Slave Seeks Distractions as Cage Week Continues, and goes into Overtime

 BREAKING NEWS:  To drag our Slave's torment, Mistress's plane home was canceled. Now she's at LGA (literally) cooling her heels. In other words, she's getting her feet done.

Oh, BTW, that Hosni guy has finally gotten the memo and gone to his palace at the beach. I guess it took a while for him to empty his wine cellar and the national treasury.  Things were beginning to sound like a modern day reprise of "Marvin K. Mooney Will you Please Go Now." Only in funny characters.

Now, back to our regular programming... or this morning's post:



It’s day two of Mistress’s trip to Gotham City. And she seems to be having a good time.

After a walk along cold but charming downtown streets, she headed back to her hotel for a 10 am “conference call” with our WC. That’s why she had to risk embarrassment with the TSA by toting along her power tool. It was a command performance.

And after their talk she checked in with me.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Only three, Slave.”

Hmmm. Not bad, and it was still before noon. Hope they made some progress on that strategic plan.

She was in the City for a Board meeting that started at 1 pm, so after the Hitachi was tucked away, Mistress spent a little more time poking around Soho.

She snapped and forwarded some shots at Kiki de Montparnase, a very pricey, beautifully furnished emporium on Greene St., chock full of lingerie and various instruments of kinky pleasure. We bought our crystal cock there a few years back, in our pre-contract days.

“I’ll bet our readers will like the gold plated butt plugs and handcuffs, Slave.”

She’s sort of like Jimmy Olson, passing his photos onto Perry White for the morning edition. And I guess I’m lucky that the WC was not along on this field trip, or those gold plated butt plugs and cuffs would probably have ended up on his UCTMW expense account.

I did play a bit of a dirty trick on Mistress though. By around 1:30 pm I knew that Mistress would be settled into her meeting, around a table with some big hitters from the world of art and business. I suspected her I-phone would be at the ready, but set on vibrate. That’s when I dropped my pants, snapped a shot of my poor caged cock, and texted it off to her.

“OMG” was the response I got.

I suppose that will earn me a punishment. But it was worth it.

As for me, my “adventures” in River City were a bit more mundane. A day at the office. Meeting with a falsely accused client. Then home to prepare dinner for the kids. I did enjoy your comments today, though it doesn’t seem I’m getting a whole lot of sympathy during “cage week”. And I'm honored that one of our lurkers emerged to note she has named her Hitachi "Mick". It's good to be a role model, even for an  appliance.

Those readers who are on lock down for multi-day sentences on a regular basis (and the women who hold the keys) have good reason to be less than sympathetic. After all, Mick is usually indulged to the extreme by his beloved Mistress. Twice a day is the norm. Now that may not compare to the exploits of the WC and his special occasion cock (even during rehab), but for a 60 year old …. Heck, I’m a lucky guy.

So two plus days without an orgasm should not be too grievous a sentence, should it? For the most part, I can ignore my cruel plight. Except….


In the middle of the night, when one wakes up with a start to the rather excruciating feeling of one’s cock, stretching out for no apparent reason, attempting a frolic and detour of its own, then banging hard against those metal barriers.

Youch.

That’s when that tight ring chokes down hard on those swelling balls.

I swear I was dreaming that if I could just break down the facts of a particularly baffling antitrust case, the pain racking my cock and balls would go away. But I couldn’t get my brain around it. Yhe "ouch" was too distracting. That ‘s when I woke up.

I suppose if they ever want to make a kinky version of Inception, that could be one of the plot lines.

So tonight, I’ve been particularly careful to suppress thoughts and images that might stimulate any further erotic dreaming once I settle in, and replace them with unsexy distractions. Here is my:

TOP TEN UNSEXY DISTRACTIONS WHEN IN A COCK CAGE:

10. Listening to the aging Digger Phelps bicker with his even older nemesis Bobby Knight, during an ESPNU B-Ball Broadcast. More proof that “only the good die young”.

9. Winnowing unknown Facebook friends and uninteresting Twitter followees. Who are these people?

8. Watching this very funny video passed on by Donna, our Southern Correspondent. It’s about sex, but not sexy sex. Brushing your teeth as foreplay? Business Time

7. Video snippets of a Donald Trump’s campaign speech at C-PAC. If this guy runs for President, the Secret Service will need a separate code name for his lid.

5. Trolling the internet to unearth our WC’s social security number, so UCTMW can send him a W-9 statement for his bloated salary and unsupportable expense reimbursements.

4. Watching re-runs of Michele Bachmann’s State of the Union rebuttal. Nice make up for those lazy eyes.

3. Learning more about the Spanish Armada on Wikipedia.

2. Rachel Maddow.

1. This photo, also forwarded by our Southern Correspondent, which should make my cock shrivel and hide until Mistress is safely home Friday evening.

Move On. Nothing to See Here.

