For Our WC, In Lieu of Severance Pay

First snow. Northern New Mexico. November 2009.

An Anniversary and a Transition

We started this little blog three years ago today...

Since then there have been 1056 posts here, and, according to the little google meter, more than 730,000 page views. We seem to average about 1100 page views a day these days.  And all that  doesn't count our month long exodus last fall to Mistress and Slave on the Lam , when we thought our cover had been blown. That frolic and detour covered about 35 posts from exotic climes and plush yurts in Whatthehellitstan under the sheltering wing  of the sex bloggers'  protection program.

The blog has been a joyful act of lust over these 36 months, and personally therapeutic for Mistress and Slave: in a strange way it helped us get beyond a soft patch in our marriage, by providing a focus and an opportunity for this humble Slave to express his devotion and addiction to my beloved Molly.

There have been more than 1000 mornings in which we started our day with Mistress reading the blog as I lavished her clean shaven folds with the attention it deserved. (Come to think of it, when we got rolling here, she had a lush patch of fur down there, lost at the suggestion of Mike, one of our first and certainly most loyal fans.)

And of course things evolved for us in unexpected but always entertaining ways as a result of the blog.

With role models like Suzanne, Tammy and Jay over at All Mine, Mistress got the inspiration to branch out and fully exploit her contractual rights to test the water with a variety of other lovers. It's a process that continues now, as she sorts through her current  collection of suitors.... Matt, the "nice guy" who's taking it slow, and who will take Molly to dinner on Sunday night; K, aka, Mr. Perfect Cock, with the glamorous Lance Armstrong packaging that's hard to resist;  and the other Matt, who wants to scratch Mistress's urge to submit.  Mistress has  lunch set up with the other Matt on Friday for their first face to face.

Who could forget Home Cumming Weekend, just over a year ago, when I got to watch Mistress take the muscular Didi with her strap-on, and the next night, succumb to the oral stylings of that barely 20 year old who ended up in jail days later on a trumped up charge. (Of course, that's why we went on the Lam).

Then there is our far flung staff: our Western Correspondent, with the special occasion cock and the rather slothful work habits and industrial size tubs of lube; Donna, our Senior Correspondent, who took care of us when we were on the lam, and Bill, our Director of Security International, who always had Molly's back.

We've enjoyed getting to feel like we are part of an extended family, and to hear from our regular cast of commenters who have come, gone, and returned over the years.

Of course, we've also seen so many  of our fellow bloggers  slowly fade away over these three years: Who could forget inimitable Riff Dog (who apparently crashed and burned in dramatic cyber-style). And Mistress always had a thing for the Discerning Dom, who signed off a few months back. It reminds us that the natural life of this sort of enterprise is limited.

So after some consultation here at the UCTMW World HQ over the weekend, Mistress and Slave decided it was time to move on from the routine of our almost daily posts here.

Why?

Well we noticed we were both succumbing to the pressure of coming up with bloggable moments to entertain our followers. What was unique and titillating one week became a little routine and repetitive the next. So why not crank it up a notch. More blog fodder needed.

Maybe we jumped the shark with "Cougar Week"? 

In any event, while Mistress has no plans to end her search for the perfect addition to our empty nest - or some combination of lovers who might meet that elusive objective - it makes sense to us to back off from our current routine of posting "real time" developments here. Nature will take its course, without the pressure of a daily publishing deadline. Our goal is to do what feels right for us, wherever that takes us, but not with the pressure of entertaining a wider audience.

Does this mean you've heard the last of Mick and Molly?

Unlikely.

We have no immediate plans to delete this collection of smut, sarcasm, amateur photography, and political and pop culture commentary. I suspect there will be developments and topics that will cry out for a timely post. So don't erase your bookmark or delete us from your blog roll just yet, friends.

And expect to hear our snarky comments on your blogs in the months to come.

As for that far flung staff: your generous severance pay checks are in the mail, along with your COBRA notice. And like the Romney campaign, I've already cancelled those company Amex cards. Hope you aren't in a cab on the way home when you get you read this.
But remember: your non-competes still run for the next 12 months!

Mistress's Lunch with Mr. Perfect Cock

Slave got sent off to work in his cock cage Monday, all safe and secure.   Mistress would be heading off to the Big Apple for a two day business trip on Monday afternoon.

"I always feel better knowing that you're in that cage, Slave...."

But what was still unclear to me was how Mistress would spend her day before heading to the airport.  When I came upstairs for some bon voyage sex, Mistress reported that she'd been texting with K, aka, Mr. Perfect Cock, who was clearly anxious to see her.

"He offerred to bring over coffee this morning, Slave."

"And you said?"

"That my husband was home.... but that seemed not to bother him....he said he could say hi to you, then bring me coffee in bed."

"Sounds pretty appealing, Mistress..."

"It does.... but since I'm going away I figured it would be a little unfair to leave you high and dry."

See, she is a compassionate Mistress. And she had the full benefit of that tight steel ring around my cock and balls that produced a particularly hard and persistent work=a-day cock for our Monday morning leaving town sex.

When we were done, I slid the cage into place, and she snapped the lock closed.

"I'm going for a bike ride, Slave.... then getting dressed before K comes over for "lunch".  I'll let you know what happens."

As you might expect, I was on eggshells waiting for her account of her lunch meeting with K, which she ultimately agreed would be at our house.

At around 1 pm she called.

"So how was lunch, Mistress?"

"There wasn't a whole lot of eating, Slave.... he sort of attacked me when I opened the door."

Hmmm.

"You mean he kissed you...."

"He went kind of crazy, Slave.... I could feel that hard cock in seconds."

