"Subbing" for Mick this Morning ... Our Senior Correspondent

I know, I know, it’s a shock to see the Senior Southern Correspondent of UCTMW here this morning, but rest easy and let me reassure you right off the bat that Molly and Mick arrived home safely yesterday and are both perfectly fine. They just wanted to spend a few quiet moments this morning having a little sleep in and take a few extra moments to adjust to the time change.

Ha, ha, ha! Yes, gentle readers; I snorted my coffee on that one, too. Mick may be snuggled down in bed, but I think we all know what he is doing to Molly under those covers. And if that Hitachi Wand isn’t plugged in and ramped up to full power by 8AM, I’ll eat my hat. That Molly is one beautiful and lucky lady.

But moving on here, I am aware that you are accustomed to a hefty dose of mad passionate sex from UCTMW with your morning toast and jelly, but you’re going to have to pull up your big girl panties or plus size He-Man tighty whities and just wait a minute. Bill and I make mad passionate love, perhaps not on the same schedule as Molly and Mick, but we are Dom and sub and quite zealous and creative in our love making. Plus, we have the added advantage of our kids being out of the house which has led to some wonderful adventures in the kitchen, the living room, the den, the library, out on the deck, etc. But, before we delve into our sexual exploits, I think we might want to get to know one another a bit better. In my experience there is nothing like sharing heart-felt, real life stories to get acquainted, so I thought I might begin with a story about our home.

We live in a rather rustic log cabin in the mountains of North Carolina. There are other log cabins on the mountain, but we aren't sitting on top of each other like those homes in Molly and Mick’s neighborhood. In any case, we have a dear 85 year old neighbor, Daisy, who retired here about twenty years ago. She lives just up the mountain from us. Well, her son and family were visiting from New York last week during that early warm spell. Daisy had worked herself into a state trying to make sure everything would be just perfect for their visit. The last night of their visit was a beautiful evening and our windows were wide open. As I sat in our den reading, I could hear in the distance their soft conversation and an occasional bit of laughter as they had drinks out on Daisy’s deck. All of a sudden I heard my Bill yelling/bellowing from our living room, "Dammit Indy, don't kiss me, boy, I know where that tongue has been. You just came in here straight from licking your brother's ass again, didn’t you?" All sounds of conversation from Daisy's house stopped. I struggled for a while with whether I should call up to Daisy’s cabin and explain that Indy and his brother are two of our cats, or just leave it as an interesting story for her family to share about their trip to the backwoods of North Carolina. Want to guess which option I chose?

Oh, I have another great story about Bill. You may have noticed that Bill has a certain protective streak. I think most Doms do, but Bill is much better armed than most. A few years back, Bill wanted me to have some new lacy thong undies, so we went shopping in one of those huge mega-mall places. Now we tend to steer clear of malls ever since they started being so picky about carrying knives and such but on that day Bill agreed to leave his assortment of super sharp friends at home, which turned out to be a good thing. Just as he was pushing me out of Victoria’s Secret with my pink striped bag of beautiful new thongs, a monstrosity of a woman ran toward me at full steam. Looking for all the world like the evil sea demon dressed in black from that Little Mermaid movie, I kept praying she would veer off to the right or the left, but she didn’t. Instead, she came to a sliding stop right in front of my wheelchair, reached out and bopped me on the shoulder saying, “It’s lucky to touch a cripple!” Now Bill and I have had our fair share of run-ins with ignorance, but this was over the top and I was a tad bit sorry I had forced Bill to leave his sharp companions at home. Not to worry, without missing a beat, my hero, rolled my tires right on top of her piggy-toed sandals and said,”And it’s even luckier to roll over the toes of an idiot”. And my hero rolled the wheels back a touch and then forward again just to be sure he had been thorough, and then slowly pushed my chair on through the mall. I do love that man!

Well, now that I feel we know each other a bit better, I am ready for the sexual part of this program. Yesterday evening, just after dinner, Bill called me back to the bedroom. As I made my way down the hall I could smell my favorite incense burning and could see the flickering light of the candles reflected in the hall mirror. I rolled forward and there on our bed was my collar, the leather one with the ouchie nipple clips. Next, I saw the Liberator pillows positioned toward the edge of the mattress and the restraints for my wrists and ankles carefully laid out on either side.

Bill stripped off my jeans and shirt, tightened the collar around my neck and placed me on the bed, leaning me forward over the Liberators so my butt was up in the air. As he tightened the restraints around my wrists and ankles, I glanced to my left and saw his favorite strop, and beside it, my beloved Hitachi Wand. “Don’t think I forgot about those nipple clamps, sub, I’ll get back to those”, he said in his deep and sexy voice, “but tonight we’ll start with a warm-up.” And with that I felt his huge palm land on my left butt cheek.”Count, Donna!” he barked. “One, Sir…

Oh gosh, it appears I have far exceeded my word limit. I guess we’ll have to come back to this another time.

I know you join me in hoping that Molly and Mick have had a good, if not so very restful, sleep in this morning.

