On "Variety".

Summer has arrived here in River City. We are more than a week into “school’s out” and a bit frazzled about it.

Sullen teen # 1 is on an even keel, low maintenance, getting ready for her college experience, with some trips with friends and family thrown in. It seems she will only be making cameo appearances here at the world HQ over the next few weeks.

Sullen Teen # 2 is a whole different story.

She just finished her junior year, but will be overseas for her senior year, studying abroad. And since she seems to have forsaken all the “boring” and “loser” friends she had accumulated in high school,   she is in our face (more typically Mistress’s face) just about 24/7.

Combine that with some prep she must do to be able to graduate on time (two on-line courses), scrambling to visit some colleges she may lower herself to apply to, and arranging for a visa and medical clearance for a year abroad, well…. she has become a full time  job for poor Molly, and to a much lesser extent for me.

This can throw a monkey wrench into the more indulgent lifestyle that Molly and Mick have become accustomed to here in River City.

With Teen #2 deciding she is best working on her on-line studies at Molly’s office, and constantly poking her head in to her mother’s work space, well that has certainly cut down on chances for Mistress to engage in those occasional smutty conversations with the WC.

And it also means we’ve been driving separately to work over the past week, depriving us of that morning and afternoon decompression time.

And, let’s not forget the infernal cage that Mick is required to wear when we drive separately.  Ouch.

The teen’s trips to Mom’s office have also put a damper on Mistress’s visits to my office for our little mid-day worship sessions. (“Where are you going?... and why can’t I come? Can we stop for ice cream on the way?)

But there was a brief respite yesterday. At mid-morning, the teen discovered she needed to go to the MD’s office for one of those TB tests so he could sign off on her visa paperwork. That meant she borrowed my car from my downtown garage, and gave Molly a few hours of relative solitude to do her “real” job, and also visit me without her little “shadow”. I was more than happy to turn over the keys.

Mistress arrived at my office shortly after lunch, dressed for business in an elegant cotton dress, her legs bare. As we talked about our mutual exasperation with the teen, I was already positioning the chair against my door, draping the maroon blanket, and otherwise preparing her “throne”.

As I gently kissed her lips, the taste and aroma was just a little bit different, exotic maybe….I filed it away to mull over.  But the difference got me thinking about the post Sin had made the other day about men who “stray”. Her theory was it’s about “variety”, that somehow men get a little bored or stale with the same old, same old. (or  same young, for that matter).

I don’t  exactly agree. Maybe it’s something I need to write about later, in the context of my own “wild oats’ days during my first marriage.

But suffice it to say that since it had been a while since Mistress had stopped by my office, and this odd new taste and scent, it all seemed a little different, new and … exciting to me.

But of course there was the cage.

 As I knelt to worship, inhaling the musky scent that mingled with the new aroma I had detected, my cock stirred, strained and banged up against it’s restraining steel.

Double Ouch.

And although I knew it was Mistress here doing what we had done many times before, it was hard not to imagine doing this for the first time, the risk of it, the submissiveness of being on my knees, focusing only on her pleasure. I even imagined  that Mistress had dispatched someone else, a friend maybe, a business colleague, or maybe a “babysitter”, like Tammy over at All Mine has for the weeks when Suzanne is overseas this summer.

That musing didn’t help the cage situation at all. I should have been thinking about who would be starting on the mound for the home team that night.

Fortunately, my highly trained and experienced lips and tongue, were already busily engaged, and soon Mistress was more than satisfied, her hips rising off the chair, her head gently clunking against my door, little muted gasps coming from those full, lush lips.

We drove home, and on the way home chatted with Donna about the reactions to her wonderful posting here yesterday. They commiserated a bit about some human resource issues here at UCTMW World Enterprises.

By the time we got home, I made sure to offer to worship Mistress again before our evening bike ride. But first, as  my mouth lingered at Mistress neck as I unzipped her dress, I asked about that new taste / scent.

“Oh…. I didn’t think you’d notice…. It’s something I wore in college… “White Shoulders.”  I used it when we were in Europe, then put it on this morning because I figured I wouldn’t see you today until we got home…”

It’s funny isn’t it, how a little change can make an intriguing difference?

It wasn’t until after Mistress was worshiped again, lying across our bed, me kneeling on the floor, that she remembered the cage, and reached for the little key.

“Poor slave….”

Actually, I have it pretty good.

Our Senior Correspondent on "Sympathy F***s"

(The original posting missed the end of Donna's story. hopefully I have now fixed that error).

Last week we had a little riff in the blog on “sympathy (aka mercyI) fucks”, and a few of you chimed it. When Donna mentioned she’d had some real life experiences I suggested she share, and she has. Here is the little explanation she sent to me, followed by her wonderful, and very moving description. While this isn’t the normal flip tone we keep here at UCTMW, this piece is clearly worth sharing with all of you.

I wrote up the most powerful of the mercy fucks that came to mind, but after writing it-I 'm not sure it really falls into that category.
I have had mercy fucks with a professor who just found out he lost his job because he attended a Vietnam War protest, a service man in uniform on a Greyhound bus, a female dorm friend overwhelmed by the huge university we attended, and a friend recovering from surgery due to Crone's Disease who was afraid he would never be able to use his penis to please a woman again.
I know that may seem like quite a number and there are more, but like most BDSM subs, it was a journey rather than a single event that led me to know who I am and what I need. Plus, I have a big heart. :-)

So I wrote this up and I think it may be too strong for the blog. I need you to be honest. If it isn't right for the blog I will tuck if away for now and eventually the right time or situation for using it will come along.


