Super Slip Sliding Away

Mistress and Slave had a rather laid back Super Sunday.  Of course, there was your traditional wake - up sex, some afternoon worship and a nice nap before we headed across the Mason Dixon line to the home of acquaintances that Mistress has met through her work. 

This was one of those ex-urban communities that is pretty unfamiliar to Mistress and slave: A huge, treeless subdivision of McMansions on proportionately too small lots. Yeah, I know I am sounding like some urbanista snob.  But it's true that we have been sheltered from this sort of lifestyle. 

Once inside we found the typical selection of Super Bowl foods - cheese, chili, fritos. Mistress found some tasty bourbon, and slave nursed some red wine. The crowd was a little different from who we might typically hang with on the annual ritual of commercial and cultural excess that is uniquely American.  

Slave is old enough to remember the first super bowl. We've come a long way from Len Dawson, the Kansas City QB, smoking a cigarette and drinking a Fresca at half time, while Al Hirt tooted some New Orleans tune at the 50 yd. line.

Slave found himself out on the back deck, with a view of a meandering stream and a sanitary sewer pumping station. I took  tips from a neighbor of our hosts on the best guns to use to snuff out my prairie dog problem at our SW hideaway. He described some special plastic tipped pellets on the market now that expand on impact and leave a fist size exit wound.

"Make yourself a blind.  Then you can just lay back there and pop off those varmints one right after another...."

"you mean sitting in my lounge chair won't cut it?"

I don;t think he got the joke, and  actually made me feel sorry for my sordid little varmints.

In any event, the game did not go quite the way I expected.

Sorry, Donna.  I hoped you put your vibrators to good use before the score was final.  Because you had a heads up by half-time, when it became apparent that Clark Kent, rather than Superman showed up. Maybe the Panthers forgot to have a phone booth handy on the sidelines?

And Mike, our erstwhile Western Correspondent, congratulations on your team's upset victory. That defense sure is fearsome. While PFM got his 200th victory, he didn't have to contribute much to pull off the victory, did he? When the Donkeys handed off the ball at 3rd and 9 with only a 6 point lead and 6 or so minutes to go in the game, you could tell they had little faith in the Ol' Sheriff's arm and a lot more confidence in their defense. And their punter.

As I understand the terms of your bet with Donna, she must now forego use of her vibrator collection for the rest of the week. And you now have license to dip back into your vat of lube for the week to come. I am sure you will put it all to good use. 

Donna, I feel your pain!  And we look forward to a report on how you cope with this sad privation over the next few days.  Somehow I think you will be the Mother of Invention.

High School Sex

Mistress had Friday night to herself as her Slave flew back from San Francisco. So it only made sense that she would look elsewhere in an effort to fill her dance card. Fortunately, the stars aligned and her long lost lover Jay was actually available to entertain her.  But there was a complication.... our daughter was going to be home, and it was not clear when.

Mistress gave me a scheduling update before I boarded my first of two flights home.

"We're planning on going out to dinner, slave...."

"No sex, Mistress?"

"Not sure how that's going to work, slave.... I don't want [our daughter] to walk in with Jay and I all hot and heavy. Do you?"

Well of course not.  That would be a little hard to explain, wouldn't it?

When I arrived in the great northern tundra in Minneapolis, I touched base with Mistress again.  By then she was at a local restaurant / Bourbon Bar we often frequent.  It seemed she was having a good time....

"Those two drinks went to my head, slave.....we're having fun talking politics...."

"Have fun, Mistress....'

By the time I got home at around midnight, I noted that Mistress's car was in the drive. So was our daughter's. So I was not surprised to find Mistress in bed . . . by herself.... awaiting her slave.

The conversation quickly turned to how her evening had gone.

"You won't believe this slave....we actually went to that park up the hill....it was like high school.  Jay liked the view."

"You mean "parking sex"?"

"Exactly, slave....is that bad?"

"Uh...of  course not....as long as you didn't get caught...."

"I was a little nervous .... thinking what would happen if a cop shined a light in on us...."

Apparently Mistress and Jay were a little too horny and cast caution, and comfort, to the wind.

"So what did you actually do, Mistress...."

"Well some nice cock riding, slave... and Jay got a very good blow job."

Apparently they took Mistress's car, which had a little extra room on the passenger seat.  I imagined Mistress astride Jay, the seat reclined, riding him to a cum or two.  A pretty hot image if I do say so.

"When I sucked his cock he was in the driver's seat...."

Of course, all of these images will be in slave's head the next time I drive Mistress's car. And in Mistress's head too, I suppose.

Rest assured they were in my head on Saturday morning, when slave finally had the chance to take care of my own accumulated horniness after two days on the road.

