A Switchy Father's Day

Here at the World HQ, Slave woke with those red marks on my ass all faded. Mistress and our remaining sullen teen (the other one was still up North with the boyfriend and his family), had plans to take me out to brunch at a local restaurant.

But Mistress had a little “payback” in store.

After we read the morning paper for a while, and she perused our blog with my tongue and lips nipping at her delicious folds, it was time to get down to business.

The red cuffs went on those slim and sexy wrists. Don’t you like the way the cuffs match her scarlet nail polish?

And once her arms were secured overhead on our bed, her lush body all exposed and nakers, I tied her ankles off with those long soft strips that are the remains of a cotton beach towel. Soft but secure.

Of course, with her lashed down, spread eagle style on our bed, I wouldn’t be able to match those red marks she had left on my bottom, as Sin and Donna speculated I might.

But there were other tools and torments available.

After some teasing, and kissing, and probing between her legs with my hungry “work-a-day” cock, I reached into the drawer next to the bed….

“Oh…. Not those clothespins, Slave….”

“Why not, Mistress… you gave me a good thwacking yesterday…”

“But you deserved it…”

“True, Mistress…. But still, you wouldn’t want me to go too easy on you….”

“But they hurt so much….”

“Somehow you managed over in Europe, masturbating away with them on, when you lost the coin toss with M….”

(She still owes us a narrative on that, doesn’t she, audience?)

“Yes…. But…. I could adjust that… they were looser….”

So somehow, when she put them on herself, it seemed more “manageable” than when she is helpless, and knows they come off only when I decide. Interesting. Any thoughts on that Sub-sisters?

In any event, I really hadn’t planned on the clothespins.

No, I was reaching for those black “nipple vices”, which can be adjusted as you play to tighten or loosen.

She was still not “thrilled”. At least as far as I could tell as I primed her little red buds with my lips and teeth, until they were plump and firm, ready for me to literally “turn the screws” on them.

Don’t they look charming?

Mistress whined a bit, but they didn’t seem too painful.

And of course by now I was distracting her with her favorite toy: the Hitachi magic wand, which I pulled from under our bed, and slid between those outstretched legs.

Her inner thighs and belly got a little attention, but soon enough the churning bulb of the power tool was pressed firmly against those lovely clean shaven parts, and mistress hips were rising up to meet it.

I kissed her a bit, but things quickly got out of control. Mistress’s hips were bucking, and that tell tale convulsion and moan told me that a primary rule of switch day had been violated.

“Uhhh…. Did you forget something, Mistress?”

“Ooops…. Sorry, Slave…. I forgot to ask permission….”

I contemplated the consequences…. instinctively tightening the screws on those little breast pincers as she winced and moaned a bit, the Hitachi still gently resting at the juncture of her thighs.

“Well, Mistress, I was going to take these off when you came, but since you violated our protocol, we will have to start all over again….”

I’d make a really tough “master” wouldn’t I?

I went back to work with the power tool. Mistress went back to work, squirming and moaning and acting all helplessly wanton.

Soon she was asking for permission…. And with only a little theatrical hesitation, I rolled over and said what she wanted to ehar.

“Yes, Mistress…. You may come….”

And she did, writhing, moaning, thrashing about as best as her restraints would accommodate.

And damned if I didn’t keep that tool in the “on” position after that, forcing yet another cum from her, until little beads of perspiration were popping up on her lovely forehead, and she was now begging me -

“Oh, God… enough…Slave,,, please fuck me now.”

“If you insist, Mistress.”

As you can see…. I am quite the pushover, particularly on Father’s Day.

Hope all you Fathers out there had a great one too!

Mick Gets What Was Coming to Him

Saturday night....

Mistress is off at her big high school re-union tonight.

Now I’m sure several of you are asking yourselves: Mick, what sort of husband / slave doesn’t accompany his Wife / Mistress to her high school reunion?

Well, first, I did, once, about 10 years ago. And I suspect that Mistress spent more time that night making sure I was not bored than actually interacting with those long lost male and female friends.

So I offered to let her go solo this time. She had friends, a  female and a male, offering to be her “date”, and she seemed content to let me spend the evening with surly teen #2. (I happily rejected the offer of her friends’ spouses for an evening drinking elsewhere with them).

The teen and I  went to see the Green Lantern movie (my childhood fave when it comes to super heroes), while Mistress cavorts with her old high school chums.

