Another Boom

The odd coincidence was that Slave was emailing with our competition over at All Mine when news broke about the Marathon bombing in Suzanne's neck of the woods.

One minute we were comparing theories on the potential compatibility of Shane, "The Witchita Lineman", and Mistress.

The next minute she was assuring me that both Tammy and Jay were well and accounted for. Thankfully.

But that wasn't true for her historic City and the victims of yet another senseless act of violence.

Of course, if you've been around as long as me, you know where things are headed when news like this breaks. The media rounds up the usual "experts" to toss out their speculations about what happened and why, the networks' glamor boys and girls hop on the private jets and line the sidewalks at the scene of the tragedy for their stand-up shots, preening in their "crime scene casual" wear, angling for ratings advantage. The pundits begin an endless round of speculation about who's to blame and the political calculus. Meanwhile the doctors and cops quietly  try to do their jobs under the harsh, prying media microscope.

We've seen it so many times.

The Laguardia bombing in the 1970's, The Atlanta Olympic Bombing, Oklahoma City, the mass shootings at Virginia Tech, Columbine, Connecticut, and of course the mother of all horrors, 9/11/2001.

Our reaction to that unimaginable act of terror led us blundering into Iraq and Afghanistan, and left a death toll that far exceeded the original tragedy. It also left us shoeless at the airport,  droning our adversaries and the innocents around them, and wondering whether the emails we send and phone calls we make are being dumped in some gigantic government data base.

The frenzy, fueled by social media and all those TV news outlets, make us believe we live in a dangerous time and place. They crank up fear, and foster crazy, whether the urge for some act of "eye for an eye" vengeance, or to turn the screws of "security" down another notch, further jeopardizing the freedoms we value.

But when you think about it, we live in relatively safe and stable times, at least those of us who live here in the USA, or in the "developed" world. We don't need to worry about the threats our ancestors faced in a world without today's medical science and technology: deadly influenza epidemics, "consumption", the wars of the 19th and 20th centuries that left millions dead. Even the aircraft crashes that left hundreds dead that were far more typical in the 1970's and 1980's. Mistress and Slave were both at a Who concert years ago where the death toll from a stampede for seats far exceeded yesterday's tragedy.

But these random, unexpected acts of violence like yesterday in Boston, particularly when amplified by the media frenzy, unnerve us all. They make us think twice about whether we can safely walk our streets, or attend the types of events - like the Marathon - that make our communities come together.

Let's hope that the survivors and their families are given the space and care required to recover as best they can.

Let's hope that they quickly find the perpetrators and make sure they can't do this again.

But let's also hope that our collective reaction to this horror does not once again disproportionately ratchet up the fear, the death and the "security" measures that diminish us.

Mistress and Slave Meet the Swingers

With her afternoon delight with Mr. Leprecock behind her on friday, you couldn't blame Mistress if she called it a night, and retreated with her pampered house Slave to the UCTMW World HQ for a little R & R. 

But as it turns out, she had arranged to meet a "gentleman" and his wife at a local downtown bar with her Slave in tow.

This was another guy who contacted her via AM. He noticed the part in Mistress's profile that says her husband is clued in on her extracurricular activities, and told her that he and his wife have a similar arrangement: but (unlike Slave) they both "play the field".  They talked on the phone the other night, and Mistress was intrigued enough by some of his stories that it seemed like a four way meet up might be entertaining.

Now this guy really isn't Mistress's "type". He is more working class hero than over educated "professional". He works for the local public utility, and we have started calling him the "Witchita Lineman" after that old Glen Campbell song.  We met him and his wife at a local sports bar he suggested, one of those places with wall to wall big screen TVs with Masters' highlights and the local baseball team clogging the plasma. 

(Of course, Mistress had a crash course on Masters highlights earlier in the afternoon, so she now was well aware of what a "leader board" was.  She knew that numbers like 5+ did not reference cock size).

Shane and Bridget are both in their early 40's, and we got to know them over some unhealthy food,  Guinness for me and a Chardonnay for Mistress.

We all shared some funny stories about our sexual adventures over the last few years. They've worked the local "swinger" scene, and we told them about our trip to the downriver dungeon with Aisha.  Mistress even shared the fact that her boredom at work that Friday had led her on a frolic and detour to the home of Mr. Leprecock only a few hours earlier.

Bridgett was tall and fairly attractive, but with a laugh that was a little scary, and made Slave want to suppress his trademark humor about half-way through our conversation. But when they told a story about she and a female friend getting it on with a strap-on at one of their "parties", I must say the thought of her buried between Mistress's legs piqued my prurient interest.

What became clear was that while both of them are free to indulge, Bridgett's been getting a lot more action than Shane, and Shane is not the type, like some of us out there, who necessarily gets off on the whole cuckold thing.

Shane was clearly interested in the lovely Molly, and moving this little party somewhere more private where he might be able to slide her out of her panties.

"If we didn't have a kid and babysitter over at our house, I'd invite you home with us right now."

Of course we had an empty nest, but I didn't notice Mistress suggesting that we adjourn there.

On the way home, Mistress acknowledged what was pretty obvious from the start. Shane was not the type of guy she would want to bed. A little too short. A little too goofy. Rough edges in the wrong places. But how to tell that to a perfectly nice guy we had a pleasant and entertaining evening with?

"If I did it it would be a sympathy fuck, Slave... I kind of feel bad that she's getting so much more action than he is...."

"I think you're beyond sympathy fucks, Mistress....."

On the other hand, we had fun with them as 2 couples sharing funny stories about our in-common kinks in a way we can never do with the boring folks we normally socialize with. That's good isn't it?

When we got home, there was the predictable text from Shane,  raving about how sexy he thought Mistress was, and wondering when they might get together again.... "how about tomorrow night.... LOL."

(Did I ever mention that Mistress wonders about guys who use LOL in the communications?)

So do we invite them over for a fun dinner at our house some night, while making it clear that this is not a door opener for Shane to get it on with Mistress?  Or do we simply cut things off all together?

Any thoughts, dear readers?

Leprecock

The hardest part of writing today's entry was picking a suitable headline to describe Mistress's odd discovery yesterday afternoon.

She had been out late for a client dinner Thursday evening, so our day started a little later than normal Friday morning, with Slave endeavoring to provide her some wake-up pleasure before we both headed off to work. She seemed to have a busy work day planned - more clients at lunch time, back to the office, then we would both "hook-up" at a local watering hole with a couple Mistress had discovered through her AM "shopping" in the last week.

So Slave was a little surprised to get a call around 2:30 pm at my office from Mistress.

"Slave.... you'll probably think I'm crazy but I'm going over to your fellow alum's house.... he's been badgering me to come by the last few days, and well.... I'm tired of working...."

"I guess that's better than 'shopping therapy', Mistress."

This was the guy she'd met for drinks Tuesday evening - The golfer who'd been on scholarship 20 years after I graduated. Mistress had shared a few of his cute, urgent and flirtatious sexts with me. He clearly wasn't inclined to wait until Tuesday night if he could persuade Mistress to drop by any sooner. But he had shown a respectful reserve - no cock shots taken via the bathroom mirror from this guy.

And apparently he was an effective salesman, unlike the erstwhile Latin Lover who she had kicked to the curb.

I made sure Mistress took at least a few safety precautions, including giving me his name and address. But it's hard not to trust a fellow alum, right?  ( At least he didn't go to USC.... or Boston College for that matter).

I suppose it was fortunate that Mistress had made these plans "on the fly", since otherwise, Slave would have been caged and a little more on edge than normal as I awaited her update.

And sure enough, she came back on the radar screen at around 4:45 pm, calling me as she drove away from her little suburban rendezvous.

"You won't believe this Slave.... his cock looks just like yours!"

"Hmmm.... so he's got the standard issue Fighting Irish equipment?"

"Exactly.... it was hard not to laugh...."

Well not that her work-a-day cock is laughable.... at least I hope. And it sure looks good when tricked out with one of those gold helmets!

"Ladies and Gentlemen.... the cock of the Fighting Irish."

I couldn't help but start humming the fight song.

After some office worship/clean-up duty behind my closed office door, I debriefed her further over a cocktail at a crowded downtown bar as we waiting for our meet and greet with Shane and Bridget (was this Irish Week for Mistress?).

"It was fun, Slave.... he's a nice, funny guy.... and we watched the Masters a bit. He's played that course and knew a lot of the players from his competitive days. Interesting stories."

"But what about the sex, Mistress....did he satisfy your needs on a Friday afternoon?"

"He did Slave.... I did some cock riding... and he had me suck his cock. Could you taste the cum on my lips?"

"Uhhhh.... no..... I guess I missed that....."

"And how does he rank so far among your lovers?"

"I guess he falls into the "OK... but not great" category, at least so far...."

"Could this be another one-and-done, Mistress.... that is so ND, at least in the NCAA Men's bracket".

I'm not sure Mistress got the allusion. She's not much of a basketball fan.

"We'll see Slave...."

'Then again, if the point of all this is to provide a little variety for Mistress, what's the point of doing it with a cock that's just like mine...."

"You have a point, Slave."

We'll save the evenings further developments with Shane and Bridget for tomorrow morning's post.

Iron Domme

Earlier this week as the news broke about the death of the former Prime Minister, Slave could not help recalling a song written by Elvis Costello back during her reign called "Tramp the Earth Down". It was a political protest song classic, written by Elvis Costello, with some stirring similes and metaphors. I mean how can you resist, "When England was the whore of the world, Margaret was her Madam".  The thrust was that the singer was only hoping to still be around on the day Margaret died so he could "tramp the earth down". ( In fairness to him, he did say he hoped she lived long....)

And the song was a particular favorite of my brother, a devotee of labor and Irish nationalism, who, sadly, did not live to see that particular day himself.

So it was natural that I thought of that old song, and posted it here (and on my facebook page too, btw) on Monday.

I did get a little pushback though, particularly from a commenter who labeled herself "Feminist", who suggested that the song and my posting of it  was just another example of  guys picking on a strong woman. Well, I didn't think of it that way: I sure admire other "strong women", including Mistress. And in the political realm, there's Golda Meir or Hillary to think of, who's grown on me over the last few years.

And I never thought of Maggie as a feminist. There is that quote in which she says "feminism is poison" that comes to mind. It seemed that she saw "equality" as the enemy of "freedom", and was famous for a cabinet where she was the only woman at the table.

Indeed, if there ever was a political "Domme" it would seem to be England's first female prime minister, who seemed to have a sadistic edge,  taking particular relish in belittling and humiliating her male opponents and colleagues. When she warned George H. W. Bush that he shouldn't go all "wobbly" on Saddam, wasn't that a a bit of public humiliation, questioning his manhood in an effort to get him to invade Iraq?

But in any event, I stumbled on a video yesterday showing that its not just the guys who have been throwing a little extra dirt on Maggie's grave these last few days.  Here is Glenda Jackson, MP's stirring Parliamentary Tribute to the Iron Domme from the debate over a proclamation in her honor. If you can, stick around for the pronouncement from the Speaker that she was not "out of order"

(Here is a link to the video: Glenda Jackson on Margaret Thatcher. )

So now that we've put her to rest, so to speak, let's move onto what is up with Mistress's current quest for a little outside entertainment.

As mentioned here yesterday, she had arranged an after work "date" with a somewhat younger fellow who disclosed in their correspondence that he had attended my alma mater., though 20 years after me. Small world!

I anxiously awaited news from my office on how her date was going, at a bar just down the street.  She ultimately texted around 6:30 pm that she was 'on her way". So what was the verdict?

"He was interesting, Slave... must have gone there on a golf scholarship. Had funny stories about golfing with Lou Holtz when he was being recruited." Of course, when I was there Ara Parseghian was the football coach and the game of golf had not yet been invented.

Enough of an impression was left that Mistress has arranged to see this young gentleman next Tuesday evening. And he was texting semi-salacious messages to her last night. So we will see how that develops.

"He's says he's not big on compliments, and is not all that open emotionally, Slave...."

"Yeah, sounds like your typical ND grad....but at least he recognizes his shortcomings."

"I told him no worries.....I am used to the whole Irish Catholic thing...."

In the meantime, there are two other potential suitors in the Q, awaiting that first "meet and greet". Once again this is getting a little crazy.

Stay tuned....