Our Senior Correspondent Wades Back Into the Pond

Slave is out in the City By the Bay for a quick 24 hour foray. The town is all tricked out for the Super Bowl, and I even saw one of my fellow alumni who plays tight end for the Vikings on the flight out today. But somehow big “Bud Light” signs on Union Square and guys patrolling the streets with automatic weapons takes a bit of the charm away from one of the world’s greatest cities. It seems like the locals will be happy when the NFL circus leaves town. Of course, if the Panthers and Superman go home with the big trophy, our Western Correspondent could have a tough week without his high end lube to grease the skids for his chicken choking. 

But today’s entry features the lady who I think will win Sunday’s bet…. Our Senior Correspondent finally updates us on her adventures over the last year:

Mick has asked me, as Senior Correspondent, to write on the blog more regularly. He's right, both Mike (the W.C.) and I need to do a better job in the hope that Mick will get back to sending us those big checks and bonuses once again.

So let's catch up a bit. Over the last year, I set out to begin dating again. I have found it to be an interesting learning experience, and much, much different that the pre-computer dating days.

I started with an adult dating service that advertises on television about meeting people in a similar age group.  I wasn't looking for anyone kinky, for gosh sakes, the word kinky isn't even on their questionnaire, I was just hoping to meet some guys to maybe share a dinner date and interesting conversation.  So when the company had a free trial period,  I decided to take a closer look.

I flipped through their questionnaire, but something told me to hold back. And before filling it out, I decided to take advantage of their offer to look through the local profiles.  As I flipped through the numerous selfie photos, I was somewhat surprised to come across two guys I know rather well; I also know their wives from political and environmental groups I belong to.  I guess they weren't too  careful about that part of the questionnaire where you mark your marital status. I moved along.

One gentleman listed his religious preference as Purity Fundamentalist Christian. Nope, zealots of any variety scare me. Another gentleman wrote that the first date must include his adult children because they need to approve of the women he dates. No, I don't think so.

In the last folio, the guy was wearing casual wear, nauseatingly casual. He was wearing overalls with no shirt. There probably is a time and body type for overalls, but I really think people weighing well over three hundred pounds should wear a shirt with their overalls. No kidding, and one of the straps on his overalls wasn't buckled. Ugh! Plus, I can only assume the economy has been really tough on the poor guy because he hadn't been able to afford dental care. The missing two front teeth in his big smile clued me in on that.  His second photo had been taken from a distance and showed him standing in front of a double-wide trailer with a hunting dog chained to a stake behind him. Now some might think of this as truth in advertising, and it is, and he is probably a wonderful guy, but things just didn't add up to feel like a good match for me.

I never did fill out the questionnaire for that company, and I moved on. I decided to work at meeting more local, like-minded, kinky people on FetLife. I know, I know. There are weirdos lurking everywhere, but I am feeling more comfortable with the Jimmy Buffet song, "We Are The People Our Parents Warned Us About".

My first foray to meet others was at a rope tying class at the local big city. I had a great time and met some really terrific folks, D/s, M/s, and just plain kinky! I learned some basic knots and releases, and worked with some other subs on self-tying. That was a new concept to me, and believe me when I say that I will never be as into it as one man I met. He ties his neck and wrists, then with a different piece of rope he ties his ankles leaving a long lead rope. Flipping over onto his stomach, he ties his ankles to his wrists behind him. Did I mention he's quite limber? He ties himself like that and stays that way for hours while his Domme is working her day job on her computer in another room of their house, and has been doing that for years. He taught the under 30 subs how to do that tie, while the two of us who were over thirty, tried it and gave up in gales of laughter. We then watched the others in amazement, helping with their knots when needed, and cheering them on. Mission accomplished, new friends!

I was a bit taken aback to learn that most of the classes and events for the local BDSM group are held at a building in the big city that isn't wheelchair accessible, outside or inside. I spoke to the organizer, who is a great gal,  and she said she would be happy to send two guys out to the parking lot (which is across the highway), one to carry me and one to carry my wheelchair.  While being carried a distance by well muscled young men holds a certain appeal for me, I think I'll wait on that.

And, I decided to take that as a sign that I needed to work harder at finding someone to date or scene with on my own. I went back to FetLife and, sure enough, things perked up. I began exchanging emails with a very nice man, a very nice younger man. But that's a report for another day.

Bon Voyage Sex

Slave is jetting off to the left coast this morning for an overnight work gig. Mistress is back in bed at the UCTMW world HQ. I already miss her, and long for my return late on Friday night.

But last night my trip became a good excuse for some raucous post work sex. 

"It's going to be until Saturday morning, slave". 

We had gone for a bike ride and I suspect Mistress thought her old slave might only be up for some worship. But I surprised her with an avid work-a-day cock. 

After a cum or two delivered by my well trained tongue There  ensued some enthusiastic cock riding which seemed to leave Mistress "topped off" for my 36 hours or so of absence. And in case that won't tide her over, there's talk of a dinner date with her lover Jay tomorrow night. It's been a while. 

We were lucky our daughter was working late because the sounds of passion would not have been easy to miss. 

Of course slave was topped off too. If you have to leave town there's no point in leaving horny.