A Busy Morning for Our Senior Correspondent

 Molly and Mick were busy Friday and Saturday taking sullen teen #1 to her orientation for the next stage in her life --- lots of helicopter moms hovering, and of course we couldn't let our little darling feel neglected or lonely in comparison to her soon-to-be classmates. So we called on our Senior Correspondent Donna to deliver a little of the naughty that you've come t expect from us here at UCTMW.  And as you can see from the following that she has delivered.  In fact, she and Bill have raised the bar....

Bill was on a roll early Friday morning. After cuddling and talking for a few minutes, he sized up my physical condition and attitude, and realized there was work to be done if he hoped to keep me out of trouble for the day.

Now I have admitted previously that I am a tad OCD, although I would rather use the acronym CDO because I prefer the letters be in alphabetical order. That degree of focus can work well for us or it can create problems depending on whether I am spinning my wheels and becoming more and more frustrated or whether I am actually accomplishing something useful. On Friday morning, I was spinning my wheels.

Bill, in all his Domliness, made the unilateral decision to change things up and tire me out so much that I would be content to read and relax for the remainder of the day.

When I leaned over to kiss Bill before heading for the shower, he reached around my shoulders and pulled me around, positioned my body on top of him in our bed. He let me know by the movement of his face against my chest that he wanted me to move up so he could suck on my nipples. I do love that! While there are parts of passing the age of 50 that are not so sweet, the fact that my boobs hang a little lower than they once did is a bonus in this situation. At 38DD, my breasts are large enough that with just a bit of finagling and positioning, Bill can get both my nipples into his mouth at one time.WOW! Amazing tingles and electric currents zipped right to my clit as he continued to suck and as I rubbed against him. I had a nice soft buzz going on.

He then pulled his knees up so my back was supported and I had an easy cowgirl ride while he massaged my breasts and ran his warm hands down my chest and belly to my groin. where he pinched and rubbed my clit in time with my ride. All of a sudden he grabbed my hips and stopped all movement. I assumed we were having an earthquake or some other natural disaster. Why on earth would you stop something that felt that good?

But Bill had other plans.

He flipped me onto my back and leaned over to get the Hitachi and lube from my bedside drawer. I really enjoy my Hitachi, but it certainly isn’t a replacement for Bill’s cock, it just isn’t. But when I looked into Bill’s eyes, I knew that saying anything would be a waste of breath, so I waited. He reached under the bed where we keep a beach towel for play time, folded it over several times and scooted it under my hips, saying that I would be coming hard and often and he didn’t want any lip about who would be resting on the wet spot on the bed.

With that done, he flipped the switch on the Hitachi and held it against my clit. As good as it felt, it quickly became too much, and not so good. He told me I could take it and I would take it and he began to use his other hand to hold the folds of my vulva around the vibrating head of the Hitachi. Too much, too much…going to come, begged Bill to let me come and just as he said yes, my explosion erupted.

Encouraged or maybe even challenged by thoughts of Mick and Molly’s marathon session last Sunday, Bill decided five would be a good number for me to achieve for Friday morning, so we had four more to go. What, four more? And he carefully explained that I would come a total of five times, but not without permission. Holy Moley! He also stated that no two comes would be identical, and they would all take place within the next hour. No pressure there, well actually there was some exquisite pressure as Bill grabbed his cock and began beating it against my nipple as he knelt beside me. With his other hand, he placed the Hitachi in my hands, turned it on and told me to hold it against my rectum rather than my clit. That vibration, accompanied by his penis smacking my left nipple and his other hand swatting my cunt, sent me over the top in record time. Bill gave me his enigmatic smile and held up two fingers.

The next thing I knew, Bill was placing a knee on either side of my head, grabbing my hair and lifting my head to place another pillow under my head for support. Then he painted my lips with his pre-come and nodded, giving me the sign to open my mouth while his arm reached behind his back to rub my clit. My warm, sucking mouth pulling hard against his penis and my tongue pressing again his slit felt great to me and must have felt equally great to him because within a few minutes we were both shooting for the stars. And Bill held up three fingers.