Mick mentioned mercy fucks in a column last week. I hadn’t thought of it in exactly those terms, but knew immediately what he meant. I imagine most of us who are in open marriages have participated in a mercy fuck.

The situation that comes to mind took place with a friend who I’ll call Sam. He was a great guy, a friend to both Bill and me. We had worked with Sam in some tough and unpleasant situations and knew him to be a hard working man with a heart of gold. His regular job was in a profession that required him to be what people living in that part of the country considered a “manly man”, showing no emotions and no tears. When placed on special assignment to work with us in two week rotations, he let down a bit, joked some and became much more relaxed and open. The three of us often had meals together and shared stories of our kids, our jobs and our lives back at home. When work assignments were completed we kept in touch by phone and email.

One night we received a phone call from Sam’s best friend telling us that Sam’s teenage son had been killed in a car accident. A drunk driver in a pick-up missed a four way stop and T-boned his son’s small car. Immediately we began making arrangements for all the teams to attend the funeral until we received another call from Sam’s friend saying that Sam’s ex-wife insisted the funeral be only family. There were no more emails from Sam and phone calls weren’t returned, so Bill and I sent cards and hand written letters over the course of months, hoping Sam would know we were thinking of him. We never heard back.

The following year we attended a training meeting and were pleased as punch to see Sam walk into the meeting facility. Pleased to see him, but immediately concerned. He had lost weight he didn’t need to lose and his face was pale and drawn. I went over to give him a hug and he hung on tightly and whispered in my ear a choked thank you for all the letters. He asked if he could talk to me when the training was over. Of course I agreed, and he gave me his room number. Then he turned around and left, not staying for the training.

At breaks and at lunch, Sam was the focus of the conversations Bill and I had. Bill’s opinion was that Sam needed to talk to me alone, that he needed someone he felt he could open his emotions to without feeling judged, that he probably needed to be held physically and that he might need sexual release, too. I was glad to know we had both been thinking the same thing.
Bill and I are always point blank honest and clear about this type of situation, so I asked whether he was giving permission for me to have sexual intercourse with Sam should things go that way, and his answer was yes. When the training sessions concluded for the day, we went back to our room, I showered, put on some nice but not sexually stimulating clothing, Bill gave me a big kiss and hug and I went to Sam’s room.

I won’t go into the level of emotional pain Sam had been experiencing except to say that it had been exacerbated by comments from well intentioned friends and relatives. In my experience we never do anyone a favor by telling them that God has a plan and good reason for taking their child; that we aren’t being a good friend to state in a simple manner that things will get better; and it isn’t a positive thing to act as though a deceased child never existed by never mentioning them again or by taking down all the pictures of that child.

I knew that Sam had been divorced for many years and enjoyed playing the field, but one of the things he shared as we talked was that he had not been with anyone since his son’s death. We talked for hours, ordered room service for dinner and, at Sam’s suggestion, called to ask Bill to join us. Bill declined and told me to feel free to stay for as long as I felt Sam needed me.

Sam and I eventually ended up reclining on the crisp white sheets of the king sized bed of that hotel room. We kissed and touched, he cried and I held him. Eventually he fell asleep and I curled up in his arms and slept, too. He woke me in the wee hours of the morning and I knew we would soon be making love, love that comes from being spiritually connected to another human being.

Not having been with Sam before, and Sam never having been with a woman disabled as I am, during foreplay there were those moments of exploring and learning that led to adjustments and sweet laughter. Seeing a spark of life in his eyes and feeling his filled penis against me, I asked whether he had any condoms. I dressed his penis in the all-weather gear and proceeded to twist around and suck him off.

We laid back and talked some more, this time about sex, politics, life, the universe and everything while our hands wandered across each others bodies. Within 30 minutes Sam was reaching for another condom. While he held himself up on his arms, I slowing massaged his balls with one hand and rubbed and pressed the head of his penis rapidly over my clit. He leaned onto his side and took over rubbing my clit with his thumb while I gave him a good solid hand job. I came first and he came soon after with a great release of ejaculate and emotion.

We cleaned up a bit, then I called and woke Bill to tell him that Sam and I were headed toward our room and to please order some coffee and rolls. The three of us talked and later, as I headed in to take a shower to get ready for the day, they each gave me a kiss and Sam gave me a wink and a smile. When I came out, Sam was gone and Bill was reading the paper. We discussed what had happened, Bill made sure I was okay and we headed for our training. Sam was there, looking much better than the day before. He had lunch with us, no mention was made of the night before, and he went out dancing with friends that evening.

We were on assignment with Sam several more times over the years and while I wouldn’t have been opposed to it, we never made our friendship into a three-way or ever made love again.

As human beings, we are sexual creatures and it isn’t at all unusual for there to be a sexual component to the grieving process.

So was this a mercy fuck? It might be called that, but I think I would prefer to think of it in the sense that a friend needed something Bill and I could provide, we cared about him, so we did.

Donna

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.”