Mistress Continues Her Crackdown

Slave made it clear Sunday evening that she was expecting me in my cage Monday, and, sadly, it was one of those Monday's when she had a very early morning meeting. So none of our typical wake - up sex.

Slave (it is alright to capitalize when it starts a sentence, "anonymous"?) was certainly not going to argue, so I made sure to remember to schmush that ring on first thing, before suffering that "tighten up" cold morning phenomenon. I'm still waiting for that slow delivery from Amazon!

So I was off to work, fully caged, no wake up sex.  Dang! Should I call the "abused caged cuckold hotline"?`

Mistress did stop by for some pre-lunch worship. But sadly the key was back at home. After wriggling back into her black tights, my work done, she did not show a whole lot of sympathy.

"Aww.... poor Slave.... are you a little horny now?"

I must say I was more than a  little horny after my sad denial that morning, compounded by  the stimulative impact of Mistress's musky juices smeared across my face.

So by the end of the day, I was more than ready for "release", in both senses of the word.  But Mistress had bad news. She was feeling a little flu-ish. So while she sprung her work-a-day cock loose, she proclaimed there would  be an unscheduled abstinence day.

(I might add that she did not object when I used my fingers to deliver a quick cum while we sat on the couch watching an episode of Homeland last evening.  So maybe she'll be feeling a little better this morning.)

At bed time, she reminded me that she expected the ring on again this morning when I came back to bed, hoping that our regular regime will resume.

"You may be in the cage all week, slave, after last week's issues...."

I hope those new cages come soon....

Slave Gets a Smack Down

Slave had a sore ass last evening after Mistress administered a mid-afterenoon cropping as a way for her to express her well justified displeasure about some unfortunate developments here in River City late last week.

Slave was asked to speak to a large crowd about a civic issue on Thursday evening. It was a bit of an ego stroke for this aging crank, and I probably enjoyed my brief moment in the spotlight a little too much.

 But that's not what got Mistress annoyed.

No... it was the rather overbearing presence of a woman we usually try to avoid around town. The one that Slave briefly got into some hot water with about 5 years ago, when Mistress and Slave were commuting from afar. That brief dalliance led, in a way, to our contract and this blog. Those of you who've stopped in here from time to time probably recall the sad the story. If not, check out the "back story" on the right.

Anyway....there she was, at the door when we arrived. And later she even showed up in the background of some random photos posted on facebook of Mistress chatting up some folks at the event.  Mistress didn't actually blame her presence on me --- I didn't know in advance -- but she was not pleased.

"This is why I make sure to come to these sorts of events with you, Slave....."

And I thought it was a birthday treat.

Then, on Friday night we had plans to go to an event at a local, historic hall under restoration. It was one of those deals with a reception first, some drinks and bites, followed by some rather tedious "fine" arts performances, which turned out to be rather lame.

But once again, there was that particular woman, lurking about.

"She's a menace, Slave...."

We successfully dodged her through both events, but it's never good to remind Mistress of her Slave's past transgression.

So yesterday afternoon -- following a nice nap-- and after I gave Mistress's clean shaven folds the full attention they so clearly deserved, Mistress was inspired to grab the crop tucked away in our bedroom closet.

"Roll over Slave....."

"Oops...."

"What did I do wrong, Mistress?"

I know, it's never a good idea to question Mistress's exercise of her contractual rights, but I suppose I was curious.

"You know exactly why you deserve this...."

Ouch. The first few blows landed on my ass. I couldn't help but squirm away....

"I couldn't help she was there, Mistress...."

Double ouch.

"Don't roll away..... I'm almost done....."

I did my best to take my medicine, leaving my ass at her mercy. In all, I suppose it was only 10 smacks on my twitching ass. Nothing a good Slave shouldn't be able to handle.

"This is just a little reminder about the behavior I expect from my Slave."

Soon my medicine was fully administered, with my ass glowing. And I was duly reminded to redouble my devotion to a Mistress who is firm, but fair.

In retrospect,  it's good for Mistress to vent that way, rather than brood about this annoyance. My ass can take it.

And in her post punishment mercy, she allowed me to fully deploy the work-a-day cock that remained firm as well throughout these disciplinary proceedings.

So there was a happy ending!

Crazy Week in River City

The days slid away from us here at UCTMW this week. Lots of running around for Mistress. Lots of performance art for her devoted Slave. In the middle of it we did take a little detour through our ever so flat state capitol. Slave had a presentation to make. And with our nest emptied there was no reason why Mistress could not join me for a brief respite in a Marriott bed and a romantic dinner to celebrate Slave's latest inglorious birthday.

That left time for some sex on the double wide bed before dinner, and some hot wake up sex the next morning before Slave was off to do his thing.

Yesterday I had another bit of bloviating to do at a big civic meeting in the evening.  Mistress could have just gone to the gym or visited her friend Jay, but I was grateful that she loyally stuck by my side.