I tried to protest that I was spent, that I was too tired for any more and he just shook his head and reminded me that sassing and having a smart mouth are punishable offenses and asked me if I really wanted to go down that path.

No, sir, I didn’t.

He rose from the bed and grabbed our newest toy to review for edenfantasies, a slut paddle (more on that later in the week). Bill rolled me over and the new paddle did a great job of making that crackling noise in the air and delivering a sharp ouch to my butt cheek, and then the other cheek and as Bill spread my legs I knew what was coming next and tried not to tighten up, but couldn’t help it as “whack” the paddle connected with my slit. In a strange version of a waltz tempo, there was a one, two, three - one, two three of left cheek, right check and center, repeated again and again… and then it stopped and when I lifted my head to see why it had stopped, he popped me over my clit. Oh, gosh. No use asking permission. Too late for that. And there were four fingers held up.


At that point Bill rolled me back over onto my back, bent my knees and used pillows to hold them in that position. He ran his hands over my face, asking if I was tired, massaging my shoulders and arms and working his way inch by inch down my body. When he reached my groin he rubbed clockwise circles, and then reversed, again and again. On the next pass, he reached into my vagina with two crooked fingers of his right hand and unerringly went right to my g-spot and applied circular internal pressure there as his left hand continued to provide massaging circles that became smaller and smaller and stronger and stronger as he brought the external massage directly over my clit. With pressure up from the inside on the g-spot and down over the clit, all I could do was beg…beg him to stop, beg him not to stop, beg him to give me permission to come, yet again.

Bill looked into my eyes in that way that lets me know he sees, he really sees me, and said the magic words, “Come for me, come on my hand.” And I did. He then smiled and held up five dripping fingers.

I was a good girl and rested on Friday, getting a stupid smile on my face on and off during the day as I thought back through all Bill had accomplished so early in the day, making it a successful and peaceful day for us both.

Maybe someone else would like to pick up the Mick and Molly coming (or not) challenge and see what they come up with. You might be pleasantly surprised at all that can be accomplished when people are hot, horny and racing the clock. I sure enjoyed it!

From the Desk of Our CEO

So the last time I wrote was prior to Eastern Europe, and what a trip it was. I’ve been back in the proverbial saddle for about a month now. Reality setting in, the somewhat wretched job, preparing the kids to leave the nest and life in general... and a decent life it is.

Mick has written this blog and entertained me with it quite well for about a year and a half now.

I love that he expresses himself to me. And frankly he is an Irish Catholic guy through and through, so the only way I get the words is through this mechanism...and I am good with that. 20+ years being married to a guy who doesn't talk about “feelings”. And let's say I am used to it, and might get squeamish with a guy who over does.

Having said that though, I am a chick who needs feedback. If a tree falls in the forest and no one else says they heard it too -- well then maybe I am imagining things. Recently, I've had some feedback   on times that were close to 25 year's ago.

And just today I spent some time (by happenstance) with a dude I knew in college. We laughed about people we know, times we had. He reminded me that (as a young girl) I had an impact. Didn't know it then, glad to know it now.

I am the girl who needs to hear, wants to know. I do the self-actualization thing (shrink talk). It is who I am. Yea, too bad for me.

So, when it comes to Mick and me, I take it any way I can get it. I like that strong and stoic type -- who does show their hand every once in a while. Because, if not, why the effort anyhow?

I also have thought some about men over the years and the old relationships. I have been told (since I was about 14) that I am “dangerous”.

Hard to figure.

I only “stole” one man from another wife (Mick), and while I am glad each day that I did it – I would never recommend it,  or do it again. Too much heartbreak for too many and families don't deserve the havoc it causes.

But it did turn out happily ever after.

I am still told that I am frightening...some men are allowed to sleep with any woman (but me), because, well… who knows why?

 I feel special (not).

So Molly, where's the sex? This is a sex blog, right?

Actually, it's all about sex....sex is the whole connection.

Sex answers the question why...

Sex is where the deal is sealed...

We girls all remember the guys who have been there with us...some we regret, some we forget more easily than others...but it is always a place that is sacred.

So Molly, why and what is this about?

