Mistress Flies Solo

First, thanks to UCTMW’s  southern photo-correspondent and seamstress, Donna, for this contribution. Her generous offer to prepare a cock cozy to aid the rehabilitation of our Western Correspondent following his bout of cock-bite has been greatly appreciated.  Now she’s found the perfect accessory for Mistress to try out on the WC’s special occasion cock,  once rehabilitation is completed.

After we got our 6 inches of snow Thursday, the thermometer plummeted, so Molly and Mick has a very cold Friday here in River City, with temperatures in the single digits last night.  And unlike some people, we did not use it as an excuse for a late night bike ride.

We did try to generate some heat in our own way though. There was some vigorous morning sex, after Mistress chortled through my morning’s effort.

“I’ve already told him that I am happy to come inspect and help him nurse that frozen cock to life, Slave… what more can we do?”

Then Mistress stopped by my office for some post-lunch worship.  

Yum.

WE met some friends for dinner after work, slogging through one of our more charming urban neighborhoods, through hard packed snow and a little slush.  By the time we were back in the car and headed home, it was fairly late, we were very cold, and I was feeling the relaxing buzz of a Jamieson, neat.

“Will you be in the mood to fuck me tonight, Slave….”

Hmmmm. I was making no commitments. Just looking forward to sliding into a warm bed and cozying up to Mistress.

Then her text message chimed. It was our WC. 

“He’s still talking about his need for rehabilitation, Slave….”

“Doesn’t he know a good ambulance chaser….”

“and how mean a General Counsel you are….”

Awww. Poor M.

“I’m reminding him of my offer to come inspect…. Nurse him back to health.”

“Nothing like a hands on CEO, Mistress….”

“And I’m also telling him that Slave isn’t sure he wants to fuck me tonight.”

Ahhh. The gauntlet is thrown down. What is a slave to do?

At home we prepare for bed, after fending off complaints from a surly teen about our nerve in entering her room to bid her goodnight.

Mistress is naked, soft and warm. And she is sharing a few more messages with M before signing off for the night.

As I get cozier with her, my thoughts turn to more carnal subjects, and I am about to reach for one of Mistress’s more responsive zones when she throws the curve ball.

“Hand me the Hitachi, Slave….”

Ohhh?

“I’m happy to handle those duties myself, Mistress….”

“No…. I’m in charge here, and I will be happy to handle it all by myself.”

Oh my…. I wonder if I am about to become redundant.

But I dutifully turn over the power tool, switching it on for her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do the honors, Mistress?”

“No Slave….. I’m going to do it the way B (M’s wife) does…. Feel free to watch, and learn…..”

So I cuddle in tight, kissing her deeply as her hand works away under the covers, the buzz of the machine dampened a bit by the warm comforter that shrouds us.

At some point she reaches for my cock, which is already filling out. Apparently it had not gotten the message  that it was not needed, at least not yet.

With remarkable efficiency, Mistress soon brought herself up and over the edge, quaking and sobbing in a remarkably robust climax.

And by now her Slave was definitely in the mood to participate.

“You can put this away now Slave….. and then you can fuck me….”

“Happily, Mistress.”

Mistress Demands an IME

First off, thanks for the very kind and thoughtful review over at MissBehavior yesterday. Here is the link:Miss Behavior

It’s good to get that sort of feedback from a fellow blogger who is clearly paying attention to our usually true, if fantastical, antics here at UCTMW.

We really did have a snow day here in River City yesterday. School was cancelled for the surly teens. And since Mick and Molly carpooled in our only 4WD vehicle, Molly could not linger here at home for her planned “date” with our Western Correspondent.

That did free her up from the anticipated embargo, and she indulged my cock yesterday morning, as the wet, thick snowflakes fell, after I had performed sufficient worship duties to justify such a boon.

When it snows here, the whole City seems to fall to its knees, cowering at the slippery white stuff, as if it doesn’t happen this time every year. So it seemed appropriate that our lunch engagements were cancelled, and we could reschedule lunch together.

And of course that also meant that Slave would be falling to his knees, to provide Mistress with some additional worship before we indulged our culinary cravings at a local chili parlor.

As I knelt to help Mistress remove a snow dampened boot, I asked if she had been in touch with our Western Correspondent, even though their date had been cancelled.

“Yes, Slave…..”.

“And was he frustrated about missing that date, Mistress?”

She was pealing back one leg of those smooth black tights to give me access to those luscious folds. I was planning on feeding my addiction to her sweet, musky juices. And I did not wait for her answer before digging in. This was the “palate cleanser” preceding our lunch, like a musky sorbet. Yum.

Soon Mistress was distracted too, and it was not long before her hips were rising out of her “throne”, pushed against the door, her head throne back, stifling a moan of release so as not to disturb my colleagues, passing by in the hallway beyond the door.

“Nice, Slave…..”

“My pleasure, Mistress…..”

As she reassembled her chic outfit, I asked her to finish the story about her conversation with M.

“Well we talked….. and I must have provoked him a bit, because later he said he “took care of himself”, before going back to bed.

“Ahhhh…. Still malingering after that sad frost bite plight, I see.”

But then later, I received a disturbing, if a bit incredible, email from M’s union steward, a certain Johnny “Big Fingers” Calamari, of Local 69, International Brotherhood of Teamsters. (Apparently the Newspaper Guild was a little too high falootin’ for our WC.)

The email contained the usual hyperbolic rhetoric about M’s sad and pathetic decline after his unzipped, commando sub-freezing bike ride, and the horrific calamity it had (allegedly) caused his special occasion cock.

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.

There were threats of an OSHA investigation, and an extortionate demand for compensation in small hundred dollar bills, delivered to a truck stop that very night somewhere outside of Pueblo, Colorado.

But the exclamation point on this lowbrow attempt at extortion was the attached photo:

If Senor “Big Fingers” was to be believed, it seemed that the special occasion cock had fallen right off, with the exemplary specimen now preserved as evidence in a cocktail of formaldehyde and Cuervo.

After forwarding her this heinous email, I was quickly on the phone to our Publisher, with my General Counsel hat firmly in place.

“Mistress….. this is the problem with having a field office, with no HR staff on the ground. How do we know that this is really M’s damaged cock?”

“Don’t you lawyers have a way of investigating this sort of claim, Slave?”

“We do …. It’s called an independent medical exam (IME)…. You send some malingering Plaintiff or employee to a health care provider of your choice, and they inspect the alleged damage….”

“I don’t think it will take some expert to verify this claim, Slave…. Book me a seat on the next plane out….. and make sure M and his union rep know I am on the way to conduct this IME personally…..”

“Your wish is my command, Mistress…..”

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.)