Your Sexy Senior Southern Correspondent,

Donna

Heading "Home"

It’s our last morning here in our undisclosed mountain retreat. And although the trip has been way too short, we packed a great deal of fun, sex, skiiing and re-connecting time into these five days.

We found this special place back in 2002. After several years of coming here with our children, settling into the quirky scene, making friends and enjoying the steep and challenging slopes, we picked our little house, on the edge of the mountains.

It’s furnished with furniture left behind by prior owners, or recycled from thrift shops, and objects de arte that reached out to us. And of course there are the family photos that show how our children have grown from the cute little ski munchkins of 10 or more years ago, to the foxy, if surly beauties of these last few years.

As Molly and Mick struggled through some darker times, and moved the family from the Midwest to Florida and back again, this house   has become in many ways our oldest and dearest home.

When we have lost a bit of our karma, or the spring in our steps, ( or my cock) we know they can be found here, just waiting inside the door, or out on our sun drenched patio.

Yesterday was a lovely day on our Mountain. The storm of the evening before had left about 5 inches of fresh and fluffy snow, but now the sky was that majestic blue, not a cloud in sight. And the slopes seemed all but deserted, with  kids and families back in school or to work. Sure, the powder hounds had come up, but most had migrated to the steeper back country stuff, opened at last,  for the folks who want to climb a bit higher to lay fresh tracks.

While we were both being hounded by demands from work on our PDAs, it was easy to get lost in the glory and solitude of a run down a sun splattered trail, bobbing through patches of untracked snow.

At home, we handled some nagging calls and emails, then settled into bed for a long and steamy session, with out any equipment other than our naked parts. I do recall how nicely Mistress bucked and moaned as I worshipped her sumptuous  shaven folds, all clean and fresh from our shower. When  it was my turn, she used that lovely mouth and the devious touch of her fingers to get me begging for the opportunity to fuck her.

And of course, she ultimately relented. 

Mick is a lucky man.

Afterwards, I slapped together an apple crisp that we took over to some friends’ house for a little dinner party. He is a local musician (we heard him play Saturday and Sunday evenings at different venues), and she works at a local gallery. They both moved here from more urban environs, but now live to ski and for his music. They raised two wild and crazy sons here, in a simple house with drop dead views, next to the estate of a very famous movie queen. 

We shared funny stories, and a few bottles of wine, and they cooked us a great meal.

They recently celebrated their 27^th Anniversary. And Molly shared that we had been “together” for 24 years. We talked about what it takes to stay married for so long when so many other couples lose their way. Both Molly and I agreed it may be a lot easier sticking with it as a couple when you have a simpler and more grounded life in a place like this to fall back on.

As Molly said, “other than having our kids, getting this place is the best decision we ever made.”

True. But now it’s time to head back to our alternative reality.  Fortunately, we will be back here with the teens on about 3 weeks for their spring break.

So its time to pack up the lap-top, and surrender ourselves to the mercy of the air travel “system”. With any luck I will be reporting from our World HQ in River City tomorrow morning.

I hope Donna and Bill remembered to leave us a key for the new high security fence they recently installed for our CEO’s protection.

When a Treat Comes Before a Trick.

Before I tell the tale of our switch day adventures here at our undisclosed location, I want to point you to two particularly amusing blogs that popped up this morning.

First,  Mystress has gotten into the spirit of boot week, with some lovely selections that will surely make our Senior Correspondent Donna very happy to see.

And 'Nilla well, she was a very bad girl again today. She has a story entitled “Mistress” that seems inspired by Mick’s steel cock cage and Molly’s peek-a-boo tights. If only my office door locked the way the one in her story does…. And they must also have much better sound proofing in that office tower than in mine!

Now, where were we….

Mistress was a bit on edge about what our Switch Day might entail. After all, with no kids around, and a whole little hideaway to exploit, the sky (or at least the vigas) was / were the limits.

And the night before, as she and the WC had a rambling nighty night conversation, the subject of Mistress’s tender nipples, came up.

“We do have some clothes pins here M, but I’m never going to tell him where they are!”

I slid out of bed, opened a desk drawer and pulled out some fierce nipple clamps acquired several months back (I think SFP suggested them) and did some “brandishing”, which seemed to send shivers through my brave little Molly.

So, flash forward now to Sunday morning.

We had read the blogs. We had agreed not to rush up the mountain at our normal time, giving us plenty of time for our switch-uals.

Mistress was at her wheedling best though. She began kissing and fondling. And, well, Slave is weak…. I guess that’s why I am the slave.

“Suck it Mistress.”

“My, aren’t you getting all bossy.”

“It is switch day, Mistress…. Would you prefer the ropes and nipple clamps?”

Not surprisingly, she was soon doing some mighty fine sucking. And ball cupping, and stroking with those lovely fingers until my cock was a very demanding rod that now had its own agenda for the morning.

I pulled her up, positioned her over me.

She was more than amply ready to slide down onto me, and moaned with a certain satisfaction as I filled her.

