HNT/ Get the CTO on the phone....

I woke up this morning for the early shift here at the UCTMW World HQ to discover that our link to the outer world was down.

The internet and cable were still working. Squirrels had not nested in that “ big system of tubes” as the WWW was once characterized by a certain GOP Senator.

But when I tried to log into the Google Blogger system, first to catch up with the rest of our colleagues, and then to compose a little post for this morning, I got funky error messages instead. It seems that the system has expired, at least temporarily. It was not just UCTMW. I couldn’t log onto other bloggers either.

Maybe the guys at google had indigestion from eating the rest of the technology sector and decided to sleep in? Or are they freaking out over the whole Microsoft / Skype thing, and forgot to pay their electric bill?

I sent a “don’t panic” message to our international staff. I am a little concerned that the WC may not know what to do with his special occasion cock if there is no refreshed cornucopia of smut to review over his coffee and tequila this morning, along with a fresh HNT photo of Molly to inspire him this morning.

AS I noted in my “good morning staff” email to them, sent in lieu of a posting, if we had a competent Chief Technology Officer, we would simply power up our back up plan and switch to an alternative system.

That lame-o is gonna get fired this morning after I finish my coffee.

Oops. I forgot.

CTO is one of the hats I wear here at the World HQ. I guess I’ve been spending too much time in the Mail Room and tending to the CEO’s needs to focus on my emergency back-up systems planning.

So if blogger does come on today, I will post this ex post facto.

Now, then, what was I planning to say?

Oh yeah…..

Our photo today features Mistress after a little worship session in my office before we took off for a late lunch. It’s so nice to have her back and available again! And she makes a yummy appetizer. Don’t you think that color suits her lovely flesh tones? (She thinks she’s a little pale, but I like her this way, not overly bronzed).

At lunch she recounted a conversation she had with the WC about our morning sexcapade. It seems they debrief one another about the goings on in their respective beds, a sort of “after action report”. I guess a personal trainer needs to have his finger on the pulse of his subject at all times for an effective training regimen. Does that make sense?

Anyway, Mistress came back from the Czech republic with a bit of a cough and a hoarse voice. It seems she had an allergic reaction to some weeds the Czechs have been cultivating to turn into bio-fuel . (What, they haven’t heard our motto, “Drill, baby, Drill!”)

Her cough comes and goes. But, as I was enjoying my morning privilege of fucking her like crazy yesterday, Mistress began to cough. I felt sorry for her, and offered to ease up, but she encouraged me to continue, apologizing prolifically about the interruption. And of course, the considerate and submissive fellow that I am, I felt a little bad about continuing despite her discomfort.

(Though with her permission, I certainly did… I am not THAT obsequious.)

But the WC had a different take on it.

“He said he loves it when a woman coughs during sex…..”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, he says when a woman coughs her cunt clamps down on his cock Slave…. gives it an extra squeeze that’s very …. stimulating.”

“That’s sort of true, Mistress. It’s almost like your cunt is trying to push me out, but it squeezes too.”

But it does show how her two fellows respond differently to this peculiar malady. Slave feels kind of bad fucking Mistress when she is coughing. I offer to cut her some slack, and come back when she’s feeling better.

On the other hand, the WC sees the perks in it for the special occasion cock.

(By the way Suzanne, Molly enjoyed your reference to Jay’s cock as your “Trophy Cock”, or TC. But if we started referring to the WC’s cock as SOC, then folks might take up the mantra, “put a SOC in it.”)

Before finishing a blog that may never see the light of the internet, I wanted to give a plug to a new blogger I discovered yesterday, after she left a comment on our posting. Her nom de blog is Ellie, and her blog, “Writing With Ellie”, as the type of style, sass and compelling story telling that I know some of our readers will appreciate. (It seems that ‘Nilla had already discovered Ellie, but if you haven’t then check her out).

I’m still not sure of Ellie’s genre … is it real … or is it a fictional series with ongoing characters? Guess I need to read more, or maybe she will smack me across the cyber forehead and explain it to this thick headed Irishman.

But, regardless, her posting entitled “Burka” is fabulous writing.

Hope we can reconnect with all of you before the suns sets today on the UCTMW Media Empire….

