A UCTMW Christmas

Here in River City, Mistress and Slave are weathering the holidays, looking forward to jumping into our escape pod early Wednesday morning for the long cross country ramble to our mountain hideaway. While we've been able to squeeze in some early morning sex these last few days before our over-scheduled lives draw us from the bed, we've resolved to step things up a notch once we hit the road and head west.

Truth be told, Slave has been a bit of a scrooge this Holiday season. After about a decade spending Christmas out west - Molly, Mick and the two cute Co-Eds in our own winter wonderland- this is the second year in a row we've had to hunker down here in the heartland, dealing with the expectations of our extended family members that they be feted, fed, gifted and accommodated.

That makes me sound like a grumpy and selfish old fart, doesn't it? And I suppose that's so. It's not that I don't have lovely Christmas memories from years past. There were always beautiful trees with nice presents beneath them. There were plenty of family gatherings where I was of the generation being fed, feted and accommodated, after all. But there comes a time when the folks who were part of those early Christmas celebrations move on or fade away, and the memories of those Holiday seasons bring a touch of melancholy to the "festivities". It reminds me of that line from my favorite Christmas song, "through the years we'll always be together, if the fates allow...."

Well the fates have stepped in for our family, just like so many others in recent years. And while the cast of characters gathering around the Christmas tree, Menorrah or bonfire this season of lights may have been pruned from years past, others have joined the party of our lives, and the show must go on.

Now I'm the oldest of my generation and have to admit that, in not so many years, will be part of the memory of the Holidays for my kids and theirs.

So I've resolved to be a good soldier over the next 48 hours: entertain, be merry, generous of time and spirit for Molly, my / our daughters, and my two cute grand-kids.  I'll even try to be nice to my grumpy old Mother when I visit her tomorrow afternoon! Hopefully I will be remembered more as a Santa than a Scrooge!

So, on behalf of our entire staff here at UCTMW, we  hope that all of you - the readers, followers and  friends we've met here in our alternative universe - can enjoy this special time of year  with your own families and friends too!

Stubble Trouble: A Dispatch from Our Senior Correspondent

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Imagine Mick's surprise when this dispatch from our Senior Correspondent slid under my electronic transom yesterday afternoon! Sounds like she's trying to get back on the payroll too!

Thank You, Donna.

Bill is an Inspection Dom. He likes for me to shower first thing in the morning and present to him with teeth brushed, body scrubbed, and the only hair he wants on my body is on my head, and that should be freshly shampooed and blown dry.

That’s really not asking too much, except for that shaved everywhere situation. I sometimes run into stubble trouble. Bill really doesn’t want to feel a five o’clock shadow when he runs his hands over my pussy, so I was looking for a solution when I ran across an article that suggested using a combination of shaving cream and baby oil along with a Venus razor.

I could do that!

I picked up my supplies at the local grocery store. They had the razor and the suggested brand of shaving cream, but the only baby oil they had was baby oil gel. Okay, close enough.

The next morning, excited to surprise Bill with the smoothest pussy ever, I headed for the shower while Bill slept in. Nice hot water, good shampoo, a washing up and then the shaving process began. The razor and shaving cream worked well, right up to the point I added the gel on top. The gel made the razor blade all gooey and wouldn’t come off. I tried using the wash cloth to wipe it off and I tried blasting it with hot water from the shower head, but that goo was there to stay. Well, crap! I closed the lid on the baby gel, but that puppy was slick and started to slip through my hands. I must have grabbed at it a bit too hard because the gel came shooting up out of that thing landing on the floor of the shower. Oops.

What could I do? The only other razor in the shower was Bill’s, so I grabbed it and began again, using just the shaving cream and Bill’s razor. Things seemed to go well.

This may be the time to remind you that I am a wheelchair person, so I use a shower chair but Bill stands in the shower. That information is about to become relevant.

I finished getting ready and headed into the bedroom for presentation. Bill barely picked his head up off the pillow and said he had a headache, that I should go have my coffee and let him sleep a little longer. So I did.

In a little while I heard the water in the shower start up and I started wheeling for the bathroom as fast as I could. I hadn’t had the chance yet to tell Bill the shower floor might be a little slick. Just as I turned the corner at the end of the hallway, I heard a whack and knew that Bill had lost his balance and crashed into the side of the shower. Whoops!