And of course she had license to flirt and do whatever she wants should any of those guys, who no doubt had the hots for her back in the day, decide to take one last shot at the lovely Molly.

It’s in our contract.

But don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a review of Green Lantern… let’s just say the studio did not get it’s money’s worth. But the chick from Gossip Girl (that’s why the sullen teen picked it over “X-Men” or “Super 8”) is relatively hot, though not much of an actress.

So lets skip over “Mick and his daughter go to the movies…”

In fact there was plenty of sex at the UCTMW World HQ to report on since my last full dispatch.

I’ll skip over the action here Friday night, after our bike ride, when Mistress rode my cock to a rather stunning cum.  Non-reverse cowgirl.

I’ll also breeze past Saturday morning, when Slave was allowed to fuck Mistress before I headed to a political meeting.

No, let’s pick up the action later in the day, around 4 pm, after a nap and bike ride, before Mistress started primping for her reunion.

Previously, while we were riding, Mistress said we would probably not have much time for afternoon “action”. But, as it turned out, some time opened up on her schedule.

We were barely out of the shower.

“Slave, go get my supplies… I think you need some attitude adjustment.”

“Uhh… OK….”

I scrambled to assemble her strap on equipment – dildo, harness, lube.

“You’ve been a little too full of yourself lately, Slave…cocky, arrogant, … too much swagger….”

“I won’t disagree with you Mistress….”

“Of course you won’t….”

She was in her harness now, lubed up. But there was something else to take care of first.

“ down on your stomach, Slave….”

“No cuddle and kiss first, Mistress….”

She just laughed.

“Not today, Slave…”

That’s when I heard the swish of the riding crop, firmly hitting her hand.

Oops.  Mistress wasn’t fooling around.

I assumed the position she required.

Smack.

Ouch.

I squirmed.

My ass was on fire.

“I didn’t like your tone on the phone yesterday, Slave…. when we were talking about (our sullen teen’s) checking account… you clearly had an attitude.”

Smack..

Ouch again.  Very ouch.

I’m squirming as a series of blows hit my ass in quick succession. My mouth attaches itself to a pillow to stifle any exclamations. It’s the best I can do to resist the temptation of twisting away or covering my ass with my hands. But I knew that would only earn me more punishment.

“You’re right…Mistress… I know I was being an asshole.”

“Let this be a reminder to mind your tone, slave.”

I had a feeling it would be. And fortunately, after about 10 strokes Mistress was done. 

Then she  slid onto the bed next to me, warming me with some affection strokes on the ass, and passionate kisses, before straddling me, guiding her ‘cock” into place.

Her aim was true… her strokes were slow and deliberate. I suspect I was moaning as she worked into a quicker rhythm. And soon she was coming hard, with some impassioned thrusts, gasping her release.

After a bit more of the old “in and out”, she had her fill, and slid out of me, standing to toss her harness aside for me to put away later.

“Why don’t you go put in your device now Slave (my aneros)”

So I stood too, walking the few feet to our bathroom to follow her directions.  That’s when she noticed my ass….

“Oh my, slave…. I don’t remember ever getting it quite that….  red… I need a photo of that…”

She had me stand in position. Then she texted off an image of her handy work to the WC, for his amusement. And copied me too.

“Put it on the blog Slave… our readers should know what happens when you get surly with me….”

So there you have it, my boney old ass, all red from Mistress’s crop.

Before we climbed back into bed, where Mistress allowed me to fuck her, the chime on her I-phone went off.

M says “ha ha”.

Funny.

Oh, and there was one more picture Mistress wanted me to share.

“Here’s one to send to Tammy, Slave….”

It was this photo that Mistress took at Saks the other day. No doubt M got a copy.  But since Tammy and Carol (his weekend babysitter) were going panty shopping this weekend, Mistress wanted him to get a little example of what’s out there….

 I like the yellow ones... not for me mind you. I've been spared the panty training.

BTW, tomorrow is Switch Day. You can bet Mistress will be closely interrogated about her evening out. I’ll make sure some of those clothespins are handy, in case she is reluctant to clear her conscience.

P.S. … Just as I was finishing this, Mistress arrived home. It was only around 11:45 or so. No late night partying with the class of 1981.

When I asked if there had been any flirting, her response was “not really.” We may have to get a little more to the bottom of that one this morning. And she also showed me something on her I-phone. The photo of a pink, rigid cock head.

“It came from the WC… just after I got to the re-union…”

“Can you believe it. It looks like Anthony Weiner’s at it again, and hacked into M’s account.”

A "Grooming" Dispatch from Our Senior Correspondent

Our staff here at UCTMW went a little wild with the comments yesterday. Maybe it's it's because we are into the 2nd half of the month, and they are worrying that their column inches are a tad low and that somehow the big paycheck I cut for them for June will be a tad short. Regardless, if you missed the WC's musings on his role as an expert Assotologist, you may want to go back a page.


I for one will hold the details on Friday's activities here at the World HQ, because we have this lovely dispatch from Donna on her hippie days, and beyond.


Have a great Father's Day tomorrow all, including you, Bill and WC.Both of you get the day off with the ordinary rate of pay....


Today I have for you some cautionary hair tales. No, not pubic hair, we already talked about shaving versus waxing and screaming. Today’s blog is about some things I have learned about Bill from my hair. I know that sounds strange, but give me a chance here.
When I was in my late teens I used what was then a very popular shampoo, Green Herbal Essence. It was the shampoo of the hippies, you could tell because it had the word herbal in the name and psychedelic designs in the advertisements and on the label. All the girls in my dorm used it.
Bill loved the smell of the Herbal Essence in my long dark hair that I kept in that, oh, so fashionable long shag style all the girls had at that time. You see, in those days our attempts to prove our independence and individuality was somehow couched in all looking alike in our frayed jeans, tie-dyed shirts, and sandals along with flowers in the long hair of both males and females (yes, Bill had long hair, too) and granny glasses, can’t forget those...

But, back to the Herbal Essence story. Many years later I spotted a bottle of that product in a dollar store, probably left over from the 1970s. I was so pleased! I could only imagine how excited Bill would be to have that aroma bring back memories of our hippie days and our wild hippie sexiness. As soon as I got home I washed my hair, and then washed it again just to be certain the aroma would be wafting to my beloved when he arrived home.

When our teens got home from school and started sniffing the air and asking what that stink was in the house, I should have taken that as a hint, but no. Instead, I told them some (non-sexy) stories of our hippie days, they always hated those stories, and as their eyes glazed over I ended my little talk by sharing the story of finding the special shampoo and how I hoped this would remind their father of those happy hippy times. Whether from the aroma of the shampoo or as a result of my stories, the kids rushed to tell me they had plans for dinner and sleepovers with friends or relatives or anyplace but home. Perfect!
When Bill arrived home I cuddled up next to him with my head in a position that assured he would get a snoot full of the aroma of my hair. Well, he did get a snoot full, and then he sneezed several times. He asked what the heck was in my hair and I, in return, still hoping against hope that he would remember, asked him whether that aroma brought anything to mind. He sniffed again, a bit less enthusiastically this time, shook his head, and said those romantic words that have stayed with me all these years, “It sure does, it smells like the flea shampoo we use on Ruffy (our golden retriever). What in the world is that stuff?”
I threw out the shampoo and the incident has become a recurring joke in our house. For many years when something smelled bad, Bill or the kids would ask whether I was trying to take Bill back to his hippy days with the Herbal Essence again.
And now I continue with another tale, more cautionary than the first, that begins with these words of wisdom: Should you notice that your partner seems to be admiring blondes on the computer screen more than brunettes, and you are a brunette, do not rush out to change your hair color without speaking to your partner about the situation.
When I decided that maybe Bill would be turned on if I would go blonde, I called my sister. She is one of those women who has a way with her hair and has been coloring her hair since she was a teenager. I called to ask what I needed to buy to take my hair from its natural dark brown to blonde. She was quite insistent that I should not go blonde, saying it would look like hell. Yes, those were her exact words. Knowing me well, she figured I would do it anyway so she told me to sit tight, she was on her way to pick me up and we were going wig shopping.
We piled into her car, taking along my then teenage daughter. Our daughter is autistic and seldom sees the world from a cheery standpoint, but she is unerring in speaking the truth as she sees it. If you want an honest opinion, she’s your gal. My sister insisted that my daughter would be the judge on how I looked as a blonde because we both knew she wouldn’t pull any punches, and how right my sister was. We went to a high end wig shop where I tried on all shades of blonde wigs. My daughter’s eyes rolled back in her head, she started snapping out the words, “No, no, hell no!” What a terrific time we had, except for that part where I was laughing so hard I almost wet my pants. Even the sales lady laughed until she had to sit down. My sister had been right all along. People with my coloring do look like hell with blonde hair. So I remained a brunette.