(Obviously.... the systems are now go here in blogger land. But Slave was too anxious to go up and "greet" Mistress to re-write this damn blog).

The Ripple Effect

Molly and Mick are getting back into some ordinary rhythms this week. The luxury of wake up sex, after Mistress reads the blog, and driving to work together, as Mistress distracts me with those shapely bare legs of hers….

 And then there was Mistress stopping by my office for some post-lunch worship.

She was off to a meeting with a new potential client, but there was time for me to pull the chair up against the door, cover it with that nice absorbent blanket with my firm logo on it (not sure that’s what our marketing committee had in mind but it’s damn useful), and then fall to my knees and put my advanced oral skills to work.

Mistress cooed a bit as I dug into those lovely musky folds, which were on display in yesterday’s post, though shielded by a succulent slice of marzipan.  And after she’d had her fill (of my tongue and lips, she’s already squandered her marzipan stash), I asked whether we should take a photo to tease our Western Correspondent a bit.

“Good idea Slave. Let’s show him what he’s missing.”

I retrieved her I-phone and, back on my knees, took a shot of her with legs spread, a lascivious smile on her face.  She texted it off to M.

Then Mistress was off to her meeting.

We hooked up again around 5:30 pm in my building lobby, to head home for a bike ride and then dinner.

“How was your meeting, Mistress?”

“Good Slave…. but this guy, he kept moving closer to me…. Then wanted to go for drinks afterwards… I told him I had to go though….”

“Hmmm….. he likes you, Mistress….”

“It would seem that way…. And wants to give me some work too.”

“That’s always good….”

We were in the car now, driving up the highway in stop and go traffic. Mistress was fiddling with her I-phone.

“It’s M… he was texting me in my meeting, but I couldn’t get back….. Now he wants me to give him a call….”

“Go ahead, Mistress.”

Not that she needed my permission. 

Soon they were chatting away, the subject turning to the nature of those text messages he had sent her.

“So you liked that picture, huh…. And got off on it.”

Turned out that despite some “epic” sex that morning with his wife B, M had taken matters into his own hands, inspired by the slutty photo Mistress had sent him from my office.

It’s nice to think that one wanton act here in River City can inspire another out West at our branch office of UCTMW.

And who knows how many others of our lurkers also use these words or images as “inspiration”.. I did note that last Thursday, when I posted a selection of Mistress “favorite parts” photos (the link is on the right still), we had an unusually large number of hits. 999 separate visitors and more than 1700 page views.

Was it the title that led to all those clicks?

Who knows.

But I suspect Mistress is flattered by the thought that some of our readers take pleasure in her body, if only remotely.

Of course, the WC and I have  somewhat different responses when men  take a personal interest in Mistress, like the prospective client who wanted to take Mistress out for drinks last night.

“I actually think he’s younger than me, Slave….when I googled him this big mansion he lives in popped up.”

I have that strange cuckold thing going, which gives me a little zing at the thought of him coming onto my hot wife.

WC gets a little possessive though, cross examining Mistress on this fellow’s qualities and whether she is interested.

Either way, the competition does seem to get Mistress’s juices flowing.

And by the time we got home, whether inspired by M’s “self-help”, the guy who was coming onto her, or the response of her Slave and “Master” to his interest, Mistress was willing to defer our bike ride just long enough for Slave to worship her all over again.

Yum.

Addictions

Mistress has a perverse addiction.

No, it’s not my work-a-day cock.

Or even the WC’s special occasion cock, which she has seen in one dimensional images but has yet to experience in "Sense-Around".

No her addiction is to a strange mixture of sugar and ground almonds that she hunts down whenever she has a chance to prowl the European continent.

The pretext for her trip to Poland and the Czech Republic was to see and experience the landscape where evil manifested itself in unimaginable ways in the mid part of the last century. And she certainly did that, as the photos and stories she brought home show.

But I sometimes wonder if the whole adventure was really just to indulge her addiction to Marzipan.

The folks at Wikipedia have a useful definition for those of you who have not fallen into this strange and compulsive trap, which, at least for me, tastes no more appealing than flavored candle wax.



