Mistress's grooming Tutorial.... and our final "Boot Week" edition

On Saturday morning, we were lounging in bed, sipping the lattes I had whipped up, and mustering the strength for some muy caliente morning sex before sliding into our ski wear. Mistress noted that several of our readers had recently posted descriptions of their personal “down under” grooming techniques.

“Maybe I should give my perspective on this Slave.”

“You should, Mistress.”

I’m always looking for additional content here at UCTMW. So, before I began my ritual morning worship, Mistress asked me to pass the laptop, and this is what she wrote for you:

“So, it has been one-year since I have gone to the hairless pussy thing. Frankly, I had never thought about it much. Except for the fact that I have a very full head of hair, I am not a hairy person.

You may recall that a little over a year ago I briefly saw a guy (aka, the Starter Dom). He requested that I go hairless. Mick endeavored to shave me and kind of did a marginal job. WC recommended a wax…so I went for it…full wax …. and have not looked back.

Have noted that both SFP and Aisha have written about their techniques for  hair removal. Sp in their spirit, I am throwing in my now “expert” experiences after one year. Understand that when I do something, I do it all the way. So for Molly Collins, I like it smooth daily without one hair to view.

Molly’s tips:

1)    Waxing once for starters is great. I have no patience for partial regrowth to then go wax again. Those short stubby hairs are ugly and itch.

2)    I shave each day. This involves all parts every day.

3)    SFP, I do not use a mirror. I feel my way.

4)    I do know that I have to catch the strays while moisturizing out of the shower.

5)    Mick LOVES me bare. He is a happy man.

Hard to understand why I kept hair there for so long. 

Love

Molly

Yes, this Slave is a happy man. And I think I do a better job with my worship duties when I have a “clean slate” to work on.

Yesterday the sun was out for our endeavors on the slopes. We were up and out early, and enjoyed our time alone on the mountain. I shouldn’t whine about our surly teens, but there is something exhilarating about a day on the trails without hearing the endless litany of complaints, as in, “this is boring”, “I’m cold”, “my feet are sore”, yadda yadda.

For a change it was just Molly and Mick, under bright skies, with relatively empty trails winding before us. 

Marvelous.

And when we hit our quota of runs for the day, there is nothing better than returning to a quiet little hideaway, with no one to raise a surly eyebrow as we retreat to our Chambers, for a little “rest”.

The difference yesterday was that Mistress had an opportunity to reconnect with our WC for a little de-briefing.

It had been about two weeks since they had a chance for more than a short conversation.  So there was plenty of pent up demand at both ends of this particular conference call.

And when, after our nap, the text message chime went off, and Mistress mentioned that M wanted her to call, like a good Slave, I found an excuse to make myself scarce.

“Maybe I will go check the post office box, Mistress.”

Mistress protested that I need not slide out of the warm bed, but I had a sense that she was grateful for the privacy.

And sure enough, not long after I climbed into the car for the short drive to our little post office, I got a text from Mistress.  “date with WC, Slave. Then sex with you afterward.”

I smiled to myself. I was happy to be her closing act of the afternoon.

When I got home about 15 minutes later, I brewed another coffee, and sat down at my laptop to take care of some work emails. But I would be less than truthful if I did not note my amusement over the little wanton moans and whimpers that were emerging from the closed door of our bedroom.

This is a cozy house.  But like a good slave, I turned on the radio to give Mistress a bit more privacy. 

A bit later, I was paged.

“Ready for you now, Slave.”

And she was, all warm and toasty, and certainly very damp from her exertions.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Just two, Slave….”

 She had that smug little contented smile on her face. If there had only been two, they certainly ahd been good ones.

And I’m pretty sure she had a couple more before I was done with her.  And I was grateful to M for providing the foreplay on this particular afternoon.  It’s nice to have him back in the rotation. And I kind of enjoy my role as the “Closer”.

While my “pitch count” maybe somewhat little limited, it should help keep me preserve my “cock strength” and lengthen my career. I could become the Mariano Rivera of sex bloggers this way.

