No Accounting for Taste

Over the weekend, our Western Correspondent rose from the bed where he has been (ma)lingering these last few days to share some comments on the end of cage week here at UCTMW.

Of course I was not a direct party to the conversation. I was lying next to Mistress in our bed, reading the paper, when the two of them connected. But I was able to pick up the trail of their conversation.

It seems that M has been known to wear a cage from time to time, when his wife B gets a little feisty.

“So she’s threatened to put you in a vage again, M… well that would certainly mess things up for us….”

True…. Those occasional conference calls could be a little one sided if Mistress had all access, and poor M was on full containment mode.

Then the subject turned to the style of cage M has been required to wear.

Turns out it was the “Curve” one of those plastic devices, from the same folks who made my earlier model the CB-2000.

Mistress laughed at the next part of the story.

“He says they kept breaking on him, Slave….”

No doubt.

It’s hard to imagine mere plastic containing the special occasion cock when it hankers to take a walk on the wild side. And I can recall a few times when those little plastic rings popped even for my more moderate sized work-a-day wonder.

That’s why we upgraded to the stainless steel variety, with the unhinged anchor ring made to my personal measurements. It’s a little harder to get on, but once on, it ain’t going no where, to paraphrase Bob Dylan.

No more “cage failures” for me. Mistress knows that once I am on lock-down, nothing will come loose until she turns the key. Although it can create a problem at airport security or in federal courthouses.

But I was wondering where M was able to get a cage  suitable for his particular appendage.

“Ask him if he had to buy it at an agricultural supply store, Mistress?”

I am not sure either one of them appreciated my humor.

Yesterday, Mistress did stop by for worship after lunch. And when I had finished with my devotions, I took a picture of her: legs spread, tights pealed off, one boot thrown aside, a very smug and satisfied look on her face.

I texted it off to M with the little note “get well soon.”  But as a bad sign of his continued malaise, we heard nothing back. It seems he spent the day in bed again yesterday, on the cruel, confusing edge of consciousness.Sort of like his hero, Dr. Thompson, after a long night in Vegas, but without the preceding fun.

“He does seem pretty sickly, Slave… I’m worried about him.”

So keep those good wishes  and remedies coming. UCTMW does not want to incur the expense of a MediVac unit.

Mistress did have one problem yesterday   She has an ugly allergy to shell fish. And when she came by my office after lunch she mentioned some mix-up with her meal.

“I think they served me lobster bisque, when I ordered the squash soup.”

I expressed some disbelief. To me, it would be obvious: the taste of lobster bisque would be quite different than squash. The alarms would have gone off immediately.

Mistress was not amused at my impertinence, which she reminded me of on our bike ride at the end of the day, with an explanation.

“Slave…. My sense of taste and smell are somewhat compromised….if it looked like squash, and it did, well its quite likely I would not notice.”

It’s something she had never mentioned before: A taste and smell disability of sorts.

But it got my nasty mind going, as we pumped up a rather long hill.

“So in a dark room, if someone fed you a cock, you could not tell if it was mine or someone else’s based on taste or odor?”

“Maybe not Slave…. One cock might be just as tasty as another ….”

Hmmm. If variety is the spice of life, what happens if your taste buds can’t discern the spices.  I guess you accept what you are offered and do your best.

“It’s sort of like that episode of Californication, when David Duchovney went down on one woman, thinking it was his wife, but,  it turned out otherwise.”

“I recall she enjoyed it though….”

And I suspect Mistress would too.

Later last evening, as I was savoring the tastes of Mistress from my proper position between her legs, I tried to focus her the tastes and smells. I suspect that I could tell the difference if offered an alternative morsel.

And I wondered if she would notice if it was another man (or woman) who was feasting on her. (Under those circumstances the quirks of an individual’s techniques and skills should make a difference. At least I like to think so.

But, once again, I suppose that’s why I am the Slave and she is the Mistress.

Dissipation

First, for those of you who did not come back and read the comments to yesterday’s blog, take a few moments….

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.

Valentine's Eve Switch

After three days in the cage, and a good healthy ass attack on me Saturday, my inner sub was in full bloom by Sunday morning. I considered abandoning my switch privileges.  It’s not easy to go from devoted Slave to semi-sadistic master, even for an hour or so under such conditions.

But then I realized that Mistress might feel let down. Abandoned. And with the WC apparently out of commission, I figured it was time to suck and up and step to the plate ….

Or did I mean throw the hail mary pass?

It’s hard to choose a lame sports clichés when in the no man’s land between seasons.

In any event, Mistress had slept in her black tights…. The one’s she had worn on our Saturday night V-Day celebration.  I surely liked my naked body rubbing up against them during the night. And I thought they’d look lovely in some photos to share with you.