Mistress is off, running footloose and fancy free in the big city.  Meanwhile, her devoted Slave is on lockdown, here in our little backwater on the River.

And Cage week continues. It’s not nearly as much fun as “Ass Week”, is it?

It was an early rise here.

Molly had a client presentation before heading to the airport. I made sure she had a pleasing little shower cum, sliding my fingers through those wet folds as the warm water ran down both of us. Then she got another bonus cum, from avid lips and tongue, as she moisturized and read the blog.

But, alas, there was no time for fucking.

“Glad you remembered to put the ring on, Slave….”

After I slid the cage in place, mating it with the ring, she snapped the little lock shut.

Then she hid away the key.

At around 11:30 am, Mistress did have a chance to stop by the office for some worship and a quick lunch before she was on her way.

WC,  you will be surprised to learn she has her tricked out tights on for her trip.

Of course, that made worship rather easy for me. All she needed to do was sit down and spread those lovely, muscular thighs. 

But I wondered what she might be up to in the Big City.

So accessible.

So available.

AS I did my work, Mistress snapped a photo of her boots stretched over my shoulders.

And then she surprised me.

“Stay there Slave…. And lower your pants. I want to see the cage….”

Did she think I had played Houdini on her? After all, she hid the key.

I loosened my belt. Dropped Trou.

“Underwear down too, Slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Without any warning, if only to allow some gut sucking, she snapped another shot.

“I want to see this on the blog tomorrow, Slave…..”

Gulp.

Not the sort of alluring imagery our readers are accustomed to. Not at all.

But who was I too say “no”.

“Of course, Mistress.”

So there you have me…. errr …. It.

If I knew this was going to be a photo shoot, I would have done some “man-scaping”, as the little bald dork on Californication would put it.

As she waited for her plane, Mistress did share a funny little story.

Our Western Correspondent had directed Mistress to bring along her trusty Hitachi. No doubt they plan some important conference calls to discuss UCTMW’s bold expansion strategy while she is on the road.

But Mistress had only brought a carry on.

“They opened my bag, Slave.  Asked If I had something big and cylindrical in there….”

It turned out that what they were looking  for was an aerosol can.

But “There was my Hitachi, for everyone to see….it was kind of embarrassing, Slave.”

Awww.

Poor Mistress.

In the meantime, Slave is home. Still on lockdown. And have discovered new things about the physics of a hard tight steel ring locked around the male testes and penis.

When the temperature is in the teens…. Things can get a little ouchy.

The natural response to cold weather is for those little ovoid guys to beat a hasty retreat into those warm cavities just above. Supposedly those little shelters keep your sperm nice and warm in the event they need to be mobilized at the drop of an available woman’s panties.

But when there is a hard steel ring in the way…. well …. Things don’t go the way nature intended.  Skin contracts, balls swell and press against the cruel steel barrier. When they can’t get through to their little hiding places, they get angry.

Youch.

The next time Mistress leaves town, let’s hope that spring has long since sprung.

Slave's Draught Begins

Though Ass Week is over, our Southern Correspondent, Donna, found this little cautionary tale that she passes along. We share it for those of you who think that before next year’s Ass Week you may need some enhancements before sharing yours with us here at UCTMW:

“Hi Guys

Well, I think you can feel good that your blog helped us all to (as the song goes) love the ass you're with. Wait, that wasn't the message, was it? Whatever.

There is so much wrong with this situation. Did these women think the Hampton Inn was a hospital? Did they think the guy in the Jiffy Lube shirt with his name on the pocket was a doctor?

Woman dies after butt implant procedure at hotel

A British tourist recently died after she allegedly flew to Philadelphia to get silicone injections into her buttocks at a Hampton Inn, sources say.

Police are executing a search warrant at the Hampton Inn on Bartram Avenue Tuesday afternoon with suspicions that someone is renting rooms in which he or she performs butt implant procedures, sources say.

Suspicions of these hotel-room medical procedures came about after a woman visiting from England allegedly died after a butt enhancement procedure and was taken to a local hospital, according to court documents.

Several women from England recently traveled to Philadelphia to receive butt-implant procedures in hotel rooms, court documents say.

The Delaware County medical examiner’s autopsy is not yet complete.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/41478945/ns/health-health_care/

Donna”

So, WC, in case you were considering this sort of procedure and that’s why you never got around to sharing that legendary ass with us, don’t take the risk. I am sure Mistress and our readers will be able to accept you au natural.

Or is it liposuction that you have in mind?

In any event, we thank Donna for “picking up the WC’s slack”, so the speak, and sharing this provocative tale with us.  I guess it is just one more reason to steer clear of Philadelphia.

Here is River City it was another cage day for me on Tuesday. I was locked down tight before heading to work in the morning.

When we arrived home, Mistress just a few minutes after me, she was bustling around, packing things for her business trip that begins today.

She had tasked me to remind her about one thing she was required to pack.

“Don’t forget your Hitachi, Mistress.”

