Science Wednesday

We’ve had a very strange weather pattern here in River City these last few days. The best I can describe it as is Irish Weather. Gloomy. Rainy. Colder than normal for these parts. Last week we were in the 80’s here. This week, the temperature range has been from 45 to about 55.  Just plain yuck.

Mistress had planned for us to go on a bike ride after work yesterday afternoon, but the damp, cold and gloom had gotten to her. So when she strode into my building lobby, ready to head home at around 5:30 or so last evening, she had other plans.

“Slave, I told M that I am going to take a hot bath when we get home. You will serve me a glass of Tequilla in the tub. And we will take a picture to send him.”

“Sounds like a plan, Mistress.”

I wasn’t too thrilled about a damp, bone chilling bike ride myself.

So there we were, back at home. Mistress was quick to shed her short black dress (no tights or pants again today, she’s trying to pretend it’s actually summer despite the weather), and begin running her bath.

I had my orders: I poured her a tequila on ice. For me, some Jamieson neat to cut the chill.

The sullen teens were barely noticing this change of plans. Though one of them commented on the beverages in her wise ass way.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?”

She gave me a look like I was Don Draper, pouring my 5^th martini of the day, just after lunch time.

“Your Mother had a busy day, and now needs to chill…..”

Nothing like judgmental teens.

By now Mistress was settled into her tub, bubbles oozing around her.

“Get my camera, Slave….I promised M a picture.”

I dutifully retrieved her I-phone, and gave her some staging directions as she wriggled into the warm frothy tub. I snapped some for M, and then a few on my own camera for her inspection later, and maybe to share with you should they meet her very high standards.

After that, she climbed from her tub, wrapped herself in a towel and we retreated to our bed, for a little pre-diner R & R.

“Let me know when you are ready for worship, Mistress….”

“In a few, Slave….”

She studied a few of the shots I had taken, then texted one photo off to M, who responded in a few moments.

“’ Sexy Lady’, he says, Slave.”

“He’s right about that, Mistress.”

She reviewed all of your comments, made one of her own, then indicated the time had come to be pleasured.

I leaned over her, my mouth dipping into her warm and freshly scrubbed folds, but she had something else in mind.

“You get a much better angle on your knees, Slave.”

Of course, Mistress is always right.

One thing about our Senior Correspondent Donna, (unlike some of our other correspondents, I might add) is that she takes the initiative to find interesting stories to share with our curious readers. Take for example, this bit of science on the value of a substance that some of us may take for granted, which follows some of her observations about why Mistress’s lovely nipples were so challenged by the clothespins in that “on all fours” position on Sunday.

I tried to word my comments about our CEO and the clothespins carefully, hoping to avoid offending any of our small breasted readers, but really, you can tell from the lovely photo that there is significant pressure being exerted by Molly's breast tissue. If it doesn't hurt more when in that position rather than others, then either there isn't much breast tissue to add pressure or there is a surplus of silicone blocking nerve endings. Being a non-siliconed D cup, I can vouch for that!

The study I have added below is actually from 2002, but didn't get much press at the time. My guess is that it would have cut down on sales of both Prozac and condoms. I am quite disappointed that oral consumption of semen and anal sex were not included as part of this study. Talk about incomplete. Maybe we can round out the study within our little group. I think we could get volunteers, don't you? Except for the control group...none of our friends would want to be in the no sex group! Oh well, another good idea down the drain
(following is a quote from the story with a link below)

Semen is a great antidepressant
 

Semen carries with it more than just sperm; it’s a whole cocktail of substances, out of which some have the potential to alleviate depression in women – estrogen, prostaglandins and oxytocin. The first two were already known to somewhat lower depression, but oxytocin is way more powerful; it shows up at birth or during breastfeeding, making women more happy, less in pain, and way more likely to bond with others.

The study confirmed that the semen is genetically built to work in man’s favour – thanks to those hormones, the female has a stronger bond with him, feels more satisfied, and is way less depressed; thus, the male has already increased the chances of another “bonding”, thus also increasing the chances to reproduce, which is what your body wants, basically.