After a bit if the typical grousing …. “but Slave… it’s so cold…..”… Mistress found herself in a rather tight spread eagle. It was amusing to watch her try to scratch her nose.

After snapping a few photos of her sad plight, I experimented with the feather kept in my bedside drawer for such occasions.  AS you might expect, the tip of the feather was not quite as effective through the fabric of her tights…. But it certainly ahd her squirming when applied along the soft skin of her arms and the tips of those delicious nipples.

I lay down next to her for a while…. Kissing…. Sucking on those lovely nipples … Pressing my aroused cock against the junction of her thighs, until she was squirming delightfully.

“Have you unpacked the power tool, Mistress?”

“Yes, Slave…. It’s back under the bed.”

Glad to know she had not forgotten in back in her hotel in the Big Apple. What a distraction that would have been for the cleaning staff.

I reached for it, made sure it was at the ready, and I could tell Mistress was more than eager for its speedy application. But I had to break the bad news that came with the good.

“You didn’t think you were going to get off this easy, did you Mistress…. I mean after leaving my poor cock in that cage while you were out of town?”

This is my weekly opportunity to “balance the scales” , and they were way out of whack, don’t you think?

I showed her the two cloths pins that I had placed on the table, just out of sight.

“Oh, no …. I don’t think I can handle that today, Slave….”

“Oh, really …. Why’s that Mistress.”

By now I was sucking on her little rosy buds …. They were popped out and ready to be “pegged”.

“You only have to bear this agony untilt aht first cum, Mistress…. “

I popped one on….

“Ohh God…. That hurts….”

Then the other….

“I don’t know why, but they hurt much worse today Slave…. I’m not sure I can bear it….”

“I have great confidence in you, Mistress….”

The power tool was on now, and as I pressed it home, Mistress seemed to overcome that initial trepidation.

Her eyes were tightly shut, as she focused on the pleasure to distract herself from the “horror” of the two pins.

Her hips were rising off the bed, legs straining at the fabric I had used to lash her legs to the bed. 

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a video of this?

Soon she had driven herself to the ultimate distraction.

“May I come now Slave….”

“Of course you may, Mistress…”

And as she abandoned all constraint, grabbing her first cum of the day, I popped off the two pegs in quick succession.

“Owww…. Ohhhhh…. God that hurts….”

That complicated mix of satisfaction and agony is always a wonder to behold, muddling Mistress’s mind no doubt….it would be interesting to see how she might be trained to enjoy them both in the hands of someone not constrained to an hour or two a week.  A little full emersion might do her good.

What do you think, WC?

It was interesting to see how Mistress responded to the power tool while still in those tights…. It took her a little more to reach the next two orgasms, which came unadulterated with the conflicting agony of the pins’ sudden removal.

And when she seemed to have enough, I untied her legs, peeled off the now sticky tights, and took my own pleasure.

Though I straddled her at first, feeding her my cock to make sure it was fully primed for a good fucking.

She was a tasty morsel for me, her arms still spread and bound as I plunged in and took my pleasure from her.

Once satisfied I did feel a little remorse, though.  In my single-minded focus had I ignored Mistress’s own satisfaction as I fucked her.  I wasn’t sure at this point.

So I reached for the Hitachi once more.

“What are you doing, Slave….”

“Since it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, I thought I’d give you one more to grow on Mistress.”

Oops. Am I mixing my clichés again?

But she didn’t argue with me. In fact, as I applied the churning bulb to a now naked and well fucked cunt she responded rather sluttily…. Coming in what seemed like a matter of seconds.

And my recently liberated cock felt that justice had been done.

My Funny Valentine

It certainly was very nice to have Mistress back yesterday. And to be out of that infernal cage.

Not that it was all that annoying … or painful. Just a constant reminder that Slave was…. Well … a Slave. And I suppose I signed up for that duty when I signed the contract, didn’t I?

There was still a good deal of pent up demand percolating down there after (almost) three days of abstinence, so our morning sex, and the resulting orgasm that I was permitted was particularly … explosive.

We had no pressing engagements, so afterwards we both drifted back to sleep for a while, Mistress still catching up from that long and frustrating day on Friday, stuck at LGA.

Then I was off for some play time with my cute grandson. When he was returned at nap time, Mistress and Slave had a nice bracing bike ride here in the neighborhood, as the temperature finally climbed into the 40’s.

Then… I know this comes as a big surprise …. It was back to bed. Mistress had told me what was in store earlier in the day.

“You were such a good Slave this week, I’m going to fuck you in the ass as a reward.”

Funny. I do see it as a reward now.

She reminded me that her first deployment of the strap-on was on Valentine’s Day two years ago. It was before we conceived of the contract, or blogging about it… we had only been back together full time here in River City for about 6 weeks.