After dinner that night I told Bill about my attempt to look more like the women he had been looking at on the computer screen. He just looked at me for a minute and raised one eyebrow. He said that he loved my dark hair and that it wasn’t the blonde hair he was examining on the screen, it was the boobs. He said that I set the standard for big boobs for him and he enjoyed looking at them on the screen and was amazed to see how many are now fake.

The moral of the story here is ask, don’t assume. Or at least that’s what Bill had me repeat as he spanked and spanked my bottom that night for almost going blonde.

Mistress's Generous Offer

It was another day in the cage here on Thursday…. Same “excuse”, not that one is needed… Mistress was leaving a little later, and taking the surly teen #2 to work with her. So Mick had to make sure the cage was in place before leaving for the office solo at my normal time.

One fringe benefit: Mistress had the side advantage of that harder than ordinaire cock, brought on by the tight ring around my cock and balls,  as I took advantage of permission to fuck her yesterday morning.

After work, we took the teen to a new pizza joint in the older part of the city… very urbanista, with a big wood fired oven imported from Naples. Yummy stuff. But our dinner out extended my cage day until around 8 pm…. By then my scrotum was getting a little tender. Mistress was determined to take a bike ride, but she was kind enough to release me first, even before giving me the chance for worship.

On our ride, we talked a bit about her conversations during the day with the WC. It seems his  closest colleague, let’s call him S, is going through an ugly divorce.  The wife is trying to serve him with papers. M has been advising him on how to handle this stress.

“M told S that he just needs to go out and get fucked…. To move on….”

“Sounds like good advice Mistress…. And what did you say….”

“I offered to help. S sounds like a nice guy. I told M I’d be happy to come out for a ‘sympathy fuck’”.

This is a concept we’ve talked about before.  Back in the day when Molly and Mick were ‘dating’ (married to other folks too), she often mentioned that she was tempted to provide a “sympathy fuck” to a mutual friend who had been doggedly coming onto her for some time. A nice guy, but not all that attractive to Molly (at least not nearly as attractive to the more alpha Mick in those days, at least that's what I told myself ).

Mistress never “succumbed” to that particular guy (0r so I am told), but my sense is there were a few notches on her belt, even at the young age of 27 or so, that fell into this category.  Folks that really were not in her “league” but that she dabbled with out of a sense of noblesse oblige? Or maybe just curiosity?

I’m wondering if any of our readers have a comment on this form of social interaction… have you engaged in the “mercy” or “sympathy” fuck…. Or is this just bad behavior? (I suppose it’s something a guy could do too.)

In any event, back you our little dialog.

“And how did M take your generous offer?”

“He didn’t like it at all, Slave….he said if there’s anyone out here you are going to fuck, it will be me.”

I laughed. I knew where this was heading. M can get a little possessive, jealous even, particularly for a guy who has not met his little Molly in the flesh to show her the famous "special occasion cock".

“And you said….”

“That I’d made that offer before, and what had it gotten me so far…. I even told him he could let S know he’s invited to our 4^th of July party at our mountain hideaway…(not too far a drive from Judge Miguel’s ‘county seat’.)

“Oh I’m sure he’ll pass that invitation along….”

“Right. He said that if anyone’s coming it would be him and B….”

“Well they're invited too Mistress….”

By the time we got home, and Slave had showered off, it seemed all this sex talk had us both in the “mood”.

“Why don’t you go insert your little device, Slave… I want a particularly hard cock…”

She meant the aneros, which had not been deployed in a week or so. And it certainly did the trick.

After I used my mouth and lips to bring Mistress to a series of little climaxes, her hips rolling, little gasps of pleasure escaping from her mouth, she teased my work-a-day cock to desperation with those nicely manicured fingers.

Until I was begging to fuck her.

Fortunately, she showed the same mercy to me that she had offered to show S.

As I took my pleasure from her, we revisited her conversation with the WC.

“I suppose if M won’t extend the offer, you could just email S directly, maybe with on of those hot photos.”

“Oh, Slave…. you really are a trouble maker.”

So true….