"Marzipan is a confection consisting primarily of sugar and almond meal. Some marzipan is flavored with rosewater. Persipan is a similar, yet less expensive product, in which the almonds are replaced by apricot or peach kernels. In Goa (formerly Portuguese India) almonds are replaced by cashews. Many confectionery products sold as marzipan are made from less expensive materials, such as soy paste and almond essence.[1]p. 594 German marzipan is made by grinding whole almonds with sugar and partially drying the paste, and French marzipan is made by combining ground almonds with sugar syrup.[2]p. 484 Spanish marzipan is made without bitter almonds.'

On several trips to Europe back in the 1990’s, to charming ski villages in the Dolomites, to Andalusia, or to the hill towns of Tuscany, it seemed a good bit of our evening passagiata was devoted to feeding Mistress’s addiction, by hunting down perveyors of her own personal crack, whether  in charming confectionaries, or  tacky convenience stores which could have been fronts for Al Queda for all we knew.

So it came as no surprise to me that, as Mistress disgorged the contents of her rolling duffel on Saturday evening, it seemed that 40% of its contents was Marzipan in various forms and shapes – some molded into cuddly little animals in fruity colors, others consisting of multicolored slices from what must have been a marzipan log. (Actually I surprised she didn’t find a way to ship a whole log of this stuff home.)
Mistress grudgingly gave a couple of these little morsels to the sullen teens, who seem to share this strange addiction. But she has hoarded the rest for herself.

After arriving home last night from work, Mistress still feeling a bit of the time shift after a long day of work re-entry, I offered to worship, a post-work ritual I had sorely missed while she was away.

“Of course, Slave….”
Soon she had shed her work cloths, and lay across the bed, completely naked legs spread. But before I fell to my knees she had one more request.

“Hand me that slice of Marzipan, Slave….”, indicating where it sat across the room on her desk.

“Of course, Mistress…”

She lay back, content, nibbling at its edges as I began to nibble on her stubble free, folds, gorging on her own addicting juices.

“Ahhh…. this is heaven, Slave….”

Seeing the humour in the moment I paused briefly to take the photo below, just to exemplify our twin addictions.

While Mistress may worship at the altar of that strange almond / sugar concoction, I am more than content to worship at her altar.

Cue the celestial choir.

Back In Action....

Mistress and Slave had a very restful  Mother’s Day here at the UCTMW World HQ.

It turned out we both needed to catch up on our sleep, as well as some of the action we had missed during Mistress’s long journey.

Not to disappoint, but Switch Day was on hiatus. By the time we woke and paged through the Sunday paper, we were more in the mood for some additional cuddly, reconnecting sex than having Mistress tied, teased and tortured – though she can expect plenty of that next Sunday.

Instead there was lots of worship, followed by her fingers and lips taking on my already firm and frantic cock.

Ohhh… and I forgot the Hitachi. Turned out she missed that too. Almost as much as me.

“It seems just too cruel to work on these nipples, after all they had to go through with those cloths pins, Mistress”.

Instead, I was sucking them very gently.

“Thank you, Slave….”

“So did you enjoy going through that exercise, following M’s directives, off in the Loo, with your poor breasts clamped….”

“It hurt Slave…. but yeah, it was pretty hot too.”

We took a bike ride in our cool and gloomy morning weather - two circuits up the hill that challenges my aging cardio-system.

Then the teens and I took Mistress to brunch at a local restaurant for Mother’s Day.

Afterwards, it was a very, very  low key day here. Her single Mimosa and my Bloody Mary seemed to make us even more laid back than normal. I helped get all those lovely photos on her computer.

We both read the Times. Later we watched President Obama’s amazing interview on 60 Minutes..

And when the girls decided to go visit their grandmother, well, you know where Molly and Mick headed.

The afternoon sex came after a long and much needed nap. Mistress was re-adjusting from the 7 hour time shift. Slave was catching up on the sleep he had missed while Mistress was out of the bed. It seems I just don’t adjust well to her absence.

When we finally awoke – to a text message that the girls were staying at grandma’s for dinner – we slowly sank into another long, slow and erotic embrace. It was the sort of sex that one has in the middle of the night, responding by instinct at some subliminal level to one another’s pent up needs.  But the details escape me now. It was almost like dream sex, but I didn’t wake up just before the good part.

I hear Mistress awake upstairs now. Gotta get used to this morning deadline thing again.

So if you don’t mind…..