Dispatch from the City on the Lake

The UCTMW mobile unit headed north yesterday, surly teens on board, for a little mid-winter get-away to what soon will be Rahm-Town.  Slave has some business meetings today and tomorrow. And the Women folk will be visiting a college campus and enjoying the amenities of this grand town.

The good part is that the teens are staying at a relative’s apartment, leaving Molly and Mick to this nice hotel room, the muted sound of the L ten floors below providing the background music.  So if our entries are a little on the pithy side this weekend, it’s because Mistress seems so lonely in that big comfy king sized bed just behind me.

I know all are expecting an update on the sad plight of our Western Correspondent, who remains in hospital, though he claims he is going to bust loose today.

In the morning, I sent a text to him expressing the good wishes of Suzanne and the Sub-sisters. His grogged out response was somewhere between gibberish and “thanks for the good words.”  And as we drove north yesterday afternoon, Mistress was receiving some rather disjointed messages from him – probably fit in between tours conducted for the nursing staff to share surreptitious viewings of his 8^th wonder of the world.

“I’m not sure why, but they keep giving me sponge baths…” seemed to be one of his messages, if you could translate from the ham fingered drug induced ramblings. We can suspect exactly why, M.

Mistress told me she responded, “wish I was there to administer a very thorough sponge bath….”

At one point Mistress held up her I-phone to show me a photo he sent via text message of an arm with various bandages and tubes running in and out.  Yuck. I hate hospitals. I cringe at the thought of all those invasive devices.

Of course we got a few more messages as we drove north. Donna shared some clever get-well cards, for us to pass onto M. I’ve posted one of them here.  And she and Suzanne have already sent us some images to use for “Boot Week”.  Please keep that in mind. We will kick things off on Monday.

By the time we checked into our hotel room, it was around 8 pm here, and Mistress was anxious to hear M’s voice. AS I checked some work emails, Mistress was finally able to get through on the hospital phone next to his bed. 

They chatted with animation, suggesting that M must be recovering slowly but surely. And  here’s the cutest thing: Because M is computer-less in his little hospital room, he is missing the chance to read this and the other blogs he follows. So Mistress did some reading to him, like she was at bedside. She read all of your clever and puckish comments from yesterday, which I am sure warmed M’s little heart and larger cock. Then she read our whole blog, including Donna’s dispatch about their trip to the shoe store.

And Mistress summarized with her own lascivious commentary some of the other blogs, with particular emphasis on the cunning surprise Jay and Tammy threw for Suzanne on Valentine’s night.  I suspect that one did more than warm his heart!

Listening to how this talk clearly cheered our WC in his hour of need made me all the more aware how our blogs can bring some cheer and light (and maybe a little more) to those of you who follow. One more reason to get up early in the am for these little home work assignments.

After their call, Mistress and I adjourned to the hip if noisy hotel bar for a drink and some light repast. It had been a long day and we knew the large cozy bed awaited. But as we sipped our beverages and eyed the animated bar crowd – all trying a little too hard to pretend they were in the Big Apple rather than the 2^nd City – we talked about our fallen comrade.

“I hope it’s not too weird listening to me talk to him, Slave…”

“Not at all Mistress. I’m certainly used to it. And I think of him as my good friend too. Not the kind with benefits, of course…. That’s your privilege.”

And it’s true. Mistress has been talking to M for about a year now. He’s a regular and positive part of her life. It’s no wonder she was very worried about him these last few days.  Let’s hope he follows Doctor’s orders and is up and back in action soon.

Soon Mistress and Slave were headed back to our hotel room. And you can imagine what developed next.

Mistress had a lacy thong on and under the covers, I proceeded to slide it aside as I devoured her, squeezing a seemingly satisfying starter cum from those fragrant folds. It had been what …. 13 hours.

 I was hungry for her.

Then Mistress was up, next to me.

“Let me suck it slave….”

And she did. With a teasing fervor, combining mouth and those lovely well manicured fingers until her Slave was writhing on the bed, begging to fuck her.

“Why Slave…. What’s the rush..  Maybe I should make you come this way….”

“Arghhh…. But you don’t want to waste a good hard cock, do you Mistress…..”

“Excellent point, Slave…..”

And with that she released her grip, lay back, and gave me clearance.  And I leapt at the opportunity.

It was an excellent way to end our day here along the lakeshore

HNT / Hot Shoes and Some Angst

We’ve been getting some wonderful correspondence from Donna, our Southern Correspondent, who has been picking up the slack for our WC during his period of infirmity…. More on that later…..

