.”

At some point, M’s pleas for sympathy petered out, so to speak.

And when the show ended, Mistress, who’s mind likely had been muddled by thoughts of a frozen cock-sicle warming between her full and sensual lips, asked if I was prepared to fuck her.

“I am at your disposal, Mistress.”

Let’s just hope that our Western Correspondent has thawed and is now on the mend.

MIstress Faces the Music

UCTMW ENTERPRISES, LLC WORLD HEADQUARTERS
RIVER CITY, USA

MEMORANDUM

FROM: MICK COLLINS, EXECUTIVE EDITOR
TO: M, WESTERN CORRESPONDENT

SUBJECT: FOLLOWING YOUR INSTRUCTIONS.

When we talked Saturday, you gave me some instructions about how our Publisher should be handled on our weekly “switch day”, when the Publisher is required under my peculiar employment agreement to submit to the sort of treatment that she can deploy as my employer / owner every other day of the week.

Of course, what caused me to follow the directions of our lowest ranked employee is a bit of a mystery I suppose. Let’s chalk it up to the peculiarities of the collective bargaining agreement your representatives at the Teamsters Union recently negotiated, and that fact that our Publisher, Molly Collins, said I should take your direction on the matter.

It seems she has a special arrangement with you, the exact terms of which are only made available on a “need to know” basis. She conceded the error of her ways by failing to bring that little insertable vibrator you had sent her when she went to work on Friday. So she conceded that there would be consequences, and that her Executive Editor was expected to be your instrument in the matter.

Or it could be that I am just a corporate drone at heart, despite my lofty, middle management title here at UCTMW, and simply like to follow orders.

In any event, I stopped by the local hardware store on Saturday and picked up the tools you had chosen: a bag of wooden clothes pins, just like my mother used to more vanilla purposes all those years ago.

Our Publisher was a bit on edge Saturday evening, trying to force me to tell her what was instore. But, like you, I was able to keep the procedure we planned under wraps until zero hour on Monday morning. We are a model of corporate security, as compared to those folks at Verizon. Big surprise…. They are launching the I-Phone!

Our Boss read the morning papers, and caught up on our blog and those of some selected competitors (I am a little concerned that she may ask me to get one of those ball gags Suzanne deployed during the Steelers game… Mistress does sometimes get accessory envy). But then, she knew, it was time for her to face the music.

I pulled out the little red leather cuffs, abd she immediately rolled away, huddled under the covers….

“But it’s so cold, Slave…..”

I recall that she texted a similar message to you at about that time, sort of an appeal for mercy. Of course, it went un-ruled upon. No Stay was granted. No doubt you were still in bed, recovering from a night out with some of your UCTMW office interns, or maybe your new shop steward, regaling them with stories of past deployments of the “special occasion cock”.

Ultimately, Mistress rolled over and allowed me to attach her wrist cuffs, linked together in front.

Since our teens were away, it seemed a waste to keep her sequestered in our bedroom.

“We’re going for a walk , Mistress….”

“But it’s so cold….”

Argggh.

I wrapped her in my terry bathrobe, knotted it in front for her. After she slipped into some slippers, I led her downstairs, where I had already pulled out a big wide upholstered chair.

“I think you need a good spanking first Mistress, to warm you up and remind you to follow M’s simple requests in the future.

I sat, then pulled her over my lap. She wriggled into place.

“But I might fall off, Slave.”

“Don’t worry, Mistress, you are in good hands.”

I had a good grip on her, and then proceeded to give her a nice, hard spanking.

You should have heard the complaints. The whines, mewls, all the “that hurts”. It put me in mind to pack her up in a trunk and ship her off to you for some more systemic training. Once a week switch sessions will never really condition her for this sort of punishment.

But I tried to put all the moaning and groaning out of mind and kept on task. Soon her bottom was a nice cherry red, and, surprise, surprise, the armoa wafting from between her legs was all too delicious. The Pungent Publisher. As a probing finger confirmed, she was like a little slut in heat. And I think my suggestion that she consider how it might go if you were the one spanking her seemed to add to her concupiscence.

“I think you’ve had the full benefit of this phase of your punishment, Mistress. Now it’s time for round two.”

She gave a little sigh, and we went back upstairs together. She must have “warmed up”, since she did not ask for the robe again.

“Now what, Slave?”

I had already taken two clothes pins out of the bag.

“This is M’s part, actually, Mistress….. he says I should put one of these on each of your nipples, then make you use the Hitachi to bring yourself off three times, removing them as you hit number three.”

“Ohhhh….. at lest your not going to put those all over me….”

“We’ll save the rest for some other occasion, Mistress.”

First I sucked on each nipple, making them pop to life, allowing the pins good purchase.

She lay back, arms over her head, as I connected the little wooden wonders to her right nipple.

“Owww …. Yow,,,,, hurts, Slave….”

But it hardly seemed unbearable. She didn’t whine nearly so much when I connected the second one. Maybe it was because she was already entranced by the little power tool lying next to her on the bed.

Usually it’s the Slave who wields the tool in these moments when she uses it when we are together. But I was following M’s orders and, he made it clear that Mistress was in charge of her own pleasuring.

She went to work with a fierce concentration. Pressing the device exactly where it would have it’s highest and best impact. None of that whirling around and teasing that this Slave enjoys when I am at the controls.

And soon she was at her first, hips rising, head thrown back, moaning with release.

There was no break at all though. She just kept at it, building up the number 2, not quite as potent as her first, but not exactly a weenie on the richter scale either.

“Only one more, Mistress…”

“Getting tired Slave…..”

“You can always take a break…. But the pegs stay on….”

“No……”

She went for it then, pressing harder, her body writhing, seat popping onto her lovely forehead. I took a few photos, watching with something less than clinical detachment as she worked her way up and over to number three. And as she hit that crested, I quickly popped off each of the clips…

“Oh, God, Slave….. that hurts……”

“That’s what M predicted Mistress. He said they would hurt more coming off than just staying on….”

She fell back onto the bed, her face flushed, gasping for breath. Her little ordeal was over. She seemed to have the contentment that one gets with a job well done. Sort of like a long hill climb on her bike. The sheets were damp with her perspiration.

And I must confess that now my interest was less as the instrument of your directions.

“Mistress, that concludes the punishment required by M…. after that… he said I was at my discretion.”

She reached for my cock. It was clearly interested in the next stage of the morning’s activities.

“And what comes next, Slave….”

Actually, it was pretty obvious.