It's about how to keep the connection alive.

 For me it’s simple...the physical + the words.

Without the physical (or in between) the words do..,. but I am about words...not pretty or elaborate ones.. . but words. I am a woman about sex + words (a communications expert by day).

So bring it on guys….give me what you've got.

Love.

molly

Our Senior Correspondent Fesses Up to Past "Sins"

Molly and Mick have to get up and out early Friday morning, so our Senior Correspondent was gracious enough to provide this compelling account for all of us.

After reading Mick’s post a couple of weeks ago about Molly removing those clothespins on switch day without permission, I tried to remember whether I had ever done anything similar. I couldn’t remember a single occasion.

Feeling rather pleased with myself, I mentioned that little fact to Bill. He leapt from the chair where he was sitting to dash across the room and put his hand across my forehead. I asked him what in the world he was doing and he said he could only guess that I was in a fever induced haze or early dementia was kicking in if I really couldn’t remember the many, many times I had misbehaved. I suggested that perhaps he was a bit too liberal with his use of the word many. He laughed until he had tears rolling down his face; I didn’t.


I asked Bill to give me just one example. “How about earlier today when I told you to…” he said. “No” I responded “not counting today!”

“Well, how about yesterday or any other day over the last 30+ years?” he snickered.

What followed was a recounting of my sins such as one might expect when standing in front of St. Peter, the Dom.

The offenses Bill dredged up from the past began with his beloved garage tools. Without delving too deeply here, I would like to ask how I could have known there are different saw blades for use on different materials. And I also wonder why I don’t get any credit at all for having the tenacity to stick with my DIY project while fiery sparks shot around me? And really, I replaced the saw, didn’t I?

Then Bill continued with my lack of care for his yard. Here’s what happened. Bill was, quite honestly, almost inappropriately attached to some flowering shrubs in our yard where we lived long ago. He fertilized and watered them, talked to them, and basically did whatever he thought would help them grow. And grow they did, to the extent they were blocking the windows. So at one point when Bill had been working out of state for a couple of months, I told him in a phone conversation about the overgrown shrubs and asked whether he had an objection to me arranging for them to be trimmed. He somewhat sullenly replied that if I really thought it was necessary, I should have them trimmed at shoulder height.

Foolishly believing that it couldn’t be all that tough of a job and that I could also save some money, I decided to use Bill’s electric hedge trimmers and do it myself. Sadly, what I neglected to factor in was that my shoulder height, sitting in a wheelchair, would be a tad shorter than a grown man’s shoulder level. It wasn’t a pretty situation, not for the hedges and not Bill’s response.

I would have to say, though, that the thing my cool and usually unflappable Dom is most apt to get truly displeased about is when I am unkind or too harsh with his favorite thing in the world - Me.

I am a bit of a perfectionist and can be incredibly hard on myself when I make errors. While that trait served me well in my work, on a more personal level it has caused some problems.


Bill has never had patience for a mindset drilled into polio children in the 50s that to cry, or to use crutches, braces or a wheelchair were all forms of not trying hard enough to improve, all signs of failure. As a result of that mindset, when I have been in pain, fallen down or had to ask for assistance physically, I have always apologized. That came to a halt two years ago.

I stayed up very late that night reading in the living room. When I headed to bed I didn’t turn on the hall light because I didn’t want it to shine into our bedroom and awaken Bill. Our bedroom door and the door to the basement are side by side. In the darkness, I opened the wrong door and instead of the next step on my crutches being into our bedroom, it was down a flight of steps.

I had a concussion, tore my rotator cuff and had some other nasty injuries, but what Bill says he remembers most clearly about those days is that when I regained consciousness my first words were, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” And again, when I woke up following surgery, those were my first words.

From that point on, I have not been permitted to use those words without being punished.

Bill made clear to me that the way I have used those words over the years has been disrespectful and hurtful to both him and me. From that day forward if what I meant to say was that I was frustrated that I had fallen or that I was concerned about the price of a new wheelchair, I better state that clearly because to apologize for something that cannot be helped and is not in any way my fault would no longer be tolerated.