As you may recall from some earlier entries here, Donna has some physical challenges, but she and her husband have risen to the occasion by keeping a high kink factor going in their marriage, as demonstrated by their contribution to “The Asses of UCTMW” a few weeks back. (Well, Donna’s contribution. We are still waiting for Bill’s show and tell).

They are great roll models for us here at UCTMW.

Yesterday we got this great dispatch from Donna, which we had to share, along with the wonderful photo:


“I would love for us to get together sometime and have a chance to get to know each other, share a drink and dinner, visit and laugh. Until then, I enjoy being able to share some of wonderful things that happen in life.

My family teases me about boots all the time. It is a habit of mine to send my sister and daughter-in law pictures of shoes and boots, especially boots, that I think they should buy based on what I would like to wear. When our son and daughter-in-law were married I had to wait until the wedding to see her bridal dress but, as a gift that said she knew me well, she showed me her wedding shoes weeks earlier. And they really were spectacular! She is about 4'11" and tries to keep her weight up to 85-90 pounds! Our son is 6'4" and a very muscular 240 pounds. She said she didn't want the wedding photos to look as though he was marrying a midget, so she hunted until she found just the right thing, lace ankle boots with very high heels. Gorgeous! Do you want to guess which spouse rules the roost in that family? lol

But, back to the point of the email, I love Molly’s boots. I mean I love that wonderful assortment of gorgeous boots. The pictures with them on the dashboard of your vehicle are great, and I especially love those very hot - over Mick's back- view of them. I think maybe my husband may have become a bit tired of hearing me talk about them.

Yesterday we were out and about when Bill surprised me by pulling into the parking lot of a store, saying we were there to try on some shoes. That was all he said. He got my chair out of the back, rolled me in, and I continued to think we were going to be looking for shoes for him. No! He wanted me to be able to try on some sexy boots and take some pictures I could have. How amazing is that? The boots didn't work out. One foot is fused so it wouldn't make the necessary bend to get into the boots and the other foot just isn't cooperative. Not fazed in the least, he rolled me around to choose the most outrageous "come hither" shoes in the store, picked out boxes of them - several sizes too large so the foot would slide along the top rather than be pressed to the bottom. He knelt like Cinderella's balding and bearded Prince Charming, placed a shoe on my foot and took a picture with his cell phone. And then did it again. Thirty one years of marriage, friends since we were nine years old, and he can still surprise me and give me goose-bumps.

Hooray for romance!

Donna”

Considering that Donna and Bill seem entertained by Molly’s extensive boot collection, we are thinking next week has to be “Boot Week” here at UCTMW…. Maybe we can get some of our readers (or other bloggers) to join in the fun by sending or posting some kinky boot shots to share?

We will be thinking of some clever shots to share!

Now back to our regular programming….

Here at the UCTMW World HQ there was a certain degree of angst yesterday.

As we have reported with what turns out to be way too much tongue-in-cheek (or wherever), our Western Correspondent has been under the weather, and for a change, we had become convinced that he was not simply featherbedding to jack up the value of his worker’s comp claim.

But yesterday …. Well, he just fell off the radar completely.

Mistress and he are usually in pretty regular contact during the work day. And when she did not hear from him, she texted …. but no replies. There were some calls from his line at some point, but again, when Molly called …. No reply.

And no one picked up at his office either, when her Slave attempted to see if there was a problem.

As we took our end of the day bike ride in beautiful 60 degree weather here, we talked through various scenarios, none of which were pretty.

Molly and M have grown very close over the last year. I know she was troubled about what this silence meant. And I was trying to be supportive, spinning the situation to help her retain her optimism.

We even made a date to talk it over last evening with our friend Aisha, who we figured could have some professional insights.

Then, after dinner, Mistress saw another call had come to her phone from M. She rang him back ---- he finally answered.

M is in the hospital.

He clearly was very grogged up, presumably on pain killers or sedatives. Fortunately he retained his cell phone and could squeeze in a call, despite all those signs about “no electronic devices”.

I won’t go into the details…. can’t violate our WC’s HIIPA rights! But M claims he will be sprung loose today. Here we are hoping they keep him under close watch for another day or two to make sure he is fully functioning.

(My sense from the sounds of Mistress’s giggling voice, upstairs as I compose this at the kitchen counter, is that M may already be on the mend.)

And at the least, before his discharge, the nursing staff should be allowed to conduct some experiments with the special equipment he brings to the gurney. I mean, shouldn’t there be some perks in the stressful job of restoring our WC to robust health?

Get better fast, you big lug!!!!

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.