Of course, there was the incentive of a little pre-meeting worship in my office. She even wore her black tights and boots, which were a bit of a distraction to me  later as I rambled on, and apparently to the long haired fellow sitting next to her in the third row , who seemed to be chatting her up during my warm up act.

After the dust settled and the rabble I had roused were heading back to their trouble making lives, we ran into said long haired dude down in the lobby of the building. He made sure to say good by to Mistress.

"It was nice talking with you...."

"Who's that Mistress?", I muttered to her in a little aside.

"Oh... he's T*****'s grad assistant."

"He seems to have taken a shine to you, Mistress...."

"I suppose he was flirting a bit...."

At least Mistress didn't get too bored at last night's meeting.

Now I better get back up to bed and show my gratitude.

Shop 'Til You Drop (Dead)?

Over the weekend, Donna, our beloved senior correspondent, forwarded an article from the Sunday Times that I had overlooked: Sex Toys in the Attack. The gist of this cleverly written piece is that us aging baby boomers are likely to have a stash of not suitable for our kids' viewing items tucked away around the house, that probably aren't getting as much use as they used to get. What happens when, on the occasion of our untimely (or even timely) demise, they are still there to be unearthed by those consigned with the burden of sorting through and disposing of our "estates"?

I can relate to this problem big time. Over the summer I spent many hours sorting through the accumulated detritus of my aging Mother. We had relocated her to a nice assisted living apartment. In her mind her "relocation" was akin to be shipped in a cattle car to a concentration camp. Under protest she had designated the things she wanted to move there, but that left behind a Condo crammed with what one can only refer to as junk - things she had been unwilling to toss away though she'd not used them for 20 or more years.  I did come upon some things that were decidedly creepy in  her dressers and closets - though only one could be marginally considered a sex toy, an ancient,  over-sized vibrator that I would like to think had something to do with her bad back.

But what if our kids had to go through the drawers and closets of the UCTMW World HQ? Presumably there would be no reason for them to find and sort through this blog, and its 4 year plus  documentation of their parents' peculiarities and misadventures. But there is a whole lot of incriminating evidence stuffed here and there in dresser drawers, bedside tables, and little wicker hampers in our closet:  cuffs, canes, collars, crops, clamps, crystal cock.

And that only covers one letter of the kinky alphabet.

I've been on a bit of a "down sizing" tear here since having to deal with all my Mother's crap. We hope to move ourselves into a smaller place come spring and it just won't all fit. But the thought of our cute Co-Eds, or my somewhat prissy and judgmental oldest daughter  finding Mistress's strap on harness makes me a little squeamish.

I suppose I'll be dead under those circumstances.  But, as the author suggests in that article, what if our sense of shame lasts for 30 days after our body goes cold?

Some of the most embarrassing items that could be unearthed are my cock cages, stuck on my sock drawer at this very moment. Could I be any more obvious?

"Gee....wonder what Dad used this for?"

And I seem to be adding to my collection. Like shoes, one cock cage can't be used for every occasion, can it?  With Suzanne's encouragement many of you chimed in with some suggestions over the weekend. Setting aside piercings, which Mistress thankfully vetoed,  the selection seems to have expanded exponentially since the last time I was on the market.  Better yet, the discounters have gotten involved, making products available at lower price points! The miracle of free markets has done its destructive work in earnest.

Now the folks at Amazon.com, determined to dominate in every conceivable market - why don't the Iranians get their nukes there? - have wedged their jack boots into the realhm of male chastity devices of various materials and configurations. Could it be long before you can pick them up at WalMart with your flat screen TV and cat litter?

The ones that really creaped me out involved steel needle like devices crammed down the tip of your cock.

 WTF! How could that be safe, and what strange kink does that appeal to?  It would seem like a cock on a spit ready to be roasted. Maybe we should get the WC to try one of these out and give it a consumer product review for these pages. He's been pretty unproductive lately.

There are now "woodies" to make sure a good Slave doesn't get one:

Maybe these are popular in Holland, as an accessory for wooden shoes, but  would seem a little clunky, and unsanitary too. The plastic ones are hard enough to keep clean.

There were a few steel models I may try out that have hinged rings to deal with that schmushing problem on cold mornings I've encountered:

That one also looks like it might be easier to take a pee in, something that needs to be considered.


But I settled at least initially for the good old CB6000, the Ford Fiesta of the product line. Cheap. Nothing flashy. May be dead at 40,000 miles, but gets the job done for that trip to the office, the Court House, or flight to Atlanta, as long as you use the plastic locks:

While this might eliminate some of Slave's lame excuses, it doesn't solve the problem of who gets to dispose of this stuff in the event Mistress and Slave get buried under an avalanche this ski season, leaving behind a house full of incriminating evidence of Mom and Dad's "sick" side. Any suggestions on how to solve that problem?