When I slip and use the words I’m sorry, Bill punishes me, not in a lighthearted reminding manner, but in a serious, do you understand me, manner. Bit by bit I have come to understand that Bill is right. Those words served no purpose over the years…and I shouldn’t have trimmed his friggin’ shrubs, either!

So back to Molly and the clothespin. While this was a different kettle of fish in some ways, in others it was not. For those of us who are hard-wired for BDSM, discipline, both the giving and receiving, is part of what keeps us secure and safe, understanding how much we matter, as well as how we fit with and take care of those we love.

Through the positive and loving way the clothespin situation was handled, I think Molly learned that there are consequences for disobeying, Mick learned to keep closer tabs on Molly’s more subtle clues about her state of being okay and crossing the line into not okay, and the WC learned that there are yet additional ways he can receive both gifts and accolades from the UCTMW Management Team.

Senior Correspondent,
Donna

HNT / Mistress Maintenance 101

Being an adequate Slave (or vanilla lover for that matter) is really being   a good  “service provider”.

There is competition out there (though I may be one of those odd ducks who enjoys the competition), and therefore one has to be constantly trying to improve the quality and variety of services provided, and anticipate the “customer’s” needs.

Of course, some days I do better than others. If I get lazy, careless or selfish, then Mistress suffers. And she’s actually pretty nice about that. She rarely exercises her contractual rights to extract a few welts from my ass, or deny me sexual privileges if, for example, I forget to offer to worship her when she comes home, or do not do the little chore she had asked me to undertake.

Yesterday, I believe I did an adequate job of anticipating Mistress’s needs, though there was clearly some  room for improvement.

I came upstairs, not too early or too late, to let her read the blog. My lips and tongue working over those delicious folds until she had that little “wake up” cum. She was even generous enough to use her own full and soft lips to coax my cock, protruding through that hard steel ring, to its full dimensions before she rode it to one of those nice stirring orgasms that are an inspiration to me. When she was finished, she allowed me to “turn the tables” and take my pleasure from her, which is always more challenging, but ultimately more rewarding when that ring is in place.

“Wow. That was a good one, Mistress….”

“I could tell, Slave.”

Mistress had arranged to stay home a little later to accommodate a visit by the Gas and Electric Man (no, not that type of visit), So after she locked the cage in place I was off to work solo.

But shortly before lunch, a meeting I had arranged fell through. That led me to call Mistress to see if her dance card was open. Luckily, she was free too.

“I’ll be over in about 15, Slave….”

Now, we could have met at a designated lunch spot. But Mistress has needs, and her Slave likes to fulfill them.

She strode in, we kissed, then chatted about her morning as I arranged the chair and blanket – her throne – and she sat sliding off her panties.

“Maybe M should get a view of our lunch activities, Slave….”

So from knee level I snapped a photo of her spread legs and the delicious morsel in between and texted it off to “Judge Miguel”, with the note “lunch time”. As I was having my pre-lunch “amuse bouche”, I heard the chime of his response. And after Mistress had her little appetizer cum, I read it to her.

“I’m jealous….”

So it goes, Your Honor. But you and Mistress do have that date coming up this morning. Hopefully that will provide you a little solace, while I get to war that cage again.

(I also took the photo above after lunch time worship, so her fans can see Mistress’s shoe selection of the day…. Maybe we need a separate shoe of the day  blog?)

At the end of the day, I arrived home a little earlier, and was catching up on your blogs, laying on our bed when Mistress walked in, still looking ravishing in a summery brown dress.

We debated whether to take a bike ride in the heat and humidity, and elected to pass and rest a bit before fixing dinner. But before our “rest time” was over, I made sure to offer to worship.

Now I may have been a little slow there. The proper thing to have done was to make that offer immediately when she walked into the room. SO what started off as a pretty good day on my self evaluation, probably turned into a B-.

But Mistress seemed pleased when my “work” was done. And it was only then that I dropped my shorts to see of she was inclined to unlock the cage.

“Oh dear…. I almost forgot Slave….”

But she readily reached for the key, and set me loose.

I suppose that cage is one way to for her to make sure that her primary service provider does his job to her satisfaction each day.

t

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