Mistress knows how to ride cock.

And I enjoy the opportunity to observe her face, eyes scrunched tight as she focuses on her own pleasure… seemingly far away.

She came once, then again, and I think a third time as she rode me, her fingers reaching back to fondle my balls, getting me oh so close.

But I knew that her body had reached a limit when she collapsed onto me, exhausted from all that riding. I rolled her over and took her then, knowing that I might shortchange our readers expecting something more extravagant from our Switch Day.

But sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

When we were both sated, there was still time for some R & R before our ski day began. We lay in bed for a while reading. I even stepped outside in my long navy robe to see what pre-spring attention our little garden might need.

And when I realized that the sun was full out, making the 40 degree temperature quite tolerable, well….the little light bulb went off in Slave’s dim brain.

Who said Switch Day was over just because Slave and Mistress had some AM cums under their belt?

But I will concede I was a little devious as the story line unfolded.

I stuck my head back into our bedroom (there is a door that opens onto our patio from the bedroom), where Mistress was lolling in bed, thinking smugly that she had dodged a bullet, and gotten 3 or 4 orgasms in the bargain.

“Hey…. Why don’t you put on a pair of boots and come out here. It’s nice and I’m sure our readers will expect some hot photo in the am.”

She gave me that funny, quizical look, but elected to indulge me.

“What should I wear, Slave?”

“Just the boots, Mistress….”

“Ohh?”

But she did not question my request, and soon was stepping out into the sun, all pink and nakers but for the black boots she selected.

That’s when I showed her the white rope I had pulled out.

“They’ll be expecting something kinky, Mistress.”

She did not resist as I pulled her hands in front of her, bound her wrists, leaving a lengthy “tail” to lead her by over to our picnic table.

“What are you doing, Slave….”

“Just a nice pose, Mistress….”

She ended up pulled over the table, pressed against a blue bath towel ( didn’t want those nipples to acquire a splinter from our rustic table…. That would have been a punishable offense). I tied the rope off so she was going nowhere.

And then Mistress began to squirm and bitch a bit.

“But Slave…. What if someone sees me?”

You see our little adobe house is set back from a road…. Maybe about 30 yards or so. And there is a low adobe wall that contains our patio, blocking most of the view. But at this time of day, the road is fairly busy as skiers head up the mountain.

“Oh, why would anyone look this way, Mistress…. And the cars aren’t really high enough for a passenger to get an eyeful”.

We were both looking toward the road. And just at that very moment, the bus that hauls skiers from town to the mountain passed by. A bus with windows elevated much higher than a car’s passenger compartment.

Oops.

“Let’s hope they were checking our the mountains, Mistress, and not us.”

I could imagine the potential entry in our little weekly paper’s semi-comic “police blotter”: “report by bus passenger of naked woman tied to picnic table along Ski Valley Rd. Uncertain of address.”

This sighting made Mistress squirm a bit, testing her bonds, so to speak. But she was still going nowhere.

“Can we get on with this Slave….”

I retrieved my camera from inside, letting her languish a bit.

“It’s getting cold out here Slave….”, is how I was greeted. That’s when I realized that this could be a whole lot more fun than a photo op.

I snapped my shots, and of course, Mistress had the right of approval. This one passed her discerning muster.


But then I excused myself again.

“Where are you going….. just untie me, please.”

Huffy. Very huffy.

“In a moment, Mistress.”

I crept back inside the house, and retrieved the power tool, where it still was lying next to the bed, following her date with the WC on Saturday afternoon.

Luckily the extension cord was ample once it was plugged into an outdoor outlet. And Mistress could not turn around well enough to see her surprise.

I pressed it against her lovely fragrant parts.

“What is that Slave?”

She was clearly confused. But I answered her question when I thumbed the switch on.

“Ohhhh….. my……”

I was standing behind her, and she clearly was enjoying the powerful vibrations, spreading her legs as best she could to give it more space to press home. And her ass had a wanton squirm that was priceless.

But it would be wrong to spoil her, wouldn’t it?

So, as my left hand pressed the Hitachi home, my right hand began a nice firm spanking of her so helplessly exposed ass. It took on a nice rosy glow almost immediately.

“That hurts slave…. The cold…. Makes it really sting.”

But that did not distract her from having one nice moaning climax as she writhed against the picnic table, and another one quickly after that, despite my continued spanking.

That surely is an efficient tool.

By now it seemed I had wrung Mistress dry of her naughty attitude, her haughty smugness having been reduced to whimpering little slut, who was getting cold.

So I released her. She stood quickly, glancing at the cars passing on the highway and hustling back into the house.

Later, we clicked into our skis up on the mountain, and Mistress was looking particularly fetching in her tight black pants and Turquoise helmet and jacket.

‘Do you think some little girl will say, ‘mommy is that the lady we saw naked and tied up on the ride up the mountain.”

She seemed to blush just a tad.

“I don’t think they’d recognize me in this get-up, Slave.”

No, probably not.

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.