Say It Ain't So.

Slave definitely fucked up yesterday.

I had an early morning meeting. Mistress had suggested I wake her no earlier than 7 am for our wake-up sex rituals.  But when I returned to the UCTMW executive suite (I am an early riser) she was still dead to the world. It was clear she was not inclined to be roused (and aroused) so early.

So we passed on morning sex, giving our selves rain checks for the evening.

But.... we met downtown around 5:30 pm for a political event, she accompanied me to another speaking engagement, then back downtown. After a couple of drinks and dinner at a funky local bistro we finally arrived home in separate cars around 10 pm..... and crashed.

I even forgot to offer the services of my devoted lips and tongue.

So there has been no cumming, even for Mistress for a whole 24 hours. (Unless she resorted to self-abuse yesterday without cluing me in.) It was an accidental, unscheduled abstinence day.

I clearly dropped the ball.

Our reputation is on the line.

If word gets out on this I may have my sex-blogger card revoked.

Fortunately, this is a new day.

Time to get to work.

The Return of Woody

After some bracing wake-up sex, this Ol' Slave spent the day in his cage yesterday, going about my daily duties, then returning home to be sprung loose for a pre-dinner bike ride with Mistress.

As it turns out, while slave was under lock and key, Mistress was having a lunch date with a suitor who popped back up on her radar screen after a couple of years.

You may remember Woody. He was the guy who for a while dated Mistress's former boss, then asked her out to lunch. She was impressed with the guy's mental chops, education, and ability to carry on an adult conversation.  But there was no .... chemistry.  Somehow she mentioned that her husband gives her "permission" to carry on outside the marital bed. Of course this egged him on to no end, ending in his effort to kiss her in a shopping mall parking lot after lunch one day.

Mistress made her lack of interest clear, and that seemed to be that.

But then, yesterday, Mistress mentioned he had been back in touch. And she had agreed to another lunch date.

"Who knows slave.... he's smart, and maybe there can at least be a business connection...."

After their lunch, and then later on our bike ride, Mistress filled me in on how things went.

"It was nice slave... he is interesting... smart... we had a nice conversation about politics and all the rest."

She reminded me of his qualifications.... a little younger than me, advanced degrees, published author, single and available, and very attracted to Mistress.

"He kept saying how smart and attractive and fun to be with I am, slave...."

Mistress does like a little flattery.  Who doesn't.

"But...."

"The problem is the same, slave.... no chemistry... in fact negative chemistry.... he's too short....too nebbishy...."

"Still too much  like Woody Allen?"

"Exactly Slave.... I almost feel sorry for him...."

"Hmmm.... a candidate for a sympathy fuck?"

Mistress gave me a look that suggested if I pressed on that she might get that wooden back scratcher out, so I let that hang.

Poor Woody.  If he made his own movies he could always cast himself opposite some hot younger babe -- a teenaged Mariel Hemingway or young Diane Keaton -- but if your just a brainy science writer like this Woody, what you gonna do?

So Mistress left poor Woody in the dust one more time.

"He tried to give me one of those kisses again, on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant."

"How did you handle that?"

"Just turned my face so he got my cheek, slave."

Poor Woody.

Tights Season Has an Inauspicious Start

Mistress and slave had a pretty laid back weekend here in River City. There was that raucous night of domestic discipline and ass fucking Friday night. More wake-up sex on Saturday, and then even more sex here Saturday afternoon.

Cold and gloom had descended on our town, with the thermometer stuck in the 40's. It meant there was no excuse but to huddle in bed and let nature take its course.

Sunday was a little busier. After deploying Mistress's favorite power tool as a prelude to our morning sex, Slave spent the afternoon watching the now 4-0 Pussycats send the Chiefs back to the reservation.  (I do miss our old blogger compadre Suzanne when football season kicks in, since Mistress is hardly a sports fan!) Mistress spent some time with her Mother and sister who was in town this weekend.

Back at home at around 5:30, we were back in bed, and Mistress enjoyed a little more worship before we paged through the Times.

Mistress pointed out this article on the history of stockings and pantyhose in yesterday's magazine: The Politics of Pantyhose.  The gist is that the workplace expectation that women wear hose to cover their lovely stems is some hideous form of male repression. The trend is to leave them in the drawer, gathering lint. On the other hand, bare legs, even in the cold of winter are a "power move" by those women who have the legs (like Mistress) which can pull that off. If not, I guess you go with Hillary Clinton-esque popsicle colored pants suits?

In any event, this leaves a pampered if pathetic slave, with a tights fetish that goes back to middle school,  drooling over memories when all those "oppressed" women would show up on the street in their tights and hose once summer turned to fall. A gawker's delight! It's clear those times have passed.

I guess I am just stuck with football!

Another thing I am stuck with - based on popular demand apparently - is my cock cage.  My body is a little stiff from a lot of bike riding yesterday (to and from the game), so I'll be driving to work. And under Mistress's newly enforced rules, it's a cage day. I've already got that solid steel ring in place.

Are you happy, rabble?

Ouch!

Mistress was definitely in a feisty mood when Slave emerged from the early October gloom at the end of the work day.

I was allowed to shower off the detritus of my bike ride home through a mix of blustery wind and mist. But after that, the agenda was hers. And, very conveniently, our daughter had just left the house for the evening.

"It's been a very long time since I fucked you in the ass, slave....go fetch our supplies...."

It had been a while. So it took me some time to gather up her "tools" : the leather strap-on harness. It's plastic "business end". And of course the lubricant.

But, sadly, that was not all the equipment needed.

"And get the riding crop too, slave.... be quick about it."

Maybe it was Freudian, but I had absolutely no recall where the riding crop was. It's clearly been gathering dust somewhere.  When I made that confession, she had a substitute in mind. And I quickly came to regret my lack of preparation.

She emerged from the closet with her strap-on in place and a wicked wooden "back scratcher" in hand.  About 15 inches long, and very, very hard.

Slave obediently assumed the position, and proceeded to endure Mistress's wacking on my back side, with a good deal of squirming involved. I guess this is when some restraints would come in handy, because my inability to stay in one place had me enduring some extra wacks as Mistress ordered me to get back into position.

"So what is this punishment for?", I had the temerity to ask between whines of pain.

"You've not been paying enough attention to me, slave...."

Sadly, that's probably true.  I have been a little distracted at work and with some civic activity these last few weeks. Mistress deserves more. And she taught me that lesson very, very effectively.

When the whacks stopped falling, slave was shuddering a bit, and very relieved.  Mistress decided to take a photo to commemorate the occasion.

"This is for sharing with our readers, slave....."

Clearly, she's still appeasing the rabble. Although I have a feeling most of you will find my pale, blotchy ass less than appealing. Wouldn't you much rather see Mistress's bottom? With or without crop marks?

Rest assured that my butt is now back to normal, and that Mistress seemed to take much pleasure in deploying her strap-on. She always cums with mucho gusto when she gets to do all that thrusting.

And slave was allowed to take his own pleasure too after Mistress had done her "worst" on my aging ass.

After the dust settled, we settled down to watch a kinky Australian movie ("My Mistress"), culminating a night of excess that was too long in the cumming.

"We need to do this more often, slave", she murmurred, snuggling against me as I massaged her feet.

We am I to disagree.