Looking for your Input

Today we’re looking for a little input, on a couple of subjects.

First, on photos of  Mistress’s lovely bottom. After our morning sexual engagement, Mistress was busily at work primping for her Monday workday. The image of her sweet ass framed by her turquoise thing inspired me to pick up my little camera and snap a few shots.

Later, last night, as I smirked and snarked my way through the GOP debate, Mistress asked to see the photos I had taken, and whether I planned to put any of them on the blog.

Her original review was negative. She is protective of her image (not as protective as a certain ½ term Governor, but still….) and retains the right to veto any thing I might post. But I offered to do a little cropping and refocusing of things to enhance the image. No alterations mind you… but ‘presentation’ can be critical.

She seemed pleased with my work, which is the image that follows:

But she was not completely satisfied, and took her own hand at the image, exploiting some newly discovered features on her I-photo App. Here is her work product.

So friends, what do you think: which image would you prefer?

Another subject that came up yesterday, has to do with the staging of her next date with our WC, the rogue Judge Miguel.

I was applying my lips and tongue to Mistress’s molten, moist folds yesterday in my office. Mistress had stopped by for a little appetizer before her lunch engagement.

That’s when she mentioned a logistical problem.

“M wants to have a date on Thursday morning, Slave… but I’m reluctant because (sullen teen #2) will be home….”

Summer vacation has begun, and without a summer job, our not-so-little teen is in  hang around the house in the am mode. Of course there’s no guarantee when she might get up, but there’s a good chance she might be conscious and lurking about at 10 am on Thursday, and a little suspect if her Mom has herself locked away in her bedroom, moaning into the handset, her power tool humming.

Even the thought of her barging in could be a mood killer.

I promised to think on her dilemma, and later that evening, in a little post work, pre-bike ride worship, me on my knees and Mistress spread across my bed, I shared some ideas.

“You could bring the Hitachi down to my office Mistress….”

“And would you just me hanging around, watching, Slave….”

“Well that’s a thought, but I was thinking I would just let you do your thing, and I could work in a conference room until your business was done. I don’t think anyone would mind. We could turn on some music to dampen your moans, Mistress.”

“But your office doesn’t have a lock, Slave…. what if someone walks in?”

“I think that’s pretty unlikely, Mistress….most folks take the closed door as a sign to come back later… or they’d knock.”

But Mistress didn’t seem inclined to take the risk. And it would seem pretty strange if I camped outside the door, standing guard.

I also reminded Mistress that we have one of those electrical converters we bought to let the kids plug their computers in while in the car for that long car ride out west at Christmas time.

“You could do it in the car, Mistress…. Find a quiet parking place….”

“Not sure I want to risk some curious cop knocking on my steamy window, Slave….”

So there you have it. Mistress wants to arrange a date with M, but the logistics are complicated. Any solutions?

"Catch our Breath" Sunday, and a Consumer Review from Bill and Donna

Molly and Mick were still a little too over-scheduled yesterday, as the big graduation weekend wound down.

Of course, the new graduate cleverly executed an exit strategy, heading north for a week at a great lake beach with her boyfriend and his family. Leaving her doting parents to clean up the mess, and attend a breakfast brunch thrown by her grandmother sort of in her absentia honor. 

Clever girl.

Since we had been losing exercise time, our Switch Day activities were sacrificed for a long bike ride.

But that’s not to say that Molly and Mick were sexually dormant. Mistress was worshipped as she read the blog yesterday morning. And then I gave her a Sunday treat: the Hitachi magic wand was deployed, generating all that writhing and moaning that a mere tongue, no matter how skilled can hardly replicate.  And Slave earned his reward afterwards, as Molly used her best, “fuck me, Slave” voice once the Hitachi had done its best on her.

After that, things were pretty barren here from a sexy POV. The brunch at grandma’s. Slave had to give a lecture about the sad life of a anti-war singer songwriter who flamed out in the late 60’s , early 70’s.  Mistress opted for some time in the sun, a far better choice, since the heat and humidity wave here had finally broken.

Last evening, we did get to go see the new Woody Allen movie, “Midnight in Paris”, with surly teen number 2. We liked it, though the only sex amounted to a few allusions. Lovely vistas of the City of Lights.  Typically witty, if overly loquacious dialogue. 

On the other hand the teen  seemed pretty bored. Apparently high school English must no longer include Hemingway and Fitzgerald, who had cameo roles in this amusing time travel fantasy.

It was Bill and Donna’s turn this month to act as dispassionate (Hah!) consumer product testers for our friends at EdenFantasies.com. And since today’s blog is a little lame on the sex side, I thought I would throw in today the outcome of their “research” on their latest choice from the Eden Fantasies Bondage and fetish collection: the SLUT paddle:

From Bill:

What’s not to like about a good paddle which could mark your lover’s bottom with the word “SLUT”! The paddle is 12 ½ inches long with a split and the word slut cut out and backed in red.

I found the weight of the paddle to be a little light, but I have big hands. The grip is well done and gives you a firm grasp for a hardy swing. The paddle also sounds good when applied to a receptive ass cheek and produces a lovely redness.