(My apologies to readers not into silly baseball clichés, but the season is almost upon us.)

As we rested a bit afterwards, I had to ask another question.

“Did M get off too, Mistress….”

“Yes, Slave. He said it’s only the second time since he got out of the hospital.”

Wow. This from Mr. Three-a-day. If not more.

“Wow…. He really was in a bad way. But it’s good to hear he is on the mend.”

“He did say that one nurse was always interested in helping him when it was time to pee….”

“See… I knew  the special occasion cock would get some special attention when he was laid up.”

After we went out to a charming historic inn for some live music, performed by a musician with whom we have become close over the years. And mistress was required to fend off some 20 something skier who apparently was out looking for cougar action.

Once again, as I was getting us drinks, Mistress found herself with this “stallion” plopping down next to her, wanting to know if a man was sharing the love seat with her. And if, not, well, why not him?

She shooed this one away.  Not nearly as interesting as Phillipe.

“Too young and too boring, Slave.”

The WC and Mistress were in touch my text through the evening, and had another chance to talk as I lay in bed next to her, reading a book. But when I offered her a little more worship, she demurred.

“I’m good, Slave….”

Yes I do think she had her not inconsiderable appetites  sated yesterday.

Sooo…. Boot week is over today, but I thought we would share a few more shots… call this the "Men of UCTMW" Boot Special.

First, a shot of Bill, our Director of Security, International.  I’m wondering if there is a place in those boots to hide a small but deadly knife.

And  then there is your humble Executive Editor, fresh from yellowing the lingering snow.

As for this last shot, I apologize for the blurry resolution. Of course, we had asked our Western Correspondent to submit  an appropriate image for this week’s theme, but, surprise, surprise, he missed his deadline.

Fortunately, we did receive an updated report this week from the PI we had deployed out west to debunk the WC’s bogus Worker’s Comp claim arising from the infamous “frozen cock” incident.

As you may recall, he claimed a lengthy period of recuperation was required. As you can see from this photo, taken surreptitiously, from our investigator’s belt buckle cam, M’s alleged “recuperation” must have included some time at a ski resort. But at least he kept his boots on.

Boot Scooting to a Latin Beat

Today’s title was going to be “Shaking off the Rust” – in reference not only to our day on the mountain, enjoying the snow that had fallen since our last ski day here on New Year’s Eve, but also to our getting back in a lovely and frisky sexual groove after a few hectic weeks back in River City.

But just like in the real world of big boy journalism, events some times get in the way. No, there were not regime change riots here in this cute little town on the edge of the Sangre de Christo mountains. But we did have a fun evening and met a philosopher / construction worker / grandfather called Phillipe ( we can call him Phil) who we need to share with you.

But before we get to him, how about a brief summary of our day.

Still adjusting to the time shift, I was up very early, working on my homework, and Mistress was up surprisingly early too. So as the sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains I found myself under the sheets, sliding Mistress’s lovely black undies aside to lavish her with attention as she read the blog.

But when she put the computer aside, she was no longer interested in my work-a-day mouth.

“I need the power tool this morning, Slave….”

“You mean you don’t just want me to fuck you?”

I was standing up as I said this, and it quickly became apparent that I was more than ready to provide that service too.

“Oh my, Slave…. I see you are prepared to deliver, but my cock will just have to wait.”

And wait it did, as I pulled our power tool out for her, untangled the extension cord as she waited impatiently, and then put it to good use.

She seemed very pleased with my efforts in guiding it home, having one of those moaning and writhing cums it induces so efficiently.

Only then was I allowed to deploy my less powerful but very needy personal tool. The wait was definitely worth it.

Soon we were up, I fixed Mistress some scrambled eggs to go with one of those chocolate muffins, and we headed up the mountain.

The snow was firm and fun, and I had a chance to loosen (or is it tighten?) up those mogul muscles by the end of the day. And of course there was some time for sitting by a fire to warm the toes and fingers, providing yet another boot shot.

