From Your On the Road Correspondents

Well, we’re at it again …. Separated for a few days, just as we were getting back into our normal groove in River City. Slave is in DC with sullen teen #2, making a college visit and spending time with other family members. Meanwhile, Mistress is at home with Sullen Teen #1. We will both get some solo bonding time with the girls who will soon be emptying our nest, but will be missing one another too.

This morning, I had an early meeting in a town to the north, but at least we got in some robust wake up sex which will have to tide me over until Sunday night.

But then Mistress already has a leg up on me on the O count. After the two she had this morning, complements of her Slave, she had a date with her “personal trainer” our WC, who no doubt had her deploying the Hitachi to tone certain hard to reach muscles.

When I was done with my meeting, I checked in with her.

“How was M, Mistress?”

“He was fine, Slave….”

She gives me that coy, sultry voice to rub it in a little deeper.

“And how many were you allowed this morning?”

“Just four, Slave….”

Oh, poor dear.

No doubt M had at least one of his own to go with her four. Let's hope he did not let that medicinal sperm go to waste.  Donna, has there been any research on how best to preserve it without losing its anti-depressant kick?

And I suspect Mistress too advantage of her private time with M to do a little ex parte communicating with “His Honor”, in hopes of mitigating the sentence he is do to impose for her misbehavior last Sunday.

I am a little concerned that the WC could end up succumbing to her importuning if he lets these deliberations run on too long.

It turns out that Donna, our Senior and Science Correspondent is also going away this weekend, but not to her heavenly reward, sans clothing. She’s headed to Florida for a few days, and has sent this dispatch on how Bill, our Director of Security International is considering how to handle her remotely in her absence.

                                                       Assistance Requested.

The other day Mick and I were talking on the phone about some blog things and then, what with Molly’s recent return from her trip abroad and the coin toss/clothespin/orgasm situation fresh in his mind, Mick asked about activities and requirements Bill is planning for my week away. I chuckled and said I hadn’t heard of any requirements. From behind me there came a deep male laugh followed by the word, “Yet!”

Oops.

With that, Bill opened a spiral notebook, flipped through the pages for a moment and then held up a page that had DONNA written in big letters across the top. It seems that Bill had indeed been making plans. Yesterday, after housing arrangements firmed up, we sat down together to go over Bill’s requirements and immediately began to run into some roadblocks. 

Let me explain, please.

See the picture of my chastity belt here? 

The problem is the chains. First, I checked the TSA website and it would seem that the chains mean that this isn’t an approved garment for wearing on airplanes. It has something to do with the metal and the need to take it off during security screenings and since Bill isn’t going and he would have the key...well,  I can accept that this would be inconvenient for the security people, and goodness knows I don’t want to be responsible for slowing down their already slow lines, so that was the first glitch.

 We talked about waiting until I arrived at my destination, putting on the chastity belt and mailing the key home to Bill, but an additional difficulty with the chastity belt is that I will be splitting my time between a medical facility, not likely to be wild about my belt, and the home of relatives. These relatives rescue dogs, many dogs. 

The dogs and puppies have free range of the  house and the sound of chain rattling means they are about to be leashed to go outside to go potty. Some of the little terrier dogs get so excited when they hear that sound that they let their bladders get ahead of the situation, if you know what I mean.  I wouldn’t want that to happen every time I move. Really. I wouldn’t.

Bill was thinking about sending the Hitachi since my suitcase will have to travel in the hold anyway, but as he thought more about the situation and considered the noise it makes, as well as the noise I make as I use the Hitachi, he decided this could be a problem in a home with such thin walls, especially considering the birds. 

This might be the time to share that these big hearted relatives also rescue birds, cockatiels, sun conures and parrots. They are gorgeous birds and there are cages all throughout the house. Yes, you sharp cookies, you guessed it, I’m going to be rooming with the parrots. I have visions of sitting at breakfast and listening to the parrots mimicking the sound of the motor of the Hitachi interspersed with cries of Oh, Ah, and Um followed by a hearty, Oh, shit!  

Ever creative, Bill’s next thought was to send a gag and my industrial strength pocket rocket, which the birds might sleep through, but on second consideration, probably not the dogs. Although, if I could arrange to howl at exactly the same moment as the dogs, I thought that might have a chance of working. But the walls really are thin and while I am certain our relatives understand that I have a sexual nature, I don’t really think they want to be aware, on any level,  that I am taking care of my needs in the room next door, even if it is Masturbation Month.

Of course, the perfect answer might be a very quiet remote controlled egg with Bill in charge of the remote, but the chances of that working over hundreds of miles is really remote.

Hahaha. Get it? Remote?

Okay, I need more coffee! In any case, Bill asked that I appeal to you for suggestions that take into account the dogs, birds, shared bathroom and paper thin walls. How about it guys? And, please, be gentle with me.  Hahaha, or not!

Your soon to be on the road correspondent,

Donna

HNT / Text Message from Mistress

It was around 8:55 am yesterday. I was already deep into one of those tedious too-early in the morning breakfasts for a local charity. The “spread” consisted of cold bagels, lukewarm coffee, and a few flaccid pieces of fruit. The speakers had droned on for nearly 50 minutes, eliminating the only real enjoyment in these things… chatting with folks you had not seen in a while.

Would we have been there if we didn’t already know it was a good cause? Apparently, the droning speakers thought we needed to be persuaded. Either that or they just enjoyed hearing themselves blabber on. About 80% of the guests in the room seemed to be scanning their blackberries or I-phones for emails or twitter updates.

That’s when my own phone vibrated.

Ahhh, a text from Mistress, who was likely getting ready to enter her first meeting of the day – a pitch for a hot new prospective client.

“That was a very hard cock today, Slave….”

Jolt.

Since my cage was firmly in place, her message gave me a little twitch, that seemed to make things all the tighter in there. Nothing like having to sit through a boring hour long breakfast with colleagues, trying to minimize the squirming in your chair because of the tight steel cage your Mistress locked on before you headed out the door.

Standing up, stretching, walking around makes the cage quite bearable. But extended sitting …. It just gets tight and irritating.

And one reason why my cock was so hard for her earlier was that I had already fitted the tight steel ring around my balls, then crammed my cock through the remaining “space”. Not a very comfortable enterprise at all. But once the ring is in place, and the taste and scent of Mistress’s pleasing parts get to me with a little wake up worship…. Well that cock becomes “very hard”, as Mistress had just reminded me. It always seems to lead to compliments.

It would be a long day in that cage.

Fortunately, Mistress had the key in hand before dinner time, and was generous enough to unlock me, once I had worshipped her in the fashion to which she had become accustomed.

(Hope you enjoy these little photos of Mistress, taken during that bath I wrote about yesterday.)

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….