“Already got it, Slave. I think M has this idea I will just be hanging around the hotel all the time, deploying the power tool.”

“Well I am sure he will want to be in touch, Mistress….but nbo doubt there will be some of your fellow board members flirting with you too….”

“You never know, Slave.”

Once she was all packed I was permitted to worship her, sliding to my knees as she spread her legs wide at the side of the bed. 

Yum.  I am going to miss my favorite flavor this week.

And after worship was completed to her satisfaction – two orgasms this time – she was kind enough to unlock me for the rest of the evening.

We fed the kids – grilled steel head trout and some sautéed spinach – then went for a walk in the cold clear air to our little neighborhood bar for a drink and some chat with the regulars.  But by about 9:30 we were back in our room.

“I’m going to hide the key somewhere you will not be able to find it Slave…. And I’ll let you know only if there is an emergency….”

“I understand, Mistress.”

She had her laptop open, making one last comment to those of you who were chipping in on yesterday’s blog. And she happened on Ms. Marie’s posting. The WC has a thing for the rather over-the-top photos she regularly posts and her most recent posting was particularly apropos for cage week.MS. Marie

“She must have gotten the memo, Slave. But this is a different sort of cage.”

Sure enough, there was her devoted husband, locked away in an oversized dog cage, hung from the ceiling of their archaic dungeon. Very spooky.

“I guess you could try that, Mistress…. But then who would feed the kids?”

By now It was time for my last chance to fuck Mistress before my long draught was to began. She will have to be out the door early this morning. As she said, “only time for a lick, Slave.”

And you will be happy to know we made the most of it.

Ass Week Ends, as Cage Week Begins.

Today marks the 7th consecutive days of photos of Mistress’s lovely ass, inspired by Suzanne, Jay and Tammy over at All Mine.

But of course, we are still waiting for that ass shot from the WC.

I thought I could shame him into coming up with one by finding large and hideous “ghost asses” for him, but apparently the man has no shame.

Which I suppose makes him well suited to serve as the Western Correspondent for the UCTMW Media Empire.

But a new week has begun, and it’s turning out to be “Cage Week” for Mick. Our policy here is that on days when we don’t drive to work together, Mistress requires me to be “caged up”. And as luck would have it there is a full work week in store for me.

Mistress had some kid related errands to run at the beginning of her day yesterday. The same today. Then On Wednesday she’s headed out of town until Friday evening. So my cock and balls are adjusting to the tight grip of that hard steel ring.

Yesterday morning, I was alert enough when I crawled out of bed to grab the hard steel ring from my dresser drawer. Downstairs, I smushed my balls and cock through the tight enclosure before embarking on my morning tasks. It’s always easier when things are loose and dangling, before the morning chill tightens things up, so to speak.

And when Mistress offered me the opportunity to fuck her, after being properly serviced, she found the type of hard and insistent tool that only a tight confinement at the base of my package can produce. Of course, coming is a little harder with that constriction, but when the countdown reaches “lift off” and my commanding officer drops the green flag, all things are very, very Go.

Last night I arrived home at around 6 pm, and Mistress was already lying in bed, waiting for me. After worshiping to her satisfaction, she kindly reached for the little key to spring me loose.

Ahhhh.

But come Wednesday I may be in for a longer period of confinement.

“I suppose it’s good that you are getting a little warm up before I leave town, Slave….”

Not so sure. God forbid I go Cold Turkey into the cage for three days….

Before we leave the subject of the NFL behind …. And it could be a while before those guys are back with a lock out looming over protracted labor negotiations .... I wanted to mention the role our long lost cousin played in making all those Cheeseheads happy, and saving Suzanne’s Ass from Jay’s visit.

When the Packers opened up a 14-0 lead late in the 1st Quarter, I swore I heard Troy Aikman point out that Safety Mick Collins was the guy hauling in that key  interception and running it to the house. Mistress and I smothered our laughs, as the folks in our house cheered the impending comeuppance of the dreaded Stillers.

AS it turn out it was Nick Collins…. Stud of the game for the Pack.

And here’s a great post game interview of him. He is a cocky and confident fellow, who does the Collins family proud. Collins interview

They say the “Black Irish” arose from the gene pool created when more than 50 ships of the Spanish Armada met their comeuppance on the rocky shores of Ireland’s West Coast back in 1588. The survivors scrambled ashore. Some were slaughtered by the British occuppiers of that wondrous but long oppressed Isle.

But others found some fair Irish maidens to provide them shelter and nurse them back to good health.

(Wondering now what therapy was provided for cocks frozen in the brutal North Atlantic. Maybe there is an answer on Wikipedia we could share with the WC).

I am wondering if cousin Nick can trace his ancestry back to some Moor gunner or deck hand, who met up with one of my great great great great great grandma’s back in County Kerry all those years ago.

Maybe he’d agree to be our Dairy Country Correspondent.