Back home by mid-afternoon there was what we now think of as the best time of a ski day – Mistress took a warm bath, I joined her in the shower, then we both slid into bed for a nap with plans for the evening but no schedule set.

We snoozed a while, woke around 5:30, and then Mistress got a text from our WC. He had some time to talk on his drive home, and Mistress was eager to catch up with him.

Since his trip to the hospital last week, they’ve not been in their normal communications groove. I know she misses that voice, so I excused myself to the other room and watched the evening news as they chatted a while.

But about 20 minutes later, I got my page.

“Why don’t you get in here and fuck me now, Slave.”

I was happy to follow her orders.

Now, let’s flash forward to our evening. We did dinner at a local pizza joint. I shared Mistress’s spelt crust pie with goat cheese and mushrooms. (Yeah, I know, not very macho, but we all know who wears the pants in this family).

Then we headed just down the road to the local radio station, that has now tricked out it’s studio with a full bar, restaurant, and performance space.

Very clever. Very cool, with a crowd that was diverse in any which way you can think, setting aside former defense secretaries. Oldsters, kids, same sex couples, etc.

The live music was by a Cuban band from the state’s big city. Acoustic instruments, seductive latin beat. I’m putting a link here to the band’s web site so you can hear for yourself. In the upper left hand corner are some audio links.Savor

We found a small table in the back, with a half empty bud light sitting on it. It seemed abandoned, so Mistress sat as I sauntered over to the bar for drinks. White wine for Mistress. Bushmill’s on the rocks for her devoted Slave.

When I got back to “our” table, I found Mistress chatting animatedly with a guy who turned out to be Phillipe.

(Later Mistress said that when he came back from the dance floor for his beer, she said “I hope you don’t mind if we sat here, he responded ‘We? I only see one very sexy lady here.”)

He seemed about my age (turned out to be a bit younger), full head of white hair, robust build, un-tucked turquoise shirt, opened to just navel north, brown leather “village people” vest completing the look.

Phil was here to dance with the lovely ladies who come to such places in this town. There’s a local song that goes with that too.The Girl Just Loves to Dance.

And in between his trips to the dance floor as the night progressed he shared a bit of his history and wisdom, as well as some music from his harp – oh yeah, Phil plays a mean blues harp too, has played with Loggins and Messina before they were… errr…. Loggins and Messina. But that’s another story.

Phil’s a single dad. Son is 27. Grew up in East LA. The son is in the music business. Just signed his band with a big label.

"I raised him on Brian Adams".

Now there's a name I hadn't heard in some time. But maybe it took.

The son’s mom died of a drug OD when the kid was 2. That’s when Phil took over.

And the son has returned the favor, sort of, by giving Phil 6 grandkids.

“Six…. Wow…. He’s a busy man,” I say.

“Yeah, with six different mothers. He hasn’t married any of them. I keep telling him…. Wear the helmet…. But does he listen to me?”

Apparently not.  Phil is concerned that if the son does make it big, there will be a whole lot of women looking for child support.

Phil has had a busy life. Has run restaurants, sold insurance, but he’s settled here in this magical town for the last 5 years, working construction.

With his unsubtle prompting, (“get with the program white boy”), Phil soon had Molly and Mick out on the dance floor too, swaying to “Besame Mucho”. But we certainly did not have Phil’s liquid moves as he took the hand of several woman, most much younger than him, and wepet them off their feet.

Between dances, we adjourned to our table and listened to Phil’s life story.

I wish I had a court reporter to share some of Phil’s wit and wisdom. But at the core of it all had something to do with the four keys to making a woman happy, which, as they flowed out in his colorful vernacular, had the ring of truth earned through a life of experience.

I’m not sure I can remember them all, so Molly may have to add some detail:

1. Hostess with the Most-iss. When your woman says she wants to entertain, let her do it the way she wants, and only ask “how can I help”.
2. Disciplinarian- when your wife tells the kids “just wait until your father comes home”, you better back her up, and be the enforcer she needs you to be. Otherwise she will be out looking for a real man to help her.
3. Holding time – sometimes your woman just needs to be held, comforted, cozied. Don’t ask questions, just do it.
4. Lady / Whore. Your woman wants to be treated like a lady in front of others, but like a whore in the bedroom. If she gets dressed up for a night on the town, the last thing you want to do is berate her by asking “who the hell are you dressing up to impress?” It’s you, idiot.

Of course, this Slave had no problem saying, “Molly would never get that cross-examination from me”, on this last point.

Simple rules, but maybe we all make our lives way too complicated.

Phil kept saying he had to go. He was planning on playing his harp with a local rock band at another bar up the street. But he lingered longer than he had planned, clearly charmed by the lovely Molly.

I gave him my card, in case he wanted to get in touch. Told him we were in the local phone book. He’s the type of guy you don’t meet in River City.

Or in the blog-o-sphere.

And he did a nice job of taking Molly’s hand and kissing it ever so softly before he finally took his leave.

Mistress admitted she was charmed too.

"He's a very intriguing man, Slave."

And we took one more spin around the dance floor before taking our own leave, into a night filled with beautiful stars.

Can you tell we like it here?

Dispatch from Our Undisclosed Location

Sun does a lot for our dispositions. Yesterday morning, you saw that gray, River City sky through our windscreen. Today, check out the bright azure high desert sky as we drove from the airport north to our little hideaway yesterday afternoon.

Things had been chaotic at work for both of us this week. I was up late working Wednesday night, so by the time I got to bed, both of us were pretty weary and passed on our normal bed time activities. And we were out to the airport by 5:50 am, so no morning sex either.

I know, we are not holding up our end of the sex blogger bargain.  But bear with us….

The sunny 3 hour drive, a stop for a late lunch / early dinner at a favorite place along the way, and monitoring the developments back at the World HQ by way of comment / banter from our Western Correspondent, Senior Correspondent and wily Production Assistant got us into a lighter and more relaxed  mood.

It’s reassuring to know that UCTMW is now beginning to write itself. I can just toss out a few deviant themes or comments, and our creative staff can riff on them for hours, taking them in all sorts of crazy directions. Who would have expected Dick Cheney to make a cameo appearance. And I am hoping the unlucky Guido was an independent contractor, so I don’t have to worry about his worker’s comp claims too.

In fact, Bill played such an imaginative role in yesterday’s hijinks that he is hereby designated Director of Security for UCTMW, Worldwide.

Donna, I hope this does not go to his head, and  he starts practicing his water boarding techniques on you.

There was a quick stop at the local organic market for provisions – somehow chocolate gluten free muffins made it into the cart – and by 4:30 we were in our drive, those beautiful mountains behind us, snow covered and lit by that glorious “magic hour” sun.

Ahhhh. 

Instant blood pressure de-escalation.

There was not much to unpack, and some kinky catching up to do. But first, Mistress arranged a photo shoot for her boots, to give Donna a little more boot envy.

Of course I have some boots here too.  One thing that I find appealing about the privacy here is that when I have a hankering  to take a leak, it’s quite convenient and oh so green for me to step outside to take care of business. Mistress caught me at one of those moments, shortly before one of our beautiful lipstick sunsets. 

As Frank Zappa once sung...."watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow."

But once the photography was done, it was time to slip between the sheets. Mistress did her post for you, and I napped a bit. It had been a long day. I heard some little text message chimes from Mistress’s I – phone as I drifted off.

“The WC Slave…. I think he’s concerned that I might actually go down to the Cantina for some action…. He says I should just break out the Hitachi.”

M does keep a close tabs on Mistress.

After a suitable rest,  and with a pink twilight shining through our bedroom window, I was finally ready for action. Fortunately, Mistress had yet to have her demand satisfied by an alternative provider.

“Are you finally ready to put your cock where your mouth is, Slave.”

“Absolutely.”

In fact I was ready to put both my mouth and my cock where they can serve their highest and best use.

“Well, go put in your device (my handy dandy aneros), I need a particularly hard cock to ride today, Slave….”

I slid out of bed, shed my shirt, and lubed up the little fellow, sliding it home. It has a certain immediate effect.

In bed, I offered to worship Mistress, and she was agreeable. And she made me work her good and long, with lips tongue and fingers before she crashed up against a nice little starter cum.

My preparatory  work done, I slid up next to her. She felt my cock. It was in an anticipatory stage, needed a bit more attention. But Mistress was not going to accommodate.

“Make it harder for me Slave….”

I did not hesitate, using my fingers and the sensual stimulation her warm and writhing body provided to set about my task. It certainly helped when her nicely manicured fingers cupped my balls, gently taunting them with the tips of her nails.

And at some point she seemed to take over --- she does that as you might expect—until her soft grip on my cock had me a little too close to the edge. Suddenly, I  was quite aware that it had been almost 36 hours since our Wednesday morning action.

“Ahhh…. You may want to fuck me now, Mistress…. Or lose the chance.”

“That close, are we Slave?”

She laughed at my plight, then slid on top of me. She was definitely going to take me for that ride she promised.

And it was a memorable one. Mistress worked me long and hard, building her self up to an initial introductory explosion, with two more to follow , with increasing intensity, moaning her passion, before finally crashing down on me. Her cheeks were wet from her tears, remnants of the morning’s mascara application streaking her beautiful face.

Then I was allowed to take her from above. As horny as I was with the pent-up demand, the higher altitude here always requires me to pace myself a bit, so there was not fast and efficient come for me.  I worked it too, varying the pace, and Mistress seemed to fall voer the edge at least one more time before I hit my own wall.

“Mistress, may I come”, came roaring out of me, and, luckily, Mistress gave her immediate and very satisfying consent.

Then we rested a bit, perusing the blogs.  No place to go or time to be there. It doesn’t get better than that….

We were both reading Ashley and Me, touted earlier this week by ‘Nilla. Hilarious stuff. Though we wondered whether this was really a clever PR person actually engaged by Ashley Madison to pump up curiosity about their product.  Either way, it’s a fun and entertaining read.

I did have Mistress pose for one more fetching pose in her boots and sexy black panties. I figured the WC and Bill owed a bonus after all that extra effort yesterday.

Today we will be loading up our skis, looking forward to a day of sunshine and powder. 

We just hope the rest of the staff has a more  productive day than we will. Someone has to keep this media empire running while I keep the CEO happy in other ways.

From the Desk of Our CEO

Mick and I have just arrived for our offsite strategic meeting. The Mountains enable us to think clearly as we carve the path for the future of the enterprise. Some of you may not know know, but I am an organizational psychologist. As such, I often analyze the behavior of our workforce.

I have noted some troubling developments. There seems to be a hostile relationship that has developed between our southern and western correspondents. It is true that I am submissive to the WC, therefore he is always correct. While this  does demonstrate a lack of professionalism on my part, I simply cannot help myself. I have been seduced by the special nature of our relationship.

Having said that, I hold a tremendous amount of respect for the great writing put forth by both Bill and Donna. I especially am grateful that Bill has deemed me "hot." This is by far a more flattering descriptor than "smart," "powerful" or "important." These are the sorts of words that I live for.

In terms of Mick, while he is my submissive, he clearly seems to take charge, order around other employees and stir the pot. He does not seem to be able to control what has become erratic, but predictable behavior. I was heartened that our caretaker had left my riding crop on the bed -- Mick awaits his punishment.

As for me, it has been 24 hours since our last sex. Mick is tired at the moment. The WC has not been able to perform for close to ten days. I am thinking that the cantina up the street may be my next stop -- unless one of these two red-blooded American employees can rise to the occasion.

Love
Molly