I opened the bathroom door, and yelling over the running water I shouted, “Honey, are you okay? I was going to tell you about the shower being a little slick from some baby gel I used, but time got away from me.” He stuck his head out of the shower and I saw a little rivulet of blood running down his cheek. “And did you also plan, but fail, to tell me you neglected to change out my razor blade after you used it to shave your pussy and legs?” he asked in a deep monotone. Gulp.

I waited until he stepped out and began toweling, and then tried to take his mind off the subject of the razor by asking if he felt better after his shower. He responded that once he realized he needed to grip with his toes in order to stay upright in the shower, and then managed to stop the bleeding caused by the dull razor, it went quite well, thank you.  I knew that look and that tone of voice. Crap!

My butt still has a rosy glow. In fact, if Rudolph isn’t available on Christmas Eve, Bill may offer me to fly red-butt first, leading Santa’s sleigh.

Donna with the Red-Butt

The WC Applies for WC

Was it only a few short weeks ago that we were planning to prune our staff here at UCTMW... go back to basics and strip away all these burdensome overhead costs?  With all that extra expense associated with Obamacare kicking in, why would our vast media empire want a bunch of under-productive staff members to plunge over the fiscal cliff with us?

But then we flew out to Denver to pick up the Company AMEX card and the keys to our Mountain Zone branch office from our Western Correspondent and.....

Well Mistress's hormones overrode her common sense, and our austerity plans were tossed out the window. She renewed the WC's employment deal, while diddling with his non-compete. And we actually got one whole post from him.

But Now....

Word broke yesterday that the WC was under the knife for some type of "injury". Of course, your executive editor can't disclose the details due to various overly burdensome federal laws protecting the disclosure of employee medical information. Let's simply say that the WC is so laid up that he is asserting that he has temporarily suspended his favorite recreational activity. Something he reputedly does four to five times / day, driving up demand for industrial quantities of premium lubricants.

And then.....

Here at the UCTMW World HQ we just received notice from the Colorado Bureau of Worker's Compensation that the WC has made a claim that his surgery arose from a job related injury, potentially forcing up our premiums going forward, and creating another barrier to a future lay-off. That's right, if we try to fire the WC next year as part of a cost saving plan, or to replace him with someone more familiar with periods or comas, he'll claim it was just a pretext for exercising his right to seek worker's comp for a work related injury!

The WC's initial claim form does not disclose the work related "injury" that led to his purported surgery.  Suzanne over at All Mine wondered yesterday whether it was a slip and fall on some of that foam at Scarlett Ranch that WC encountered during his "investigative reporting" at that esteemed institution last summer.

Could he claim that the bicycle crash that occurred two years ago, while he was coaching Mistress on the use of her Hitachi, created some latent injury?  Or was it that frost bitten cock incident?

Or was it simply wear and tear as a result of years of excessive self-abuse? Surely UCTMW cannot be held accountable for a lifetime of wasteful excess! I mean, why should a current employer have to pick up the tab for the therapy to repair the consequences of, or cure that long running malady?

Mistress would love to supervise personally the very thorough independent medical exam required to get to the bottom of this and throw out the WC's WC claim.

But I have a feeling it will be a while before Miguel feels "Up" to it.

In the meantime, feel free to send him a "get well quick" card! Maybe your good vibes will help mitigate this unexpected drag on profitability here at UCTMW.

HNT / Nail Talk

I'm a guy with four lovely daughters, and a very sexy and stylish wife. Of course, there are benefits, as those of you who are regular readers know.

But sometimes... on occasions when we are all together,  one has to endure dinner conversation that drifts into "girl talk" more often than not.

Like the other night, when we took our cute Co-Eds out for an Indian dinner. Mistress had just gotten a new manicure and everyone had an opinion. At least everyone but me.

"They look a little trashy",  said our younger daughter, who, after a year in Europe, fancies herself as Oh so sophisticated and continental.

The older daughter, who is more the midwestern sorority girl, with much less pretension and more generosity of spirit, was more supportive.... "they're OK.... if kind of bright."

In her own defense, Mistress argued that they were "festive", fit for the holidays.

Of course, she then put me on the spot.  I tried to demur, not feeling truly qualified to express an opinion on the subject. But "no comment" was not acceptable.

"I don't think they're trashy .... trashy would be fake long ones.... or maybe reindeer painted on your nails...."

You know, something Ellie Mae Clampett would come home with.

Fortunately the Nan showed up at the table, and the subject changed.  But what do you think, dear readers?

 I found this old picture that has just about the same nail color Mistress is now sporting: