Another Rough Day....

Two a Days. Bike ride. Afternoon in bed when the rain rolls in. Then back to the beach for a sunset al fresco dinner. We won't bore you with the details.

Have a good Father's Day, all. I know one pampered house Slave who will!

Corsets, Whips and Whiskey

Mistress and Slave had one of those decadent days that you try to file away in your memory banks to fall back on when the going gets rough, and the stress levels rise.

First there was some robust wake-up sex here in our little hideaway, after Mistress slept in and Slave wrote the blog and brewed some coffee.

Then a long bike ride in bright sunshine and cool temperatures in a gentle breeze coming off the lake. We pedaled through rolling countryside to a perfect little Midwestern town, oozing Americana, for a breakfast of some eggs, hashbrowns and thick, smoky local bacon to die for. (Well the pig died for it. All we got was a little extra cholesterol to work off on the ride back).

But as we left the charming old main street restaurant, with its red white and blue bunting, all decked out for flag day, I noticed this poster for an event we might want to come back for:

Is kink spreading to the heartland faster than we thought?

Once back from our ride,  our mobile offices adjourned to  the beach, where we kept of the pretext of being "connected" to clients and colleagues whole basking in the early summer sun.  It's amazing what you can accomplish with an I-phone and no shame! Although I do wonder whether that one client could hear the sound of the waves in the background.

The sun was in no mood to set anytime soon, but we wandered back to our room at around 6:30 pm in any event, with a little more sunburn than I had hoped for.

After showering off the sand, we slid back under the sheets for another round of nookie, with Mistress riding her cock to a couple of cums before allowing her Slave to indulge himself. It was nice to get back into the ryhthmn of "two a days."

Yesterday Suzanne wondered whether we had packed the cage. Well, no, actually. Mick is like one of those free range chickens this weekend. Since Mistress can keep close watch on her cock, she has dispensed with it's containment device.

Soon we were off to dinner at a little Armenian joint up the highway, still festooned with the T-shirts and bumper stickers touting the immigration status of its owner. Will Ibrahim ever be freed? Tune in again next year.

Not bad for a Friday, particularly when you can look forward to a Saturday when the "mobile offices" can shutdown.

"I could get used to this, Slave...."

No doubt.

Mistress and Slave Slip Under the Radar

"Let's act like we're having an affair, Slave...."

That's our theme this weekend.

Cloak and dagger.

Surreptitious.

We've decided to slip out of town and remove our cyber-feetprints for a few days.

Well, expect for our kids, and you.... our mystery friends in sex blog land.

On the work front, Mistress has a rather insane boss who, no matter how well she performs, always wants more. A later than usual lunch hour this week produced a "where are you" text message.

"She stalks me on facebook and linked-in, Slave...."

Mistress does not like being tracked down.

For me its the extended family. After months of my nagging, my reluctant sister decided this was the week to deposit my cranky Mother in an "independent living" facility. I made it clear that my schedule for this weekend was set. I spent the morning at her place yesterday assisting the packers, and disposing of trash that should have been tossed years ago, learning that my mother never threw away a twist tie or jar top in 20 years.  Did you know that pantyhose once sold for $1.99. She has unopened packs to prove it.

That plus the upcoming theatrics involving a daughter's wedding next weekend.... well, we needed to escape, without the groans of disapproval and eyerolls that more facebook posts from the happy couple at the beach or in some funky restaurant would generate.

So while my sister is now seeking cyber back pats on facebook by posting about the joys of spending the weekend with my mother in her new digs, Slave has absconded with my Mistress to a secret hideaway, where no one but you, dear readers, realize that we are avoiding all responsibilities and wallowing in libidinous fun.

We slid out of Mistress's parking lot a little after 1:15 pm. I was planning on doing some rearranging, plugging in phones, etc. in front of her office, but no.

"Let's get out of her fast, Slave. I don't want anyone to see that I'm leaving."

"Yes, Mistress."

By 6:30 we were here. heading out on a short but lovely bikeride along the bluffs overlooking the beach.

By 7:30 we were in bed, Slave feasting on those clean shaven folds, and indulging in a long session of fucking Mistress to our hearts' (and other body parts) content.

At dinner, a little roadhouse around the corner from our Inn, I was tempted to take one of those pictures of my fetching Mistress, toasting with her Scotch on the rocks, that would be suitable for facebook.

"No Slave.... remember..... let's just pretend we're having an affair this weekend.... it's our secret."

But at least not from you folks.

Seeking Privacy

Here at the UCTMW World HQ we've had some problems getting the privacy to which we've become accustomed. And even though the boyfriend and the visitor from across the pond are now gone, there is still the cute Co-Ed around, just down the hall, watching netflix in the evenings, with or without her ear buds on.

Add that to the fact that we have a big family wedding coming up next weekend and the masses that will assemble in conjunction with that .... well, it seems like a good time for Slave and Mistress to flee for a little R&R for a few days before the unwashed and intrusive masses descend. We've reserved some chambers at a favorite Inn  just off the big lake to our northwest, and I've loaded our bikes on the car for a quick mid-day escape.

Of course, the theme of privacy - or the lack of it - has been all over the news this week. A 29 year old computer geek without a high school degree has fled his $200,000/ yr. job as a consultant for the NSA to the freedom loving environs of the People's Republic of China, from whence, over hotel room service, he's disclosed that his former masters  have been accumulating Multiple Zetas of data that might allow the government to figure out who we have ever called and when, ever  since the advent of the I-Phone.

And then there's that whole internet thing: tracking the emails and web traffic of "foreigners" to see if we can discover what those pesky terrorists are up to, and where they might strike next.

It made me realize that as a world renowned sex blogger with a vast media conglomerate and an international following (of sorts), the NSA likely has somewhere in the bowels of its dingy data mine a detailed history of Molly, Mick and all of the commenters who have graced these pages.

Could it be that some of the comments have been coded messages from one "bad guy" to another?

Does the comment "nice ass, Molly", really mean, pick up the plastique at 3 am in the dumpster behind  the bar on Penelope Ave. in Fresno?

Do references to "vats of lube" really mean drums of depleted enriched uranium for a dirty bomb?

Could NSA "analysts" employed as independent contractors by some international consulting company like Booz Allen be spending vast quantities of  billable hours admiring Molly's ass?

Maybe we should all be paranoid about this  vast expansion of government data collection in the name of the war on terrorism.

But you know what?

I don't really care.

We already know that by setting foot in and laying tracks on the cyber-world we've opened ourselves to the prying eyes of corporate giants like Google, Verizon and Facebook, and to the cyber stalkers and lurkers who might like to exploit our freedom of expression.  It's no secret that Google's systems track our emails and pitch us ads based on their content. Facebook does the same. So do the pages of websites like the New York Times and the Washington Post that we frequent.

So the notion that our cyber-conduct is being monitored by "Big Brother" should hardly be a surprise to anyone.

Is it different that Big Government in addition to Big Corporate is doing the data collecting on us?

Potentially.

Certainly the power could be abused to monitor political rivals or punish dissidents, as happens in China where the liberty loving Mr. Snowden now hangs his hat.

But we've seen no sign of that abuse here, at least so far. And who can blame a government expected to protect us from the next 9/11 to use the tools available to at least try to do that.  After the Boston Bombing the political finger pointing - "why didn't the FBI prevent those losers from doing this" -began even before all the blood was mopped up at the Marathons finish line.

Finally, we all know what to do if we don't want to be tracked by the snoops at NSA, Google, Facebook and the rest.

Unplug.

Eliminate or reduce your cyber footprint. Cut the blogging, facebooking, and tweeting.

Reintroduce yourself to your local mailman, newspaper or book store.

They sure could use the business.

And that would free up a lot more time for sex.

Waiting for the Thought Police to knock at the door,

Mick