Interestingly enough, the research also concluded that in terms of depression, there is pretty much no difference between condom users and abstrainers, so the act of sex itself does no good against depression. Even though, of course, safe sex is always recommended, from this point of view, it is recommended to have sex without a condom. Go figure…

http://www.zmescience.com/research/studies/semen-antidepressant-16052-11/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:zmescienceZMEScience&utm_content=GoogleReader

Does Semen Have Antidepressant Properties?

Gordon G. Jr. Gallup, Rebecca L. Burch and Steven M. Platek

http://www.springerlink.com/content/wrkl9lc5ueu43rh8

Of course, this got us thinking about Tammy, over at ALL Mine. Suzanne’s “wife” has been getting some extra semen dosages from clean up and other duties of late. Suzanne, can you tell if it is having apositive mood enhancement effect?

"She looks so good he gets down and begs."

Well I wasn’t exactly begging when Mistress strolled into my office last evening, after a long day at work. But I was ready for some worship. And she seemed ready too.

She had a relatively short black dress on, that showed off long and muscular bare legs, and some opened toed shoes that showed off her colorfully painted nails.

Yum.

Mistress had been so busy – going from one meeting to another all day – that she’d not had time to read all of your juicy comments yesterday about her violation of Switch Day protocol and M’s deliberation on her sad fate.

I spread the blanket, pressed the chair up against the door, and let her settle in, taking my time to use by lips and tongue to reduce the stress level that I could tell had built up during the course of the day.

Ultimately she succumbed to my attention, using her fingers to grab my scalp, pressing me home, as her hips lurched up off the chair in the final throws of her orgasm.

We had an evening out planned – first a Sushi dinner, then a concert by one of Slave’s favorite aging rock stars at a local theatre venue.

Over dinner, Mistress finally had a chance to review comments on her I-phone.

“So Donna thinks maybe I suffered from Marzipan withdrawal….”

“It’s possible, Mistress….”

“Oh look, Brooke commented… that’s pretty rare, and she seems to get what the problem was…..”

She seemed particularly amused by M’s comments in his “hanging judge” persona, and decided to dial him up, as we finished off our “bait”, as some folks call it here in the heartland.

“I don’t think you guys understand how much those things hurt in that position, M.”

She was already beginning what no doubt will become a week long appeal for mercy.

And Mistress also asked when they might arrange for a date this week – Slave is going off to DC for the weekend with Sullen Teen #2, so Mistress will have a little more solo time than she is used to. Hopefully she will have a chance to engage in some ex parte lobbying with her “personal trainer” to see if she can get the severity of the sentence reduced to something palatable for her and for those sensitive nipples.

I must confess that I was feeling a little bad after all was said and done. While we have used those clothespins before without intolerable consequences, they clearly hirt more than normal this time. Maybe it was the position, with Mistress, breasts hanging down, and all that blood flowing to the place where the pressure was most severe.


And although I tried to expedite things once it became clear that Mistress seemed to be in more anguish than “normal”, I should have removed the pegs myself rather than force Mistress to use self-help.

I’ve learned my lesson, and won’t do that again.

I suppose we need a “code red” word that would have allowed Mistress to abort the exercise at that point. That way she would not risk getting into trouble for disobedience during her two hour / week switch shift.

And I better watch my own back here, since Slave is probably due some punishment from Mistress for some real or imagined slight that would allow her to take her pound of flesh back.

After we both chatted up M for a bit, it was off to our concert. (The quote in the title is from one. A free UCTMW coffee mug to anyone who can guess the author or song, employees of UCTMW Enterprises or their family members, excluded).

We had primo seats (I’m on the dude’s email list), and it was fun to enjoy the evening with Mistress, away from work and family duties. For some reason I kept getting the musky aroma of sex from her as I leaned into her, muzzling her neck. Was it residue of her juices still clinging to my face. Or did she just exude the pheromones that drive her Slave nuts.

By the time we got home, it was 11 m or so, and we were both beat, so settled for some snuggling and sleep.

“Wake me for sex at 7, Slave….”

Better get moving….

Our Western Correspondent Is Called on for Justice

                UCTMW ENTERPRISES,LLC

INTER-OFFICE MEMO

FROM: MICK COLLINS, EXECUTIVE EDITOR

TO: MIGUEL, WESTERN CORRESPONDENT AND PERSONAL TRAINER TO THE CEO

RE: REQUEST FOR DECLARATORY JUDGMENT.

As alluded to in yesterday’s blog, I need your considered judgment on how to handle a rather shocking breach of protocol here at the World Headquarters yesterday morning.

You are quite familiar with our contract, and its provision at Section II, paragraph 6 that, “On Sunday mornings for at least 2 hours, and at other times upon agreement of the parties, Mistress will submit completely to the Slave, as if she was the Slave and he was the Master/Owner under the terms of this Agreement.”

Yesterday morning I set out to exercise those rights at around 9 am, before a bike ride we had planned. Actually it had been three weeks since a proper switch day, because Mistress had been traveling (I suppose one mistake I had made, in retrospect, was not requiring some sort of Switch exercise on the  Sunday when she was MIA).

Things started out without a hitch. She meekly allowed me to lock the red cuffs on her slender wrists, and I linked them together with a little metal clip. When I expressed frustration that I could not find the bag of cloths pins, she even helpfully suggested that I look in the drawer of the bed side table. Sure enough they were there, and I removed two new ones, rather than use the two that were sitting next to the bag, where she apparently placed them after returning from her overseas voyage.

“Boy that wasn’t  very smart, was it Slave…. I hate those things.”

“Maybe you are subliminally craving them, Mistress. You certainly had them on enough at M’s direction during your trip.”

I had a rather simple scheme to implement.

Mistress would be on her hands and knees on the bed, her lovely, soft breasts hanging down. I would attach the clothes pins to her nipples. Some thrashes with the riding crop on her vulnerable ass, then her reward by way of the Hitachi, all while she presented her ass to me that way.

Then, of course, Slave would take his reward.

I clipped the pegs to her hanging nipples. Then reached for the camera to record the occasion.

That’s when the complaining began.

“That’s horrid Slave…..”

“I can’t stand it…..

“Take them off right away…..”

You get the picture.

Now I knew that she could take it. She’d worn them for me before. And all that furious masturbating with both nipples clipped should have made this all the more tolerable, correct? (Unless she was yanking both of our chains about that, you may want to consider having her make a video the next time).

I was determined not to succumb to the vociferous whining and wheedling, but I was moved by her “agony”. I chose to skip the cropping part and go straight to the Hitachi.

“How about this your royal whiner, they come off with the first orgasm….”

She was still on hands and knees, her legs spread just enough to accommodate the churning bulb at the business end of the Hitachi.

You would  have been impressed by the way her ass was squirming back and forth, as she seemed to quickly hit her stirde and shudder and quake through a rather impressive cum, all the while moaning and gasping with a combination of pleasure and pain.

Then I looked down under her lovely trunk and what did I see?

Somehow, your little slut had reached up with those bound hands while I was concentrating on pleasuring her, and popped off both of the cloths pins.

I was shocked. Very shocked.

“What the…..”

“I’m sorry Slave…. they were just way too painful.”

“I obviously need to secure those wrists much better the next time.”

Fool that I was, I did let her have another orgasm with the Hitachi, before having her roll over to accept my rigid work-a-day cock. At least that went off as anticipated, Mistress moaning through another cum before I took my own pleasure from her.

But afterwards I cross examined her on her little act of civil disobedience.

“So why did you not let me finish you before you took off the pins, Mistress?”

“They just hurt so much Slave….”

She hypothesized that because they were “new” pins, the springs were particularly tight, causing more pain than normal. This makes me winder if she doctored the pins she had taken to Europe, stretching the springs a bit so that they were looser than specifications would require. Sort of like using a corked bat or one of those new “slice-proof” golf balls.

Maybe there is a lab that checks for such sub transgressions?

I made it clear to her that next Sunday there would be consequences for her misbehavior. I know, justice delayed is justice denied. But in this case, maybe making her dread what is ins tore for a few days will force her to consider the error of her ways.

I understand she gave you a little verbal “preview” of what had happened, lobbying for a reprieve. But now that you know all of the sad and pathetic facts of her inability to comply with her contractual obligations, I do look forward to your advice.

Our contract does not have a clear remedy clause. And I am not sure I want to take the matter to a local Equity Judge, who might not have nuanced view of this type of breach.

So we look you for Justice, M. 

I might add that there could be some extenuating circumstances that I have not considered. As an example, could it be that with the clips attached with her nipples hanging down they are more painful than with her lying on her back? Maybe our Senior Correspondent, the sub-sisters or other readers can add their perspective before you render your decision.

We look to you for your judgment on this sad matter.

Our CEO and her Personal Trainer Celebrate Masturbation Month

It did turn out to be a very busy day here in River City, but you will be glad to know that Mistress got more than her fair share of cumming , and that her “field Slave” made sure that the plantings she required were done.

Her first opportunity came at around 8 am. I let her sleep in as long as possible, knowing that she still needs to catch up on her ZZZZZ’s following her travels and quick transition back to a work week. When I came up bearing the laptop for her to peruse the blog, we only had time for some quick worship before heading with sullen teen #2 to a morning orientation for her study abroad year.

Mistress gave out a little gasp of pleasure, her hips writhing a bit, as my tongue and lips ultimately found their mark.

“You should have woken me sooner, Slave…. now we don’t have time for real morning sex….”

“I’m sure we will fit it in later, Mistress.”

The parent portion of orientation lasted until a little past noon. We left the teen behind for the rest of the program and headed home, where Slave went into gardening mode: acquiring more geraniums and impatiens at a nearby shop, digging up some perennials at Molly’s mother’s house, where her step-father has a vast excess he offerred to share, then returning home to get to work .

An intermittent rain was falling, and since our yard is hardly private, I passed on my opportunity to celebrate World Naked Gardening Day.

In the meantime, Mistress went for a bike ride. When she returned she complimented me on the progress I had made in expanding the plantings along a fence in our compact yard.

“Come inside when your done, Slave…. you are due an ass fucking.”


My hard and focused work was productive, so by about 3 pm the lion’s share of the work was done, and I gladly succumbed to Mistress’s invitation to join her for some “relaxation” in our chambers.

AS I stepped into our room, Mistress was lying naked across our bed, working on her laptop.

Since I was rather muddy and sweaty from my efforts, I hit the shower first, before presenting myself to her.

So there you had us: naked Mistress and her fresh from the field, Slave.
Both kind of sleepy.

We opted for a luxurious mid-afternoon nap, cuddled next to one another, clinging tightly.

But that still gave us time for some slow and steamy love making when we woke, refreshed, and a bit horny.

The ass fucking would have to wait until later.

Soon we were off again, to collect the teen from her orientation, and then for an early family dinner at an Indian joint the girls like, in our old neighborhood in the University section of town. (We find that they will only really talk to us when we take them out to eat and force them to sit through a meal).

When we got home from dinner, Mistress pulled me aside.

“The WC texted me Slave…. his family is out for a while and he wants to know if we can have a date….”

It had been a while – not since Mistress left for he trip. And I knew there was pent-up demand on Mistress’s part, particularly after their Thursday morning “session” had been aborted.

“Of course, Mistress…got for it.”

She asked me to make sure the ‘land line” phone she prefers to use on suck occasions was in place, and I turned on the radio in our room to muffle any errant cries of delight from our curious teens. Then left her to her own devices.

There was still plenty of daylight left, so Slave opted to complete some additional planting, while Mistress deployed her Hitachi at her “personal trainer’s” direction.

I knew that she was in good cyber-hands. It was nice that they could jointly celebrate Masturbation Month.

About 50 minutes later she found me out in the yard, on my knees, where I belonged. She had that well satisfied smile on her face.

“How many, Mistress?”

“Ohhh…. Three or four, Slave.”

By my count, that left the score for the day at 7 (or 8) for Mistress to 1 for her humble slave.

But since today is Switch Day…..Slave will see if he can do some catching up.