"Ahhh.... so what were you wearing, Mistress....."

"Actually, just that silky robe...."

My guess is that Mr. Perfect Cock figured the garb Mistress elected to greet him in gave a hint at what she might be open to, don't you think?

Mistress reported that they did it twice.... with a little cheese and crackers in between....in various positions.

"You know, me on top. him on top. From behind. Me on the side of the bed with him standing. He's into lots of positions."

"Impressive Mistress. And twice in two hours?"

"It's an advantage of that 43 year old cock, Slave.... but he is a  little  quirky ....I'm not sure whether we really connect at a particularly deep level".

"But there must be some appeal...."

"Yeah.... he's got that Abercrombie model thing going for him.... and sort of looks like Lance Armstrong. That's pretty hot. I guess I'm just kind of superficial, aren't I?"

But who's to judge.... why can't a smart and sexy woman fall for some eye candy every now and then? Guys sure do it.

Now Mistress is in her hotel suite in NYC, and we just signed off for the night.

"My parts are a little sore, Slave..... sex with you, bike ride, then sex with K.... I think I need some rest."

Poor Mistress. At least she'll have two nights of R & R before she returns to all her suitors in River City.

Unraveling the Conspiracy

Things were a little too busy here at the UCTMW World HQ yesterday.

Fortunately, there was time for some lengthy wake-up sex, that featured Slave applying Mistress's favorite power tools to her clean shaven folds for a couple of bead shaking cums before I claimed my carnal reward.

There was a bike ride in our sunny morning: summer had crept back for just two days, but the last of the fall leaves were still flame red.

Then Slave went to the Pussycats game, with our daughter, her Co-Ed friend, and, of all people, Jay, Mistress's former lover, who still is hanging about in our life, but no longer in the "FWB" capacity. Mistress has moved on.

Speaking of which, she's planning to work from home today for a while before heading off to the NYC area for a business event for two nights. I've been told to make sure I am "cage ready" this AM, and already have schmushed my balls and cock into the steel ring, which should provide Mistress with an extra hard cock for her entertainment in this AM's "bon voyage" sex, before I head to work.

Mistress did let it drop yesterday that she was considering "Mr. Perfect Cock's" (K) invitation for lunch today. (He works not far from our house). He's been wheedling his way back onto her radar screen, after she dumped him via text message about 9 days ago.  No doubt he's had a little trouble getting Mistress's body and sexual skills out of his naughty little mind.

Last night, as we drove home from a charity event at someone's house, she announced that he's now suggesting they "lunch" at our house. Gee, I wonder what he has in mind? Of course, Mistrss is no fool in such matters, but seemed a little ambivalent about what to do.

I suspect it may turn on just how horny she may be by around 11:00 am or so.  And I'll be sitting at my desk, all caged up, wondering what's going on.  Maybe we need one of those nanny cams?

But despite our busy schedule yesterday, I did have a little time to research the allegations of one of our commenters yesterday, who believes that General Petraeus had not resigned because of a sexual scandal involving a jealous "biographer", but really to continue the cover-up of the whole Benghazi affair, and protect the President's ass.

Hmmmm. Could it be?  I turned immediately to the best sources for unadulterated "news" with a blame Obama spin:  The (http://drudgereport.com/ ) Drudge Report to collect various conspiratorial perspectives and then add it all up (though math is so 20th Century).

There was this theory: Petraeus actually started the affair months ago in anticipation of an excuse not to tell Congress what he might know about some attack on a US Embassy to occur at some unknown date in the future.  But that seemed too simple. Why would a guy reported to be thinking about running for President as  a Republican throw himself and his reputation under the bus just to save a Kenyan Socialist who had wormed his way into the White House?

This "he did it so he wouldn't have to testify" theory also seems dubious when you consider that fact that Congress HAS THE POWER TO SUBPOENA a witness, whether or not he happens to run the CIA. So sooner or later, he'll ahve to testify anyway (unless he suddenly and mysteriously disappears - look out for that one!)

No, it had to be something deeper, and darker. And it all began to add up when I learned that the "other woman" in this dark tale was a State Department employee, 37 years old, who is a "military liaison" station in Tampa, Fl. 

With title like "liaison", with it's pseudo French affectations, I knew there was something sinister about her from the start. No wonder Paula Broadwell was suspicious. And who did she work for? Hillary Clinton, long rumored to be a closet Lesbian. One can only imagine those long nights of sultry sapphic indulgence in that tiny private cabin on the Secretary of State's airplane as it winged its way to Jakarta or Abu Dabi on yet another apology tour.

It was all becoming clearer: where were the "deciders" in the early morning hours of September 11, 2012 as our poor diplomats in Benghazi were calling for drones strikes and back-up under withering assault from those Al Queda affiliated terrorists?

In a CIA safe house in Georgetown, that  the sinister but oh-so buff Paula Broadwell had turned into a dungeon in which she could extract secrets and vital fluids from the most important men and women in Washington.  General Petraeus was locked in a metal dog cage, forced to watch as his "biographer" used a variety of floggers, cains and crops to force our "President", strapped naked to a St. Andrews' cross,  to reveal the nuclear trigger codes and the whereabouts of his actual birth certificate.

Seated on a throne nearby, and patiently awaiting her turn with the crop, was our Secretary of State, dressed in a black leather pants suit with a cut out to give full access to her clean shaven "lady bits". She who must be obeyed had a tight grip on the leash of her kneeling and collared liaison who was skillfully applying her tongue and lips to pleasure the world's most famous diplomat.

No wonder no one picked up that urgent 3 am phone call.