My one disappointment was that I could not get the paddle to leave SLUT on my beloved’s ass. It became a very nice red and it was toasty warm, but no words appeared. That said, the paddle looks nice, and Donna’s ass looked nice, so no complaints at all.

I accidentally left the slut paddle out when the woman who helps clean came over this week. We later noticed the paddle had been polished and repositioned on the center of the headboard, so I think our helper must have appreciated its beauty, too.  

While I think this paddle would be more effective if the wording were raised a bit, all in all it’s a nice addition to the toy box and when used with the Hitachi provided a very good time for all!

From Donna:

I agree that the paddle is great. It is attractive, makes a great cracking -almost popping-  sound and gives quite a little sting.

As far as imprinting a word across my backside, it left stripes on me and it might leave the word on someone else. Maybe my padding back there that isn’t exactly the right thickness or consistency for imprinting a word. I will absolutely vouch for the fact that Bill gave it a really, really good try from different angles and positions and over the course of a couple of sessions.

In speaking with Mick earlier in the week I told him that we both like the paddle but Bill couldn’t get the word to appear. Mick suggested that I try it on Bill and see whether it might imprint the word on his butt…you know,  for the sake of pure research and investigative theory. Bill’s response was a very simple, “NO!” and a reminder that he is the spanker, not the spankee.

Since it has been recently cleaned and polished, Bill thinks perhaps we should offer to lend it to Molly and see if maybe Mick’s butt is the right consistency to hold a SLUT. I’m not touching that one with a ten foot pole.

Transitions and Flash Backs

Yesterday marked an important milestone here at the Collins household in River City.

Our surly teen #1, who has mellowed a bit over the last two years on the surly scale, graduated from high school, thirty years to the week that her Mother, my beloved Mistress, graduated from the same high school, in a leafy old community, built along the railroad tracks, just outside of River City.

(At the graduation they mentioned this was the 127th graduating class of their school, putting the first one back in 1884! Yikes.)

For our teen, it represents one of many increasingly difficult hurdles she will face on life’s journey. There were speeches from fellow graduates and school system poobahs with all the buzzwords and phrases you might expect: goals, ambition, opportunity, ever lasting friendships, accomplishments, all the rest. Plus the occasional natural disaster, great recession, stock market collapse, terrorist attack, and E-coli infected sprouts.

Old cynical members on the audience resisted the temptation, at least on that wonderful day, to warm about what also might lay in wait: frustrations, disappointments, disloyalty, rejection, deterioration, loss.

The “kids”, decked out in white dresses and tuxedos on a day when the storm clouds cleared at just the right time for a beautiful outdoor ceremony, seemed so positive and pleased with themselves that their optimism was infectious.

And it was hard not to think of how this beautiful, beaming daughter came into our lives, and set Mistress and I off onto our journey about 19 years ago.

A few months back I spoke here a bit about our “Secret Origins” here at UCTMW. I left off with Mistress making a call at my office back in the spring of 1988, offering up what I had been flirting my ass off for many months to obtain.

(This was way before the day of flirtation via text message or email .Unlike an infamous member of Congress, I had to do it the old fashioned way, one glance, ambiguous caress, clever come-on remark at a time).

And me initially – almost in shock – suggesting that might not be as good an idea as it seemed.

Maybe like some of the other guys in Mistress’s life these days, I knew what that sort of physical union with such a dynamic beauty might lead to: a nearly fatal attraction that would upset my life in ways that would be hard to predict.

On the cusp of what I had been pursuing, I got very cold feet. Did I really want to put all else at risk for this hot and holy grail?

But, suffice it to say, Mick, even at the “mature” age of 38 did not have the discipline to say “no” to Molly for long. And – to my good fortune – she did not take that initial equivocation as an excuse to tell this dirty kind of old man to get lost.

By the end of the week we were safely locked away in a suburban hotel room, before the days when we could be tracked down via cell phone, with myself buried between Mistress’s long and shapely legs, my first taste of that sweet nectar that would become a life long addiction.

I recall that on that very first protocol, and long before any kink or D/s was ever part of our ritual, I began a protocol which lasts until this day: Mistress always “comes” first, and usually with lots of oral worship.

If I had a chance to address the male half of yesterday’s graduating class, that’s one word of very useful advice I would have been glad to pass on.

About a week later, our second “date” occurred in the unfurnished condo my father had recently purchased, overlooking the river. He was still assigned overseas, and was preparing to return to our City on retirement. I had the key. Opportunity knocked.

Believe it or not, Molly and Mick were so head over heels in lust and a budding love that night – lying naked on some blankets on the carpeted floor of Dad’s naked condo – that, in our post-orgasmic stupor, we selected the name that our sullen teen #1 ultimately acquired, about three years later.

And there she was yesterday, carrying a single rose, poised and confident, breaking the bond with her Mom’s old school, and taking the next step in life’s adventure.

My God. Time really does fly.

She’s already off, for a week’s vacation on a lakeshore to the north, with the boyfriend and his family.

Of course, she will be back. She will miss her kitties. And her college is but an hour away.

But she’s already teasing us about what her Mom and Dad will be up to when all the kids are out of the house.

Maybe she doesn’t think we are so boring after all.

Our Senior Correspondent on Love and Books

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