But our exploration of putting Mistress in more of a “management” position when it came to our sex lives had been percolating for 6 months or so.

It’s hard to recall how and when the notion of her taking me this way first came up…. No doubt Mistress can fill in the blanks…. She has a very good memory for such things. But as I recall it, her interest was piqued by perusing one of those kinky “Stockroom” catalogs that came in the mail.

“Don’t you think that would make a good Valentine’s Day present?”

Gulp. But I got the picture. And I was enjoying giving Mistress rope….

We planned to make a night of it. We packed a picnic. And Mistress packed some very sexy lingerie … stockings, garter belt and all. The venue was our charming little city home (It’s rented out now), which still had a bed and some other basic furnishings. It made a nice little hideaway from the eyes and ears of our teens.

When the ceremonial loss of my back door virginity was completed, the nature of our relationship shifted a bit more in the direction where we find ourselves today.

Flashing forward, back in our bedroom, on a Saturday afternoon..

“Get out my supplies, Slave….”

Once her harness was buckled into place, Mistress slid into bed next to me, embarking on some extended “make out” time. The kissing and her roving fingers made sure that my newly liberated cock was fully activated before the main course.

“Time to get into position, Slave …. No spanking today, since you’ve been so good this week.”

Appreciative, I rolled over for her, sliding a pillow under my hips to make the anle just right for her.

And soon she was sliding firmly into me, gently at first, then with considerable gusto. It’s an experience that still is hard to describe. But there is nothing like the feeling of my commanding Mistress filling me that way, and absorbing her own spasms as she comes with abandon as she pumps into me.

By the time she was done with me, her Slave was in a zone. I felt her pull out, heard her shed the harness. And pulled myself off the bed when she said “go insert your device Slave….”.

Then I was allowed to take her in the conventional way, making sure she had at least one more orgasm before I came with her permission.

“I think you liked that, Slave…..”

No doubt.

We dozed a bit, before dressing for our dinner date.

This was our little V Day celebration. Dinner at a classy restaurant, one of our favorite venues, with sweeping views of the sparking lights of River City.

There’s been some discussion on the blogs this week about the significance of Valentine’s Day. And I agree it’s a bit of a commercial scam. But we’ve always used it as a good excuse for some private time to remind ourselves of the importance of our relationship. For us it comes about 6 months before and after our anniversary in July…(now contract renewal day too). So we spent the evening, over dinner, talking about where we’ve been, how far we’ve come and our plans for the future, when the nest here is empty.

A good chance to take stock in a romantic room, with good wine and food.

And don’t think we did not cover you too, WC.

Mistress reported some unusual silence yesterday from our branch office out West.

“He spent the day in bed, he says…. Maybe the flu?”

“Let’s hope it’s not complications from that frozen cock, Mistress.”

Readers, please send your thoughts and prayers to our WC in his hour of suffering. Let’s hope he recovers soon. We miss his contributions here, just as Mistress misses his seductive and commanding voice.

But when desert was finished, and as we were making the transition from restaurant to the bar next door, Mistress got a text.

“M wants to know if I can talk for a minute, slave. Do you mind?”

“Of course not, Mistress.”

As Mistress chatted a bit, I sat on a comfy leather couch, sipping my Jamieson and watching the diverse crowd –ranging from elderly blue hairs to lesbian elected officials – swaying on the dance floor to a jazz combo and a smooth singer channeling Sinatra.

Lovely.

And soon Mistress was returning to me. I enjoyed watching her enter the room, elegant in a subtly colorful multilayered dress, her black boots and tights, turning heads as she approached me. I think the ancient couple next to us were stunned that this sexy lady elected to sit next to the older guy with the missing hair.



I handed her an Amaretto, the soft lights turning the concoction a shimmering gold.

“So how is he, Mistress….”

“Still under the weather, Slave. I told him about fucking you in the ass today. That seemed to get him going….”

“I’m sure he’d enjoy that, Mistress…. But maybe you’d need a bigger faux cock for him, if only to keep things in scale….”

We enjoyed cuddling against one another, ogling the  crowd, and then slid onto the dance floor for the moon songs….you know…”Fly Me to ….” And “How High….” (There are some links to share the mood).


And before heading home for the evening, we had the chance to sway and hold one another close as the singer crooned “My Funny Valentine”.

Once again, I was with the most beautiful woman in the room. And I was in (almost) full agreement with the lyrics, particularly this part:

“Don’t change a hair for me.

Not if you care for me.

Stay little Valentine, Stay.

Each Day is Valentine’s Day.”

I am a very lucky Slave to have such a lovely Valentine.

But just for the record, her looks are hardly laughable, and her figure is no less than Greek.