Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A Voice from the Past

Mistress had her quota of orgasms yesterday morning in our bed, after reading our blog. But there she was perched on a chair in my office at around 10:10 am yesterday.

She had an early meeting nearby, and, well, “there’s no point in missing the opportunity, Slave….”

Slave was more than happy to accommodate, shifting the chair against the wall, letting her sit on that absorbent maroon blanket, and getting to work. I made sure to take a photo, in case you wanted to catch up on Mistress’s shoe selection, or the latest nail polish color. And the side benefit through the day was the faint aroma of her juices that coated my cheeks and lips.

Soon Mistress was strolling back to her office, and I was buried in preparation for a long meeting later this week when my cell phone rang.

“Slave…. on the way back I got a call from E… “

Strange. A voice from the past.

E was Mistress’s former college lover.

Well maybe “lover” is too grand a word for it: their sexual organs found one another in the same location two or three times after some late night partying, according to foggy legend. But what is important here is that the surprising mutual hotness of the whole “cuckold” thing between Mistress and Slave was discovered when Molly and E had a little cyber and phone flirtation back in the fall of 2009.

And all that led to the creation of this blog.

So E has taken on a key supporting character in the “Secret Origins” of UCTMW, though more as villain than hero. Here is an entry from our early days, referring to E.

However, he also was quickly land justifiably labeled a “cad” here when he unceremoniously and without explanation backed off, after amply priming Mistress’s pump.

Since then Mistress has moved on…. So this call was….

“strange, Slave… he said he wanted to explain himself… and what had happened.”

“And did you let him, Mistress….”

“I said I thought he had some explaining to do…. That after all that hype I felt rather used….”

“And for good reason, Mistress….”

We talked about it in more detail on our drive home.

“He had a story about how things with him and his wife were not where he thought they were then, so when he shared what was going on, she freaked out…”

(In fact, Mistress actually talked to the wife, at E’s encouragement…. “she was cool with it,” he said then. But…. Not so much.)

“I told him that I felt used, that he was using me to get back at his wife for her own little ‘adventures’….”

“And how did he respond?”

“He said that he could see that…. But now things are different….”

“Of course they are, Mistress….”

“Right…. Now they are “swingers”…. Supposedly they had sex with some other couple in Vegas recently….”

“Were you supposed to be impressed?”

“I told him that’s not what we do…. That my husband is not allowed to do that sort of thing…. While I have permission to do what I want, when I want….”

“That’s true, Mistress….”

“He did have a funny thing to say about you, Slave…”

“And what was that….”

“He says you were the visionary … that you had it all figured out before the rest of us….”

I laughed.

“I agreed… I said my husband is a visionary in many things….”

“I just like to make you happy, Mistress….”

By now we were almost home. Mistress had her legs up on the dash, and my free hand was roaming her supple thighs. I was planning some worship before our bike ride once we got home.

“Well…. it seemed clear that he was trying to figure a way to get things started again, Slave… and I made clear that I had moved on… that I had my hands full these days….”

“Good for you, Mistress…. but of course that is up to you.”

“That it is, Slave… but not much later he sent me a text. Something about still wanting to have my bottom over his knee and give me a good spanking….”

“In his dreams, Mistress….”

“Exactly, Slave.”



Tuesday, May 24, 2011

A Toast to the Emerald Isle and a Missing Apostrophe


As you might imagine, it’s no accident that the protagonists of this meandering adventure story have taken on the name of a famous Irish clan, and particularly one Mick Collins, courageous Irish freedom fighter of the 1917 uprising and thereafter. (Though the royalists no doubt thought of him as a terrorist back in his day).

Molly and Mick have been to that fair isle on several occasions, by ourselves and with girls in tow. It’s a lovely place to visit and reconnect to a shared past, though the weather can leave you a little sodden.

So yesterday, after we enjoyed our lusty morning “connection” here at the World Headquarters, we turned on the TV to the sight of our beloved (at least in this household) President, making his own homecoming, to that Island, connecting to the more remote but still meaningful roots connected to his Mother’s side of the family.

Of course, the glory of it all was that the Irish people, particularly in the small town that spruced itself up for his visit, were more than happy to overlook the complexion of our President’s skin, and accept the word of the genealogists who had uncovered the connection to a great grand grandfather. There was even a song about it, that came out during the 2008 campaign. Here's the  link to "There's No One as Irish as Barack O'Bama."

Apparently there has been no equivalent of the Donald, demanding to see the documentary proof, and wondering if it had been photo-shopped.

When Mistress and I returned home from work, we planned a bike ride, but first, of course, there was some worship. Actually the second of the day, since Mistress had joined me for lunch, and her clean shaven folds had been a lovely appetizer for me.

Mistress laid back on the bed, munching a juicy plum, while I did my own munching, taking her over the top once, then, after a little rest and conversation, me resting my head against those lovely thighs, I enjoyed a second helping. Her bucking hips and muffled sighs suggested she enjoyed my hearty appetite as well.

After the juices settled, we both reached into our respective dressers to dig out T-shirts for our ride. As it turned out, we had both focused on the theme of the day. Our grumbling Sullen teen #1 was drafted to take this photo to share with you:

I just wish I had been there in that tiny town, to tip a pint with our latest Irish-American President.

Monday, May 23, 2011

82 hours, 36 minutes.....

Yes, I know, I am a pampered house Slave.... but for me that may have been the longest wait from one cum to the next since the days back in the Dubya era when Slave was commuting back and forth from River City to Orlando.

 ( I am sure Tammy at All Mine and Sissy at Ms. Marie routinely have their needs deferred much longer than 82 hours and 36 minutes..., so my whining is probably a little pathetic. )

So by the time I got home with the sullen teen last night from our trip to DC .... around 8:30 pm post rapture eastern daylight savings time, Slave was more than a little anxious to bid teens good night and drop to my knees for some worship.

It was lovely to savor the taste and texture I had missed for so many days.

"Can you tell I went for a brisk walk, and baked in the sun a today, Slave?"

I think all that escaped my lips, so busy were they, was something like

"Ummmyummmmm."

Plans to do a little evening Switch Time were quickly shelved for some more conventional love making once my worship was completed.

And Mistress added to Slave's desperation when she instructed me to insert my "device", the little white aneros.

"I know you've been traveling Slave, so let's make sure my cock is extra hard for me."

"I don't think that will be a problem, Mistress."

And of course it wasn't. 

But Slave slept late this morning, so I am going to leave the rest to your imagination, in order to  make sure I get a second helping before it's off to work this Monday morning.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Mistress Plays By Her Own Rules

As I was getting dressed this morning for a day on the town here in DC with my sullen teen and her older sister, I checked in with Mistress.

She said she planned a bike ride, then some sunning with our other teen. But first she was going to treat herself to an orgasm. (Come to think of it, she didn't give me a quantity).

"Are you going to use the hitachi, Mistress?"

"Of course, Slave...."

Soone she was texting me taunting photos of the hitachi, as well as her "clean shaven folds".

But she made it clear that this indulgence was for her alone.

"You can wait until you get back tonight, Slave.... just a few more hours."

So I refrained, continuing to follow my "no touching" protocol. Though I did see this photo that reminded me what Mistress was up to back in the comfort of our bed.
AS you can imagine, the sullen teen thought ti was really embarassaing that I stopped to take this picture